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REVIEW

Talulah’s Back in Town by Brenda Novak

Coyote Canyon #1

What a wonderful story! Smiling as I think of Talulah and Brant and how they found the ability to commit to one another and thrive together.

What I liked: * Talulah: runaway bride, loves her parents and sister, good friend, pleaser who has trouble saying no, culinary school graduate, dessert diner owner, has commitment issues, back where she grew up to deal with her great aunt’s estate

* Brant: owns the family ranch with his three brothers, never has been in a long-term committed relationship, helps others, good friend, waiting for the right woman to come along and it just might be Talulah

* Brant’s brothers – would love to see who they end up with

* Debbie: Talulah’s sister, happily married with three children and one on the way, supportive of Talulah and provides wise counsel

* Ellen: lives next to Aunt Phoebe, interesting person that I would like to know more about

* Getting to know more about Aunt Phoebe

* The small town feel and how most of the people are there for one another

* The strong chemistry, compatibility, and communication that Talulah and Brant had with one another

* Finding out who threw the rock through the window

* That most of the friendships that went awry managed to be pieced back together

* Looking forward to reading the next book in the series

What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Knowing that some people can be mean, petty, and pushy as some in this story were

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Definitely

Thank you to NetGalley and HQN-Mira for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

Talulah Barclay returns to Coyote fourteen years after leaving her fiancé at the altar. She’s back to sell her deceased aunt’s home and head back to Seattle as quickly as possible since the memories in a small town are long and no one has forgiven her for running off. And when she finds herself falling for the best friend of her jilted ex she knows life is going to get more difficult. And when she’s injured by shattered glass after someone throws a rock through her window she knows she is not welcome in town. But she still has close friends there and they rally around her and she finds herself willing to open her heart to the town and to the man she truly loves.

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Excerpt - Tahlulah’s Back in Town by Brenda Novak

One

“Well, if it isn’t the runaway bride.”

Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.

“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.

The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”

She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.

She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.

It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.

She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.

Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.

“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”

Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”

“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”

Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”

“What happened?”

Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.

That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”

“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”

“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.

His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”

Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”

He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.

“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”

“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.

“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”

“What happened?”

“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”

Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”

“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”

Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”

“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.

Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”

“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”

She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.

He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”

“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”

“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”

Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”

A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”

“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”

“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”

“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.

“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”

“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”

“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.

“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”

“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”

He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”

She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”

“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.

“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”

“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”

She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”

He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”

“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.

He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”

“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”

“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”

Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”

He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”

“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”

“You still in touch with Jane?”

“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.

“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.

“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”

His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”

She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”

He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.

Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.

“Would you like a refill?”

The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.

Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”

“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”

Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.

The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.

Most of the town had been at that wedding.

Aunt Phoebe’s house was going to take some work. Two stories tall, it was a Victorian farmhouse with a wide front porch, a drawing room/living room off the entry, a music room tucked to the left, a formal dining area in the middle and a tiny kitchen—tiny by today’s standards—at the back, with a mudroom where the “menfolk” could clean up before coming in from the fields at dinner. Probably 2,400 square feet in total, it was divided into thirteen small rooms that were packed with furniture, rugs, decorations, books, lamps and magazines. The attic held objects that’d been handed down for generations, as well as steamer trunks of old clothes, quilts and needlepoint—even a dressmaker’s dummy that’d given Talulah a fright when she first went up to take a look because she’d thought someone was in the attic with her.

The basement held shelf upon shelf of canned goods, a deep freezer full of meat that’d most likely been butchered at a local ranch, which meant there would be certain cuts—like tongue and liver—Talulah would have no idea what to do with, and stacks of old newspapers and various other flotsam Phoebe had collected throughout her long life.

Even if she started right away, it’d take a week or more to sort through everything, and the house wasn’t the most comfortable place to work. The windows, while beautiful with their old-fashioned casings and heavy panes, weren’t energy-efficient. There was hardly any insulation in the attic and no air-conditioning to combat the heat. Typically, summers in Coyote Canyon were quite mild, with temperatures ranging between fifty and ninety degrees, but they were in a heat wave. It was mid-August, the hottest part of the year to begin with, and they were setting records.

A bead of sweat rolled between Talulah’s breasts as she surveyed the basement. Even the coolest part of the house felt stifling. And it was only noon. She couldn’t imagine how Aunt Phoebe had managed in this heat. But her aunt could handle just about anything. She’d had a will of iron and more grit than anyone Talulah had ever met.

“How am I going to get through all this junk—and what am I going to do with it?” Talulah muttered, disheartened by the sheer volume of things her great-aunt had collected over the years.

Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her yoga pants. Pulling it out, she saw that her sister was calling. “Hey,” she answered.

“How’s Coyote Canyon?” Debbie asked.

“I just got in last night, but from what I’ve seen so far, it hasn’t changed much.” The town’s population had stayed at about three thousand since the end of the nineteenth century, when the railroad came to town and Coyote Canyon had its big boom.

She chuckled. “It never does. Bozeman is growing like crazy, though. I read somewhere that it’s the fastest growing town in America. You should see how much it’s changed.”

“No kidding? Who’s moving there?”

“Mostly families, I guess, but enough millennials and nature-lovers to change the whole vibe from Western to trendy.”

Only forty minutes away, Bozeman had been where their parents would take them to buy school clothes and other supplies. But she’d had no reason to go there since she’d left Coyote Canyon. Thanks to the stigma caused by the wedding, she’d tried to forget the whole area. “Did you guys come for Rodeo Days this year?” The week before the Fourth of July, Coyote Canyon held seven days of celebration that included rodeos, a 10K/5K run, a Mountain Man Rendezvous, parades, tractor pulls and bake-offs. Everything culminated in the fireworks of Independence Day.

“No. I wanted to,” Debbie said, “but Scott was under too much pressure at work to take the time, and I didn’t want to try to manage the kids on my own.”

“I’m sorry that Paul and I couldn’t make it.”

“Has something changed I’m not aware of? Are you two together now?”

He’d been trying to get with her since she met him, especially after they started the diner. But it was only recently that she’d gone on the pill and slept with him for the first time. “Not really. We’ve started dating. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” her sister echoed.

“You know how hard it is for me to know when I really like a guy. Anyway, how’ve you been feeling? Any news on the baby?” She asked because she was interested, but she was also eager to change the subject.

“I’m fine,” Debbie said. “Just tired.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer, right?”

“I’m due in a week, and the doctor won’t let me go more than a few days over.”

“Call me as soon as labor starts. I’ll come for the birth.” Billings was only a hundred miles to the east. Part of the reason Talulah had agreed to handle her aunt’s funeral and belongings was because it put her in closer proximity to Debbie. She wanted to be there for the arrival of the new addition, especially since their parents couldn’t be.

“I will. I can’t wait until this pregnancy is over.” She groaned. “I’m getting so uncomfortable.”

“You’ve done this three times before. I’m sure the birth will be routine.”

Maybe not strictly routine. Debbie had developed gestational diabetes, so there was a good chance this child would have to be delivered by Caesarean section. But they were pretending there’d be no complications. Neither of them cared to consider all the things that could go wrong.

“I feel bad that you’re having to take so much time away from the dessert diner,” she said. “Maybe I should drive over for the funeral, at least, and help while I can.”

“Don’t you dare!” Talulah said. “I don’t want you going into labor while you’re here. Your husband, your doctor, everyone and everything you need are there.”

“But I’m just sitting around with my swollen ankles while you deal with everything in that musty house.”

Musty, sweltering house. But Talulah didn’t want to make Debbie feel any guiltier. Besides, her sister wasn’t just sitting around. She was watching her other kids. Talulah could hear them, and the TV, in the background and knew that Debbie would have to bring her young nieces and nephew if she came here. Having them underfoot would only make it harder to get anything done. “The church is stepping in to organize the funeral. You set that up yourself. So you have been involved. Besides, much to our parents’ dismay, you’re the only one giving them grandkids. This is the least I can do for Mom and Dad.”

Debbie laughed. “Have you heard from them?”

“They called last night to make sure I got in okay.”

“How long did the drive take you?”

“Ten hours.”

“Ugh!”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I couldn’t fly—I knew I’d need a car while I was here.” She’d made the trip to Reno several times since her family moved from Coyote Canyon, so she was used to driving even farther. They’d only visited Seattle once, but Talulah had been so busy with college, then culinary school, then working in various restaurants before launching Talulah’s Dessert Diner with Paul, whom she’d met along the way, that she didn’t mind.

“I’m surprised they aren’t coming home for the funeral,” Debbie mused.

Not to mention the birth of their latest grandchild. Talulah thought she could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice, but Debbie would never complain, especially to a defector like Talulah. Debbie remained as committed to their parents’ faith as they did. “I’m not surprised,” Talulah said. “Africa is so far away, and they’d only have to turn around and go right back. They want to remain focused on their mission, at least until they’re officially released.”

“Aunt Phoebe was so prickly, she and Mom were never very close, anyway,” Debbie added.

That wasn’t strictly true. Phoebe used to have them over for dinner every Sunday, and Carolyn brought Talulah and Debbie over for piano lessons. It was only later that they had a bit of a falling-out and quit talking. Despite that, Talulah guessed their mother felt conflicted about missing her aunt’s funeral. She also understood that Carolyn wasn’t going to change her mind. Choosing her mission over her family was almost a matter of pride; it showcased the level of her belief. “When we visited Aunt Phoebe, and we weren’t there for piano lessons, we had to sit on chairs in the cramped dining room or living room, and she’d snap at us to quit wiggling, remember?”

“That was if she’d let us in the house at all,” Debbie said drily. “She used to tell us to go out front and play.”

“With no toys.”

“She was the sternest person I’ve ever met.”

“She also never threw anything away.”

“She was a hoarder?”

“Kind of. She somehow managed to be fastidious and clean at the same time, so it’s not the type of hoarding you imagine when you hear the word, but it’s so cluttered in here I can barely move from room to room.”

“If it’s that bad, I should come over, after all.”

Talulah blew a wisp of hair that’d fallen from the clip on top of her head away from her mouth. “No, I’ve got it. Really.” There was no way Debbie would survive the heat, not in her condition.

“But you must be feeling some pressure to get back to Seattle,” Debbie said. “You told me you have a line of people every night trying to get into the diner.”

“We do, but Paul’s there.” She couldn’t have taken off for a whole month in any prior year. In the beginning, their business had required too much time, energy and focus—from both of them. She’d come up with the concept and had the name, the website, the logo, the location and the recipes figured out when Paul decided to come on board to help with the capital, credit and muscle required to get the rest of the way. It’d been touch and go for a while, but the place was running smoothly now, following a familiar routine. They had employees they could trust, and with her partner managing the day-to-day details, she wasn’t too worried.

“He doesn’t resent you being gone so long?” Debbie asked.

“He has a family reunion in Iowa at the end of September. Then he’ll be hiking in Europe for three weeks with a couple of friends. So I’ll be returning the favor soon enough.”

“He gets to go to Europe while you have to spend your vacation in Coyote Canyon, attending a funeral and cleaning out a house that was built in the 1800s?”

Talulah didn’t mind the work. It was facing the past and all the people she hadn’t seen or heard from in years that would be difficult. “It’s not a big deal,” she insisted.

“Okay.” There was a slight pause. Then her sister said, “I hate to bring up a sensitive subject, but…what are you going to do when you see Charlie?”

“I don’t know.” She certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.

“It’d be a lot easier if he was married.”

Talulah agreed. If he had a wife, he’d be able to believe she’d saved him for the woman he was really supposed to marry. His family and friends would then be more likely to forgive her, too. But according to Jane, he wasn’t even seeing anyone, so she had no idea how he’d feel toward her. “I ran into Brant,” she volunteered, simply because she knew her sister would be interested.

“How’d he look?”

Too good for the emotional well-being of the women around him. But such an admission would never pass Talulah’s lips. She preferred not to acknowledge his incredible good looks. “Haven’t you seen him fairly recently?” She knew her sister came back to Coyote Canyon occasionally.

“Four or five years ago.”

“He probably hasn’t changed much since then.”

“He married?”

“No.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I doubt he’ll ever settle down. What’d he say when he saw you?”

“Just gave me a hard time about Charlie.”

“When I was in high school, I was so disappointed I couldn’t get his attention. Now I’m glad he had no interest in me. He would only have broken my heart.”

“Probably,” Talulah agreed. But, truth be told, she felt sort of bad talking about Brant that way. It was a case of “the pot calling the kettle black,” as her aunt would’ve said. She’d broken her share of hearts, too, and possibly in worse ways, as he’d intimated. But she couldn’t seem to settle down. No matter how hard she tried to force the issue and be more like her sister—to do what her parents expected of her—she wound up having such terrible anxiety attacks she literally had to flee. Maybe Brant had the same problem when it came to making a lifelong commitment. Maybe he was just better at accepting his limitations.

The doorbell rang as her sister finished telling her about little Casey, her three-year-old niece, who’d gotten hold of a pair of scissors and cut her bangs off at the scalp. “That’s probably the woman from the church now,” Talulah said. “I need to go over the funeral with her. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Her sister said goodbye, and Talulah disconnected as she hurried up the narrow, creaking stairs. There was a woman standing on the stoop, all right. But before she pushed open the screen door—the regular door was already standing open because she’d been trying to catch even the slightest breeze—Talulah could see enough to know it wasn’t anyone from the church.

This woman had a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

AUTHOR BIO

New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak has written over 60 novels. An eight-time Rita nominee, she's won The National Reader's Choice, The Bookseller's Best and other awards. She runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity that has raised more than $2.5 million for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). She considers herself lucky to be a mother of five and married to the love of her life. Visit Brenda at www.brendanovak.com.

Social Links:

Author Website

Facebook: @AuthorBrendaNovak

Twitter: @Brenda_Novak

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#Brenda Novak #Coyote Canyon 1 #Romance #Small town romance #runaway bride #HQN-Mira #netgalley #fiction

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or-something-better · 10 months

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Sam’s Story Corner

Nov 9, 2022

🔮✏️🚨🔮✏️🚨🔮✏️🚨🔮✏️🚨🔮✏️🚨🔮✏️🚨

The Writing Topic this week is brought to you by our own lovely Bela.

“Share with us about a memorable Hunt that you’ve been part of, Good or Bad.”

Bela

The most memorable hunt I've been apart of? Well I was involved... I must say it has always been a fun game of cat and mouse with Sam and Dean honestly. I just love getting them all riled up. Magical artifacts and relics have always been a thing that caught my eye. I think the most fun was when we went back and forth over the rabbits foot mostly.

I felt bad about the two other men who stole it from me. That cooking fork to the head had to hurt. And the gun shot wound the other guy got. Too bad I didn't feel anything. That was their fault though for stealing it from me the losing it.

After Sam got it. It took me awhile to be able to catch up with them to get it back. Eventually I caught up with the silly Muppets at the cemetery. Unfortunately for me I ended up touching the bloody thing when Dean threw it to me, so I was forced to help destroy it.

I still get a laugh at dean's face in the rear view mirror as I drove off with his winning lottery tickets. Since I lost out on the money from selling the rabbit foot on the black market, That was the best money I ever earned I can say considering it was well ... Free.

………………………….

Patience (Not for this Topic, but a cont. of her original Story)

continuing on from my very story. After seeing my dad at the supermarket he agreed to sit and have coffee with me. We found this quaint little coffee shop and went in had a seat and talked. I began by telling him that I had a vision just before running into him. Well, he wasn't all to happy about that, but I told him "Dad I am surrounded by people who love me and accept me for who I am" then I asked him" Dad with all that you've seen and with what you're own mother went through how can you not accept me"? Dad I have Gabe he is God of all and takes good care of us, and there's Donna 36 children she and Gabe have and she still finds time to help us all when needed, Charlie she's the genius that keeps everything running smoothly, Sam, Sam has been through so much this year I don't even know how he's still here but, he's here for us another genius, Ellen well she's kinda the mother of, Jo sweet little Jo I love her to pieces, Bela, that one has grown on me she's not been with us long but I'm certainly glad she joined us, Crowley well he is a demon and king of hell but he's been here for us when we need help, Henry, Henry is the sweetest kindest little dude a girl could have as friend, bobby singer also known as beer belly bobby a nickname gave had given him. He comes off as this gruff older guy but deep down has a heart of gold and then there's Meg, she is also a demon but totally on our side I love her. And we have Ruby, Ruby has done so much for me I'm getting a handle on my visions thanks to her. And we do have Lucifer that helps out sometimes. Dad I'm telling you about out team (I said) because I need you to know and understand that this is what I was meant to do saving people hunting things is our motto. I love these people they have saved me more times than I can count. I want you in my life (I said) but I need you to accept me for who I am. My Dad looked at me and said "honey I love you more than anything else in this world but I just can't. I looked at him with a tear in my eyes and said 'dad I love you too but I have to be where I am at now (then a thought came to me) dad why don't you come with us it's tough at times but we also have a lot of good times? Dad looked at and said 'I can't '. As he was getting up to leave I stopped him and said Daddy please don't worry about me I'm in good hands I love these people with all my heart and knowing what I know I can make a difference in this crazy world I stand up and go to him I give him a hug and say goodbye Dad I hope you'll at least call once in a while but if you don't I understand I love you dad

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 12,601 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: pre-apocalypse Warnings: language (duh, it's me), violence, domestic violence A/N: This one got LONGGGGG woo! Protective, badass Daryl is just so. damn. good. Summary: Daryl has long had a crush on Y/N, a waitress at the local dive bar. When things start to go bad with her boyfriend, he suddenly finds himself solving problems for her.

Your name: submit What is this?

Your friend nudged you gently with her elbow as you started to move past her with your tray. “Hey. Who’s that?” she asked, nudging her head in the direction of the door. Two men had just walked in. They were regulars at the bar where you’d been a waitress for a long time. Your friend, however, had just started working there a couple days earlier.

“Oh, the Dixon brothers,” you said, skirting past her to load your tray up with the next round of drinks.

“Are they trouble?” she asked, giving you a sideways glance. You had to laugh at that question. The bar you worked at was a total dive and most of the clientele were unsavory characters. It was frequented by a lot of the biker gangs that road the highway causing trouble.

“Everyone in here pretty much is trouble,” you said, loading the row of beers on the bar top onto your tray.

“Even Mark,” she said, her tone dripping sweet because she knew it would annoy you. You rolled your eyes.

“Even Mark,” you agreed. You’d met your boyfriend at the bar while you were working. You hadn’t been dating that long, only about 3 months. He was a member of one of the biker gangs, but you’d grown up around people like him and the rest of the bar patrons your whole life. You were used to the whistles and catcalling and even the occasional ass-grabbery. Most of the time you felt perfectly safe at work with Charlie, the bartender, watching over things and quite frankly, most of the men tipped you generously. You just chose not to think about where they got the money. You didn’t come from any money at all, and you’d gotten a job as soon as you legally could to help your mom pay the bills. She had already been working two full-time jobs trying to keep your family afloat. Even before you’d been able to work officially you took every babysitting or lawn mowing gig you could find. Your dad was a good man, kind and loving, but an alcoholic. He’d had a work accident when you were just a baby and had chronic back pain from it. He was still young when he finally succumbed to his alcoholism.

And you’d just kept working.

“Well, that younger brother is cute,” your friend said, drawing your attention back to the two men who’d just walked in. “What’re their names?”

“Gimme a minute and I’ll introduce you,” you said. You rounded the bar and took the beers on your loaded tray over to a table of boisterous bikers and handed them out. By the time you got back up to the bar, the Dixon brothers had wandered over.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite girl,” Merle grinned at you, leaning his forearms on the bar. “Whatchu doin’ lookin’ that good up in here? You lookin’ to start a fight?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling at him. “Merle, you can knock off the sweet talkin’. It’s not gonna get you free booze.”

“Who said I even come in here for the booze?” he flirted shamelessly, shooting a wink at you. This time you did laugh appreciatively.

“Uh huh. Well, since you’re at the bar and not in my section, I can get away with ignoring you all night,” you joked. “Charlie will be glad to take your order.” You glanced at the younger Dixon brother who seemed to be quite purposefully keeping his eyes on his hands as he fiddled with a discarded beer top. “How are you, Daryl?” His blue eyes shot up to meet yours. “Doin’ alright?”

Daryl nervously licked his lips and nudged his nose up in a single nod. His heart was hammering away in his chest.

“Good. That’s good,” you said, giving him a wide smile. Daryl’s heart jumped. Fuck. He always felt completely out of control when you smiled at him like that. Half the time it shut down his ability to engage in any sort of conversation and seemed to make his body start malfunctioning. “Well, listen boys. This is my friend Rachel. She just started workin’ here a couple days ago so I expect you to go easy on her.” Rachel smiled at them and said hello. “This is Merle Dixon and his brother Daryl.” You caught sight of one of your tables trying to flag you down. “Merle is the one you need to watch out for. He’ll try his hardest to charm you right out of your skirt, even if it never works,” you joked. “Right, Daryl?”

The younger Dixon brother hardly responded, except that his blue eyes flickered up to your face again for a moment before you breezed away. He looked up again as Charlie wandered over and asked what the Dixons wanted to drink. But Rachel cut in with a smile.

“You’re busy, Charlie. I’ll get it,” she said. She was eyeing Daryl and he felt it, glancing up at her. She was definitely attractive and definitely interested in him from what he could tell, but Daryl was so hung up on you he couldn’t have cared less. “What can I get you?” Rachel asked, leaning on the bar top, giving him a small smile.

“Gimme a bourbon, honey,” Merle said. Daryl hadn’t responded. His eyes had wandered back over to you where you were chatting with a couple regulars in a booth nearby. Merle hit him on the arm.

“Just gimme a beer,” Daryl drawled, pulling his eyes off you.

The way the younger Dixon brother’s gaze was fixed on you wasn’t lost on Rachel. “Sure thing,” she said, setting about grabbing the drinks. She handed them out. “So, what kind of trouble do the two of you get up to?” Rachel asked. The question was directed at Daryl but he was staring down into his beer, apparently in deep thought about something, so Merle answered instead.

“Any and every kind,” Merle laughed.

Daryl’s eyes were on you again, flickering between glancing your way, watching you smiling and laughing, and staring back down into his beer. Rachel gave the two one final smile and parting look and rushed back over to her section where someone was flagging her down. Scribbling a few notes on her pad about the order, she happened to fall back into stride with you as you both headed up toward the bar area again. You had a break for a couple minutes and hung out by the window where the cooks sent the food out.

Rachel leaned up against the counter. “I think Daryl is taken,” she said.

You gave her a questioning look. “Really? Why? I’ve never seen him in here with anyone but his brother.”

Rachel laughed. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” You stared at her, puzzled, and she rolled her eyes at you. “Y/N, he can’t keep his eyes off you. I was trying to flirt with him and he barely looked at me.”

“What? No, come on,” you laughed. “They’ve hung around here for years and he’s never said anything. I mean, I was single for a long time.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! I saw the way he was looking at you,” Rachel said. “He seems a bit shy or something. It’s not a surprise he hasn’t said anything to you about it. And besides, now you’re dating someone.”

You shrugged. “Well, he’s—he’s just a bit quiet. I don’t think—”

Rachel turned as the cook slid out the food for one of her orders. “I’m telling you he’s got it for you. Bad.” She lifted her tray. “You’re in denial. Like you usually are when someone likes you,” she laughed. “Just trust me on this.”

As Rachel breezed away, you glanced back at the two Dixon brothers at the bar. Daryl was aimlessly spinning his beer glass in his hands, staring down at it, but a moment later he glanced up and his blue eyes caught yours. He seemed a bit startled that you were looking his way, and you offered up a small smile. Daryl gulped and ducked his head. A jolt of electricity ran through him again. Fuck. Now she’s dating someone, dumbass. Give it up. She doesn’t want you.

The rest of your shift was busy and there wasn’t much time to sit around and chat. Around dinnertime was usually when the most customers rolled in for a greasy pub meal and some alcohol to lubricate their boasting. Then the dinner crowd hung around and became increasingly more intoxicated. It was about nine when your shift was up and you pulled your apron off and stowed it behind the bar. Merle was playing pool but Daryl was still just leaned up to the counter, keeping to himself. You were about to engage him in some small talk when the door pushed open and your boyfriend walked in. He immediately spotted you and gave you a nod and a smile. You grinned back at him, grabbing your purse from underneath the bar. “Hey, I’ll see you later, Daryl!” you said brightly.

He nodded and managed to give you a small smile, really just one twitch up of one corner of his mouth. His eyes followed you through the bar and he watched over his shoulder as your boyfriend’s hands landed on your lower back and you arched up onto your toes to kiss him. Daryl felt a swell of jealousy in his chest and a hard pit form in his stomach. But he simply turned away and raised a finger to Charlie and asked for another beer.

Your boyfriend Mark walked you out into the parking lot and you stopped next to his bike. “Hop on. Let’s go home,” he said.

“I’m starving. I thought we were going to grab something to eat?” you asked.

“No, come on. Let’s go home,” he said.

You thought there was something a bit different in his tone but you brushed it off. He’d been riding all day. He was probably just ready to be done and wanted to relax. But a couple minutes later, you could tell something was definitely wrong. He was speeding far faster than he should be through town, especially with you behind him. You held tighter to him and leaned forward. “Babe, slow down a bit,” you said.

He didn’t. He took a turn fast and your stomach flipped at the feeling. “Seriously! What the hell are you doing? Slow down!” you yelled over the rumbling of his bike’s engine.

He still didn’t. It was like he was getting a kick out of your fear. If anything, his speed increased. Every turn he took you felt like the bike was about to skid out. You were getting pissed. “Slow the fuck down!” you demanded.

This time he did. But soon he turned into a parking lot and stopped completely. You released your hold on him and he climbed off. A second later he had a hold of your upper arm with a grip like a vice. “Ow!” you protested as he hauled you off his bike. You almost fell as he tugged, losing your balance as you lifted your leg over the bike. “What the fuck?!” you snapped at him, ripping your arm away and staring at him in disbelief.

“If you don’t like how I drive my own goddamn bike, you can fuckin’ walk home,” he growled angrily at you. He was glaring at you with some serious rage in his eyes.

Who the hell was this person? And where was the boyfriend you knew? That’s when you realized. You stared at him, your jaw dropping partially open. “Mark… are you—did you start using again?”

He stared defiantly back at you. “I don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business.”

That was a confirmation if anything. You felt another swell of anger. He’d had substance abuse problems before you’d met but he’d assured you he was clean and was planning on staying that way. “Actually, I think it is my business,” you retorted.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. He marched over to his bike and opened the saddle bag, grabbing your purse out and tossing it to the asphalt carelessly. The contents spilled out and rolled on the ground. “Fuckin’ walk it off,” he said, hopping back on his bike and starting it again. You stared in disbelief as he roared away from you.

“Shit! What the hell?!” you yelled as the sound of his bike roared away. You sighed heavily and stared down at the items that had spilled out of your bag, crouching to collect them and stuff them back where they belonged. You straightened up and glanced around at the secluded and dark lot and deserted street. You could walk home, but it would take you a while and you didn’t particularly like the thought of being out where you were alone. You felt vulnerable, like you’d be the perfect prey for some passing scumbag. You hugged your arms across yourself and decided to walk to the nearest gas station and see if you could call someone to give you a ride. Your mind was spinning over what had just happened. He’s using again. Fucking great. You’d have to end it. That was that. After your dad, you steered clear of anyone with a substance abuse problem, and the personality change in Mark was already so apparent and immediate you knew things would, in all likelihood, just get worse.

You walked along the dark sidewalk, just hoping no one would come along and mess with you. It was only a few blocks to the nearest gas station and you fixed your mind on just getting there. You looked over your shoulder as you heard engines approaching and groaned internally. Please just let them ride past. But you could tell immediately that they were slowing. You kept your head down and just kept walking until you heard voices yelling back and forth over the rumble. Glancing over again you saw that it was Merle and Daryl Dixon.

Merle gave you one final parting glance and roared off but Daryl pulled alongside you at the curb and shut off his bike.

“Hey. Are ya okay?” he asked in that sweet southern drawl of his.

You glanced at the earnest expression on his face. His blue eyes were slightly narrowed as he peered at you and his brow was drawn down. You nodded. “I’m fine,” you said. But your tone didn’t even convince you.

“Ya shouldn’t be out here at night on your own. Thought ya were with yer guy,” he said, a slight question in his tone.

You shuffled your feet a little anxiously. “I was but—” you shook your head. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna walk to the gas station and see if I can call someone for a ride,” you said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Mmm.” Daryl pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment. “I can give ya a ride. I ain’t got anywhere to be.”

You considered him thoughtfully for a moment. You had the overwhelming sense that you could trust him, and maybe it was the openness of his expression or the genuine tone of his voice. Normally you would have bucked at the idea of someone you didn’t know very well learning where you lived, but you’d known Daryl for years. At least, known him on some level. He never started trouble in the bar, although he often got sucked into it because of Merle. A lot of times Daryl was one of the few trying to break it up when it happened. Mostly it just seemed like he hung around with Merle for lack of something else to do. And, sure, sometimes he drank too much and he could be a little hotheaded, but you always had the sense from his rugged but quiet exterior that underneath he was sweet. He chatted with you shyly, asking questions about how you were and your life, but he never pried and he never acted inappropriately toward you or any of the other staff. Daryl Dixon had never once grabbed your ass and that was more than you could say for most of the regulars… Finally, after some consideration, you nodded. “Okay. That’d be great. Thanks,” you said.

He nodded, nudging his nose up. “Hop on.” His heart jumped as you accepted his offered hand for assistance and slid in behind him. It jumped again when he felt your arms lightly loop around him. “Where to?” You explained the route to your house and the bike roared to life underneath you. You held on a little more tightly as he pulled away from the curb.

Your mind was whirring over what you needed to do about Mark. You knew you wanted to end it but you had just witnessed how unstable he was at the moment. Lost in your head, it seemed like mere seconds when Daryl started to slow and you looked up and realized you were already home. The lights were on inside and Mark’s motorcycle was parked in the driveway. Daryl shut his bike off and you climbed off, straightening up at the curb and glancing at him. “Thank you. Really,” you said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate it.”

His blue eyes were soft on your face and one corner of his mouth twitched up as he nodded again. “S’nothin’. Anytime.” His eyes drifted over to the motorcycle in the driveway and that little smile faded. His brow furrowed as he glanced back at you. “Ya sure you’re alright?” He sensed there was something going on. Afterall, he’d seen you leave with Mark and yet there you’d been, abandoned on the side of the road…

You gulped. Your heart started racing. You hesitated for a moment. “Um… Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks again, Daryl.”

He had an uneasy feeling but what could he do? It’s not like he could invite himself to hang around. He chewed his bottom lip anxiously for a moment and then nodded. “Alright. I’ll see ya around,” he said, starting his bike up again. He watched you turn and walk up the drive and front walkway. At the top step you glanced back at him and waved. He nodded and revved the engine as you slipped inside.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When Daryl made it back to the shitty motel he and Merle were calling home at the moment, paid for with stolen credit cards and hustled pool money, Merle was kicked back on his bed getting high. Marijuana smoke was thick in the air.

“Oh, you’re back quick, baby brother,” he smirked. “You must be a two thrust and done kind of guy,” he said with a laugh and a goading smile.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Merle,” he growled, not in the mood for his brother’s bullshit. He pulled his leather jacket off and tossed it down on the chair in the corner before flopping down on his own bed.

“You tellin’ me you didn’t bed that girl?” Merle said, sitting up. “You’ve been pining after that pretty little ass of hers for years. Why the hell did you offer to drive her home if you weren’t gonna fuck her? What the hell was in it for you?” Daryl’s jaw clenched and he glared at his older brother.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, sometimes, ya know that? Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Daryl spat back at him. He flopped down on his pillow and turned his back on his brother. He could hear Merle laughing to himself again and then the volume on the TV clicked up. Daryl was glad to fall asleep, admittedly thinking about how you smelled a little like lavender and vanilla and remembering the feeling of your arms around his waist.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next day, Daryl and Merle were back in the bar at the usual time. Your friend Rachel was behind the counter loading her tray with drinks, but as Daryl scanned the room for you there was no sign of you. Maybe you were on a break. He grabbed his usual spot at the bar and Merle was already sweet-talking Rachel again.

Daryl flagged down Charlie and ordered a bourbon. “Hey. Y/N on break?” he asked, hoping it sounded casual.

Charlie shook his head, grabbing a bottle and pouring Daryl’s drink. “No. She called in sick today,” he said with surprise. Daryl’s brow immediately furrowed.

“Sick?” he repeated. Charlie nodded and let out a laugh.

“I know. I think it’s the first time since she’s worked here,” he said. “Except the food poisoning incident a few years back,” he added with a laugh. “But, hell, we were all sick after that.”

Daryl nodded and mumbled a thanks accepting the drink from him. He couldn’t remember ever coming in and you not being there on a day you usually worked. He felt that hard pit form in his stomach again. The night before had seemed off to him in the first place. Seeing you walking alone along the road in the dark like that… What the hell? He knew the kind of people who moved through this little shit town. That wasn’t fucking safe. Your fucking boyfriend had been with you. Why had you been alone? And the way you’d answered him when he’d pressed you to make sure you were alright… you’d hesitated. Daryl downed his bourbon in one big gulp and flagged the bartender down again.

And now you weren’t in today. Your boyfriend’s bike had been in the driveway. He anxiously chewed on the side of his thumbnail. Maybe you really were just sick. But he had a feeling you weren’t. What the hell are you gonna do? Show up at her damn house like a fuckin’ stalker?. Daryl knew there wasn’t anything he could do and he hated that.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next day Merle was sleeping off a bender so Daryl rode over to the bar alone. He didn’t even want a damn drink. He just wanted to know that you were okay. That annoying pit was still in his stomach. It was still early when he came in so things were slow and there were only a couple townies nursing beers in the corner. He sidled up to his usual spot at the bar. First glance around the room revealed you were conspicuously absent.

“Daryl. What can I get you?” Charlie asked, wiping down the bar top purely out of boredom.

“Just gimme a beer,” Daryl said, tossing a few bucks down. “Shit. Hold that for a minute. I gotta take a leak,” he drawled. He headed down the hallway that led to the restrooms and took a piss, deciding he needed a fucking smoke before he went back for his drink. He was trying to ignore the anxiety swirling in his stomach that you weren’t at work again. He pushed through the back door, digging in his pocket for his lighter, but he glanced up when he sensed someone standing nearby. “Hey,” he said, realizing it was you. You were leaned up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling between your fingers. You seemed almost to shrink away when he noticed you. “I didn’t know ya smoked,” he said surprised.

You exhaled, your knee bouncing a little anxiously. “I don’t. Usually.” Your body language was closed off, entirely unlike you.

As Daryl looked at you his unease grew and was quickly replaced with the seeds of anger. You had sunglasses on and it seemed like you were purposely trying to keep your face turned slightly away from him. His eyes landed on a bruise on your upper arm and he stepped toward you, eyes narrowed. “Ya weren’t sick yesterday,” he said. He could clearly see individual finger marks bruised into your arm.

You kept your eyes turned down toward the pavement and took another drag on your cigarette. You could feel Daryl’s strikingly blue eyes scrutinizing you now. What the hell could you say?

He moved slowly, like he was worried he would startle you, but soon he was in front of you and you couldn’t avoid his eyes any longer. There was a split in your lip and it was a bit bruised and puffy. That seed of anger in Daryl’s chest burst into a flame. “What happened?”

You pulled your eyes away from his, grateful that they were still hidden behind your sunglasses because you could feel humiliated tears burning in them. “I’m fine.”

Daryl wanted nothing more at that moment than to lift your chin and look you over, put his hands on you gently the only way someone should. But he stopped himself and sighed and shook his head, leaning back against the wall beside you and finally lighting his cigarette, casting sideways glances in your direction. “He put his fuckin’ hands on ya,” he said softly. There was a growl in his voice.

You gulped.

“What the hell happened?” he pressed again. “I knew somethin’ was off when I dropped ya off. I could fuckin’ feel it. I shoulda—”

“No, you did plenty,” you said, straightening up. “It’s not your problem.” You finally lifted your sunglasses and put them up on your head, turning to look at Daryl. Now he could see the swollen puffiness and bruising around your eye and cheekbone. He thought there was a shadow of a bruise over the bridge of your nose too. You’d clearly tried to lessen the appearance with makeup but it was still very obvious in the bright sunlight.

Daryl felt another burning wave of rage. “He done this to ya before?” he asked. Now he was wondering how many days you’d been at work with fresh bruises hidden beneath your clothes. If he had known—

You shook your head. “No. No… He—he started using again.” You sighed and leaned your back against the wall. “He was driving all crazy when we left the other night and we had a fight about it and he threw me off his bike and left me there. That’s why I was walking out there alone when you spotted me. I knew he’d started using immediately. I’d never seen him like. He was like a different person.” You ground the butt of your cigarette out against the brick wall and tossed the it into the dumpster a few paces away. “After you dropped me off I confronted him about it. I told him I didn’t want him around me or in my house. He denied it and then got angry… I—I just got out of there and ran to my neighbor’s and she called the cops.” You couldn’t find it in yourself to look at Daryl. You felt humiliated and ashamed of the whole thing. “They arrested him,” you said, scuffing a shoe on the ground. “So, that’s that.”

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Daryl drawled. “I wouldn’ta left ya there if I’d known—”

You let out a wry laugh and caught his blue eyes. “Yeah, well… I wouldn’t have had you leave me there if I’d known. But there was no way to know he was going to hit me and—” The sight of the bruises on your face sent a jolt of anger through Daryl every time he looked at them.

“Ya don’t deserve that. ‘M real sorry ya went through it,” he said again.

There was a softness and heavy regret in his voice and it caused your eyes to flicker up to meet his again. You nodded. “Thanks.”

“So, the prick is in jail?” Daryl asked. You nodded. “Good,” he said, tossing his cigarette down and grinding it under his boot. “And he best be glad for it ‘cuz if I see him around here I’mma kick his ass.”

You shook your head at him, a questioning look on your face.

“What?” he prompted.

Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe Daryl Dixon was taken. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head. “Probably should get back,” you said. Daryl pulled the door open for you and you both breezed back inside.

Things returned to normal for a few days after that. Same old regulars, same old drinks, life went on. But since Daryl’s obvious care and concern for you and Rachel’s comments you were suddenly noticing how you seemed to blush so easily around him… And every time you caught his blue eyes your heart jumped a little in your chest. Maybe it had always been that way and you were just allowing yourself to notice it. You’d always thought he was sweet and handsome, but nothing beyond that had been on your radar. Now that you were tuned in you seemed to be picking up on frequencies you hadn’t registered before.

One day you rushed into the bar, running late and obviously a bit harried. Charlie shot you a look as you tied your apron on. “I know! I know… I’m sorry,” you told him. “My car is on the fritz. It keeps overheating and—anyway, I’m sorry. I’m here,” you finished, grabbing your order pad and a pen.

Merle and Daryl were sitting in their usual places at the bar and you could feel the younger Dixon’s bright blue eyes on you. “Hey—I—I can take a look at it if ya want,” Daryl drawled, looking a little abashed that he was offering.

“Really?” you asked, perking up immediately. “That would be—amazing. Honestly, I can’t spare the cash at the moment to take it to a shop and—”

“‘S’no problem,” Daryl said, spinning his beer glass in his hand and ducking his head again. “Ya just say when.” You grinned widely at him and his heart fluttered.

“Thank you so much. Um, do you have any time tomorrow afternoon? I’m off work.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya. Sure.”

“Great. Thank you, Daryl,” you said.

Merle watched the exchange with some interest and then got that usual cocky smirk on his face. “Well, why don’t I come by too? While my baby brother services your car, I can help service somethin’ else,” he said, his tongue darting out to lick over his bottom lip. He chuckled at the sassy and disapproving look on your face in response.

“Keep dreaming, Merle,” you retorted, rolling your eyes at him.

“Oh, I will, darlin’.”

The bar was busy that night, but you still found yourself talking with Daryl whenever you had a spare moment. He seemed to be a little less shy the more you spoke, and you found yourself smiling and laughing more than you could remember in a long time. And it was becoming very difficult to ignore those pesky butterflies in your stomach and that warmth in the apples of your cheeks as you talked with the handsome biker and caught his blue eyes.

That night you had trouble sleeping, and as you tossed and turned you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl and were finding yourself anxious with anticipation for the next afternoon when he said he’d come by. He’s just being nice. Don’t read into it. You had this nasty habit of talking yourself out of thinking anyone was interested in you. Rachel was good at calling you out on it. You subconsciously bit your bottom lip and rolled to your other side. But maybe he really was interested in you… You were realizing you were definitely interested in him.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The sound of a motorcycle rumbling up in front of your house and then going quiet brought you to the front window. You peeked out and saw Daryl climbing off his bike. Your heart jumped.

He watched you breeze out onto the front walk and the smile you were giving him was intoxicating. You shoved your hands into your back pockets a little nervously and met him on the driveway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, shifting his weight anxiously from one hip to the other. You were just in jeans and a t-shirt but Daryl still thought you were the most beautiful goddamn thing he’d ever seen. “This the problem car?” he asked, jutting a finger the direction of your car.

You nodded. “Yep. I swear I can’t go two blocks without the damn thing overheating,” you explained.

“Hmm,” he hummed, walking around to the front end. “Pop the hood,” he murmured. You walked around and opened the driver’s side door and pulled the hood latch. Daryl lifted it and was immediately bent over the engine, already peering at this part and wiggling that. You came around to stand beside him and Daryl was finding it hard not to glance over at you.

“Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “You really didn’t need to offer.”

Daryl shrugged. “‘S’nothin. Can’t have ya breakin’ down. That ain’t safe,” he said.

You felt a rush of heat in your chest at his protectiveness. “Well, can I at least get you a beer or something while I totally take advantage of your free labor?”

Daryl turned and one corner of his mouth twitched up. Ugh. Your heart jumped at that boyish smile. “It’s yer day off. Don’t ya think ya’ve brought me enough drinks over the years? We ain’t at the bar.”

You laughed lightly and shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s literally the least I can do.”

“Ya gonna have one? I ain’t a fan of drinkin’ alone,” he drawled. You nodded. “Alright. Sure.”

“Great,” you smiled. “I’ll be right back.” When you came back with two cold beers in hand, Daryl was leaning over the engine compartment in deep concentration. You allowed yourself to notice his broad shoulders and strong, toned arms and found yourself subconsciously biting your bottom lip again… Your face flushed. You practically needed to shake yourself out of it. “Here,” you said, offering him one of the beers.

He straightened up and accepted it with a nod. “Thanks.”

You leaned over the engine and peered down at what looked to you like an unknowable mass of metal. “Any luck yet?”

He took a swig of his beer and shrugged. “Well, your radiator seems fine. Coolant level is good, no signs of a leak. Might be a bad water pump. Or could be a few other things I’ll check.”

“I’m just hoping for something cheap and easy to fix,” you said with a laugh.

One corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched up again. He loved your laugh. He never got tired of hearing it. “Ya, I got my fingers crossed for ya too.”

“So, how’d you learn all this stuff? Your dad teach you or something?” you asked curiously.

“Nah. My old man pretty much only ever taught me what not to do,” he muttered, leaning on the edge of the engine compartment and ducking his head a bit.

You felt your heart sink. You sensed something vulnerable there, something painful. “Mmm. I see. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I—”

Daryl’s eyes immediately shot up to your face. “Nah, ya didn’t pry. S’alright.” His blue eyes were still fixed on your face and Daryl let himself drink in the sight of you in this new context. It felt so comfortable, so natural just talking with you, even when he neared things he never revealed to anyone. He wasn’t used to that, but he could get used to it. “Nah, I taught myself. Mostly trial and error. There’ve been times I’ve had a whole lotta nothin’ to do so,” he shrugged.

You nodded, your eyebrows lifting. “I’m impressed,” you said.

He shyly ducked his head again, hoping you wouldn’t see a red flush in his ears and cheeks as he felt them grow warm. “Pfft. It takes that little to impress ya?” he joked.

“No! Come on! Give yourself some credit! I mean it! I have absolutely no mechanical mind at all. As far as I’m concerned, an engine is a magic device that runs on belief,” you laughed shaking your head.

“Nah, c’mon. It ain’t that complicated. The engine just converts energy from the burning gasoline into work. That’s what turns the wheels. You’ve got the cylinders, right? See, your car here is a 4 cylinder. There’s a piston inside each of those cylinders that moves up and down and it’s connected with a rod to the crankshaft and that’s what turns the driveshaft which makes the wheels go. The pistons move down when oxygen and fuel are mixed and ignited. Cuz the gases expand, right?”

You stared at him blankly for a moment before a wide smile grew on your face and you laughed. “Listen, I understood everything you just said in principal but—” you shrugged vaguely, “if you asked me to explain it back in two minutes it’d already be out of my brain. Just let me be impressed with you,” you said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod, an amused look on his face. You thought maybe his cheeks were even a little pink as he took a swig out of his beer and turned back toward your car. “Alrigh’. I’ll try,” he said. “Ain’t used to nobody being impressed with my dumb ass.”

“Hey! Dumb ass should never be applied to you!” you argued, giving him a stern look.

“Mmm.” He ducked his head again and tried to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at your words. “Your house, your rules, I guess,” he drawled.

You leaned over the engine next to him again. “That’s right. Now please fix my damn car,” you said with a laugh.

And Daryl did just that. By the time he was wiping his hands on a red rag that had been dangling out of his back pocket and putting the tools away, you were shocked to see that the afternoon was gone and it was now officially evening. You’d stayed on the driveway with him the whole time, talking easily about everything and nothing at all, not noticing how the hours slid by. “I don’t even know how to thank you for this,” you said as he shut the hood. The handsome biker shrugged.

“Ya don’t need to. S’nothin’.”

You sighed and gave him a look, shaking your head. “You really are way too modest.” Daryl ducked his head shyly and shrugged again. “Well, it’s getting late. Um, did you want to stay for dinner? I was gonna cook something.”

He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed it anxiously for a minute, hardly believing you’d just offered that. He wanted to say yes, but part of him talked back. She’s just bein’ nice. She feels obligated… “Nah, thas alright. Ya probably are sick of me by now,” he said finally.

You shook your head again. “Except I’m really not, Daryl.”

His eyes snapped over to your face and he hesitated again but his nerves got the best of him. “Nah, thanks but—I should go. Gotta check up on Merle, ya know?”

You nodded but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “Sure. Okay. Well, hey, raincheck then. You can come over some other time. I’m a good cook,” you said. “I mean, when is the last time you had a homecooked meal?”

“Uhh—” He tried to remember if he’d ever had one…

“That’s too long,” you said. “You just say when and we’ll make it happen.” You gulped and touched him lightly on the arm. His blue eyes left your face and flickered down to the point of contact between the two of you. It was electrifying and when your fingers slipped from him, he really wished they wouldn’t. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Daryl, thanks again. I really mean it. Now I won’t piss Charlie off tomorrow. I’ll actually be on time again.”

“Yeah. No problem. I’ll see ya,” he said, gathering the small bag of tools he’d brought over.

You grinned at him and felt your cheeks color. “I hope so,” you said. He gave you a somewhat baffled look and shyly murmured another goodbye. You watched as he climbed on his bike and sped away. The last thing you caught sight of were the angel wings on the back of his jacket and you thought of how wonderfully fitting that was. Even if Rachel was wrong and Daryl wasn’t taken with you, you were starting to realize you were now completely taken with him. And you didn’t know how you hadn’t seen it before.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next day at work started off insanely busy. Customers seemed to be coming in earlier than usual and you were slammed far sooner than you expected with food and drink orders. But after an initial rush, things slowed way down, and that was about the time that the Dixon brothers wandered in and took their usual seats at the bar.

Daryl looked for you immediately out of habit as he walked in and was surprised to meet your eyes which were already on him. You broke into a small smile and Daryl’s heart jumped. As soon as you could, you came over to say hello.

“Hi,” you said with an even wider grin, leaning on the bar top.

“Hey,” Daryl returned.

Merle was looking between the two of you, noting the smiles and intense eye contact. He laughed. “You two do more than fixin’ a car yesterday or what? Huh?” He nudged his elbow into Daryl hard, whose jaw clenched. The younger Dixon gave his older brother a look which could properly be described as a death glare.

“Shut the fuck up, Merle,” Daryl growled.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you said to Merle, straightening up, shooting him a smirk.

“Ahh, come on. I’m just teasing you. I know my baby brother ain’t really man enough to—”

“You know, I think I know what you were about to say and I’m gonna tell you I have a very hard time believing that to be true,” you interrupted, leaning toward Merle over the counter, your voice taking on a tone that was soft but dangerous. “I think you might need to reevaluate who the real man is between the two of you.” You straightened up and shot Daryl a warm look that made his throat constrict. “Be nice,” you scolded Merle, “or I’ll ignore you for good. You’ll be stuck listening to nothing but Charlie’s same stupid jokes.”

Daryl watched in disbelief as you breezed away across the bar and he tried to gulp at the tightness in his throat.

Merle was staring after you too, obviously looking you up and down, and he let out a low whistle. “She’s way too good for you, little brother.”

Daryl nervously ran his tongue over his bottom lip and simply let out a hum of acknowledgement. Don’t I fucking know it.

Since things were so slow, you had plenty of time to chat with Daryl at the bar. Merle eventually wandered away to play some noisy rounds of pool with some fellow bikers and you were glad for his absence. Daryl was so much more relaxed without his brother sitting beside him and making snide or sarcastic comments…

“How are ya doin’?” Daryl asked pointedly. “I mean since… ya know, that night. Ya gotta go to court?”

You avoided his eyes now, feeling that same wave of shame cresting again as you thought about your asshole of an ex-boyfriend and what he’d done to you. “Not sure yet,” you said. “I think the lawyers are still doing their legal maneuvering. Depends on if he pleads guilty or not.”

Daryl felt suddenly anxious about broaching such a sensitive topic with you. Yeah, that’s what she wants to think about, dumbass. “‘M sorry. I shouldn’ta asked. Ain’t none of my business,” he said urgently.

“No! No, it’s okay! I, umm, I appreciate it actually… It’s—I’m okay,” you said. “I feel safe knowing he’s in jail.”

“Mm,” Daryl agreed with a nod. “They get… evidence? He gonna stay there ya think?” He was seized by a sudden and unexplainable intense worry. He knew plenty of asshole men like your ex and most of them didn’t give up easily and they didn’t take any perceived slight lying down.

“Well, I had to go to the police station afterwards and give a statement. They took pictures of everything. And I went to the hospital, so they have the reports…” You trailed off for a moment. “They got statements from my neighbor who called 9-1-1.”

Daryl nodded. “If ya ever need anything, ya just gotta ask,” he said seriously.

He watched the worry on your face soften as you nodded. “Thanks, Daryl.” God, he loved the sound of his name leaving your lips.

Your shift was over and you gathered up your purse from the back and dropped off your apron and order pad behind the bar, saying goodbye to Charlie. Daryl was still sitting up at the bar and Merle was playing pool, so you were glad to have a brief exchange with the handsome biker again without his obnoxious older brother around. “Well, I’m exhausted,” you said. “At least I can go out to my car and know it’ll get me home without a problem now.”

Daryl nodded. “Can’t have ya broken down somewhere this time of night. ‘Specially by yourself.”

“Right. Well, I’ll see ya, Daryl. And I mean it about that homecooked meal!” you said with a smile.

He nudged his nose up in a nod and watched you disappear through the door into the parking lot. He raised a finger to the bartender. “Gimme a double whiskey.”

Charlie was just sliding the drink over when Daryl thought he heard something from the direction of the door and he spun on his stool. It looked like someone had partially opened it, but nobody came in and nobody had gone out and the door slammed closed. He stared at it intensely for a moment, unsure why the hairs on the back of his neck were suddenly standing on end. Probably just the wind or something…

It was just then that he heard a scream from outside in the parking lot and Daryl was immediately on his feet and out the door. He saw red as he took in the scene. Your fucking douchebag, abusive ex was trying to force you into a car and you were struggling with him, fighting as hard as you could. Your purse was on the ground beside your vehicle a distance away and Daryl could see drag marks in the gravel where he’d obviously surprised you and dragged you away. He had a firm grip on your upper arm and with the other hand had a fistful of your hair. You were struggling with everything you had, yelling and fighting, but he was a lot bigger than you. It was a battle you would have lost, despite your tenacity.

But Daryl was a blur of action. Rushing him, he swung a fist and punched him hard across the face. You fell hard to the ground as his grip on you disappeared completely. You scrambled up and out of the way as best you could, but you were dazed and having trouble breathing through your panic. You suddenly realized that there were terrified tears pouring down your face. You were trembling.

Daryl was pulling Mark up by the front of his jacket and slammed his fist into his face again. Your ex dropped to the ground hard. He was still on the ground when he kicked Daryl in the shin, knocking him off balance. Daryl landed on his back in the dirt. “Mark, stop!” you screamed. You watched in horror as Mark pulled out a knife, the same one he’d told you he had when he jumped you, the same one you had briefly felt in the small of your back as he demanded compliance. Mark started moving toward Daryl’s prone figure. You felt your face blanche completely. But Daryl was faster and a better fighter and he was back on his feet in no time, keeping clear of the knife as Mark swiped toward him with it. Charlie and the other bar patrons had come out to see what was happening and the bartender had rushed back inside and was now on the phone with 9-1-1. You were screaming at Mark, trying desperately to reason with him, but he might as well have been totally deaf for all the attention he paid you.

Daryl took an opportunity and knocked him back on his ass again with a good punch and then kicked the knife out of his hand. It skidded away on the gravel and you breathed some small sigh of relief. Daryl landed over him and was punching him repeatedly in the face as police lights flashed brighter and sirens droned louder. The cops had arrived. “Daryl!” You rushed forward. “Daryl, stop! It’s okay!” You grabbed his shoulder and he immediately froze, fist cocked back, knuckles bloodied, chest heaving. Another moment and there were cops rushing over and pulling him away. One officer immediately led you a short distance away and you watched helplessly as both Daryl and Mark were put in handcuffs and then taken away in squad cars practically before you registered what was happening. “Wait—he didn’t—No, it was Mark. He—Daryl was protecting me! He—he tried to take me and—" You were trying to explain, trying to get the words out but it was all jumbled and rushed.

“Ma’am, slow down. Take a breath! Slow down! Okay. It’s okay,” the officer coached you.

“It wasn’t his fault!” you said urgently. Just then an ambulance pulled up and the EMTs jumped out. They raced over to you and you could tell by the looks on their faces that you must be a mess, red-faced and crying. You had no idea that you were bleeding from a laceration in your forehead where Mark had bashed your head into the car as he tried to force you inside. You had no idea that your neck looked raw and red, already revealing broken blood vessels and the obvious start of bruising from his hands around your throat. There was almost a visible hand impression on your upper arm where he’d grabbed you. “You—you took both of them but Daryl didn’t—”

The officer and the EMTs continued trying to calm you down. You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that most of the patrons had skipped out as soon as they’d heard the sirens, or perhaps as soon as Charlie had run for the phone. There were only a couple left and of course Charlie as well being questioned. You rounded on the cop again. “Just take me down to the station! I’ll give you a statement and then—then you have to let Daryl go! He didn’t do anything wrong. He saved me,” you gasped, the full weight of what had happened still not hitting you.

“Ma’am, you need stitches,” one of the EMTs told you gently. “Come on. We need to go to the hospital.” His partner pushed the cop back who was intent only on questioning you.

It was like all of a sudden, the adrenaline in your bloodstream vanished and you were exhausted and the pain started to set in. You glanced back over your shoulder and met Charlie’s eyes, he nodded and gave you a worried look before you turned back to the cop and the EMTs. “My—my purse is—” you gestured to where it was lying beside your car.

“We’ll have someone bring it to you after we get photographs, okay?” the cop said. You allowed yourself to be guided into the ambulance, shock starting to set in.

The doctors in the ER wouldn’t let the police question you while they patched you up and you were grateful for that. Besides, there was no chance of what had happened fading in your memory. To the contrary, every bit of it was burned in your mind despite how fast it had all happened. But you needed a goddamn minute to process it. He was out. How the fuck was he out of jail? And why the fuck hadn’t anyone warned you? You’d just stopped beside your car, ready to put the key in the lock when something hit you hard in the head from behind and you remembered dropping to your knees, stunned and with black vision. You’d heard his voice and made a break for the door into the bar. You’d actually gotten your hand on the handle and pushed but you were grabbed and pulled back violently. And then you’d just fought as hard as you could, tooth and nail. You knew if you got into that car, there was a good chance you were going to end up dead. He wasn’t in his right mind.

It was hard to believe this was the same Mark you’d been in a relationship with. He’d never been the least bit violent toward you, but the drugs… as soon as he started using again, he was a different person. But even then, even after he’d beat you up, you never would have expected this.

Once you’d been treated and released at the hospital, you found yourself sitting in the police station with a little Styrofoam cup of tea clutched between your hands, and some cop’s coat draped around your shoulders. The interview room was uncomfortably cold, but the numbness of shock and disbelief superseded the sensation of the chill air, though you were vaguely aware that you were shivering.

A detective came in and sat across from you at the little table and you looked up at him as he settled into his chair. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, readying his pen over his notepad. “I’m Detective Peters,” he said, checking his watch. “It is Thursday, April 28th, and 10 minutes past 11.” You’d given a statement just days earlier. You knew how this worked. You knew he was marking the date and time for the recording that the little, inconspicuous camera up in the corner was taking. “Alright, Y/N. I’m really sorry to see you again so soon under these circumstances.” He was the detective who was handling your domestic violence case too.

“Yeah, well, so am I,” you said, gritting your teeth a little. The numbness receded a little and was replaced by anger. “How the fuck is it that he was out of jail? He tried to kill me. How was he out? And why didn’t anyone contact me?” you demanded.

“He bonded out. And, yes, I’m sorry… we should have notified you. But we never considered him to be this much of a danger.”

“You never considered him to be this much of a danger?” you repeated incredulously. “We discussed a protection order. I don’t think that implies that everything is peachy.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused. “But we need to go over everything that happened tonight and get a statement from you.”

“I’ve already been questioned three times,” you said, exhausted and exasperated. “Why did you arrest Daryl? He saved me. He’s the reason I’m sitting here right now instead of being… I don’t know, maybe dead in a ditch somewhere. Are you still holding him? Is he still here?”

“It was chaos when the officers got there. We need to get everyone’s statements to sort this all out, okay? We didn’t know who was the aggressor or—”

You sighed heavily and shook your head. “Fine. Let’s just do the statement.” You walked him through everything that had happened and consented to have more pictures taken of your injuries; the laceration on your scalp, the bruises around your neck, the handprint on your arm, the scrapes and bruises and cuts on your knees. By the end of it you were so tired you weren’t seeing straight, but the detective stood up and you glanced up when you sensed he was looking down at you.

“Wait here just a few more minutes. I’ll be back,” he said. He left you alone in that little room again and you slumped forward, resting your head on your arms at the little table, completely spent and hurting all over. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Detective Peters came back in.

“Y/N? Follow me,” he said. You obeyed and walked blindly after him through the station until he unlocked a heavy metal door and pushed through into a room lined with a couple holding cells.

You perked up and breezed past him, scanning the room for Daryl immediately. He jumped up from where he’d been slumped on a metal bench in one of the cells as you rushed over to him. He met you at the bars. “Are you okay?” you asked him urgently. You ignored the twinge in your forehead from your stitches as you furrowed your brow.

“Me? Are ya kiddin’?” he drawled, peering down at you with nothing but concern. “Are you?” His stomach twisted at the sight of your injuries.

You knew you couldn’t get any words out through the bubble of emotion caught in your throat so you only nodded. The clinking of keys behind you drew your attention and you stepped back as Detective Peters moved forward. He slid a key into the heavy lock and turned it, sliding the cell open and gesturing to Daryl that he could exit.

“I’m sorry about throwing you in here,” the detective said. “Everything in your statements matches up, so you’re free to go, with my thanks.” He extended a hand toward Daryl who eyed it with distaste for a moment.

“I don’t want yer thanks. I want ya to do a goddamn better job. This was too fuckin’ close. Never shoulda happened,” he spat. The detective looked regretful and nodded, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Daryl,” you said softly, gently grabbing his arm, trying to reroute the conversation. You were just grateful that he was no longer in a cell. Daryl’s eyes met yours and his expression softened immediately.

Detective Peters sighed. “I’ve got one of my guys waiting to drive you both home. Y/N, they have your items for you up front too. Again… I’m really sorry. But I can assure you that Mark won’t be getting out anytime soon after this.”

“The fuck is wrong with the damn laws? Girl almost had to die before ya’ll got up off your asses,” Daryl spat angrily again. You gently touched his arm again and he relaxed some, glancing down at you and sighing.

As you were settling into the squad car to be driven home, Daryl felt your eyes on his face and he glanced over and took in the wide-eyed expression underneath the fresh stitches and bruises. “Hmm?” he prompted you.

Your heart pounded in your chest. “Could I—I’ve got no right to ask you for anything after what you’ve already done but… could I ask you for another favor?” you said quietly.

Daryl stared back at you intently, feeling suddenly nervous under your eyes. If you’d asked him for the moon at that moment, he would have fucking figured out how to give it to you. He nodded. “Course.”

You wrung your hands nervously. “I’d feel better if—if you’d stay at my place tonight. I know it isn’t rational and that he’s—he’s locked up but I’d feel safer. But if that’s too much to ask I completely understand. You’ve already done more than enough and I—”

“Ain’t no problem. I’ll stay,” he said simply. You thought of him as safety. He didn’t think anyone in his life had ever seen him that way.

You felt a wave of relief and it was visible on your face. You shut your eyes briefly, again feeling beyond exhausted and hurting almost head to toe. “Thank you,” you breathed. “Thank you.”

Daryl nodded and ripped his eyes away from you. You leaned forward and gave your address to the cop and in no time you were both climbing out at the end of your driveway.

You stood at the front door and dug your keys out of your purse. Daryl noticed how much you were shaking as you tried to fit the key into the lock and his face contorted with concern. “Here,” he said gently, his hand enclosing over yours and taking the key from you before slotting it into the lock. His heart jumped at the contact and he did his best to ignore it. Now wasn’t the damn time.

“Thanks,” you murmured, accepting the keys from him again and pushing inside ahead of him.

Daryl softly shut and locked the door behind the two of you and stood a little awkwardly on the front mat. You moved stiffly across the front room and into the kitchen, clicking on the light. Daryl heard you shifting some things around before you returned with a cloth in one hand and a small bag of ice in the other.

You nudged your head toward the couch and he anxiously chewed on his bottom lip but obeyed and took a seat. You sank down beside him, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, but he knew better than to argue as you pulled his hand over toward you and dabbed at the dried blood across his knuckles. They were split and puffy from their repeated connection with that prick’s face. Worth it. When you were satisfied that they were cleaned up enough, you laid the cloth and then the ice across them and glanced up at his face.

There seemed to be something you wanted to say, something in your expression that took Daryl aback, but before he could decode it, it vanished and you just looked defeated and weary. Daryl swallowed his nerves and nodded at you. “Go on to bed. I’ll be right here all night,” he said.

You gave him another long look before nodding and climbing to your feet with no small amount of effort. “Thank you,” you said, and you hadn’t meant for it to come out in a whisper, but it did. He only nodded back before ducking his head and avoiding your gaze, feeling a little overwhelmed. You managed to trudge to your bedroom and practically poured yourself into bed, still in all your clothes. Feeling safe, knowing Daryl was out on the couch, you sank into a heavy sleep almost immediately.

The next morning you awoke early with the birds, stiff and aching. You clutched a hand to your head, wincing when it landed flush onto the stitches in your forehead. “Fuck,” you muttered, climbing out of bed. You went straight for the bathroom and took some painkillers, pausing to run a comb through your hair and wash your face. You tenderly touched the bruises on your neck and your arm and frowned. You looked a proper mess… You felt a wave of shame and embarrassment before struggling to shove those feelings down. You changed, feeling a little better, and quietly moving through the house, heading for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

Daryl was laid out on the couch, still fast asleep and your heart jumped at the sight of him there. He had his head resting on one of the throw pillows and was stretched out, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting on his stomach. You couldn’t help but smile at how boyish he looked asleep and there was a wash of heat running through you as you finally tore your eyes away and padded softly into the kitchen.

Coffee brewing, you pulled ingredients out of the fridge and went about making some breakfast. In the other room, Daryl woke up to the sound of you cooking and the smell of bacon. He sat up and shifted on the couch, stretching and feeling a little self-conscious that you had obviously walked through and seen him asleep. He hastily ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth down any craziness that might be going on.

Your voice from the doorway into the kitchen drew his eyes. “Hey. Morning.”

You had a goddamn smile for him. Despite what you’d gone through the previous night, you were smiling. At him.

“Hey,” he returned. “Ya get some sleep?”

You nodded and stepped out into the living room, a mug in your hand. “I did.” You were sure your face was coloring pink. “Thanks for staying. Um, do you drink coffee?” you asked, gesturing with the cup in your hands.

He nodded. “Sure,” he said, climbing to his feet. You met him halfway and pushed the mug into his hands. The ceramic was warm and Daryl looked down at the spirals of steam curling away from the surface.

You disappeared for a moment and returned with your own mug. “I’ve got breakfast cooking if you’re hungry,” you said, sinking down onto the now empty couch. Daryl gulped and took a spot at the other end from you.

You took a sip, annoyed at how fast your heart was racing as you looked at the handsome biker on the other end of your couch. “How’s your hand?” you asked him.

He pulled it off the mug and flexed and curled his fingers a few times. It was deeply bruised and the knuckles were definitely still swollen. “S’fine,” he drawled. In truth it hurt, but far less than looking at what was left on your skin from what you’d endured. “How are ya?” A shadow darkened his face for a moment with worry.

You nodded a little hesitantly. “I’ll be okay. Took some painkillers so…”

Daryl pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed on it anxiously for a moment. “‘M real sorry any of this happened to ya. Ya don’t deserve that.”

You gulped nervously. “Thanks…” You gave him another little smile, this one a little sad, but it seemed like your face brightened quickly again as you looked at him. He ducked his head.

In truth, Daryl couldn’t believe this was real. He’d pined after you for years, subsisting purely on a quick smile here and a word there as you simply did your job. If someone had told him a month earlier that he’d be sitting your house with you sipping coffee he would have thought they were batshit crazy. This was a long way from waking up in that dingy, smoky motel room with Merle bitching about needing another fix even before he could throw the blankets off. He’d never dared to think he would have anything like this, anything nice and normal. Not that he really had it… But even if this was a temporary, singular event it was doing something like filling him up and showing him that life wasn’t all just shit.

You were studying him as he seemed lost in thought, occasionally taking a sip of coffee, and you watched some anxiety cross his face. “C’mon and eat something with me. It’s the least I can do,” you said, nudging your head in the direction of the kitchen. Daryl glanced up and nudged his nose up in a nod before following you in.

You grinned a few minutes later as you sat across from each other at your little kitchen table and Daryl ate ravenously. He was suddenly self-conscious as he realized you were staring at him and he hastily wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but you only leaned your chin on your hand and continued looking at him with that little smile on your lips. It didn’t seem to belong there when you had fresh stitches and bruises. “Hmm?” he prompted, sensing there was something on your mind.

You shrugged and finally looked back down at your own plate. “Nothing. This is—this is nice,” you said.

Daryl gulped. “What is?”

“I don’t know. Just… this. Breakfast with you.”

Daryl’s heart jumped but he nodded in agreement, trying his hardest not to give in to the thoughts of self-doubt and inadequacy. It was nice. It was more than nice. He felt like he had fallen through a wormhole into an alternate reality.

You set your mug down and gave him a long look. “I’m a little surprised you weren’t scared away,” you admitted. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had wanted to just distance yourself from the girl with the psycho ex… Go back to me just being your waitress at the bar.” You twirled your mug in your hands, looking anywhere but at him.

Daryl’s brow furrowed and he studied your somewhat ashamed expression. “Nah. None of this is your fault. And—anything I can do to help, I’ll do it.”

Your eyes shot up to his face and this time his blue eyes held yours steadily. You didn’t know inside he was reeling. The atmosphere between the two of you felt suddenly thick and heavy, charged with electricity and hopeful expectations. Right when you were about to say something, or maybe do something the phone rang and you were startled out of that bubble of tension. You jumped a little and laughed abashedly before going to answer it.

Daryl let out a breath he hadn’t been holding and climbed to his feet, grabbing the dishes and piling them into the sink simply for something to do while you were on the phone. It was a quick call and when you turned around Daryl was rubbing a hand a bit nervously over the back of his neck. “Well, thanks for breakfast. I should probably get goin. Get outta yer hair’,” he drawled. He was sure you’d had enough of him by now.

“Oh,” you said. Wait, did that sound like disappointment?

Daryl gulped. “Ya should rest today. Take it easy,” he said. You nodded and wrung your hands a little nervously.

“I’ll try,” you said. You followed him out into the front room and watched as he pulled the door open and stepped outside, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “Thanks again. For… saving my life and staying and…” you trailed off.

Daryl was very aware that his heart was racing and that there suddenly seemed to be an expanding empty space between his lungs as he got ready to walk down your steps. “Yeah, uhh… don’t mention it. I’ll see ya.”

You gave him one final small smile and he turned away, giving you a clear view of the wings on the back of his vest. Something about the sight of those jolted you out of your hesitation and into action. You squeezed your eyes shut and swore under your breath, stepping out onto the stairs and touching his shoulder.

Daryl turned back in surprise and saw you looking a little wide-eyed and breathless. “Ya alright?”

You gulped down your nerves and looped your arms around his neck, your eyes closing as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, one of your hands moving to clasp his face, feeling the angles of his jaw and the stubble on his skin. It was soft and sweet, but your nerves got the better of you and you pulled back, anxious to take in his expression. He was on the step below you so his blue eyes were even with yours and you thought they were a little searching or maybe a little stunned.

His hands were suddenly on your waist, and it made him flush with heat, his eyes flickering between yours. His heart was pounding so hard and so fast he was worried you’d hear it. “Uhh… are ya sure this is a good idea right now?” he asked in that sweet southern drawl of his.

He watched a faint smile cross your lips and you nodded, your arms around his neck still. “Yeah. Best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

Daryl didn’t need any more encouragement. One of his hands pressed into the small of your back and pulled you into him while the other floated to clasp your face and tangle into your hair. Your lips crashed together, needy and sweet at first but building in heat as you both realized how long you had wanted this and how much better it was than you had even hoped. You smiled into his lips and pulled him more tightly into you, pressing your body against his. Daryl’s lips softened against yours and his hand smoothed through your hair to the nape of your neck as you pulled back just enough to look into each other’s eyes.

“Come back inside,” you breathed, running your fingers through his hair.

His eyes closed at the sensation and he nervously licked his lips. “If ya want me to.” He needed to hear it for it to be true, for this to be real.

You grinned at him, biting your bottom lip. “I want you to. Daryl, I—I wanted to kiss you last night. As soon as you were out of that stupid jail cell, but… I didn’t want you to think I was only doing it because I was—scared or concussed or something… So, come back inside and spend the day with me... Please?”

His expression softened and his lips curved in a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Alright,” he said, understated for the wild happiness and disbelief he was truly feeling. You were solid underneath his hands. His palm was flush to your lower back and you were leaning into him. “Anythin’ ya want.”

You shook your head at him and gave him a fond look. “Just you.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #protective!daryl

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 42: Sensitive

“I’m tired of hiding,” Draco whispered into Harry’s skin, the other man still smelled of sweat, and heat, and them.

Harry trailed his fingers along Draco's spine, "Let's not decide tonight," he said reasonably, they'd been through this before. Sometimes, especially after sex, Draco decided that he wanted to tell everyone about the two of them. Harry was always willing, and had told Hermione and Ron, in fact, because Draco had said he was telling his parents. But that was months ago and Draco's parents still didn't know.

And it was fine, truly. Harry didn't care about the rest of the world. He didn't mind pretending they were just friends as long as he got to come home to Draco each night.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, his face crumpling, "Merlin, Harry." He sat up out of Harry's embrace and rubbed his hands over his face. "I've made a mess."

"You haven't," Harry said, sitting up with him. "Sweetheart," he pressed a kiss to his temple, "Don't do this to yourself."

"I've done this too many times," he said, "You don't even believe that I want to come out anymore."

"I don't think that," Harry said, pulling the sheets up higher around his waist and wandlessly summoning his glasses. "There are a lot of reasons to keep this a secret. Your parents-"

"Are bigots," Draco finished.

Harry cupped his face in his palm, "They're still your parents."

"And I am their son," he replied. "I'm telling them tomorrow. At brunch."

Harry shook his head, "I'm not asking you to do that. This is fine," he said, gesturing to the two of them. "So much better than fine, it's good, Draco. I love you."

"I love you, too, Harry," he said, "And that's the point. You are amazing and I am proud to call you mine. I'm telling them," he said decisively.

"Okay," Harry breathed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "But I won't be upset if you change your mind."

"I won't."

(Read more below the cut)

Draco left for brunch at his parents' at 10:30 so Harry assumed he wouldn't be back for at least a couple of hours. He had a routine on the days Draco went to brunch; he made coffee; wrote notes to Molly, Minerva, Luna, and Hagrid; and then curled up in the chair by the fire to read a book.

He was entirely unprepared for the floo to sound in the middle of his letter to Molly, a mere twenty minutes after Draco had left. "Babe?" he called, standing and heading toward their living room, "What did you forge-" he started but broke off when he saw Draco standing in the middle of the living room, looking stunned and lost, with tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Hey," Harry murmured, hastening forward to pull Draco into his arms. "Are you alright?"

Draco's fingers clenched in Harry's shoulders. "They disowned me," he whispered.

"What?" Harry asked, his stomach dropping, this had been exactly what he was afraid of. He could never expect that Draco would choose him when the cost was so high. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice clenching tight around the words. "Fuck," he breathed, it felt like his chest was being torn in two. "I'll go, love," he said.

"What?"

"I'll go," he repeated, pressing a kiss to Draco's forehead, "You can tell them I was a lapse in judgement," he said, he couldn't ask this much of him.

"Harry, stop," Draco said, pulling back to look at him, "I told them they could go to hell."

"What?"

He nodded, "They told me I was being ridiculous, that I was turning twenty-five in a few months and they'd already found a wife for me."

"They found a wife for you?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Yes. I told them I'd never marry her," he shook his head, "and my father told me that no son of his," he paused and let out a shaky exhale, before visibly steeling himself to continue, "No son of his would be a bloody poof."

Harry stared at him, aghast, what could he even say?

"He told me to stop being so sensitive and to grow up." Draco shook his head, "As though I haven't been grown up since the summer I turned sixteen."

"What did you say?"

"That if no son of his was a poof, then I was no son of his." Draco looked down and Harry watched a tear roll down his cheek, "He burned my picture on the tapestry."

He held the other man tighter, "I don't know what to say, Draco. I'm so sorry."

Draco shook his head and pulled back, wiping the tears from his face, "It's fine. It doesn't matter because we're free," he said, looking up at Harry with hopeful eyes, "We don't have to hide anymore."

"Come to family dinner at the Weasley's with me tonight," Harry entreated. "Let's tell them together, they'll be thrilled and they'll finally stop trying to set me up with Charlie."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

The Weasleys were good at adopting people into their family, Draco was no exception. They'd opened champagne in their honor, had officially added a chair to the Sunday dinner seating chart, and by the time Draco and Harry were getting ready to floo back to their home Molly had a pale blue jumper ready for Draco to take with him.

--------------

Two months passed, they came out to everyone they knew and people were overwhelmingly supportive. The press had a field day, but that was mostly about who they were, "childhood rivals," "the savior and the death eater," etc, and not so much about the fact that they were both men.

Everything seemed to be turning out fine, better than fine even, but Harry knew that what had happened with his parents still weighed on the other man. There was nothing Harry could do and any time he'd catch Draco thinking about it, Draco would just give him that sad little smile and shake it off.

One afternoon, when Draco was at work, there was a sharp knock at the door. Harry frowned, he hadn't been expecting anyone. He opened the door to see Narcissa Malfoy standing on their front stoop, looking elegant and regal, her chin held high as she looked Harry up and down.

"Draco's at work," Harry blurted because he wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm aware," she replied coolly. "Do you think you might invite me in?"

He took a hasty step back, "Yes, of course. Tea?" he offered.

"Thank you."

"Right," he said, starting off, "The kitchen's this way." He made his way into the kitchen and put on the kettle before taking out a box of biscuits and offering one to Mrs. Malfoy.

"So he lives here with you?" she asked, looking around the room.

"Yeah," Harry replied as he fetched down two mugs. "Yeah, we bought the place about eighteen months ago at this point."

"It's charming," she replied.

Harry fetched the whistling kettle and made their tea. "Why are you here?"

"Is he happy?" she asked in lieu of answering Harry's question.

"As he can be when two of the most important people in his life abandoned him because he had the audacity to love someone," he replied.

Her face hardened, "You have no idea what it's like to live in the world we live in."

"I don't care," he spat. "I don't care about any of that. I know what it's like to live in the world that Draco lives in now. He keeps pictures of you and his father by the bed. He tells me stories about the two of you all the time. He just starts crying sometimes, because he misses you and he's fallen asleep crying more times that I've been able to keep track of. You've broken his heart.

"And," Harry continued, "If you are just here to hurt him again and to tell him that he's not enough as he is, that he was never enough, you can turn around and walk out the door."

"I came to see you, Mr. Potter," she said before taking a long sip of tea. "What could I give you to convince you not to see my son anymore?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "And if that's all you came for, you can see yourself out."

"Do you love him?"

"Immeasurably."

She stared at him for a long moment, "Will it be enough?"

"For?"

She raised the teacup to her lips before answering, "That's the question, isn't it?" Mrs. Malfoy set the cup down once more, "Did you know that Lucius and I were not intended for one another?" she asked. "Our parents made different matches for both of us but we fell in love and fortunately our blood lines were compatible."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"We've often questioned the decision we made," she said, like it wasn't difficult to admit something of this magnitude at all. "I think that Lucius doesn't want Draco to repeat our mistakes."

"This isn't a mistake," he protested. "I love him and I would do anything for him."

"Anything?" she asked. "Would you give him up? Give him a better life?"

"If I believed it was possible for someone to give him a better life than me I would in a heartbeat," he replied evenly. "But we are happy together, we've built a whole life together, one that he was too afraid to even tell you about because he cares so much about it."

The floo sounded and Draco tumbled through, "You'll never guess what flavor ice cream Fortiscues ha-" he broke off, freezing in place, "Mother," he managed and Harry could see the way be ached to touch her.

"Draco," she whispered and she rose and flew across the room, pulling him into her arms, "I've missed you my darling."

"I've missed you, too," Draco replied, voice thick with unshed tears. After a moment he pulled back, "But I haven't changed my mind," he said, reaching for Harry's hand and Harry moved around the table to stand next to him, slotting their fingers together.

"Yes," she said, a smile tugging the corner of her lips and making her look so like Draco. "He's made that much clear," she said, nodding to Harry.

"I don't understand."

She sighed, "I won't make the mistakes my parents made with Andromeda. If you love him, you have my blessing," she said. "I will continue to work on bringing your father round."

"Really?" Draco whispered and Harry squeezed his hand.

"Yes," she said, glancing over at Harry, "I can scarcely imagine someone who could love you more than he seems to." She brushed her thumb over his cheek, "You are my darling boy and I want you to have the world," she said. "And it seems that Mr. Potter will stop at nothing to give it to you."

-------------

Day 41: Embrace | Day 43: Truth or Dare

Sorry, friends, this one is messy. I'm just too tired to clean it up any more tonight. I'll take a look and fix it up tomorrow. <3

#drarry #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #coming out #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #day 42 #sensitive

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george-fabian-weasley · 3 years

Text

Bill Weasley — Intoxicating

Summary: Bill Weasley had picked up a habit of smoking from his peers in Egypt. When he came back to Britain for summer, he met you in a fancy restaurant, as his barista.

Words: 3,415

Warnings ⚠ : Floofy Stuff, Cute, Sexual Tension, I Don't Write Smut so None of Them, Bill Weasley being Deviously Charming

Disclaimer: Domhnall Gleeson can run me over and I would thank him this man is sO FINE

"William, you're home!" Molly's voice echoed around the Burrow and Bill laughed as he engulfed the small woman, "Missed you, Mum."

The rumbles of stairs indicated his other family members running down to see him. Upon knowing them for years, he could predict the one who comes down first would be-

"Ah, Ickle Billiekins!" Two grown men engulfed him in a bro hug, and Bill chuckled, "Fred. George. How's the shop going?"

Fred smiled in triumph, "Splendid! We're planning to open our second franchise soon in London!

"Bill!" Ginny pushed away from the twins and hugged him, the complaints of the twins were visible. "Ginny! How are you, lil sis?"

Being the only sister he had, Ginny has a special place in his heart. Everybody knows how spoiled she is with him. The ten-year difference between them doesn't help either.

After catching up with the rest of the family, The Weasleys had a celebratory dinner to celebrate Bill being home for the summer. Ginny and Ron even invited Harry and Hermione, whom Bill knew pretty well because of the war a few years ago.

Molly being the lovable mum she is, kept adding food to his plate, Bill had to ask help from Arthur with pleading eyes. "Now, now, Molly dear, we don't want Bill to have indigestion now, do we?"

"But he's so thin now! Oh, what have they been feeding you at Egypt?"

Bill chuckled, "Mum, I've been like this since Hogwarts."

Molly gave him a motherly smile, "Oh alright. How's Egypt?" She changed the topic, and Bill had never been more grateful, his stomach almost exploded.

Hours after dinner ended, Bill stepped out of the Burrow to puff out a smoke or two. He heard someone opening the door and closing it, footsteps nearing him and Bill was pleasantly surprised to see Harry Potter, the hero a few years ago who defeated the bloody wizard Voldemort.

"You smoke?" He asked in bewilderment. Bill inhaled and kept it in, feeling the nicotine in his system for as long as he could before exhaling the white semi-dense smoke. He kept his views to the tall grass field in front of him, "Got it from my peers back in Egypt. Thought it's a good distraction, and it is."

"Distraction from what?"

"Thinking. So many thoughts and not all of them are pretty. Especially if you have 6 younger siblings and two aging parents." Bill confessed, finally looking at Harry with a small smile, "And now two troublesome future in-laws."

Harry chuckled and diverted his eyes from Bill, a heavy blush at the nickname, "Maybe later, I reckon. Ginny's focusing on her career first and I as an Auror. We have no time for a wedding."

Bill snorted, "Why are you acting like we didn't have Charlie's wedding in the middle of chaos 3 years ago?"

The two men burst into laughter. Looking back, it was amusing to have a wedding ceremony out of nowhere, especially if the night before someone just died- ehem, mad-eye, ehem- anyway. The laughter died down, and comfortable silence began. Harry was looking up to the stars, sighing, "We sure do have a lot of adventures here."

Bill shrugged, "I've been having adventures since I was born, Harry. Adding you into the family isn't that special," He teased and Harry rolled his eyes playfully.

Bill took a final puff and exhaled loudly, dropping the almost finished cigarette to the ground and stepped on it a few times, no one wants a random fire in the middle of the night.

Harry walked back in first, but then he turned back and said, "Maybe you're not the only one getting an in-law soon."

Bill snorted, Harry was referring to Bill about marriage, "Maybe," He said, didn't really want to jinx anything if he says no. Harry smiled at him and entered the Burrow, leaving him alone.

Bill sighed, looking down to the dead roll of cigarette on the ground, "Maybe," He whispered, even when he knew it's not likely.

A few days after that night, Bill got an owl from his peers from Egypt. They invited him to a fancy party in a muggle restaurant in London, something about celebrating their 10th year working in Egypt.

He sighed quietly, he really doesn't want to go, something about being in a crowd exhausts him. But alas, he figured it would be worthwhile to catch up with his friends and enjoy a drink or two.

Who knows, maybe he could find someone there, although that's nearly impossible. Not that Bill cared about blood status, it's more to the scar on his face from Greyback a few years ago.

Who would date a scar-face?

Bill smiled bitterly, this thought kinda hurt him a little bit, but he let it tear down his mood no further. He has a party tonight to attend anyway. A fancy one.

That evening, Bill had whipped out the fanciest suit he could find and had Transfigured his hair into the color of dark brown, for fun. Molly, of course, had her disagreement as ginger hair has become a trademark of a Weasley for so long, but Bill had reassured her it's only for the night.

"Looking fancy, eh? Have a date somewhere?" George teased his older brother, the eldest just chuckled and shook his head, "Got a party at a fancy restaurant in London, had to dress my best."

"Ouch Billie, already forgetting to be a Weasley?" Fred chimed in, faking a hurt expression with his hand on his left chest. Bill rolled his eyes playfully, his dark brown hair sure did look weird after years having ginger as the hue of his hair, "Sod off, Freddie."

"Well, I think you look handsome, Bill," Ginny said suddenly, walking towards her older brother to fix his tie. Bill looked at her in triumph and glared at the twins, "Finally, someone on my side,"

Ginny chuckled and patted his chest when she was done, "I'll always be on your side. Just don't wear it too long, don't want you to forget you're a Weasley."

Bill chuckled and kissed her forehead, "Yes, ma'am."

Apparating to the alley behind the bar, Bill walked in the party looking ravishingly stunning, although he sort of regretting the new color on his head.

"William!" Shouts from his peers made him smile ear to ear. The night was celebrated with a few drinks here and there, Bill had a wonderful time catching up with his friends.

But a few hours later, the said friends had separated into different corners with their partners, leaving Bill, the only one who doesn't have a partner, to be alone.

Bill clicked his tongue, the sudden feeling of wanting to smoke was strong. He hadn't associated himself with this many muggles before. Nevertheless, they're all human beings in the end, magic or not. He checked his watch, it's a quarter past 10, the night is still young.

And so Bill went to the bar section of the restaurant, wanting some alone time from many people. He fished out the cigarette box from his pocket and took one, placing it in between his lips.

Bill inwardly groaned as he remembered he couldn't use magic to light up his cigarette, there are way too many muggles to witness and honestly, he doesn't want to go to Court, especially when the government is still corrupted even after years of Voldemort gone.

He patted around his suit, hoping there is somehow a box of matches resting inside one of his many pockets. The cigarette between his lips was starting to get wet.

Suddenly he heard a flicker, and Bill was met face to face with a tiny light of fire.

Strange, the fire was resting on top of a metallic box with a lid. Bill blinked, and that's when he properly see you.

His eyes met yours, and for the first time in years, Bill Weasley was speechless. It was only when you shook the tiny fire on your hand slightly that he realized that he was staring.

He quickly leaned into the fire to light up his cigarette, nodding to you in gratitude. He took a long inhale, relaxing as the toxic substance entered his system. He exhaled and looked at you with a smile, "Thank you."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "Did you forgot to bring your lighter or something?" You said, and Bill was slightly surprised at how easily you sparked up a conversation with him.

"I beg your pardon?" He said, and you nudged to the metallic box in your hand, flickering the light up once again, "A lighter. You forgot to bring it?"

So it's called a lighter. Fascinating. Bill thought as he chuckled, "Sort of," he said, not really wanting to say his 'lighter' is a spell.

"Anything you want to drink?" You asked, and that's when Bill realized you were over the other side of the counter, and you were wearing a white blouse and a patterned dark red vest over it. Ah, you're a barista.

Your hair was put on a low ponytail, and Bill suddenly missed his long red hair. Curse this brown short hair.

Bill hold his cigarette in between his index and middle finger, "Just water, please." You raised an eyebrow, "Water? Really?"

Bill chuckled at your teasing demeanor, and you were surprised at how he wasn't offended by your jokes. Your usual customers would usually tell you to shut the fuck up and bring them drinks quietly.

"Home was quite far from here. Don't want to drive home dead drunk now, do we?" Bill chimed, a genuine smile was on his lips. He wasn't this friendly around strangers, but there was this vibe around you that tells him to loosen up and enjoy his time.

You smiled at his remark, he was the friendliest customer of the night so far. "Oh c'mon, you're sitting on a bar! Surely you'll drink something." You said with a playful toothy grin. Once again, Bill chuckled, "Alright then. A glass of wine please."

"Atta boy," You quietly cheered and got to work. Bill watched you silently, occasionally bringing his cigarette onto his lips, somehow the nicotine wasn't as strong as before, now that you're here.

He couldn't pinpoint what was it, but you were... Charming.

"I've never seen you before," You struck up a conversation with Bill again once you delivered his glass of wine. This man before you was ravishingly stunning, would be quite a waste if you just watch this masterpiece from afar.

You could say he was the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. Even with that scar on his face. The long trailing scar from his temple to his cheek was intimidating at first sight, but when you look at it longer, it's only a scar, nothing more.

If anything, it makes this man before you look more mysterious than he should be.

"I'm from Devon, actually. My friends thought it would be a good idea to have a party here for our 10th-year celebration working at our workplace." You widened your eyes in, letting out a surprised laugh, "Blimey, 3-hour drive for a party?"

Bill shrugged his eyebrows, 'Huh, 3 hours.'

He sipped on his wine and gestured at the bar with his chin, "How long have you been working here... Y/N?" He asked, his eyes lingering on your name tag before coming in contact with your eyes.

You blinked, oh lord give me strength.

The way he said your name was beyond lovely, as if he's saying such poetic words. And the way he looked at you isn't really that much of a help. You felt heat rushing in your cheeks as you turned around to the alcohol collection, not letting this fine man before you see your blush.

"About 3 years already? Got to make money somehow to live," You said nonchalantly, when another customer ordered a drink. You got to it right away fast, wanting to talk more with the mysterious man whose name you didn't even know.

As if reading your thoughts, he said, "I'm William, but my friends and family call me Bill."

You chuckled and throw him a playful look, "Where did Bill come from out of William?" The remark made him laugh, the sides of his eyes crinkled. You smiled in triumph at the successful attempt of making Bill laugh.

"I honestly have no idea," Bill chuckled and inhaled more of the cigarette between his fingers, the nicotine felt less effective by now.

You stood in front of him, with the wooden bar table between you, biting your lip, "And what should I call you? William," You trailed off, feeling the energy between you shifted from light to somehow heavy.

"Or Bill?" You muttered loudly, giving him a slight smirk.

Bill felt it, the energy shift. And for the first time, he didn't mind. "Well," He started, putting the cigarette onto the ash box, killing it instantly. He took the glass wine, swirling it slightly to make the wine well mixed, and right before he sipped the dark liquid, he looked at you, "Surprise me."

You watched him drink the wine with his eyes on you the whole time, and the action made the butterflies in your stomach came alive.

"Y/L/N! No flirting with customers!" The shout from your manager made you flinch in surprise. You looked to the side, your manager looking at you sternly with his hands at his waist.

You smiled mischievously, "But boss, I don't think we're flirting!" You said with fake innocence, batting your eyelashes innocently. You turned to Bill, smiling in a way Bill was reminded of his cheeky twin brothers at home, "Were we flirting, Bill?"

Bill smiled widely with his front teeth on his lower lip, you're something else, Y/N.

"Were we? I can't remember," He chimed in, giving your boss the same innocent smile, making your own smile widen. The boss rolled his eyes and left, leaving you both by yourselves.

A moment of silence before laughter erupted from both of you. "What time does your shift end?" Bill asked as soon as he calmed down, a genuine smile on his lips.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, "At 12," You voiced out, trying so hard to contain your smile. Bill's smile got wider at the sight of your blushed cheeks, "Alright, I'll be here till 12."

"You sure we're not flirting, Bill?" You said playfully. Bill bit his lower lip and looked up at you, "I don't know, Y/N. You tell me,"

"Oh, you're good at this," You breathed out and nodded, impressed by his flirting skills. Bill chuckled and shook his head, "Sometimes. There's just something about you that makes it easier."

The entire two hours were filled with conversations and laughter, some occasionally constantly flirting here and there, but needless to say, Bill was having a great time with you.

You were charming, funny, witty, and absolutely gorgeous in his eyes. He forgot for a moment, that you can see his scar on the side of his face.

Not that you minded it. Bill was everything. He's a gentleman with a beautiful smile and an amazing sense of humor, mysteriously alluring.

By the time the clock starked 12, Bill stood up from his seat and then you realized how tall he was from you. If before he was looking up to you, now it's completely the opposite. Bill had an amused expression over your sudden realization of his height.

"I'll wait for you outside," He said and you nodded with a smile, already tearing off your vest.

The party was long forgotten, some of his friends had already gone home before he even realized it. Once he was outside, he took out another cigarette and snapped his finger, instantly lighting it up. He took a long inhale, warming his system up to fight off the cold air of London. He exhaled and sighed, the cold mist now mixed with the smoke, making it denser than it should be.

Bill then realized he was supposed to be with you later, and a guy with a bad breath is the last impression he wanted you to have of him. And so he reluctantly threw away the barely finished cigarette, crushing it with the bottom of his shoe.

Just then, you came out and walked to him, looking casual with a beanie on top of your head and hair let down from the ponytail before. "Hello, handsome." You said cheekily with a smile.

He smiled at the sight of you, and with his cold hands, he held yours softly. You halted your movement altogether, now looking eye-to-eye to this beautiful man before you. "I couldn't do this to you before because you're working, but," He said softly, and met your knuckles with his lips, kissing it gently.

"Hi."

The blush in your cheeks was prominent, and you felt like a high-school girl all over again, "Hi," You said shyly.

You suddenly felt some sort of courage running through your veins, because without thinking, you grabbed his tie and pulled it towards you, making him closer to you.

"I may have a few shots before coming out here so please don't mind me," You muttered quickly as you pulled him into a kiss. Bill was pleasantly surprised and kissed you back. The makeout turned heated quickly, Bill had to contain himself as he suddenly found a new hunger for your taste.

Whiskey, and smoke.

It was intoxicating. When you pulled away, you were both panting. You later giggled at the sudden courage before, and your laugh being contagious, he started chuckling on his own. Bill was holding your waist tightly, touching as much skin as he could while you had your arms wrapped around his neck.

Never would he thought a few minutes later that he would be running while holding your hand, laughing with each other as you dragged him to your apartment.

Bill had already loosened his tie and tossed his suit around somewhere by the time you're opening the door. He turned you around suddenly from the door and gave you another hungry kiss. You were pressed between the door and him, and you didn't mind.

Reluctantly pulling away giggling, you opened the door sloppily, your mind still hazy by Bill's kiss.

He was a bloody excellent kisser, holy fuck.

The door slammed shut behind you two, and the kissing continued. It was safe to say, Bill Weasley didn't come home that night.

By the time morning came along, you woke up being wrapped around Bill. His naked arms wrapping around your waist and his leg around yours. You smiled and looked up to him, and was surprised at his long red hair.

You chuckled, shaking your head. You trailed kissed from his freckled chest to his neck, making him humming in content. "Good morning, sweetheart," He said groggily. You giggled at his sleepy attempt of kissing your nose.

You reached your hand to caress his long hair and sighed in content, "You know, you could've told me your real hair is ginger."

He hummed sleepily, "Mmm, yeah-wait, what?" He snapped his eyes open and reached for his hair. Indeed, ginger and shoulder length.

He sat up suddenly, looking everywhere but at you, "I-I can explain." He stuttered.

I knew it was a bad idea, he groaned.

He stopped when he saw you looking up to him with amusement, your arm supporting your head, and your hair falling slightly to the side you're leaning on.

"Why aren't you freaking out?" He asked. You smiled, "I know you're a wizard, Bill. Or should I say, Bill Weasley?"

Bill scoffed in surprise, his tense shoulder relaxed, "Why didn't you tell me you knew?"

You sat up, revealing your naked upper body that you had presented to Bill the night before, and kissed him on the cheek, "I figured it wouldn't be fun if I let you know so soon, so I figured I should play along."

Bill was supposed to feel offended, you did lie to him after all. But all he could find in his heart was warmth. He smiled gently, cupping your face and kissing your lips softly.

"You're something else, you know that?" He stifled a laugh as he said it. You joined his laughter and caress his cheek, leaning your forehead together.

"I know."

#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley #harry potter #william arthur weasley #bill weasley x y/n #bill weasley x you #george-fabian-weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley fic #bill weasley fluff #weasley

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

Remember

Summary: Requested as: The idea is, there's the shelby sis (older than Finn) and she's taken from the family as a child & they only find her years later when she's around 20. When they find her she doesn't say a word cause she was treated poorly where she was during those years. And they all are overwhelmed with her not speaking. They see her talking to a friend later & ask the friend about her and they explain that. She starts talkin days later and lots of fluff:)

A/N: This was requested by @vikingsxf, thanks so much! Also, this is the first ever story I’ve written on request, please don’t judge me too harshly... I changed it a little, but hope you still like it!

Words: 3574

***

It had been years since you’d last seen Birmingham. Home. There it was, on top of the hill and still at quite a distance, but you could see the smoke was rising and the people were buzzing like flies. It didn’t feel like home, but a part of you knew it had always been home.

For the last few years you’d been traveling alone. This was a dangerous thing to do for a woman on her own. But you’d dressed as a boy and stayed with good people, with traveling people mainly. They didn’t trust you much at first, but when you’d spoken their language, they usually let you it. Still, this life was a lot safer than where you’d come from. You remembered it all. “Y/N!” you spun around to find the old man looking at you, “He wants to talk to you.” Releasing Birmingham once again, you turned away and walked over to the vardo where you’d been summoned. Right now, you were traveling with the Lee’s and they’d been all right. Not great, but no trouble either. The problem now was you were officially grown-up and passing like a boy was getting harder and harder. Johnny Dogs was also travelling with the Lee’s and he’d figured you out straight away. He was gracious enough however to never mention it. “Talk to that horse for me, will ya? He won’t listen to me.” You scoffed, internally laughing at him because he was supposed to have a way with horses.

He winked at you, “It’s the white one, by the river. Wash her for me.” You walked a little with him and admired the white horse. A young boy was washing her in the river, but he had a hard time controlling the horse as well. She didn’t like to be handled, didn’t like to be touched, and you and the horse understood each other at once. “Keep still, sweetheart,” you whispered as you approached the horse gently, “It’s just you and me. We’ll be okay.” The horse followed you meekly. “Huh!” Johnny elbowed the young boy in the side as he pointed at you, “What did I say? Proper gypsy that one, when it comes to horses.” You smiled at them both and walked the horse over to another wagon to get her brushed. Like a ritual you petted and groomed her. Her nose was touching your back every few seconds to let you know she agreed with it. As you worked, thoughts you’d rather kept locked away popped up in your head. Images flashed of dark spaces, doors being locked, children being beaten and pain stinging your back. Your childhood had been rough, taken at a young age and brought to a place of screams. It haunted you, but it also embarrassed you. You never quite trusted yourself to speak after that. The beautiful horse pulled suddenly, spooked by a noise. You looked up and saw some fancy car approaching on the grass. You knew men like that had no business here and your mind was racing at the possible scenarios. What if they came for you, to take you back? Silently, you moved behind the horse and watched as they got out. They were too far away to see, but Johnny seemed to know them. There was no way you were going back. Beckoning the boy and handing him the rag to groom the horse, you edged away invisibly. Walking through the field, hiding behind the wagons, you tried to disappear. You climbed a tree to wait until they’d gone, because strangely enough, people never really look up. The leader of the group talked to Johnny, while the three other brothers stood back. “How’s life, Johnny?” “Not bad, I’m traveling with the Lee’s now.” “So I’ve heard, any news?” You listened to the conversation intently. There was something familiar about it, but you couldn’t quite place it. Suddenly, the speaker looked up and saw one of your bare feet dangling from the sky. Johnny saw him look and explained, “New boy. Joined us recently.” “Where from?” “No idea,” Johnny shrugged, “Doesn’t really speak that one.” You were frozen up that tree. Luckily they had other things on their minds apparently and they flipped a coin for it. The older brother shouted something and the Lee’s by the river were laughing. Before you could even blink, a fight had ensued. Your pretty white horse was now definitely spooked and without thinking about it, you walked over to her to calm her down. “You know horses?” A low voice asked behind you. Your stomach dropped. You didn’t turn around, but just continued to pet the horse, while whispering her own language into her ear. Part of you hoped you could still walk away, without them really seeing you. One of the men took your arm gently and tried to turn you around. But all instincts kicked in and you spun around to punch him square in the nose. His head flew back, he cursed intensely, and you immediately regretted your decision. In panic, you tried to make a run for it. The older brother had now taken hold of your hand. A small smile tugged at his mouth and he tried to calm you down by locking eyes with you. Pale blue eyes, identical to yours, were looking at you. And he felt it too. “What’s your name?” he asked you. You just stared at him. “A girl able to do that to my brother should at least be able to identify herself.” So he knew you weren’t a boy. You still kept silent. He could see you were seriously afraid, so tried a different approach, “My name’s Thomas Shelby and I apologize for the mess we’ve caused here at the camp. I also apologize for my brother’s ways.” “The fuck are you apologizing to her for?” said brother protested, still holding his nose and blood oozing through his fingers, “Think she broke my nose.” You could only suck in your breath and whisper, “Shelby…” Thomas looked at you again, completely ignoring his brother. Alarm bells were going off in his head and some old memory was nagging at his brain, “Y/N? Is that you?” Completely frozen on the spot, you had no way of reacting. You hadn’t been called by your real name in years. This wasn’t what you’d been looking for, you didn’t even want it and here it was: you were looking at your brother. Tommy himself was shocked and he let go of you at once. He took a few steps back and thought about it all for a while. Guilt, anger and sorrow washed over him all at once, but none of it was shown on his face. Walking over to Johnny, he said, “Take her to Small Heath, to Uncle Charlie. Calm her down and take the horse. Then get Ada.” “Tommy, what in the hell is going on here?” He looked back at you for a second, “I’ve found my sister, Johnny.”

*** Uncle Charlie brought back more memories for you, but they were mainly good ones. You remembered the smell of the place, how you used to sleep in the hay and the horses, always, the horses. He too tried to make conversation with you after Johnny had told him what Tommy had said, but quickly found that you simply didn’t speak. Johnny left again and that meant you were on your own with Curly. Curly talked non-stop and you instantly liked him. He didn’t mind that you were different or that you were so quiet, he just talked horses. The sounds of high heels suddenly filled the yard. Ada Shelby rounded the corner and looked at you with big eyes, “Y/N,” she said, “You’re back.” When she pulled you into an embrace, your first instinct was to push her away. But this was your sister and you’d missed her so much. None of it had been her fault, so you just let her. There was very little you remembered from before being taken, you were only three at the time, but you remembered that older sister of eight, always there to hold your hand. And in seconds, you’d lost it all. “Come on,” Ada urged, “let’s get you home.” You shook your head, eyes speaking plainly that you didn’t want to. “Why not, sweetheart? Aunt Polly can’t wait to see you, and your brothers just want to talk to you.” Anger flashed through your eyes now as it bubbled up inside you. If they’d want to talk to you so badly, why didn’t they ever look for you? Ada pulled you down and sat next to you in the hay, “Tell me.” You just couldn’t. Carefully she whispered, “What happened to you?” Too much. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” Ada smiled a little at her younger sister, “But is there anything I can do for you? Get someone maybe?” Your eyes immediately shot up and you nodded. There was one person you were dying to talk to and she was still back at the camp by the river. She’d been like a sister to you for many years. Just thinking that was painful now. Ada promptly got to work and ordered Johnny to get the girl from the camp. Thomas was watching Charlie’s yard from a distance. He saw a gypsy girl approaching and moments later his sister and the girl were talking. They were talking. His sister didn’t say a word to him, but she could talk. Tommy beckoned little Finn to come over and ordered him to get John and Arthur to follow that girl. As his youngest brother had left again, he felt the emotion of it all tightening his throat. His sister had been hurt, badly.

*** The two brothers walked silently, but on a mission. John had been only six when you were taken, but Arthur had been 14 already. He remembered it well. They found their sister’s friend down at a pub and Arthur was the first one to approach her, “Y/N. You know her.” “So what if I do?” the girl threw back. “Why won’t she speak to us?” The girl scoffed, “Why would she?” She stood up to walk away, but Arthur grabbed her arm roughly. Seeing this wasn’t working, John pulled Arthur’s hand away and talked more gently to her, “Please. She’s our sister and we haven’t seen her for sixteen years. She was taken from us and we need to know what happened to her.” “Why?” “To kill the bastard that took her,” Arthur replied quickly. The gyspy girl seemed to be sizing up both Shelby’s. One was a brute and ready to kill everyone who’d ever hurt you, with his bare hands if he had to. This was good, let him. The other one was softer, concerned and maybe even a little hurt. “How do you even know she’s your sister?” “Because she has Tommy’s eyes and she broke my nose,” John said. This was good enough for her and she laughed at his answer. They were alright, but she wasn’t sure if you could ever trust them again, “She thinks the family gave her up.” “What?” “And that’s why you never looked for her.” Arthur softened a little too, for the first time, “We never stopped looking.” Seeing the truth in their eyes, the friend started telling them what she knew. She told them of the orphanage you were send to, where you’d refused to obey anyone. How they’d send you to the asylums after that, where you were beaten and imprisoned for years. How you kept on escaping, but was always brought back. How you’d been out for four years now, after an escape attempt had finally been successful. And lastly, how you’d been moving around with travellers now, dressed as a boy.

*** You knew none of this, but were still with the horses at Charlie’s. A few days had passed already and you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. Charlie knew the same thing. “Go on,” he said to you one day, “Go home to your brothers. They may be mad, the lot of them, but they never gave up looking for you, Y/N. Go and talk to them.”

Walking into Small Heath on bare feet felt somehow like a victory to you. Men gave you looks, so you felt for the knife hidden under your trousers. They wouldn’t be the first ones you stabbed. You stepped inside the house and hardly had any time to recognise the small house decorated as a vardo. Immediately Aunt Polly flung herself around your neck. Sobs were coming from her. She sat you down at the table and made you tea. You looked at it for a moment and shook your head. Tommy cocked one eyebrow and poured you a glass of whiskey. In one movement you downed the glass. John smirked, “Welcome home, Shelby…” “Sweetheart, talk to us. Who hurt you?” Aunt Polly urged. “I’ll fix it,” Arthur grumbled, “I’ll kill them all for you, Y/N.” “No need,” you said, speaking for the first time, “The man who took me is dead. I stabbed him in his sleep.” Your voice was more stable than they’d imagined. Thomas sighed, sat down next to you and poured you another drink. Then he slowly rolled another cigarette and lit it. “They said they were from the parish,” Polly said. You laughed coldly, “If he was, why did he take me to an orphanage first, but still came ‘round when I was taken into the asylum. He wanted me for something else.” Polly looked hurt, “We didn’t know.” “Well you fucking should have,” you spat, “Sixteen years you had and I never heard anything from any of you.” “We fucking should have, yes,” Arthur agreed at once, “Dad was no use and I was the eldest. We did try to find you, Y/N, but there were no traces of you anywhere.” “They changed your name,” Polly added softly, “They always do.” “I tried to get mum to talk about it,” Ada said, “But it was too painful for her. All her children were too painful for her after that. Seeing us reminded her of your absence, and it hurt. Hurt so badly she never was the same after that.” Arthur cast his head down at the memory, “Then the war came and all records got lost. We got packed off to France and the whole world went shit…” “We’re not here to make excuses,” Tommy said, “We will find the people responsible and deal with them. You just rest and forget about where you’ve been.” He started to get up from the table. In a sudden outburst of emotion, you grabbed the glass he’d just filled and threw it at him. It spattered apart in small shards on the wall next to his head. A loud roar, a scream coming from deep within, burst from you and Thomas just stared at you, frozen. “How the fuck am I supposed to forget?” you bellowed, “How the fuck am I supposed to sleep? Tell me, big brother who seems to know everything, how do I do that? I am fucking haunted by what happened. I dream of being locked up, of getting whipped and them touching me. I have the scars on my back and the chaos in my mind! And the fucked up part is, that I was always on my own during it all. None of you were fucking there, and now I’m supposed to simply forget?!” You got up and walked over to Tommy, “Tell me, how do I forget?” Your face was now inches from his, and slapping your own temple you shouted, “How do I clear my head and fucking stop remembering?” Then you whispered tortured, “Tell me how.” Thomas cleared his throat. Then he took your face in his hands and tried to wipe some of the tears off your face that had started falling down in anger, “Y/N, I’m sorry, eh? I didn’t mean to make light of it. But we can’t take it back, and I fucking hate that.” His own voice showed anger now, “Every night, I dream of France. I’m back in the tunnels and I can’t get the mud and smoke out of my brains, however much I try. You’re right. You can’t forget. I’m sorry I said you should.”

You let your forehead rest against his and the two of you stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. Tommy touched your cheek lightly, “But you’ll be alright. You might not see it now and you might not know how, but you’ll be alright.” And then you just let go. You started crying and crying, and it was like everything just only started to come in now. “It’s alright, Y/N, it’s alright,” Tommy whispered while stroking your hair. “We’re here now.” He took your face in his hands again and smiled at you, “You’ve been so strong and I’m so proud of you.” “I never wanted to be strong,” you whispered, “I just wanted to survive.” “I know, princess,” Tommy used his old nickname for you, “You don’t have to be any longer. We’ll take care of you.” His face brightened a little and he added, “even though you don’t need it, seeing what you did to John’s nose!” “Y/N did that?” Polly laughed at John, “Hasn’t changed much.”

Everyone was silent for a little while. You just had to keep reminding yourself that this was real. You were really home and this was your family. Things would get better, slowly, but they’d get better. “Y/N?” John started, “Remember how we used to play with dad’s old bottles? I used to pile them up in a tower and you’d throw them all down. You used to laugh so hard at that.” You smiled at the memory. Happier memories were flowing back into your mind, slowly brightening the dark place in there. “Oh, I remember,” Thomas untangled himself from your embrace with a small smile, “You used to steal tiny things from dad and when you got caught, acted like a little princess to get away with it. That’s why I used to call you that.” “I used to steal the keys at the asylum, extra food and anything to get my hands on, just to find a way out. I can steal anything.” “That’s my girl,” John said proudly. Ada joined in in the storytelling, “I remember when you were born. I was so happy to have another girl in the family, with all those boys all over the place. Mum was too.” “You were the sweetest little thing, tiny at birth,” Polly said, “but with those pale eyes and jet-black hair to match. You used to fall asleep on my lap when I was peeling potatoes. Do you remember that?” “I do,” you took your aunt’s hands as you sat back down again and could see a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Remember when we lost her, Tommy?” Arthur looked at his brother, “That night in the summer and we were all panicking for hours. Turns out Y/N had just fallen asleep in the hay next to the horses.” “You still have your way with horses.” Thomas looked at you again, “Just as you have your way with brothers. You used to be an angel, but if any of us picked you up without you wanting to, you’d kick and scream. The whole neighbourhood thought we were murdering you!” “Maybe you should listen to me more often,” you replied, grinning too.

“We will now,” Tommy said.

You suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired and you laid your head forwards onto you aunt’s lap, “I’m so tired, Poll.”

“I’ll get the potatoes then!” Ada got up and brushed your head for a moment, “And we’ll have to do something about that hair of yours. Looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in years! You can scream again when I do it, just like old times.”

“I’ve missed you, little sister,” Arthur locked eyes with you and smiled warmly, “Welcome home.”

“Yeah, we have a lot of catching up to do! Maybe I could throw you out the window again, for old times’ sake,” John joked.

“Shut up, John,” you mumbled.

“Leave the girl be,” Thomas said, “she’s had enough trouble in life without you fuckers as it is.”

“Will you be alright?” Polly asked as she stroked your hair slowly.

“I will be.”

Thomas took another drag from his cigarette and nodded, “You will be.”

There was a calmness washing over you that you hadn’t felt in years. And slowly, you started recognising and remembering the way each of them expressed it, but Ada was the one to actually say it in the end.

“We love you, Y/N.”

***

Masterlist

1K notes · View notes

wondersofdreaming · 3 years

Text

Lost Boys - TEN

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.605

Warnings: Guns. Lost brothers. Blood. Death. Shooting. The aftermath of the explosion.

Author’s note: The end. I know it's crap but thanks for reading anyways.

Divider by @firefly-graphics!

Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Feedback is appreciated.

MASTERLIST

[ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE]

Walter had a grim look on his face. He could see that Melanie was starting to panic. Her face contorted into a look of worry, also her eyes were searching for the big body of her brother underneath all the rubble.

“We’ll find him,” Walter assured her, “Are you hurt?”

Walter helped her sit up on the pavement.

“I’m feeling a little woozy, and my back hurts from colliding with the car. Else I think I’m good,” Melanie answered. Walter made a mental note to keep an eye on her, as she could have a concussion or may be bleeding internally.

“Lucas!” Melanie walked into what used to be the front garden, calling for her brother.

A high pitched tone was ringing in his ears. The blast had knocked Lucas off his feet and onto the nearest solid thing, the neighbouring house. His broken arm was throbbing with pain, while a burn was slowly spreading across his chest. He had tried breaking ribs before, so he wasn’t doubting that he might have cracked a few from the blast.

Lucas opened his eyes and watched burning paper dissipating in the wind. The scorching heat from the fire warmed his face, as he lay there watching the orange and red hues. It was quite beautiful to look at, while it destroyed the childhood home of this triplet brother.

Brother. Sister. MELANIE!

He scrambled to his feet, hissing as the jolting pain thundered through his body. His head was spinning as if he had just gotten off a wild carousel ride. He was feeling nauseous as he tried to move.

“LUCAS!”

It was a distant sound, but he heard his sister’s voice through the loud ringing.

“Mel!” he tried yelling back, but the tone was low. His throat was sore and felt raw like someone had tried scratching the flesh from the inside.

In the distance, he heard a fire truck's siren, but he didn’t care about the fire, he needed to get to his sister. He jumped over the broken fence between the neighbouring houses. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to walk, it hurt to even think, but he had to make sure that Melanie was safe. The adrenaline was pumping in his veins, making him move faster.

“Mel,” he said hoarsely as he saw her crying into his triplet brother’s shirt. They both turned their heads towards him. Melanie released Walter and ran towards her injured brother. He was prepared for the impact, as his sister collided with his cracked ribs, but let out a gasp anyways as she hugged him.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Melanie sobbed, “I wouldn’t even know how to tell mom if you had died. And what about dad? What about Josh? And your job?”

“Mel, stop talking. We’re okay,” Lucas shushed her. He hugged her close, even though it hurt, but he didn’t care.

The sirens grew louder, making the raging headache Walter was sporting even worse, but despite that, he moved towards the road and guided the fire truck and fire engine towards the burning building.

Soon the area was swarming with ambulances and police cars. The firefighters contained the towering flames, while medics were attending Lucas, Melanie, and even Walter, who had stubbornly told them that he was fine, was looking into a flashlight.

“Can you remember your name, sir?” the medic asked.

“Walter Matthew Marshall, detective at the Minneapolis PD,” he grumbled.

“Well, detective, you might have a concussion from your head hitting the pavement. You need observation for the next 24 hours.”

“I don’t have time…”

“Detective, it is not up for discussion.”

Walter was groaning the entire way to the hospital. He and Lucas were placed in the same room. Lucas’ injuries weren’t as bad as expected, with only a few broken ribs and a concussion. Melanie had escaped unharmed, except for a few bruises and a high tone ringing in her ears.

The brothers needed observation for the next 24 hours, and with a lot of stubbornness from all three, Melanie was allowed to stay in the room with them for the night.

The police arrived a few hours later to take their statement. If it wasn’t because the situation was quite serious and Walter rarely laughed, he would have been rolling on the floor after seeing the confused faces of the detectives, when they told them that Melanie was the sister of Lucas but not of Walter.

It didn’t take long before Melanie fell asleep on the pull-out bed the hospital had provided. Lucas watched as her chest rose and fell, feeling relieved that she was alive and breathing.

“How are you feeling?” Walter asked from the window. He was watching the people walking in and out of the hospital, as they had a clear view of the main entrance.

“I’m good, sore, and pissed,” Lucas answered, “What do you think happened?”

“My theory is someone planted that bomb to either set it off when we came back or to destroy any evidence that could be found in that house,” Walter mused.

Lucas nodded, having had the same thoughts.

“Do you think he had anything to do with this?” Walter asked after a silent moment, pulling Lucas out of his train of thoughts.

“I don’t know, brother. I have no clue what our brother is capable of. He is a wanted criminal all over the world.”

“Do you think he’s the mastermind behind this?”

“He could very much be, are you having second thoughts?”

Walter turned around and glared at Lucas, who stared back. Their equally blue eyes were sharp and alert.

“No. I just hope we can catch him, get him into a prison that can get the idea of world domination out of his head, and where I can keep an eye on him.”

August walked into his mother’s new house on the outskirts of the city. He had been transported in a cargo ship to get back into the states. His tech associate Marc had been furious at him for leaving the safe house in Thailand, but nothing could stop August, he always got what he wanted.

“Mother!” August’s voice echoed across the mostly empty house. He removed the hood of his jacket, revealing his identical face to Walter and Lucas, with the exception of the moustache.

“Auggie, my son,” he heard her soft voice coming from his left. She looked frail and thin as if she would crumble at any given moment.

“We had a clear agreement that my brothers were not to be harmed,” August growled. His patience was running low as he stared daggers at his adoptive mother.

“They were at the wrong place at the wrong time, my dear,” her voice was calm and as if she was talking to a toddler.

Since the death of her daughter, Amanda had toughened up and had started the hunt for revenge. First, her plan was to kill all of the abusive men in the world. Then her plan expanded as her organisation became bigger. August had stood by her side while she ordered people to be killed. She was merciless and cruel, not the astronomy-loving woman August had grown up with.

“You’re hiding something.”

“For the hundredth time, I am fine. Sign the damn release papers, you cannot hold me here against my will,” Lucas raised his voice at the young resident doctor standing before him. Lucas was a tall man, and from his time in the army had gotten quite muscular, which were straining against the moss-green T-shirt Melanie had helped him in.

“I must advise against it, Mr Syverson,” the resident said firmly, but still, he took a step back.

“It’s Captain Syverson.”

“Your release papers will be ready in 10 minutes, captain.”

The doctor left the room. Walter was standing by the windows, looking down at the people walking. One hooded figure caught his eye, but he blinked and the person was gone.

Two phones rang simultaneously, waking the trio who had all fallen asleep in their respective beds after they’d gotten back from the hospital. Lucas looked at his screen and was immediately wide awake.

“Aiden?” he grumbled.

“I heard about the explosion. How are you?”

“Got out of the hospital this morning. I had to take a nap. Me? Take a nap?”

Lucas heard his friend roar with laughter. He would have laughed at himself if he had the energy for it, but instead devoted said energy to concentrate on why Aiden was calling.

“I’ve found your missing brother,” Aiden’s voice was serious as he explained that August was back in the country. He had avoided getting in through flight but had been caught by a few security cameras at a harbour in Norfolk, two days earlier.

Lucas walked out of his room, needing to tell the others about the news. Walter stood by the windows, stoically listening to whoever was at the other end of his phone call. Melanie was in the kitchenette, pouring coffee into three mugs.

“Thanks, Charlie. Tell Faye that I’ll be home soon,” Walter ended the call. “That was Charlie. Raven got a hit on August’s whereabouts, he’s here.”

“Aiden told me the same thing.”

Walter frowned. His mind racing.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “I saw him earlier. He was at the hospital.”

“How do you know? You’ve never seen him before,” Melanie chimed in.

“Call in triplet-intuition or maybe it was the way he was standing. Still as a statue in the middle of a parking lot full of people walking by.”

“We have to go find him,” Lucas said. He fastened his gun to the holster in his belt and covered himself with a black zip-up hoodie.

Just as they’re about to head out, there was a knock on their door. Walter opened with caution, one hand on his gun behind his back.

It was one of the receptionists with a note that had been left for them. She handed Walter the black envelope, he thanked her and closed the door.

“Meet behind the library at midnight.”

“I can only be from August,” Lucas said. He paced around the room, wondering if it was a trap or not.

“Or maybe it’s a trap, you shouldn’t go,” Melanie told the two brothers.

“We have to. If we’re not back before 2 AM, call the police and say where we are.”

“No, I’m going too!”

“Over my dead body! If dad finds out, he’ll have my head. Mel, if this is a trap, someone needs to know where we are and can tell the police or FBI why it happened.”

Melanie sulked but agreed to stay back at the hotel.

Under the cover of a moonless night, the three siblings met for the first time. Lucas and Walter stood with their backs to the closed library, while they watched as their triplet brother walked down the pathway towards them.

August opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the pavement.

“You have always been such a soft boy, August.”

The three brothers saw Amanda Walker coming closer with a raised gun in her hands.

“And your two brothers are a big pain in my ass,” she continued. Before anyone could move, Amanda aimed for Walter, but August’s reflexes were faster and he jumped in front of his brothers.

Everything happened in slow motion. August turned around with a sad smile on his lips beneath the moustache. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body landed on the cold hard ground. Lucas ran towards August, while Walter set off after Amanda.

August whispered something in Lucas’ ear before he took his last breath. Lucas closed the blue eyes of his brother as Walter came back.

“I lost her,” he grunted. He kicked the grovel around him, cursing at the world.

“It’s not your fault, Walt. Come, help me carry him home.”

A year later the two remaining brothers stood side by side looking at the tombstone with their brother’s name on it. Oliver Thompson.

“We found her, brother. It took some time and a lot of travelling, but we found her, and she’s going to be in jail for the rest of her life.”

“And we went to a hypnotist who unlocked our forgotten memories. No clue how she did it, but we remember the good times, the bad times, the sad times when mom and dad…”

“Let’s not become all too sappy, bro. Walter is getting married. She’s a nurse. Wish you could meet her, a feisty one, I think even she could whoop your ass.”

“Lucas has also found a woman. She is a veterinarian with a short fuse, but she makes the sweetest apple pie I’ve ever tasted.”

The brothers kept on babbling about what was happening in their lives, not noticing the hooded figure standing in a grove of trees, listening to everything.

August smiled at his brothers. His moustache had been shaved and he was growing out his curls. Somehow he looked like a beardless Walter, which he had chuckled over as he shaved.

“I’m sorry, brother. I wanted to burn down the world for being such a cruel place, but I know now that no matter how much I make it suffer, it won’t take the hurt away from my heart. Please, take me to the docks. Warehouse 16. Leave me there and don’t look back.”

Those were the words August had whispered to his army brother.

He had realised that he loved the peaceful life of living in a village in Thailand. In the few weeks, he had resided in the faraway hut, he had gathered food and helped the villagers with their farming, even though he didn’t want to help. But a particular black haired woman had insisted on him helping since he had such big muscles.

The world looked different from before with the woman’s help, he saw beauty wherever he went. But when Marc stood at his doorstep, telling him that his mother wanted to see him, he refused, so Marc did the only thing he thought would persuade the moustached man, he held his black-haired beauty at gunpoint.

August promised to go with Marc and made another promise to his new lady that he would be back, which he sealed with a kiss to her soft lips.

She had waited for him to come back, even demanded to know his secrets. If she were to be his wife, she needed to know about all his demons. So he told her. He had been astonished that she hadn’t run away screaming. Instead, she had smacked his cheek and told him that the world was a beautiful place in the eye of the beholder and that he needed glasses.

He couldn’t wait to go back home, to the woman who was waiting for him, who loved him for him, and he hoped he would be back in time to meet his child, the miracle he had created and would protect.

But he had needed closure to see that his brothers were well and happy as he was.

“... And Faye keeps saying that I have to shave off my beard and keep the moustache, so she can see what you looked like. I said no, of course, telling her that she can go harass Lucas instead.”

“She is such a sweet angel, with a devilish charm. I hope to one day have my own kid, who’ll wrap me around their tiny fingers and I’ll be putty in their hands.”

“Well, we hope you’re happy, brother, wherever you are.”

#Henry Cavill #This man #I need a drink #Lost Boys #Series #Triplets #August Walker #Captain Syverson #Walter Marshall #My story #Fanfiction #henrycavillfanfic #The end #What a crap story #Queue

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songtoyou · 3 years

Text

Tempting Fate - Part Five

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Nothing major, but there is lots of smoking, particularly marijuana.

Word Count: 2,098

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

A/N: Remember, this story takes place during season two of the show. May Carleton makes an appearance in this chapter. Once again, I included Romani phrases in this chapter. I found the phrase online and hope it is correct. If it isn’t, then I am profoundly sorry and do not wish to offend anyone. That is never my intent. Remember, there is no Grace or Greta in this fic. They do not exist in the realm of this alternate universe.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars

You did not know what you and Tommy were to each other. The terms “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” didn’t seem right as it was too mundane and basic. However, you and Tommy had grown a little be closer after you both apologized for miscommunicating with one another. Tommy would often walk you home at night after work and stay the night. It became routine for you to wake up next to him in the morning, which was nice and comforting.

For Tommy, being with you was nothing he had ever experienced before. Before the war, he would go on dates every once in a while, but nothing ever lasted longer than a week or two. After the war, it was all one-night stands or nights spent at whore houses. However, with you, it was all new for him. There was something about being with you that Tommy could not quite describe the feeling until Polly coaxed it out of him.

“Safe. Thomas, you feel safe for the first in a long time. Being with this girl will change your life for the better. She is good for you. The two of you will balance one another, her lightness with your darkness. However, there is a darkness in her as well, just as I can see the light in you, my dear nephew. But make no mistake, it is still in you to do some good in this world. Let her help,” Polly explained one day while Tommy was in his office.

Leaning back in his chair, Tommy could nothing but agree with his aunt, “I know that Pol. Part of me is terrified.” He went on to tell Aunt Polly that he didn’t want to “ruin” you or get you hurt, but Polly waved him off.

“Tommy, she can take care of herself. As a gypsy, she has seen things in her life, just like you. Remember, you said it yourself. She is you. And you are her. You are each other’s match.”

One thing about being connected to Tommy was that people around Small Heath treated you differently. The women smiled at you more, while the men tipped their hats to you and greeted you with “mam” or “miss.” It was all new to you.

Even the male patrons at the bar treated you differently. No longer did they affectionately give you a hard time or joke around with you. They maintained their distance but were respectful. You particularly noticed how the men made sure to act accordingly around you whenever Tommy stopped by The Garrison. It was the same when John and Arthur were around.

You were in the back room of the bar when Esme stopped by one afternoon. She greeted you with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go for a walk down by the Cut, yeah,” Esme suggested. “It is slow out there. I am sure Harry could give you a break.”

“Okay. Let me finish up these last few glasses, then we can head out,” You replied to the woman who was quickly becoming your best friend. You were thankful to have Esme around. She was another person you could confide in. Esme reminded you of your sisters back home and how much you missed them. You pushed the homesick feeling aside and finished cleaning the last bar glass. Wiping your hands on your apron, Esme followed you to the front of the bar.

You told Harry that you were taking your break. “Harry, I won’t be gone too long, okay.”

“Take your time, dear. I don’t think I’ll be expecting a rush anytime soon,” said Harry wiping down the tables.

While the two you walked arm-in-arm, Esme asked how you were holding up now that you were considered Tommy’s “girl” and all. “I’m not his girl, Esme,” you laughed off your friend’s accusation.

Esme rolled her eyes. “Don’t act naïve now, my dear friend. You are Tommy’s girl. Everyone knows it. He better be treating you right. If he doesn’t, I’ll cut his balls right off.”

“So, far so good. He has been very…I don’t know…” you began but stopped to try to collect your thoughts.

“What?” Esme asked.

“It is like there are two sides to Tommy, you know: public Tommy and private Tommy,” you began to explain. “In public, Tommy is always guarded, which I get. He has to be with what he does. However, when it is the two of us alone, he is something else. He is so sweet and gentle. He smiles more too. And laughs. Tommy has the cutest laugh I have ever heard. So delightful to the ears.”

Esme smiled at her friend and said, “I have never once heard Tommy laugh. Didn’t even know he could do such a thing.”

“So, when are you and John any closer to expanding your family? Lord knows you both like the activity that goes with procreation.”

“Not yet. But hopefully soon. The kids are looking forward to having another brother or sister in the mix. I’m lucky, you know. I was worried that John’s children wouldn’t accept when we got married. I was worried that I would never be able to live up to Martha as a wife or mother,” Esme revealed to you as the two of you finally reached the Cut.

Sitting on a box crate, Esme sat down beside you. She pulled out a rolled cannabis cigarette and began to light it. Coughing out a puff, she passed the joint over to you. “John loves you very much, Esme. The kids adore you. Why wouldn’t they? You are so much fun, so sweet, caring, and they will always have your back. Kids have pure hearts. They can sense when someone is a good person, and you fit the bill. You’re special, my dear. Everyone is lucky to grace your presence sees what a wonderful woman you are.”

Blushing, Esme looked down at her feet. “You could give John a run for his money with the way you can talk a woman up.”

You chuckled and took in a puff. The effects of the rolled cannabis were setting in and making you feel relax and calm. It was a nice feeling. The two of you sat in comfortable silence while passing the joint back and forth.

You and Esme turned heads when commotion came from Charlie’s Yard. “I wonder what is going on over there?” you wondered aloud and handed Esme the joint. “I’m going to go check it out. You want to come along?”

“Nah, I better get back to the house,” said Esme and stubbed out the joint and put it in her pocket. “See you later.”

You waved goodbye and walked over to Charlie’s. You saw him and Curly with Pyramus. Instantly, you saw the horse was agitated. You picked up your speed to reach the horse.

“Hey, what is going on? Is he okay?” you asked, concerned for Pyramus’s well-being.

Charlie told you that they were getting Pyramus ready for transport, but the horse was not up for it.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” Curly mumbled. “He doesn’t want to leave, Charlie.”

Charlie merely sighed, “Curly, the horse will be fine. He is stubborn as usual, like his owner.”

“May I?” you asked Charlie. When he gave you an okay, you reached out to Pyramus and began rubbing his muzzle. “It’s okay, boy. You’re going to okay. Rum tum bi Salama (Go in peace),” you said to Pyramus softly. “Si tut bocklo? (Are you hungry?)”

You turned to Curly and asked he had any treats for Pyramus. “It might help him calm down. He loves apples or carrots,” you told him.

“I might have some around. I’ll be back,” said Curly and left to retrieve the treats.

You continued to pet Pyramus, which seemed to help calm him for the time being. It only got better when Curly returned with an apple, which you began to cut up for Pyramus to eat. “He seems to be more relaxed.”

All of a sudden, an extra pair of footsteps could be heard approaching. You could make out Tommy’s voice not too far, but there was another voice with him. A feminine voice. One you had not heard before. You quickly turned around to see Tommy walking with a beautiful woman. From the looks of her clothes, you could tell she was wealthy.

When Tommy saw you with Pyramus, he smiled at you and introduced you to the woman, May Carleton. She would be the one to train Pyramus. You shook her hand and offered a ‘hello.’ She went up the horse and began petting him along with you.

You told her that Pyramus tended to respond well with treats when stressed. May smiled at you. “He is a beautiful horse. Overly sweet, but he will make a good racehorse,” May remarked and turned back to Tommy. “The timeline you want the horse ready for Epsom is not much, but I can get him ready.”

You didn’t care for how May only referred to Pyramus as “the horse.” It was like she only viewed him as a job and not one of God’s best creatures. You looked over at Pyramus, and he was happily chomping away at his apple. He was too innocent for a life as a racehorse. The last thing you wanted was for Pyramus to be broken. You could feel the panic start to rise in your chest and your breath start to quicken. You didn’t know if it was anxiety or the joint you just smoked making you feel that way.

“Tommy,” you spoke up and got his attention. You motioned with your hand for him to follow, which he obliged. When the two of you were away from the others, you spoke your concerns. “How much do you know about this May Carleton? Is she trustworthy? What are her methods for training a horse?” you went on, but Tommy silenced you by placing a kiss on your lips.

When Tommy retreated, he cupped your face and looked at you with adoring eyes. “Pyramus will be taken care of, I promise. I would not send him away if I didn’t know that he would be treated well. May’s family has a long history of training racehorses. She knows what she is doing.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at Tommy’s reassurance. Now you felt silly. “I’m sorry for worrying. You probably think I’m childish,” you expressed quietly, looking down at the ground.

Tommy touched your chin to make you look at him directly. His blue eyes always left you breathless. You could drown in them if you stared too long. No amount of alcohol, cannabis, opium, or other drugs could compare to Tommy Shelby’s effects on you. He was addicting. He was handsome. He was dangerous. He was cruel. He was scary. He could also be kind and sweet-tempered. Tommy Shelby was an enigma. He would become a stain on your existence one way or another, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Sijoukar,” you said suddenly.

When Tommy asked who, you scoffed. “May. She is pretty. Don’t you think?”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar,” you teased. “Even I can admit she is gorgeous. It’s okay. I don’t mind if you think other women are attractive. It is part of human nature.”

With a smirk, Tommy wrapped his arms around you and gave you one last deep kiss. “You better get back to work. I’ll see you late tonight, and I’ll walk you home, yeah.”

He walked you towards the exit with his hand in yours. You waved goodbye to Curly and Charlie and gave a polite nod to May. You didn’t miss the brief look of disappointment on May’s face when she saw you and Tommy walk past her hand-in-hand. You smirked when you passed the woman.

“I’ll tell you what, how about after a couple of weeks, we go visit Pyramus? See how he is doing and all. You and me, together,” suggested Tommy as you both neared the Yard’s exit.

“Really?” you asked, bewildered at Tommy’s idea.

“Why not? It would be our first adventure together. What do you say?”

“I like that idea. Oh, think of a fun and trouble we could get into. I don’t think the world is ready for us, Mr. Shelby,” you laughed and wrapped your arms around Tommy’s shoulders.

Again, kissing you on the lips, Tommy leaned into your ear to whisper, “We are going to set the world on fire, love. You and me, love.”

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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1994sunflower · 4 years

Text

heaven to you. (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

word count: 8.1k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, established relationship, a lot of cursing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink (really mild), choking, dirty talk, pain kink (slight), size kink, thigh riding, face slapping (consensual), hair pulling, spitting kink, throat fucking, impregnation kink, praise, degredation/name calling, innocence kink, virgin kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of drugs/drinking, maybe more but nothing too big just pretty filthy ngl

summary: your high school classmates come over to michael’s house in hopes of being friends with the famous bad boy on campus. this includes your one-sided high school crush that may not have been so one-sided after all. unfortunately for him, michael is not someone to piss off. fortunately for you, michael’s anger and jealousy isn’t always so bad, at least for you.

part two

“Tell me again why we’re going to this guy’s house?” Justin asked his two childhood friends. At least, they were up until high school. Now, as they went to different colleges, they felt more like strangers. But that was part of the reason he took the multi-state trip down to their university: to mend that rift.

“We’ve been telling you man, Michael is the man on campus to be friends with.” Chris punched one of his hands into his other palm for emphasis.

Charlie nodded beside Chris, both standing in front of their front door, ready to go. “He gets into the best parties, gets the hottest chicks and is the most feared guy on campus.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Chris opened the door, shaking his head. “Yeah, dude. No one messes with him because he’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“He’s done it a few times already.” Charlie added.

“There’s rumors he used to be involved in a gang or something and that’s why he’s like that. Either way though, he gets whatever he wants.”

Justin’s lips curled up a bit in disgust. He came from a wealthy background, wealthy family and wealthy school. Though he never let that get to his head and he never looked down on someone because of it, this stark contrast to his normality was difficult to shrug off.

But he did as he followed both Charlie and Chris out.

Charlie was still raving about ‘Michael’ as they walked out of the cramped dorm room to the unfamiliar winding paths of their university. “I mean, imagine being friends with him. You’ll get all the benefits he gets.”

“I’m sorry, if you aren’t friends with him, how are we going to his house?” Justin trailed behind the two slightly.

Chris looked back, “Turns out his best friend is in my accounting class and he invited us over to play video games. How lucky is that?”

“Yeah, lucky.” Justin looked away. He wasn’t going to admit that as they crossed the street across the student union, the whole concept of meeting someone with a reputation as rough as this Michael character was daunting and just a bit scary. In fact, it didn’t take a genius to look at the three boys all wearing vineyard vines khakis and polos, and know they didn’t mesh well with what he supposed Michael was like.

They didn’t even mesh well with the college neighborhood they were entering. The small houses looked worn and crumbled down and the streets were even worse. The only thing that calmed his nerves was the knowledge that the scariest people on the block were tired college students.

“Have you even talked to him before?” Justin kept asking questions to calm himself down and stop himself from looking around at the neighborhood in disdain.

Charlie shrugged, “I talked to him at a party once, he didn’t say much though.”

Chris smirked, “I walked with him to class once.” He paused. “Well, I was walking with his friend, Ashton? And he joined. But it still felt cool. Everyone was staring and making way for us - well him”

They filled in all the holes in knowledge of Michael. How he never lost a fight (even though he was involved with them often - evidenced by his perpetual bloody knuckles), how he rarely went to class (and when he did, how he sat alone, always), how his fashion consisted of black, chains and more black and finally, how he would go home with a different girl every party (but how that didn’t happen anymore as he had a girlfriend, though her identity to them remained a mystery).

Justin nodded as he listened. But as more and more was added to the infamous Michael, he felt less and less inclined to meet him.

Time, however, to turn back had run out. Because as his friends turned into a rubble pathway leading up to an equally rubble house, he knew he was about to be face to face with the myth, the legend, Michael himself.

The things he would do for his friends. If he didn’t hold such a sentimental place in his heart for the boys he had grown up with, he definitely wouldn’t be there, standing in front of a (turning green) door, waiting for an answer. They were different, it was obvious in high school that they had become different types of men; he valued education, science, and was a romantic at heart while they valued alcohol, parties and were willing to screw anything they found ‘hot’.

But that didn’t deter him from valuing their friendship.

It occurred to him that the only thing his friends had failed to fill him in on was Michael’s appearance. So, when the door opened and a boy slightly shorter than even Chris, the shortest of them (though Justin was 6’5 and Charlie was 6’0 so really, Chris being 5’11 wasn’t that short) and messy brown curls covering his head and forehead, he was shocked to say the least.

But that didn’t last long as Chris dapped him. “Ashton! What’s up man?”

Ashton smiled big and nodded in acknowledgement to the rest of them. “Nothing much bro, took you a while.” But he moved back into the small house, a signal of welcome for them to come in but close the door behind them.

So, as Chris and Charlie followed Ashton in, talking about who knows what, Justin made sure to shut and lock the door before trailing behind.

The house was bigger than he pictured in his mind. The living room and kitchen were divided by only a pillar and the counter. But it was spacious enough to fit a flat screen (granted, it was on the floor) and a black winding couch (granted, it had cracks all over it). The only light came from the kitchen and the tv, which was set to the beginning of the game.

Ashton already sat down on the couch, grabbing a game controller casually from behind him. He was wearing a black t-shirt that had it’s sleeves cut off to the point where you could see his whole side torso through the giant holes. His gray jeans were equally ripped and Justin was sure his shoes would be too, if he were wearing any but just gray socks adorned his feet. He had spiked bracelets on his left wrist. Maybe this was the reason his slightly tanned, innocent face looked strange. His big eyes and friendly smile was a stark juxtaposition to the rest of his body.

Chris looked around as his large figure slumped beside Ashton, “Where’s Michael?”

Ashton didn’t look at him when he answered, “In his room with his girl. He’ll be out soon, I think. That is if they don’t start going at it.”

Charlie laughed as he sat on the other side of Ashton, picking up a controller from the ground. Justin was left to sit awkwardly on the edge of the couch, closest to the kitchen. He felt out of place, just like he suspected and it didn’t help the darkness that surrounded the room, even through the lit kitchen and blue tv screen.

He didn’t get to think much on it, though, because not a few minutes after he sat down, did the bedroom door behind the couch open up. Light streamed into the dimly lit room.

Justin stood. It was a force of habit, really. He was used to standing up whenever someone knew came into the room to introduce himself. But when no one else stood, with Ashton not even bothering to look behind him, he felt awkward. It was too late to sit back down, though.

Charlie and Chris looked back, though, with big grins. “Hey, Michael! What’s up, man?” They said as if they were close friends.

And thus, Justin came face to face with Michael himself. And this time, he looked exactly like what he expected.

Michael was towering, though his height was nearly equal to Justin’s. His shoulders so broad that they nearly filled up the entire doorway of his bedroom. His t-shirt was plain black and so were his jeans, which had three chains adorning them. Two sleeves of tattoos ran down both of his arms to his hands and fingers , one of his hands reading F U C K in big bold letters, with a few peeking out on his neck as well. His black messy hair matched him well and fell onto his forehead.

But through that intimidating appearance, none of those things were what caught Justin’s attention. No, it was Michael’s eyes that did it. Though they were light in color, somehow they still seemed dark. The coldness in them was frightening. There was no hint of warmth, of friendliness, in them. In fact, as Michael held direct eye contact, saying nothing at the still standing Justin, the aggression his eyes held was enough to make Justin take a step back.

It was that step that seemingly broke the trance Michael had put him in. Because just like that, Michael looked away and moved forward into the living room. He nodded in acknowledgement at Chris and Charlie, still silent, before shouldering past Justin to go to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottled beer, opening it with his bare hand on his way back.

Justin was going to sit back himself as he saw Michael head to the couch but was stopped by a second, much smaller figure exiting Michael’s room.

The girl was petite, especially compared to Michael, standing at a proud 5’1. Her straight black hair was parted down the middle and hung perfectly over her shoulders. She wore a dainty white sunflower dress that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin which made her, along with her kind smile and bright brown eyes, look like the epitome of innocence. Quite the distinction from Michael who seemed to personify danger.

She was beautiful.

And she was his good friend.

“Y/N?”

Your legs were stationed at each side of Michael’s torso as you straddled him. Your hands were cupping his face and while one of his hands was on your ass while the other was gripping your long hair, pulling just enough for it to be pleasurable.

Your mouths melded into each others deeply and you couldn’t tell which one of you were more desperate for the other. You’d been making out for a while and your body was on fire. You felt like his touch was both burning you and exactly what needed at the same time.

It only took one slow grind of your hips against his that did it for him. He flipped you over so that you landed directly on one of his thighs, the chains of his jeans rattling in the process. His body was flush to yours, you could feel his hardness against you.

You looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, just how you knew he liked it. And you were awarded with a deep groan and a taunting smile before his lips returned to your body, this time to your neck. You moved your head to give him more access and as he got more into it, sucking and biting, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. You knew he was going to leave a mark (probably many) because he liked to have something that claimed you as his.

One of his hands wandered to your lower body, traveling under your flimsy dress to flip it over. He gave your ass a swat to command you to move. He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your hips starts moving, slowly at first against his jean-clad thigh. But as the pleasure started to build up at the friction, you began moving faster, desperately, moaning loudly.

Michael watched you silently, a smirk on his face. The only touch was his hands on your hips, guiding your pace and your movements. Otherwise, he just watched you get off on him.

“Did you wear this dress for me?” You nodded desperately against him, wanting nothing more than push against his finger but knew better.

His hand pulled your hair harshly, hard enough that it hurt but that just made you moan louder. “I asked you a question.” He growled, he had begun to move his leg up and down, making everything that much pleasurable.

Fuck. “Y-Yes, all for you, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Was all he said before his lips claimed yours again. His kisses were fervent as he bit and sucked on your bottom lip. Your hips were still moving violently against his thigh and you could feel your climax start to build up. It was almost too hot for you to handle. But you could tell he was going to give you what you wanted soon.

Or he was. A loud banging came from his bedroom door across the room. “They’re here!” Ashton’s voice rang to you from behind the door.

You sighed deeply as you pulled away from Michael and away from your release. Michael groaned and fell, face first, into the mattress. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Maybe later.” You giggled, pushing him up to lay on his back. He looked up at you and a mischievous smile, the one you had grown to love, adorned his face.

“Or we can continue.” His hand was already reaching to your wrist to pull you up to straddle him again but you held back, shaking your head.

“Mikey, you have guests.” But still, you leaned over and pecked his lips quickly.

Michael groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Fuck them. I don’t even know who they are, they’re Ashton’s friends.”

You smiled at his attitude. Your hand was tracing his neck, following the ink lines. It was a vulnerable position he was in, and something he only ever allowed you to do. When he was with you, it was so easy to forget how different he was with other people. How mean he could be. It was almost comical to see the difference in how he was right then to what he was just a few minutes ago.

“Be nice.” You chastised. “They’re here for you too, don’t bother trying to kid yourself.”

You heard Michael whine, “Come on, baby girl.” He took a hold of your wrist again. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position, he easily towered over you and he used that to his advantage. Pushing you against the wall next to his bed, he cupped one of your cheeks. His hand took up much of that side of your face, “Let me get you off.” His voice was deep with want.

You’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t wet. The way he was looking at you, the way you felt so small in front of him, you wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with you. But as you heard the front door close, you couldn’t. Not only would it be embarrassing because you were never quiet, Michael made sure of that, but it would be impolite.

Michael would never admit it but you both knew the guests were here for him. He was somewhat of a legend throughout the campus, especially among frat boys and wannabes. No matter your disdain for people like that, they came all this way for him.

So you pushed against his chest just slightly, knowing that would be enough for Michael to let you go. And when he sighed and moved away, you got up from his bed and moved to where there was a mirror hanging next to his closet. Your hair was a mess and so was your makeup. You looked fucked out and you were in awe for a moment at how Michael managed to make you this way with just a make out session and a dry hump.

Fixing yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at the pouting boy, still cross armed on his bed. Turning to him, you motioned for him to get up. “Come on Mikey.”

He stood and immediately, you had to crane your neck to look up at his big height. Even his shoulders engulfed your entire figure. Michael knew what he did to you so it wasn’t much a surprise when you felt one of his hands wrap themselves around your neck, the one with his bruised knuckles, but not hard. “After this, you’re mine.”

You think your smile was enough to tell him how excited you were at that prospect.

Michael gave you a weak smile. He didn’t tend to smile much, even when it was just the two of you. In fact, except the fact that he was a lot chattier and warmer with you, he was still always in his head and rarely expressed much emotion outside of bed besides anger, horniness and the rare affection. But you were okay with that. Your emotions were enough for the two of us.

He gave you peck on the lips, “I’ll see you out there.”

You nodded up at him, smiling before going back to fixing your makeup and adjusting your dress. Ashton had a couple of friends over ever now and then. Most, if not all, coming to see Michael. Though, you tried to not be there whenever they came over, Michael seemed to prefer it for you to be with him. To give him something to actually look forward to. He hated meeting new people and he hated their interest in him. He was popular without wanting to be. So you were often there to remedy that and you became the center of his world in those moments. Though, really, that was how you were most of the time you were with him.

Only a few minutes passed after he left the room that you followed him out.

But as soon as you left the room, you stopped when you saw someone standing in the living room, looking at you. In that same instance, you recognized him. Justin. A good friend from high school and an even better human being.

As your name left his mouth you grinned, coming closer to hug him. It had been so long, years, actually. The last you saw him was at your graduation when you swore you’d miss him. And you had. After all, he was the boy that plagued your heart all throughout high school - not that he’d known.

“Justin!” The hug was quick and you had to get on your tip toes to do it. You could tell he was just as surprised to see you. He was smiling wide and his eyebrows were shot high like they did whenever he was interested in something.

But just as soon as you pulled away, the weirdness of the situation seeped in, “What are you doing here?”

Justin blinked as if he, too, just became aware of the weird circumstance you were meeting in. “I, uh” He scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to answer and gestured to the couch. “I came with Chris and Charlie.”

Your brows furrowed further as you glanced at the couch where, sure enough, your high school classmates sat, looking back at you. They waved, slightly confused. You tried to ignore the fact that even Ashton had torn his eyes away from the tv to stare at you two. Which, considering how hard it was to take Ashton away from his video games, was saying something.

All you could think was that you wanted to crawl into a hole. The boys that you always said peaked in high school and made you so upset when they transferred to your university were now at your boyfriend’s house, trying to be his friends. It was truly a worst case scenario.

Excluding Justin. It’d been so long since you saw him, it felt nice to be in his presence again. You appreciated him as a person and the kindness he radiated - even to you, someone so much lower in economic status than him.

“But I thought you went to Washington?” You fiddled with one of your bracelets as you spoke.

Justin nodded, stiffly. “I do, we’re just on Spring Break a few weeks before you so I thought I’d visit.”

You smiled, “You should’ve gotten in touch!”

You think the situation had gotten a hold of him because while he otherwise would be rambling on with questions and stories, Justin had gotten quiet. “But why are you here?”

You blinked. Now you felt uncomfortable. It was as if you finally noticed everyone’s eyes on you, including Michael’s glaring ones. Yeah, this is definitely the last time you were going to be there when someone else was coming over.

Ashton turned back to the tv and scoffed, “Please, she practically lives here.”

Your nose crinkled when you smiled and made your way to Michael, who had taken a seat and motioned you into his lap. You shrugged, looking at your high school classmates. “This is my boyfriend’s house.”

Justin sat down slowly, his eyes just as wide as Chris and Charlie’s. Most people on campus knew you were Michael’s girlfriend. So the shocked reaction had been diminishing. You were almost starting to become used to not seeing it.

Almost.

You don’t really blame them. You are very different. Michael is aggressive, angry and cold while you tended to be bubbly, shy and school-oriented. But that’s what you liked about each other. You just fit so well together. Opposites attract, right?

Ashton spoke up again, knowing Michael would likely not talk the entire reunion if he could help it. “How do you know each other?”

You took one of Michael’s hands in yours, your hand looking almost minature in his large one, and traced the tattoos you loved so much, “We went to high school together.”

Ashton nodded, “Oh the private one?”

Charlie nodded, glancing at Michael before looking at you, “I didn’t know you were dating Michael Clifford.”

You smiled weakly, we’re not friends, that’s why you didn’t know is what you wanted to say.

Michael took a chug of the glass bottled beer in his hands. It was like a silent signal because after, the three boys began playing their game.

You made a grab for the beer but Michael moved it out of your reach, his free hand slapping the side of your thigh in warning.

Your eyes widened. “Michael!” You hissed under your breath. Not in front of everyone. But he just stared at you, unsmiling. The only hint of humor came from his twinkling eyes.

He didn’t like you trying anything he was into: drugs, cigarettes, weed, alcohol. It was all off limits to you and he made sure everyone knew it. It was his way to preserve your innocence, even if dating him made that seem sort of like a paradox. Sometimes, though, it was fun to mess with him even if you were never interested in actually experimenting with the things he did.

“So, Michael…” You were brought out of your own little world by Charlie. “Are you going to Epsilon’s party tonight?”

“No.” Came Michael’s curt reply, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your arm.

Ashton was the one who saved the moment (and Charlie’s feelings) by filling in Michael’s blanks. You think that’s why they were such good friends. “Michael hates parties. He’d rather be here with Y/N and do it like bunnies.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to die or if you wanted to kill Ashton. Maybe both.

Because as soon as those words left his mouth to your high school classmates - and high school crush - you felt your face heat up. You didn’t have to look to know that Michael was smirking.

You saw Justin blush and look away and for a moment, you felt worse. There was something about feeling completely humiliated in front of someone you hold at such a high regard that does that to you.

Ashton and Chris both exclaimed at something on the tv at the same time your phone chimed. You unlocked it to read the text.

kelly (stats)

hey girl! are you on campus? i’m at the library and wanted to see if you wanted to work on the project.

The project. It was due in a few weeks and while you had finished your portion, the rest of it was definitely not done. You sighed, knowing you’d have to go and lose the rest of your day with Michael.

You felt Michael shift under you, moving up from his slouched position to be able to read your text fully. He kissed your shoulder when he did.

“I’ll be right back.” You whispered to which he nodded. You got up from his lap and moved to the kitchen, moving to call Kelly and sort out the details.

“Hello?”

Justin’s eyes followed your movements as you left to the kitchen, though certainly not missing the way Michael’s hollow eyes watched his every move. Michael, sitting slouched, didn’t even stop staring when he took a chug of his beer, the red of his healing bloody knuckles on full display.

Justin definitely understood what made Michael so scary on campus. What he couldn’t understand is why Y/N was with him. Sweet, innocent Y/N. Had you changed so much in three years that this is who you would fall for?

He could feel Michael radiate hostility but Michael remained quiet, simply choosing to observe Justin, which somehow seemed more terrifying.

When you came back into the room, Justin actively tried not to watch you. He kept his eyes on the tv with his only glimpse of you being your bottom half as you walked by him, your dress falling to just below your mid thigh. He couldn’t help but listen to his friend’s chiming voice as you spoke in a lower tone.

“I’m going to go to the library to finish up a project.” He couldn’t hear what Michael answered, if he even answered. But he heard you continue. “No, I might just walk. It’s still light out. I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”

Then, as if the afternoon didn’t already feel surreal enough, he saw you out of the corner of his eye, bend down and plant a kiss to Michael’s lips, one of your hands were on his abdomen, holding you up. It almost felt jarring to witness. Not only to see Michael allowing such a thing but to see the girl that had taken up much of his mind, and heart, in high school willingly put herself in that position with a man like Michael. It had taken him a while this afternoon just to put the pieces together and understand that Y/N was Michael’s girlfriend but to see it laid out in front of him was disturbing nonetheless.

When you straightened up again, you regarded the boys in front of you with the kind smile Justin knew so well. “I’m heading out, nice to see you guys again.” Though you didn’t really sound like you meant it.

Justin didn’t think his next actions through. All he was thinking was that it was an out. An out to leave this house that made him so uncomfortable and an out to not be in the same room as Michael without you to mend the tension.

So he stood up without much thought, “I’ll head out with you.” And as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back immediately. They came out wrong. He knew it and so did everyone else in the room, evidenced by the pausing of the video game and the multiple set of eyes on him.

You blinked up at him, processing what he said for a moment before he quickly added, “I mean, I left my phone back at Chris’ room so I was going to leave anyway. I was just thinking I’d give you some company.” That didn’t sound any better either.

But he trudged through the awkwardness of his phrasing by refusing to look at Michael. Justin had a feeling that would make everything a million times worse.

But you didn’t fail him, “Oh, sure.” You smiled warmly, looking back at Michael quickly before moving towards Justin and the door, “We can catch up on the way.”

Chris and Charlie were looking at him with wide eyes as he left, likely cursing him out in their heads for messing up any chance they had at being Michael’s friends. But as he followed his friend back out to the open world, outside of the dark and cramped house, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

You looked up at the tall blond boy beside you as you walked down the sidewalk that would lead back to campus. You were still in awe that he was there beside you, walking and talking to you after so long. Well, not so much talking. You think he was still up in his head about the situation.

“So did you really leave something in Chris’ dorm room?” You smiled knowingly up at him.

To which he let out a chuckle and lowered his head sheepishly, “No, I…I just had to get out of there.”

You nodded like you understood, which you did. You talked a lot when we were in high school and you knew his limits, what he was used to. “Yeah, I know that house can be a lot for some people.”

“It’s just cramped.”

You didn’t say it but that kind of bothered you. It wasn’t a mansion and while it wasn’t exactly nice, it was cozy and it felt like home. Michael made it feel like home. But you knew Justin couldn’t see it that way. He was the richest boy in high school, after all. And popular because of it. Though, looking back, you couldn’t think of a time where he had let that get to his head.

“So, you and Michael, huh?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis and looked over at you. His blue eyes clouding with worry.

Now, it was your turn to chuckle. “Yeah. It’s okay, a lot of people have the same reaction.”

“It’s just different, I guess. Have you heard his reputation at all?”

You got on the bus that would lead straight to the middle of campus at that point and found two seats right next to each other.

You nodded, “I guess. But Michael…Michael’s different from what you think. He can be sweet. You just have to get to know him.” You tried to tame the big loving smile that was threatening to explode at the thought of Michael, the version of him that you knew. You were well aware of how vicious and even cruel he could be, gaining him the rumors that constantly swirled around him and now even you. But he wasn’t like that with you.

“I heard he’s in a gang.” Justin whispered.

Your eyes shot up at him in alarm, “Of course he’s not.” Unfounded rumors like that did bother you, they whittled down all of Michael’s past struggles to be theatrical entertainment for those looking in, not to mentioned demonized him even further for no reason. Though they never really bothered Michael, you had too much respect both for him and for yourself to be okay with them.

“I just don’t think I expected him to be your type.” He explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Well he wasn’t, not at first.” You calmed down and instead bit your inner cheek, trying to decide whether you should let him in on your little secret. “Actually, you were my type. I had a huge crush on you in high school…”

“What?-”

“…Don’t worry, I’m over it now.” you quickly added in when you I felt him freeze behind you in surprise. It was embarrassing but it didn’t make much sense keeping it from him anymore.

“I had no idea.” His voice dripped with honesty. He pulled at the collar of his polo shirt.

You shrugged, “I made sure of that. I don’t know, you were just so nice to me even though you were so out of my league. You were rich, popular but so respectful and socially aware. Plus you weren’t a republican.” You laughed before looking down, “And I was the shy scholarship kid.”

It was obvious Justin was trying to think of what to say so you helped him out, “But you know three years of college really changes you. I’m a lot more outspoken now and I found a great boyfriend.”

Justin nodded, still seemingly shocked, “That’s great.” His voice was soft and, as you made eye contact, there was something more in his eyes that you couldn’t read.

But you didn’t have to think of it much because you got to our destination and you both made your way off the bus, onto the campus you loved so much.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around?” You were already moving back slowly, desperate to get to the library quickly so you could head back to Michael faster.

Justin nodded, not moving to go to the dorms, “Yeah, I’ll be here for two weeks or so.”

You practically skipping when you reached Michael’s house again. The sun had set and part of you were upset at how long it had taken you in the library. But as you opened the door to Michael’s room and saw him laying on his bed, headphones on and wearing a black hoodie with only the tattoos on his hands peeking out, those feelings disappeared and were replaced with much more primal feelings.

Michael, slipping off his headphones gently, seemed to mirror your feelings because just a bending of his index finger in a ‘come here’ motion, was enough to have you closing the door behind you and nearly jumping onto him.

You were smiling but asked before anything else, “Ashton-?” You always felt bad he had to deal with you constantly at each other with only thin walls separating Michael’s room from his.

“He went to that frat party.” Michael muttered, uninterested. His eyes were instead trailing your body, figuring out which way was best to take off your dress.

You were on all fours as you crawled your way to him, stopping when you were in between his spread legs. “You should’ve gone.” Even if you didn’t love parties, they were still a big part of who he was, before dating you he would be at them drinking the night away every other day, and a part of you felt bad for taking them away from him, even if unintentionally.

But still, he couldn’t look like he care less when he reached over and pulled your dress up to uncover your ass, his hands trailing down the curve of you sensually before giving you a small spank that made you jump in surprise. “I have better things to do.”

Now that deserved a reward. Your hand rubbed over the noticeable bulge in his jeans. Michael’s hands undid his belt, the sight of that action almost making you want to moan right then and there. Your hands trailed up to undo the button and zipper. He eagerly pushed his hips up to help you take his jeans and boxers off.

His long and thick length stood out horizontally and you felt your mouth watering already at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

One of his hands took a hold of the gold necklace you were wearing, twisting it and pulling at it to force your face closer to his.“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

When you first started having sex, you were shy and inexperienced. Words and talk like that would have had you shaking nervously. And while you would still likely react that way in public, with enough time with Michael and in the privacy of his room, you didn’t even blink when you answered.

“Always.” Your hand wrapped around him before you took his dick into your mouth. Michael groaned immediately and threw his head back, eyes closed. This only proved to spur you on. You took him as deep as you could, stopping only when his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back.

But the vibrations only seemed to have him moaning louder and led to one of his hands to collect your hair and push himself back into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good, take it.”

You didn’t even notice when he had taken off his shirt and hoodie. His tattoos, which ranged from his fingers to his entire torso and neck were on full display and you felt yourself get wetter at the intricate ink that adorned his beautiful body. It was a contrast to your body that was completely bare of any tattoos.

Up until then, he was still controlled. When you looked up at him with the innocent eyes you knew drove him wild and moan against his length as you bobbed your head, his control snapped. There was something about you looking pure, especially in that angelic-looking white dress, at the same time you were doing something so dirty with him that sent him ablaze. Even more knowing that you were only like that for him.

Immediately, he tightened his grip on your hair with both hands, holding you in place. He thrust up into your mouth at a fast pace, fucking your mouth harshly. His groans increasing in volume. He thrust into your mouth deeply, your nose nearly touching his stomach, and kept himself there. Your throat closed tightly against him.

“Do you like that?” Your jaw hurt and you felt tears in your eyes as he pulled out enough for you to breath, his cock was messy with your spit. Then he continued, thrusting into your awaiting mouth and murmuring dirty nothings under his breath. You wanted to trail your hands down to your pussy to soothe the ache it had for him but you refrained. “Do you like me using your mouth like a dirty fucking slut?”

You moaned involuntarily. You needed him. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties. Michael gave a sharp tug at your hair and pulled you off of him. He tilted your head back painfully to lock his eyes with yours.

“Do you like being used like a toy?” His voice was cold and mean but it was a turn on. You nodded your head submissively and one of his hands reached down to your cheek, giving you a sharp slap. Enough for you to feel the sting and enough for it to feel good. “Open your mouth.”

You did what he said immediately. Your tongue poking out in anticipation. Michael leaned down before spitting into your mouth. You closed your eyes, moaning when you felt another slap at your cheek.

“Dirty whore.” Michael muttered under his breath before pinning you down to his bed, tearing your dress off as soon as hit the mattress and then doing the same to your bra and underwear.

Part of you wondered what had gotten into him. Being rough and kinky in bed isn’t something out of the ordinary for you two but he usually wasn’t like this out of no where. Not that you were complaining.

On all fours, you swayed your ass to him enticingly and looked behind you with a virginal smile, “Fuck me, daddy.” You said innocently.

He didn’t say anything as he flipped you over quickly and ran the head of his dick teasingly along your entrance, slapping it onto your pussy twice. A load moan of his name left your mouth when he finally entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting at a rough pace into you. Your moans were cut off and stuttered at the pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” One of Michael’s hands reached up to your throat and pressed tightly. The feeling of his inked hands around your throat amplified the pleasure. Your walls clenched around him. “No matter how many times I fuck you"

You saw his eyes be fixated on your breasts, the way they bounced up and down fully in pace with each of his thrusts. He leaned down and wrapped his warm mouth around one of tits, flicking and twirling his tongue around your nipple.

Your eyes closed involuntarily and your back arched in pleasure as he continued to slam his hips into yours. The only sounds in the room were the sound of skin slapping, your moans and his grunts.

“If only those boys could see you now, their innocent little classmate, so submissive and desperate for my cock, letting me fuck you like my bitch.” Michael’s voice was taunting and you could barely get your mind out of the haze of pleasure to question what he was talking about.

“But they’ll never see you like this. This is the only cock you’ll ever get, your first and your last. No one will ever be able to please you like I can. Do you think that blondie can make you feel this good?” You closed your eyes in pleasure, too far lost to even understand what he was saying, just shaking your head in answer. You were blushing like crazy at his words, which only served to make him thrust faster.

“Look at me.” He hissed and you did just when his thrusts’ vigor increased even more which left you whimpering and writhing underneath him. But still, you opened and kept your eyes on him, your mouth open as moans filtered out of you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Though your mouth was open, you couldn’t formulate words. But Michael’s hands on your throat pressed harder and his other hand slapped your cheek as a warning, “Tell me.”

“Y-Yours. I’m yours, Mikey. Only yours.” His mouth was on yours in a heated kiss while his pace never faltered as he pistoned in and out of you.

“That’s right.” Michael praised, “Mine.” Then he said something he had never said before. “I’m going to knock you up, get you nice and pregnant. Everyone would know then, that you’re fucking mine.” He almost sounded delirious with the prospect.

He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it. Even if he did, you were on birth control. But you moaned loader just at the thought of his love for you reaching those lengths.

“You want that, little one? Want me to fill your tight little cunt with my cum?”

A chorus of “Yes, yes, yes” left your mouth, you couldn’t speak anymore than just repeating that. The thought of being pregnant with his child and the reminder of just how small you were compared to him was enough to put you on another planet.

“H-Harder.” You were shaking as he complied with your request, his thrusts moving faster and rougher into you. Your arms wrapped themselves around his torso and scratched at his back, desperate for a way to express the nearly overwhelming pleasure you felt. He hissed in pleasure at the pain, his body above you engulfed nearly your entire figure.

“Open” His rough voice commanded and you opened your mouth obediently. Moaning again as he spit into your awaiting tongue once again.

Your throat was starting to be raw with your screaming and begging to come. “Cum for me, princess.”

You clenched your walls as you came around his big cock and that seemed to be the only thing that took for him to release after you.

He released inside you, filling you and leaking out after he pulled out. “Such a good girl.”

He was still coming when he pulled out and ribbons of cum adorned your face, which you graciously accepted. Michael watched your face and groaned to himself when you licked some of his cum off that was at the corner of your mouth and swallowed.

His eyes were closed in pleasure for a moment before he released his grip on your throat. You didn’t doubt the image before of you, blushing and covered in his cum did wonders for his libido.

He cleaned you up but you had a feeling it was just an excuse to be able to give you a passionate kiss. “You did great, baby girl. I love you.”

His praise made your heart swell. “I love you, too.”

Before you knew it, your kiss had gotten much more frenzied and his hand was trailing to your sore entrance. But you stopped before it could lead to a round two.

“I’m sore.” You mumbled before nuzzling into chest. His arms wrapped around your body protectively and kissed the top of your head, gently, so different from how rough he was just a few moments before.

You looked up at him quizzically just to see that he was already looking at you. “So, are you going to tell me what that was about?”

Michael looked genuinely confused, “What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes, moving up so you were at eye level with him. You ran your fingers through his soft black hair, noting how his eyes fluttered at the sensation. “You know what I mean. What wound you up so bad?”

“Nothing” But at your pointed look, he sighed in defeat and muttered, “Those little rich boys. The tall one, he’s into you and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You sputtered, “Justin?! No way is he into me.” You shook your head, giggling as you leaned back to lay your head on his shoulder. “Actually, in high school, I was the one into him.”

You probably shouldn’t have said that. You knew it as soon as Michael’s eyes hardened and his body stiffened. “What?”

Shaking your head, you stuttered out, “But I got over that years ago, he’s just a friend.”

But Michael couldn’t let it go, “You liked him and he was in my fucking house? He left with you for fucks sakes Y/N.” He moved as if he was getting up and you placed a hand on his chest to stop him (only doing so because he let you, otherwise his strength would quickly overpower yours). If he were to go after Justin, there would be little you could do to stop him from beating him to a pulp.

You kissed him deeply to calm him down because you saw his eyes start to shut down. They started to look like the same eyes he had in public, the cold, angry ones. And you couldn’t let him go there, not with you.

“We were only with each other for a few minutes, we took the bus.” You reasoned with him.

Michael locked his jaw tightly but he was starting to calm down, “That bitch ass couldn’t even look at me but I was watching him. He kept looking at you like he knew you, like he knew you how I know you.”

He looked at you then, with a mocking smirk. “Like he knew how sweet and moral you are and that you shouldn’t be with your big bad boyfriend. Too bad he didn’t see you begging to have your mouth and pussy filled by your mean boyfriend’s cock. Or that he didn’t know I was the one that took your virginity,” He moaned at the memory, “What do you think he would say if he saw innocent little Y/N like that?”

You didn’t have to be looking at him to see the delight in his bright eyes and sneering smile. It was obvious he enjoyed corrupting you.

You whined at his words, embarrassed, as if you didn’t hear much worse things come out of his mouth when you were underneath him or even when he was in fights with others.

“Are you sure Ashton isn’t home?” You changed the topic.

“He’s out.” Michael repeated, “Why, did you want him to join?”

He was teasing you, you knew he was but you whined again, blushing (something you knew he loved) and shook your head no.

He chuckled, a warm and joking chuckle, “Good, because I’m not sharing you. Remember that.”

Michael settled you in between his legs comfortably, giving you his phone to busy yourself with games or take photos. He kissed the top of your head, that reached just to his chin. Meanwhile, he grabbed a cigarette and a lighter from his nightstand, placing the white stick in his mouth and lighting it. The scent overtook your senses uncomfortably. But you were used to it so you didn’t do much besides raising your hand jokingly, to ask for a puff.

But Michael, who never took those things as a joke, squeezed your thigh. “I don’t want you getting into the shit I’m into.” He said, “I want to keep you pure for me.”

Because as much as he loved corrupting you, he loved your innocence even more.

so i think i’m going to make this into a two part series with each part having two stories involved. if that makes sense, let me know what you think!

#5sos #michael clifford smut #5sos smut #michael clifford x reader #michael clifford #bad boy smut #jealous smut #bad boy michael #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #calum hood smut #ashton irwin smut #5sos imagines #michael imagine #college au

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write-r-die · 3 years

Text

Prisoner - Part 9

FEBRUARY, 1067 - NORMAN CONQUEST OF ENGLAND

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Thomasin Latymer, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

Masterlist

“We’ve finally run out of wine,” Roger said mournfully. “I knew sooner or later this moment would come, but now that it’s here I must say I’m grieved for the loss.”

Charlie smiled but didn’t open his eyes. “Shut your eyes. You can dream about all the wine we’ll have in London. They’re all doing it.”

He referred to the sleeping men all around them. They were sprawled out in strange positions even though they were all packed together in two or three large clumps to keep warm. After the events of the last few days – and specifically yesterday afternoon – they were too tired to care if Hammond and the Saxons came back and killed them.

The nuns’ presence was somehow reassuring, too. Surely no one in their right mind would attack a bride of the Church, but that wasn’t the only reason they were relaxed. Sister Aldith and the young nun – she called herself a postulant – had gone around tending to the men’s wounds regardless of how small they were. Sister Aldith was quite maternal, and the men all subconsciously decided that there was nothing to fear with their mother watching over them.

“I wonder if we’ll ever make it to London,” Roger said ruefully. The sky had just begun to lighten; dawn was only an hour or so away and he dreaded the thought of facing another long day.

“We will,” said Charlie. “I will get back to London and have a large drink and a hot bath if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Is that Henry coming out of Lady Thomasin’s tent?”

Charlie cracked his eyes open. Henry was walking toward them and Charlie could already tell he was in a mood.

Henry carefully picked his way through the labyrinth of bodies to reach his brother and friend. Kal, too large and awkward to wade into the crowd, patrolled the perimeter of sleeping men to ensure all were accounted for and sleeping soundly.

“Good morning,” Roger said brightly.

“It’s not morning,” Charlie said pointedly, shutting his eyes again.

“He’s right,” Henry agreed. “There’s no reason for you to be cheery at this ungodly hour, Roger.”

“I’m always cheery.”

“What were you doing in Lady Thomasin’s tent?” Charlie asked.

“Just wanted to be sure all was well.”

“And is it?” asked Roger.

“It was until I woke her,” Henry replied. “I’m going to ride ahead to London. I’ll be there in two days if I only take a handful of men with me.”

“In a hurry?” Roger asked.

“It’s a good idea,” Charlie said. “King William will be wondering where we are. The last thing we need is for him to send someone to fetch us.” And the sooner Henry was in London, the sooner he could ask for her hand, the sooner Charlie’s weeks-long headache over Henry’s shameless pining would be over. “By my reckoning, it will take us four or so more days to get there depending on how long we have to wait for Thomasin to heal enough to ride.”

“And how long it will take to escort the nuns back to their convent,” Roger added.

Henry took a deep breath through his nose. The last thing he wanted to think about was that convent. He had no doubt Thomasin could get away from Charlie and Roger if she wanted to – she need only make up some excuse to set foot on church grounds and she would be granted sanctuary. He just didn’t want to picture it.

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you leaving now?”

“Yes. The sooner the better.”

“All right, then,” said Roger. “We’ll see you in a few days.”

Henry grunted in reply. Then, a moment later, “Make sure she doesn’t get shot again.”

“What are you thinking about?” Stephanie asked.

She woke only a few minutes after Henry left. She’d slept late by the convent’s standards; she would ordinarily be more than halfway through mass in the chapel by now. Instead she was working to mend Thomasin’s gown. It was beyond saving at this point, but it had to hold up until she reached London.

Thomasin lay half on her back and half on her side. She sighed through her nose. “Henry. He called me Tom.”

“That’s awfully familiar of him.”

“I hate being called Tom. It’s a man’s name,” Thomasin continued, ignoring her sister’s statement. “You and Justina are the only ones who call me that and only because you know I hate it.”

Stephanie shrugged.

“He wants to marry me.”

“I know,” Stephanie said.

“What?” Thomasin pushed herself into a sitting position. The pain of exerting her injured arm and shoulder nearly knocked her back down, but she forced herself to stay upright. “How do you know?”

“He told me so,” Stephanie said simply.

Thomasin’s eyes and nostrils widened in rage. “When was this?”

“While you were asleep.”

“And what – he casually mentioned that he’d like to shackle himself to me for the rest of his life?”

Stephanie shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I asked him.” She didn’t look up from her sewing.

“Why in God’s name –”

“You mustn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Tom.”

“Don’t call me Tom!” the younger girl shouted. “What possible reason could you have for asking him if –”

“I haven’t seen you in four years.” Stephanie’s eyes flickered up to Thomasin’s. “Our father is dead now. There’s no one left to look after you. I wanted to know what’s to become of my little sister.” Thomasin averted her eyes so Stephanie wouldn’t see the tears gathering in them. “Will you marry him?”

“Yes, if the king allows it,” Thomasin said. “I’m sure he will.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

Thomasin pulled her eyebrows together. “Are you saying I ought to take my chances with a stranger?”

“No,” Stephanie said. “I’m saying you don’t have to marry at all.”

Henry rode halfway through the night, and when he did stop, it was more for the horses’ sake than his or his men’s. The faster they get to London, the better, to his way of thinking.

He’d grown used to sleeping near Thomasin. Even on the nights when Henry wasn’t in the tent with her, he was always nearby. He worried she would attempt to escape again and somehow hurt herself – or, more likely, one of the men.

Once, he even slept directly outside of the tent; he could’ve reached out and touched her were it not for the sheet of fabric separating them.

Kal took the liberty of snuggling up tight against his master. He fixed his brown eyes on Henry and exhaled through his nose as though he were sighing.

Henry sighed back. “I miss her, too,” he murmured.

They only slept for a few hours; once dawn broke, the men were mounted and riding again. They reached London by nightfall.

Henry went straight from the stables to the throne room without stopping to remove his armor. He instead removed it as he walked, letting the pieces fall to the ground. Jamie, ever the dutiful squire, did his best to catch them all.

During his conquest, William the Bastard had saved the capital, England’s greatest prize, for last.

He invaded in December after first laying siege to the surrounding area to weaken the people’s spirits and make them more pliable to his intentions. He lay waste to the surrounding countryside, cutting off all supply routes to the city, then intentionally left the people to stew for weeks before finally attacking and capturing the city.

It was about a month since Henry had left this castle to return Lady Thomasin at the king’s behest.

Henry had only been to William’s castle once before, but he had the palace’s layout nearly memorized. He did not need to be escorted to the throne room, but a servant led him through the halls anyway for the sake of formality.

He passed a handful of acquaintances and friends but did not stop to speak with them. He was about the king’s business and could not be delayed.

The heavy wooden doors to the throne room opened and the servant fell into a theatrical bow. “Your grace, Baron Cavill’s fourth son, Henry, is here to see you”

“Ah, Henry!” the king called from his seat on the throne. “Do come in.”

William the Conqueror was nearly forty years of age. He was remarkably strong and clever, and no one in the world could rival his skill as a horseman or swordsman; he was growing steadily rounder with age, though, and his brown hair was dappled with grey.

Henry knelt before the raised dais the throne sat upon and put his hand over his heart. “Your grace.”

“Stand,” William said with a smile. He returned to his throne and took a seat. “Henry, I cannot help but notice that you arrived with two dozen knights and no Saxon woman. Has she escaped you?”

Not yet.

“No, Sire. Our party was set upon by a band of Saxon rebels while we were on the road. Lady Thomasin was injured in the fray.”

“Injured how?”

Henry took a deep breath. William would likely blame him for her injuries, since he was the one tasked with protecting her. “Lady Thomasin was struck twice with arrows. One went through the top of her arm, just here –” he pointed to a spot on his arm “ – and the other struck her in the left shoulder from behind. We don’t know if the arrow was meant to kill her or not.”

“Saxons did this?” William asked, brows furrowed. “Didn’t they know she was one of their own?”

Henry cleared his throat. “Her brother is the one who shot her. He’s the finest archer I’ve ever seen; shooting Lady Thomasin was no accident.”

William’s eyes widened in disbelief. “He shot his own sister?”

Henry’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

William shook his head the slightest bit. “Saxons.” They were wild as pagans, this lot, and apparently sororicidal. William wouldn’t say such things about his new subjects of course, but the thought was in his mind as it was in every other Norman’s. “Continue.”

“The arrowhead was trapped within the flesh; we could not remove it. We had to summon healers from an abbey. They had to cut into her shoulder from the front to find the arrowhead and dig it out.”

The king winced in sympathy. “Poor woman. Will she live?”

“Yes. She’s well enough to shout at me, but I want her to recover more before traveling.”

William nodded. “I think that’s wise. I must say I am surprised that you came here to tell me instead of sending a messenger.”

“Lady Thomasin is my responsibility. I thought it only proper to tell you myself.” He took a deep breath to summon his courage. “And I wish to speak to you about another matter concerning the lady.”

William motioned for Henry to stop speaking. “Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after, after you tell me the rest of your tale. Tonight you will eat and rest. And bathe,” he added with a grin. “I fear the ladies at court will swoon if they smell you too closely.”

Henry smiled to himself remembering what happened the last time he attempted to bathe. “Thank you, your grace.”

Henry thought to bathe before sleeping, but after weeks of travel to and from Thomasin’s home, the bed was too warm and inviting to refuse. Kal had already claimed the side closer to the door in case he needed to protect Henry from intruders.

Henry removed the last of his traveling clothes before he flopped down on his stomach beside the snoring beast. He was so tired, he almost didn’t get under the covers.

He fantasized about how he and Thomasin would keep each other warm – how they’d work themselves into a sweat. Her plush lips and agile tongue sucking and licking while his hands were knotted in her thick hair. And later her plush thighs spread wide to cradle his hips, her pink passage wet and waiting to welcome him home.

He imagined her draped over his chest like a heavy blanket. He’d still be sheathed within her, of course, both to increase their chances of conception and because it was warm and comfortable. She’d press her ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat while he stroked her hair to soothe her. Maybe she’d fall asleep in the middle of arguing with him over some small thing.

He smiled in his sleep.

He did not wake until after noon the next day.

The travelers took a short break to water the horses before resuming the journey to the abbey. Charlie thought it was best for everyone to travel together rather than send the nuns off with only a handful of guards to escort them back to the convent. Thomasin had asked to ride with her sister, but he denied her request. She asked for a horse of her own; he denied her again, instead commanding her to ride with him. “For your comfort,” he explained. The same words Henry had spoken to her on the night he stole her away. She didn’t like hearing them again. She felt like she was being imprisoned all over again.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Stephanie murmured to her sister as they attended to personal matters in the woods.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Thomasin replied firmly. “Besides, Henry’s brother practically has me in chains. He expects me to attempt some sort of escape.” She’d done it before, after all.

“The bride must consent to be married,” Stephanie said. “You could say no.”

Thomasin rolled her eyes.

“You could! And if these Normans are as chivalrous as you say, they won’t –”

“Enough!” Thomasin groaned. She lifted her threadbare skirts and started walking back toward the horses. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” The more Stephanie pressed her, the less sure she was of her choice.

She could not survive in a nunnery, she reminded herself. It was smarter to take her chances with Henry, who found her temper amusing, than to be broken like a horse.

That had always been her fear: having to change who she was down to her very core. Because if she changed, she would no longer be herself. And if she did not consent to change, to bend to another’s will, she’d certainly be broken.

“I care for Henry,” Thomasin continued. “And he loves me.” She tightened her grip on the signet ring he gave her. It gave her comfort somehow.

Stephanie huffed. “But do you love him?”

A hot bath, clean shave, good meal, and deathlike slumber revived Henry. He was dressed in clean clothes of a rich blue color that resembled his eyes. He was always charming and well-tempered, but tonight he seemed almost to glow with charisma.

Even dear Queen Matilda, William’s beloved wife, commented on his fine mood when he stopped to greet her when he entered the hall. “How fine you look, Henry,” she said with a wide smile.

“Thank you, madam,” he said, bowing. He flashed her a grin that exposed his fanglike canines. “Strong wine and a soft bed are the best remedies to anything, in my opinion.”

“The wine especially.”

Matilda was short and generously proportioned. Her husband stood some twelve inches above her, and he had to bend down to hear her whenever she whispered to him. She was friendly and kind and William doted on her – he even showed her affection in public. Theirs was a love match.

Henry waited until after supper when all the ladies and children had left the hall to relay his tale to the various knights and barons of William’s court. He’d have to tell it a dozen more times, he imagined, but most of the women, children, and servants at court could hear it from their men.

He left out the parts about being present in her chamber while she dressed and touching her, but he spared no detail when describing her appearance and repeating the things she said. Some of the noblemen present grimaced or remarked that they’d never allow a woman to disrespect them, especially a Saxon woman, but most chuckled good-naturedly.

Henry was thoroughly pleased with everyone’s reactions. He was proud of his woman. He slept well, looking forward to his conversation tomorrow with the king, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

(Sorry for the terrible ending, had to cut it off because the next chapter is long)

@amberangel112 @khadineberry @lunedelorient

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

The Temple- Chapter 1/?

N’Jadaka x OC

A/N: I thought this was going to be a two parter, but now it’s looking like maaaaybe 3? I’m just now getting back into my writing and forgot how longwinded I can be lol. Enjoy!

CW: short mention of suicidal ideation

Previous chapter: Prologue

3256 Words

N’Jadaka’s eyes blinked open and he was met with yet another day in Wakanda. This one was a little different than all his other mornings there because it was the first time he got to wake up in his own bed in his own quarters (outside of that one day he was king.) N’Jadaka had spent the last three months in a psychiatric treatment facility working on his anger and mental health issues. When he woke up after the civil war he caused he was livid. He had wanted to die on that mountain and unfortunately the feeling didn’t leave him until about a month into his treatment. He felt he had nothing to live for since his entire life’s work had gone up in flames before his eyes. He accomplished his one goal in life only to have it snatched back from him a day later. Everything important to him in his life had been taken from him and he felt he had nothing else to live for, so his cousin, King T’Challa, arranged for N’Jadaka to spend some time at Ithemba Center for Mental Wellness.

He would never admit it out loud, but N’Jadaka was scared to go to Ithemba. He thought his stint as king would have turned Wakandans against him, but it did the opposite. The royal family had decided that transparency was the best policy and did a press conference explaining the entire situation to the people. T’Challa explained what had happened between his father and uncle, what the prince’s life had been like up to that point, and the fact that while he did usurp the throne he did it the right way according to Wakandan law so he wouldn't be charged with treason. The people of Wakanda were shocked, but welcomed their new prince with open arms. He wasn’t aware of the new developments because he was still resting in a healing pod in Shuri’s lab at the time, but when he went to Ithemba he was surprised to find out that everybody already knew him and was more than willing to help him. N’Jadaka hadn’t received that much care and attention since he was a child and he didn't really know how to handle it. It took him weeks to learn how to open himself to others, and it wasn’t until his last month of treatment that he even began opening himself up to the other patients in group therapy.

N’Jadaka’s main therapist was a woman named Ife. She reminded him so much of his mother that he had almost no choice but to open himself to her, crying in her lap during their first couple sessions. Ife had been incredibly patient with the emotional yet emotionally repressed prince, allowing him to work through his overwhelming feelings of anger, sadness, and hurt.

His time with Ife and the other patients at the center had been incredibly healing and he felt like a new man. He still felt like he had a ways to go, and he could tell he needed something, but couldn’t figure out what. His healing didn’t feel anywhere close to being done.

A knock at the door interrupted his morning laziness.

“Ngena.”

In walked the king of Wakanda flanked by two of his Dora Milaje, who he politely dismissed to stand outside the door. He walked across the room and sat in the plush velvet wingback chair by the full bookshelves.

“Sup man?” N’Jadaka barely opened his eyes to speak to his cousin. The bed was too comfortable.

“My apologies cousin, did I wake you?”

“Nah I’m up, this bed just won’t let me go.”

T’Challa chuckled at his cousin’s laziness. He completely understood, the beds were the most comfortable beds he’d experienced in all of his travels and time abroad in school.

“I just wanted to formally invite you to attend breakfast at 9. It’s casual, just family and whatever few friends are staying in the palace with us at the time. M’Baku will be joining us today.”

“The gorilla nigga?”

T’Challa tried and failed to stifle his laughter, which quickly spread to his slightly younger cousin.

“Yes the gorilla nigga.”

“Ooooh I’m telling M’Baku you said that. Better yet, I’m telling Auntie.”

“I’d really rather you not.”

N’Jadaka chuckled and wondered if this is how it always would’ve been if they had grown up together. The thought was more bitter than sweet, so he pushed it aside for the time being.

“Maybe just this once.”

T’Challa grinned at his cousin and he also wondered how life would’ve been had they known each other their whole lives.

“Thank you. Oh and get up, it’s already 8:30” T’Challa stood and walked towards the door.

“These damn beds…” N’Jadaka shook his head and reluctantly flung the sheet back and swung his legs over the side of his bed, completely forgetting he slept naked. He rushed to cover himself in the king’s presence.

“Shit, my bad, man.”

“For…?”

“Nigga I got my dick swinging!”

“You’re sorry for being naked? Wh- oh that’s right. We aren’t puritanical like you are used to in America. Nudity isn't scandalous here, it’s just a body. But I will leave and let you get ready. See you, umzala.”

N’Jadaka stood there shocked. He knew of Wakandan culture, but experiencing it was going to be an adjustment. Just how different were they? They were never affected by colonization so the oppressive white supremacist ideology wouldn’t exist there. He had a lot of unlearning to do and a lot of questions to ask his family.

He eventually shook himself out of his thoughts and made his way to the en suite bathroom. He turned on the shower using the touchpad and the water fell from the ceiling like rain. He scrubbed down in the vanilla chai body wash he had requested and afterwards he covered his skin in shea butter. He walked into his enormous closet and stood there overwhelmed at the choices. His inner child wanted to throw a fit for everything he’d missed out on, but N’Jadaka took a deep breath to center himself before walking over to the section of clothes that he recognized. He was so nervous about breakfast he almost dressed to impress, but then he remembered T’Challa’s words and casual outfit. He grabbed his Lost Tribe hoodie and threw on his favorite black jeans and his Timbs. He swooped all his locs to one side of his head and threw on his gold glasses. N’Jadaka took a deep breath and walked towards the door.

“Chill out...it’ll be fine.”

The guards stationed outside his door directed him to the dining room where he was met with the smiling faces of his family members. Ramonda was the first to notice he’d entered the room..

“Mholo, umtshana!”

She met him for a hug and kissed his cheek. He smiled so hard his dimples looked deeper than ever and he hugged her back.

“Mornin, Auntie. T, Lil Bit, Charlie’s Angel, Big Man.” N’Jadaka greeted his cousins, Nakia, and M’Baku.

Yet again, T’Challa failed to stifle a laugh, which he tried to play off with a cough. Nakia lightly backhanded his chest and sucked her teeth at him.

“Little bit? Don't start with me, bubble wrap!”

“Who is Charlie and why am I their angel?”

“That is not my name.”

Shuri, Nakia, and M’Baku spoke over each other.

Thankfully the queen mother was there to settle the children down right as the food was being brought out. N’Jadaka looked at the table and was surprised to see that Ramonda was seated next to T’Challa and that the only empty seat was at the end of the table.

The king noticed N’Jadaka’s nervousness as he watched him sit down gingerly and take in his surroundings.

“So N’Jadaka, how was your first night in the palace? Our beds are the most comfortable in the world.”

“Auntie, I almost didn’t come to breakfast. That bed had a hold on me.”

“You must come visit my people sometimes. If you think you sleep good here, wait until you have the crisp mountain air-”

“Nah lemme stop you right there. Crisp is code for cold, and I don't do that shit. Sorry Auntie.”

“I don't do that shit either. When I was staying there I shivered the whole time, even with the beautiful furs and blankets! I’m just not built for the cold.”

N’Jadaka grimaced at the mention of his time as a burgeoning world dictator. He was thankful nobody noticed.

He was also thankful for the large platters of food the kitchen staff came and sat in front of them. They passed the food around the table and soon enough there was silence as everyone dug into what N’Jadaka would later describe as the best meal he ever had.

After breakfast, the three men retired to T’Challa’s office while the princess hurried off to her lab, Nakia disappeared, and Ramonda tended to her garden.

“So, N’Jadaka...I wanted to talk to you about a few things-”

“Then why is Mighty Joe Young here?”

M’Baku rolled his eyes.

“Again, that is not my name. Who even is this person?”

“It’s a big ass gorilla.”

“Oh- well in that case…”

T’Challa cleared his throat.

“As I was saying. Before anything, we need to address your crowning ceremony. Obviously you are part of the royal family, but by Wakandan law, all royalty must be officially crowned to be able to hold a title. If you would like to be Prince N’Jadaka son of Prince N’Jobu we must have the ceremony.”

N’Jadaka’s voice caught in his throat and his eyes got misty.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

M’Baku put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s good to have you, brother.”

“Good to be here.”

T’Challa fought tears of his own.

“Ok so uh, that’s that. We can hash those details out later. Now, the second thing I wanted to bring up with you is this: M’Baku and Nakia have offered to show you around the merchant tribe here in the city, the river tribe, and Jabariland. Shuri will get you acquainted with the mining tribe, and I will take you out to the border tribe on Wednesday.”

“Aight, sounds like a plan, but I don’t want the surface-level touristy shit.”

T’Challa chuckled.

“Noted. Now, lastly,” T’Challa pulled up a projection of a futuristic yet somehow still modern building next to a basketball court.

N’Jadaka’s stomach dropped.

“What is this?”

“I want to open our borders to the ‘Lost Tribe’ as you call it. Maybe to the rest of the world eventually, but at the time they are less of a concern. In addition to that, I-”

The king was cut off by Nakia entering the room.

“Perfect time, love.”

“Sorry for being late, this baby runs my life now.”

“I’m getting a baby cousin?!”

Nakia looked at him dryly.

“Yes, N’Jadaka, you are getting a baby cousin.”

He peeped her attitude and settled down. If there was one thing he knew in this world, it was never piss of a pregnant woman.

“So the Outreach Centers, yes. I had actually had the idea for a while, but it took the country almost burning down for this idiot to see I was right. T’Challa had the idea to use your old apartment complex as the first Wakandan Outreach Center. Hopefully if it goes well, we could expand to-”

N’Jadaka zoned out staring at the projection. His vision may not have come true in the way he thought it would, but this would certainly be a step towards the betterment of the lives of Black people everywhere. N’Jadaka couldn't help but grin.

“I think we lost him…”

“Cousin!”

He snapped out of his daze.

“Yeah I-I like it. Thank you, this really means a lot. One thing though?”

“Yes?”

“I want it dedicated to my pops.”

T’Challa smiled and zoomed in on the name above the door. It read “Prince N’Jobu’s Wakandan Outreach Center”. Then he took them on a 3-D tour of the facility, ending with the memorial to N’Jobu in room 1401.

N’Jadaka nearly broke down in tears.

“Cool. Thanks, man. For everything. This is…” N’Jadaka took a deep breath. “Just, thanks…”

The other three Wakandans smiled back at him fondly, an occurrence it seemed he would have to get used to.

“I’m glad you like it. Now if you three will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Nakia kissed T’Challa’s forehead and left the room.

“Aight, I need something lighthearted. A nigga is tired of crying. Oh! Actually I got some questions…”

“Ask away.”

“So earlier you mentioned how free and open and shit yall are here...I’m single and haven’t had any in like 6 months so where can I go to find some pussy. Since I’m a prince do I just like, I don't know, have concubines brought to me? I don't know how this works”

M’Baku snorted.

“Clearly.”

N’Jadaka flipped him off while T’Challa answered.

“No, we do not have ‘concubines’ though we do sort of have sex workers, which we can discuss later. You know, it would do you good to read some Wakandan history books...and maybe even some of our sex education material.”

“Ay man, I already know all that.”

“Not the way we teach it. Plus our birth control is better here.”

“More effective?”

“And no side effects. Trust me, you’ll want to visit the library at the end of the hall, cousin.”

N’Jadaka considered his suggestion and made a mental note to check out the library later that day.

“Yes, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two,” M’Baku chimed in.

“My guy, I know how sex works! I’m just curious about the culture surrounding sex. T, you said y'all aren’t puritanical like America...expand on that.”

“Well the list of books I just sent to your beads would be able to cover this in greater detail than I can at the moment, but basically every preconceived notion you have about sex, gender, attraction, etc. has been tainted by colonialism as a means of control over the population.”

“Hanuman…”

“Yeah I know that, I guess I just can’t really conceptualize a world without all that sexism and homophobia and shit.”

“What is homophobia?” M’Baku asked, genuinely confused. The cousins answered at the same time.

“When people hate gay niggas.”

“The hatred of, or at least the disdain for, those who are attracted to their same gender.”

“And we ain't even getting into the people who aren't men or women, that shit blows people's minds.”

“Why?”

The cousins continued to explain the outside world to M’Baku for what felt like hours. T’Challa looked at the clock and stood.

“Well gentlemen, as...depressing as this conversation has been, we must get to the council meeting.”

“I need a drink after that. The strongest Jabari mead!”

“Yeah imagine living with that shit for 30 years then coming here. I’m not gonna know how to act.”

“You’ll learn.”

The three made their way to the council meeting and N’Jadaka had never been so bored in all of his life. He started nodding off at one point and M’Baku elbowed him in his side when he started to snore. When it was finally over they parted ways and N’Jadaka headed to the library. He had plenty of reading to do.

He started with the Wakandan history books reading about the lives of his ancestors. His fathers stories had given him a good foundation to build on, but what he found in the books blew his mind.

Wakandans can trace their history for thousands of years, all the way back to the time of the great Bashenga, the first Black Panther. Growing up as a Black American, N’Jadaka had no connection to his mother’s family history because there was no record. When the Lost Tribe was enslaved and brought to the west, they were recorded as cargo, not people. The enslavers didn’t care about their names or where they came from, and when they got to shore their families continued to be ripped apart and sold to the highest bidder. They weren’t allowed to play drums and congregate, they weren’t allowed to read, they weren’t allowed to marry. There was no written record of his people, and the most they could go on was family bibles which almost never went back before the mid 1800s.

N’Jadaka was overwhelmed with the information, so he decided to switch to something else and come back to the history books later. He picked up “Intimacy and Sex” by Ami Nbunda and flipped through the pages. He skimmed the table of contents and was surprised by what he saw.

The first chapter was on anatomy, but it actually included intersex people instead of just focusing on male and female bodies. The next chapter was about loving and respecting yourself and others, but not in the slut-shaming way of the outside world. The next few chapters were on the mental and emotional sides of intimacy, and the last few were on birth control, sexual health, attraction, healthy communication, and more resources.

The prince couldn’t believe what he was seeing as he flipped through the pages. He stopped on a full-color photo of a vulva with all the parts labeled.

“This is for kids? Damn, we really living in two different worlds. America would never.”

He turned the page and saw a to-scale model of the entire clitoris, and his eyes bugged out of his head.

“That shit’s a whole wishbone…”

He continued to read through the pages in awe. M’Baku was right, he was learning a thing or two.

N’Jadaka spent the whole day in the library reading book after book on everything he could get his hands on. If it hadn’t been for his guards alerting him to the time, he would’ve missed dinner. He grabbed the last two books and went to drop them in his quarters before heading to dinner.

“Umzala, have you been in the library this whole time?”

“Yeah man, it’s a lot to take in. I might have to take that sex ed book back to the states.”

“We plan on doing just that at the Outreach Centers. Comprehensive sex education is a necessity, and since your government prefers to keep people in the dark about how their own bodies work it will be our job to educate those who come through our doors. All but the last chapter, of course.”

T’Challa winked and N’Jadaka felt like he had missed something.

“You mean the resources? Makes sense, those books wouldn't be available outs-”

“Not the books, dear, the Temple.” Ramonda chimed in.

“The what? I ain't got that far yet.”

Shuri rounded the corner and N’Jadaka expected the conversation to stop, but no.

“Remember earlier when you asked about concubines and I said we have sex workers?”

Ramonda cut her eyes at N’Jadaka as he nodded.

“Well that term doesn’t quite encompass what they do. They are sexual healers blessed by Bast herself and they reside in the Temple of Healing on the outskirts of the city near the Land of the Dead. They are known as the Daughters of Bast.”

“Now I feel bad for calling them concubines.”

“You should.” Ramonda said as she slapped him upside the head.

“Ow Auntie, damn”

T’Challa was thankful that his mother had someone else to fuss over, and he chuckled.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to pay them a visit. They are healers, after all.”

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #njadaka #the temple #n'jadaka x oc

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

Text

End of the Tunnel: I

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: (future as well as present) suicidal thoughts, smut, angst, fluff, depression, attempted SUICIDE, self harm, torture, mentions of torture

A/N: So, this is pretty dark, just FYI. There will be happy moments but a lot of the time it will get pretty dark. Trigger warning applies now, just be forewarned. Please enjoy though if you are willing to suffer through the tragedy to get to the light at the end of the tunnel.

MASTERLIST

***

The world ended on May 2, 1998.

At least it did for George Weasley.

He was not dead, of course. His mother and father still loved him. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny all still hugged him. His business was doing splendid, far better than it ever had before the war, Ron was even helping him run it. And yet, the world felt as if it no longer turned because Fred was gone and that was all that really mattered.

May 2 had been awful, but the funeral was even worse. Friends, family, and strangers wanting nothing more than to hug him or shake his hand when all he wanted to do was destroy everything that touched him. He hadn’t shed any tears that day. He figured he was all out, but now that he considered it, he was sure he had just grown numb.

He had never had a problem smiling before, and even in the winter he was constantly warm, denying every coat his mother sent his way. And now, he was sure he had forgotten how to smile and even in the hottest part of July he wore a sweater, fighting off the chills that ran along his spine.

His mother had pleaded with him to go to therapy, to talk to someone about the tragedy but he had refused. There was nothing a therapist could tell him that he didn’t already know.

He knew he was depressed; he knew Fred was never coming back, and he knew he needed to move forward. He had no interest in reliving the moments when he had witnessed the cold lifeless body of his twin lying on the floor of the school they had once attended. All he wanted to do was the lock the door to his new flat and never come out. He had considered returning to his home above the shop but every time he thought of the memories he had built there his stomach churned and before he knew it he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the nearest sink. So, he gave it to Ron and Hermione and bought himself a smaller one.

He was laying in the bed that occupied most of the studio flat, thinking about the day he moved in as he struggled to get up. The walls were grey, and the bedsheets were white. He hadn’t bothered to buy curtains, so the dingy light of the cloudy morning was highlighting the dust he had let build up over the months. No pictures hung on the walls; no Knick knacks sat on the shelves. Dishes were piling up from the last spout of motivation, not that he ate a whole lot these days. Most importantly, there were no mirrors. He had ripped the bathroom one from the wall and shattered it in the street the moment he moved in, completely satisfied with giving up his security deposit for a little bit of sanity. His world was completely colorless. His skin was pale and the warmth that had generally resided in his face had seeped away like water from a washcloth. In fact, the only color one could find in the small room was his hair, shining just as brightly as it had the day the world ended.

He had dyed it once. A dark brown, the most boring color he could think of, but the moment his mother had seen it she burst into tears and begrudgingly changed it back, if only to avoid the dirty looks that Ginny shot him through the very uncomfortable family dinner.

Today was the first of March, and George could feel the anniversary of Fred’s death drawing nearer with every movement of his body. His muscles ached and his bones creaked like an old rocking chair no one had touched in a century.

As he laid there he considered never getting up, but eventually with great effort he pulled himself from the cold sheets and pulled on the dullest clothing he owned. A grey tailcoat covered a white button up and black slacks, severely pressed hung a bit short over his ankles. The shoes were so old they no longer shined. He didn’t bother brushing his hair, sure that the howling wind would mess it up anyway.

He left the door without eating breakfast and turned down the street in the opposite direction of the store. He couldn’t bare to go to work today, and Ron could handle it.

Ron had gotten a lot better at handling it.

He was right about the wind, it battled against him like it was trying to force him to go to work, but he pushed on, determined to spend his day in miserable loneliness. Somedays he imagined Fred was screaming at him from the clouds, telling him to stop being a git and move on with his life, but he had never been good at taking orders. So, without any regard for the signs of the universe he continued to push on, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to keep warm.

In honor of his mood, it began to pour and before he knew it, he was drenched to the bone, the neat he clothes he had donned pressing tightly against this skin. By now he was in a muggle town he had never been to. The streets were completely empty, no one wanting to get caught in the torrential downpour.

He was going to turn around, go home if not to work, when he heard a voice shouting through a roll of thunder. He glanced around, searching for the source, and was met with the sight of a woman hailing him towards her store. He looked behind him, checking for someone else, when he heard a sharp laugh.

“I’m talking to you, silly. Now, come in before you catch a cold,” she called, stepping into the rain to usher him closer. He walked quickly, ducking through the doorway as he followed her inside. He watched as she shoved the door closed against the atrocious wind, the bell jingling ferociously overhead. When she had succeeded, deadbolting it for good measure she turned to face him. She wrung out her blonde hair as she studied him with bright eyes (they reminded him an awful lot of what his used to look like). “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?” she laughed, and he shrugged, unsure of how to approach the situation. He had not been met with such glee in an exceptionally long time. When he didn’t respond he smile faded and concern rested heavy on her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered, and she nodded.

“Then I think you need a drink.” She ushered him to barstool and disappeared behind the counter. “Butterbeer or tap?” His eyes snapped to her when she mentioned the magical drink. “Butterbeer then.”

“You’re a witch?” he blurted, and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh no, but I know my customers, and you are clearly a wizard.”

“How can you tell?”

“The wand in your tailcoat.” He glanced down and sure enough, a faint outline of his wand was visible against the fabric. “No need to obliviate me though, I’m no snitch. I’ve had all types in this little pub of mine, vampires, werewolves after a particularly bad night, wizards, what you call muggles, I’ve even had a couple goblins gamble in my back room, no bias here.” He didn’t say anything as she twittered on, setting the mug in front of him and leaning on her elbows as she took him in with earnest curiosity. A few minutes of silence before she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it, that’s what bartenders are for to hear all your tragedies while you drown them in the best liquor we have?”

“Who are you?”

“Hannah Gladdis. And you are?”

“George Weasley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, twenty in June. You?”

“Twenty-one in April. How’d you come to own a magical bar at nineteen?”

“It was a tragic thing really, last year the owner died in a war with your sort. I was a waitress then, but he left it to me in his will, so now it’s all mine. Honestly, I’m surprised I survived long enough to own it, luck I guess.”

“What happened?”

“These men in masks came and tore the place apart looking for the owner, shouting something about blood traitors, but he wasn’t in. It was just me, hiding right behind this counter praying that they wouldn’t find me.”

“Did they?”

“Yes,” she whispered, fear creeping into her eyes as she thought about the night she was describing to him. “They used two spells. One made me feel like I was on fire and the other made me bleed, I can barely remember it. The whole thing was awful, by the time they were sure I didn’t know I could barely move. They set the place on fire and left me to die, still hunting for him, I guess since he’s dead now. Somehow someone saved me, I don’t even remember them but they must have performed a counter curse because I got out with only a few scars, but you would know all about those,” she said noting his missing ear. “Were you in the war?”

“Right in the center of it. Do you have any firewhiskey?” She nodded and dropped beneath the counter and pulled out the familiar bottle.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“How do you know I lost anyone?” he growled, and she offered him a sad smile.

“I lost friends and I’m not even a witch, I figured a hero right in the center of it wouldn’t come out unscathed. Also you’re missing an ear.” He grunted and threw back the shot of liquor she had poured. “You won though?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way,” he mumbled, and she nodded, taking one of his hands into hers. He watched her hands cradle his as if he were the fragile one, but he could see the scars that were etched into her fingers. He ran is thumb along one of the more prominent ones. When he glanced up, she was biting her lip, eyes focused on the thumb that was stroking the harsh scar. He whispered her name, but she didn’t move. He said it again and this time her eyes met his. He wanted to say they were blue, but that didn’t seem quite right. Her dark eyelashes were hanging heavily over them, casting shadows into the two small pools of ocean that stared back at him. He was going to say something more, let the light buzz from the liquor take control and pull her against him, but she moved away before he could. With an awkward laugh she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and pulled herself a shot, downing it just as quickly.

“It’s not even noon,” she laughed to herself and he shrugged.

“I’ve been drunk before noon before, nothing to ashamed of.”

“Isn’t that a sign of alcoholism?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of before.” He flashed her a tight, unpracticed smile that made his heart cringe against his ribs but it seemed to work. Pink washed over her cheeks and she was quick to busy herself among the empty glasses, searching for one to clean.

“So, what’s someone like you wandering the streets during a downpour?”

“Escaping.”

“By catching a cold?”

“Or something like that.” She laughed awkwardly, running a damp washrag over the top of the bar, avoiding eye contact at all costs, and it was killing him. He wanted to look into her eyes all day. He had to think of something, do something, say something that would draw her back.

“Why didn’t the Ministry take your memories?” he asked, and then silently cursed himself. Out of all the topics he could have chosen, he chose the one that terrified her. He hadn’t spoken to a stranger so domestically in such a long time it seemed he was out of practice.

“They don’t know, as far as I know they don’t even know I exist. And I would like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to forget?”

“To forget what?”

“All that pain and fear.”

“I considered it at first, but then I decided it was better to know what was coming then feel broken all over again.”

“No one is going to hurt you like that again,” he growled, far more aggressively than he had intended and she laugh, taking his hand and finally allowing their eyes to meet once more. She didn’t seem scared when she looked at him, it was if she almost wanted to believe him. She really seemed to believe the idea he could chase away her nightmares. He knew he would disappoint; he could barely chase away his own.

“You sound so sure, George, but alas, you won’t always be sitting in my little bar to protect me.”

“Then come home with me.”

She was shocked to say the least, at least that’s what her eyes said.

“I barely know you.”

“Then get to know me.”

“I’m working.”

“You said it yourself, no one is out in this rainstorm.” He sauntered towards the window and flipped the sign around and locked the door. “And anyways, it seems you’re closed.” She studied him closely, and he was acutely aware that she was still holding his hand. Finally, she nodded and for the first time in ten months his heart jolted with joy. He spun her around the bar and caught her in his arms. “Ready?”

“For what?” she began to ask but they were already gone, whipping through the air as he apparated them to the small flat.

She was laughing when they landed, clutching her stomach as she tried to catch her breath.

“My god, that was exhilarating,” she gasped. She was still holding his hand, tighter than ever. He watched her as she looked around and cursed himself for not keeping the place cleaner. “I like your place.” He was sure she was lying; it was so dull and lifeless it was almost a prison cell. The counters were dirty, and the trashcan was overflowing. “It could use a little color, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. I can never decide how to decorate so I’m constantly having to remodel, this way I can just close my eyes and imagine the walls orange.”

“Orange?”

“Or maybe a soft teal, I don’t know, it depends on my mood.” He caught him smiling again for the second time on the day he woke up feeling like death. She was like a ball of sunshine and she was standing in the little place he called home. For the first time since he had been born, he found himself wishing his home was bigger. Even when he was a kid he had never cared, but now that there was someone he was dying to impress he wished he owned the minster’s mansion.

“It’s not much…”

“It’s lovely.” Color tinged his cheeks and now it was his turn to busy himself in the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, yes, why thank you,” she said as she glanced out the window, “What part of town are we in?”

“Just on the edge of Diagon Alley.”

“Oh really! I’ve always wanted to come; I’ve heard it’s absolutely beautiful. Wow, a real wizard town. Is it true what they say about Hogsmeade?”

“It depends on what they say,” he chuckled, bathing in her excitement. It was a welcome tone, something he had not felt since months before the end of the world.

“That it’s absolutely picturesque. Someone showed me a post card once, and I called her a liar, told her nothing but a painting could be that beautiful, but she assured me it was all true.”

“She wasn’t lying, if you want, I’ll take you sometime.”

“Wow, not even a first date and you’re already promising to whisk me off to some beautiful village in the countryside.” He blushed when he realized what he had said, abashed that this woman had gotten into his head so quickly. He had never been so infatuated with anything. He turned quickly, spilling hot tea over the side of his hand, but he barely even noticed. Her eyes were big and blue as she stared at him, cheeks pink and lips parted. “George…” she began but the teacups hadn’t even hit the ground when he was taking her into his arms and kissing her as softly as his feelings would allow.

She tasted like Christmas. Cinnamon from the firewhiskey and butterscotch from the beer tainted her lips like frosting on cake he had only eaten in a distant memory. He wanted to throw her to his bed and devour her, experience every inch she would allow him, but her tentative fingers stopped him. He was stranger who had apparated her to his flat in a place she did not know, and now he was doing everything in his power to ravish her like the goddess she appeared to be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling away as far as he dared. He was not sure he would ever be able to be far from her again, not when he knew how wonderful she was. She stepped forward, still hesitant, and cupped his cheek in her hand.

“No, don’t be. That was brilliant.”

“Then would you mind if I did it again?” She laughed and leapt into his arms, pressing her lips against his. He had never understood people comparing others to home, but as he wrapped his arms around her and he felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt as fast as she could manage. His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt, prepared to pull it off and admire her entirety but she jerked back. He stopped immediately, pulling away as he searched her face for what he had done wrong. She wasn’t looking at him again, eyes crossed over her chest as she shuffled her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and he shook his head, taking her cheek in his hand.

“Don’t be. Tell me what you want. If it’s nothing then we’ll do nothing,” he whispered and with tentative fingers she brushed the place where is ear had once been. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t dare, not when she looked like she was going to break.

“Very few survived your war without scars, even us muggles.” She pulled her hand away and took a deep breath before pulling her shirt over her head. He watched it hit the ground before trailing his gaze over her skin. She hadn’t lied. Scars were etched across skin that had once been soft. They were harsh and angry, still red after what he had assumed was months of healing. Silence crept into the room as he stared, anger coursing through his veins as he imagined the kind of pain that had caused these scars. “Say something,” she whispered, words catching in her throat.

“If I ever find who did this to you, I will not hesitate to kill them,” he growled and she let out a short laugh. “I’m not kidding.” She leaned up and kissed him softly, gratitude laced in every touch. He pulled her closer, fingers trailing the scars that plagued her. They tipped into his bed with unexpected grace, laughing between kisses. Quick fingers undid his pants and he followed suit, exposing soft skin raked with more scars. She didn’t pull away anymore, in fact he was sure she was trying to get closer than possible. Her legs pressed against his hips as her fingers explored every inch of skin. He flipped them over, admiring her against the bedsheets, blonde hair spread out like a halo. He leaned down and kissed her softly as she giggled against his lips.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered before he could stop himself and with all seriousness she nodded.

“Not in a thousand years.”

#george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader angst #george weasley x reader fluff #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader fanfiction #end of the tunnel

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lovelucybradford · 3 years

Text

I Pretend You’re Mine (5)

A/N: Back with the promised continuation chapter!

Not sure if you’re interested, but when I was writing, in my head I pictured:

Betty White as Grandma Rose

Richard Madden as Levi

Peter Gallagher as Jason Martin

Scott Eastwood as Drew

Masterlist

Tags: @empath-bunny

@ityagirljay

@wolfarrowepz

@supernatural-crazed-girl

Five: You Were Romeo (I Was a Scarlet Letter)

Day 1: Thursday, June 13th

7:00 pm- Welcome Cocktails in the Stardust Lounge, Deck 6

“Champagne, miss?” The formally dressed waiter offered a flute of sparkling wine, a raspberry garnish floating in the glass. Rosalie took it from his hands with no hesitation, sending the attendant a silent smile of thanks. She put the glass to her lips, then paused and looked up at Derek.

“Will people judge me if I chug this whole thing right now?” she voiced, loving the amused smile that lit up her partner’s face at the innocent question.

“I thought we didn’t care anymore what people thought of us,” Derek reminded her, though she knew that when he was referring to ‘we’, he really meant her. Derek never was one to care what people thought of him.

Rosalie weighed her options, then decided that her family judged her anyways so why not have a good time?

In order to get through this hellish night, she’d have to be tipsy. Best start now.

Without a word of affirmation, she forewent her instilled manners and chugged the glass down in one long sip. Rosalie wasn’t normally a fan of champagne, unless it was Dom Perignon, which she realized made her sound like a total snob. It was the one thing that she’d inherited from her father, her expensive taste in food and drink. It seemed by the familiar, rich, and delicious taste of the bubbly that the cruise ship staff had only provided the very best for their VIP guests.

Rosalie searched for a place to set her glass, finding a nearby unoccupied table and gently depositing it there. She, quite literally, couldn’t afford to even chip one of the crystal goblets. She stumbled back to Derek, who was waiting for her with an open arm.

“You ready for this?” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her neck. It caused unvoluntary goosebumps to crawl up her arms, which she prayed he didn’t notice.

Was she ready?

A part of her never would be. She’d purposely left this part of her life behind, knowing all too well how toxic it was for her mental health. But Rosalie knew if she backed out now, then the family would know that they finally got to her. They would think that she was still strung up and heartbroken about Drew, or jealous of her stepsister for getting the diamond that was meant for Rosalie.

And sure, she had been… once upon a time.

Moving back to Beacon Hills, reconnecting with normal people, people she loved more than her own blood relatives… it had put everything into perspective for her again.

Rosalie could once again be herself, be that strong woman that Talia Hale had raised to be when Rosalie’s own mother had fallen short. The strong, kind, generous, goofy, compassionate, empathetic woman with a mind of her own and a head on her shoulders. Not the ice queen, the submissive and serious woman that her father had tried to warp her into.

And for that, Rose was forever thankful.

She was different now, but exactly the same. And this version of her, with her closest confidantes by her side, wouldn’t cower in a corner.

Rosalie held her head high, meeting Derek’s gaze with a confident look in her blue eyes.

“Yes,” she declared, feeling her confidence rise.

“Good.”

“Lead the way, Prince Charming.”

Derek snorted and shook his head at the nickname, but complied and escorted Rosalie further into the room. She searched for a friendly face among the crowd. Normally, she’d be able to find Lydia by her head of bright red hair, but nearly half of the people in the room had some shade of red hair.

Thankfully, Rosalie didn’t have to look all that hard, as Charlotte came bounding up to her aunt, screaming, “Auntie Rosie! Uncle Derek!”

And suddenly, as the child wrapped her arms around one of Derek’s legs and one of Rosalie’s, all of the attention in the room shifted to the couple.

“Is that Rosalie?” her cousin Noah commented to the man next to him.

“Who the hell is that with her? Because dayum, I’d like to tap that ass,” Noah’s twin, Nick, said back.

“That has to be her friend,” Uncle Alex said to his wife, his lips around a glass of Scotch.

“Not with the way he’s holding her. Besides, did you hear her niece call him Uncle? How she managed that is beyond me,” Aunt Sarah replied, looking Rose’s companion up and down with hungry eyes.

Rosalie ignored all the talk, even though it seemed as if the crowd wasn’t even attempting to be discreet in their conversations.

She reached down to pat Charlotte’s blonde head. “Hey, honey! I missed you!”

Derek ruffled Charlotte’s curls playfully, to which the little girl pretended to be angry with him. But Rosalie could see the smile that she was hiding as Charlotte clutched the adults’ legs even harder.

“All right, all right, Charlie. Let’s let Auntie Rosalie and Uncle Derek breathe, yeah?” Rosalie’s brother, Levi, broke through the crowd, detaching his daughter from the couple and telling her to go on and play with her cousins.

As soon as the little girl was out of sight, Levi enveloping his sister in a hug. Derek held out his hand for a friendly shake, but Levi pulled him into an embrace as well, the two men patting each other fondly on the back.

“I’m digging the beard,” Derek approved, gesturing to Levi’s newly grown beard while rubbing his own.

“What can I say? I was inspired by yours. Although I have to say, mine looks a little better. Y’know, because it’s still all one color,” Levi joked, comparing his solid red scruff to Derek’s salt-and-pepper look.

Rosalie elbowed Derek in the side teasingly. “Yeah, you old man!”

Derek raised one brow and stepped away from Rosalie, crossing his arms. “Oh sure, call me old man one more time.”

Rosalie beamed up at him, wagging her own brows. “What would you rather me call you? Sugar daddy?”

With one fell swoop, Derek was pressed against her, fingers tickling the small expanse of visible skin on her waist. Rose squealed with laughter, trying in vain to pull away from him and begging for mercy.

Levi cleared his throat loudly, causing the couple to separate. Rosalie’s cheeks burned red at the embarrassing scene that she had been a part of. Surely her brother would tease her about it.

Instead, Levi looked a bit pissed.

“So, I guess my daughter didn’t dream up your engagement, then. This,” Levi gestured to Rosalie and Derek, “is really happening?”

Derek shifted his weight on both feet. Rosalie bit her lip and looked to the floor guiltily. She loved her brother. She really did. But she knew that Levi had loose lips, and he’d surely have one too many and (unintentionally) let slip the whole ruse. That, and Rose couldn’t take the disappointment from him.

“It’s about fucking time,” Levi added, sounding a lot more jovial. Rosalie’s and Derek’s heads shot up instantly, shocked at his comment.

Levi slapped Derek on the shoulder. “Bro, I am so glad you didn’t listen to me.”

“What’s he talking about?” Rosalie interrogated Derek.

Derek scratched the back of his neck and turned his head towards the large window next to them. Before he could explain, Jess, Levi’s wife, snaked her arms around her husband’s waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Lee was telling me all about how he’d threatened Derek with his guns if he even put his hands on you.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped. Derek stayed unusually silent. “You gave Der the boyfriend talk?! When was this, big brother?”

Levi raised both hands in surrender. “In my defense, Derek was a horny college kid back then, and I was only trying to protect my little sister. You know the, um, milestones that come with prom night.”

The tapping of a mic interrupted their conversation, which Rosalie was thankful for since she was at a loss for words.

She’d remembered that night in question, fondly. It was the night that she’d realized that she’d had feelings for Derek. Rosalie’s then-boyfriend, Ryan, had dumped her a week before prom for another, more sexy, more experienced, girl. Rosalie was heartbroken, and had sworn off prom, until Derek had shown up on her doorstep in a suit with a pink corsage and a sparkling silver tiara.

She’d laughed, of course, at the reference to the childhood nickname. Then, she’d excitedly rushed upstairs to ready herself, leaving Derek at the mercy of one Levi Martin. Levi Martin, who had, apparently, threatened to cut off Derek’s balls and feed them to the family dog if he had even touched his baby sister in an inappropriate way.

(Levi was always… poetic when it came to his threats.)

Rosalie had hoped, prayed, that as Derek had driven her home in his black Camaro, that he would kiss her, to put a fairytale ending on a perfect night. Sure, he’d kissed her when he dropped her off at her front door… on the cheek, like a brother, or a best friend, might.

Rosalie had dreamt about that night for years afterwards, of what it would be like if he had actually kissed her.

_______________

“I’m sorry, Grandma Rose. I have to go rescue my fiancé from your dear grandson.”

Rosalie stood from the table, feeling a rush in her head for a few seconds. She was definitely tipsier than she thought.

Once Rose got her bearings, she strutted, barefoot, to Derek, who looked highly uncomfortable. With every inch that Nick advanced on Derek, the man backed a considerable distance away.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have an amazing ass?” Rosalie heard Nick flirt from paces away. The way that Nick was looking at Derek, the way that he was blatantly hitting on the man when Nick knew that Derek was taken, it unsettled something in Rosalie. Her vision turned red as she approached the two from behind, wrapping an arm around Derek’s waist.

“Hi Nick. Sorry, this amazing ass is mine.” Rosalie didn’t know what she was saying, didn’t really think through what she was doing. All she knew was that she was grabbing Derek’s right butt cheek with her hand, smiling smugly as Nick’s eyes widened.

Derek waited until Rose’s cousin scurried away before stiffly asking, “Rosalie, why are you grabbing my ass?”

Rosalie let go of Derek immediately, feeling as if she’d spontaneously combust in mortification. “I am, so, so sorry. I just kind of… he was ogling you and it made me mad. Like you’re gorgeous but you’re more than just a pretty face and an incredible ass.” Rosalie’s eyes widened at her word vomit, and now she definitely wanted to throw herself from the nearest balcony and test her drunken theory that she was secretly a mermaid.

“I… I need a drink.”

Derek turned to face her, a hint of a forming chuckle on his lips. “I think you’ve had enough of those, babe.”

Rosalie wished that she could slink away. She wished that someone would hit her in the head, and she’d wake up with amnesia. Maybe she could change her name and move to Antarctica? Yeah, that would be good.

Derek rolled his eyes, grabbing his best friend by the elbow and latching her hand back onto his arm. “I’m not mad at you, Rosalie. Feel free to grab my ass anytime if it makes you feel better.”

Rosalie tried to scowl, but the frown was turning upward with every second. “I hate you so much.”

Derek escorted the two back to Rosalie’s table, where Grandma Rose looked completely unimpressed with the whole shindig. Before they sat, he pulled Rose close and whispered, “I’ll let you grab my ass as long as I can grab yours.”

At that, he pulled out Rosalie’s chair and plopped her down, taking the one next to her. Rose was speechless. Did that actually come out of his mouth? Wait, did he actually want to grab her behind? Yep. Those were his words. Exactly.

Rose’s cheeks flushed a healthy shade of pink. Derek laughed at her slowly coloring face, to which she smacked him on the thigh under the table. Before she could remove her hand, Derek grabbed it and held it between the two of them.

“I always knew the two of you would end up together.” Grandma Rose said wistfully, looking at the couple with soft eyes.

You and everyone else, apparently. Everyone but Derek, Rosalie thought sadly, and tried to shove the painful pang in her heart.

“You know how I knew, Rosalie?” Grandma Rose shakily reached for her flute of champagne, taking a long sip. “I knew it when this one, this big, strong, handsome man,” the old woman reached for Derek’s free hand and patted it kindly, “punched my idiot son in the face at that party, after you got your master’s degree.”

Rosalie snickered at the memory. Jason and Derek had never gotten along. Jason thought Derek was ‘some jock who was too concerned with an unlikely career in basketball instead of his studies’. Derek thought Jason was a ‘pompous, cheating, scumbag, son of a bitch’. (Both quotes were their words exactly)

All of the building tension exploded when Jason had chosen to make a below-the-belt comparison between Rose and Ashleigh’s accomplishments. As if they weren’t celebrating Rosalie graduating from Columbia University, an ivy league, with a master’s degree, with the highest honors.

Derek had broken Jason’s nose. Jason had gotten a restraining order (his favorite defense tactic; it expired last year).

“I’m so sorry,” Derek told Rosalie’s grandmother, though he didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

“Oh, sweetheart. It wasn’t like every sane person at that party wasn’t thinking the same thing. You were the only one brave enough to do it. Rose’s knight in shining armor.”

Derek’s face flushed red, a rare sight for a man with so much confidence.

“Rosalie, dear. I do have to warn you, Drew and Ashleigh are here.”

Rosalie sighed. She knew that they would be here. The pair had done a very good job at avoiding them; Rose wondered when they’d finally make it around her and Derek’s way. If Rose were lucky, maybe they’d just avoid her the whole trip. Only in her dreams…

“I know, Grandma. I—have you seen them yet?”

“Yes, I had the misfortune of running into both of them while yelling at your father for dragging his ninety-two-year-old mother on an extravagant trip. Do you know how long the plane flight was? Anyways, Drew called me ‘grandma’. You know what I told him, loves?”

Derek and Rosalie looked to each other, both knowing that it was probably something rude. Grandma Rose was Rosalie’s favorite relative, outside of her brother and Lydia. She was the most real of all of them. She spoke her mind and wasn’t afraid to let anyone know how she felt.

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Derek choked on his glass of white wine. Rosalie smacked him on the back a few times, unable to hold in her shaking laughter.

“Yes, I told dear old Drew to go fuck himself. The only man that’s allowed to call me that is Derek. He doesn’t have his head up his ass. He sees how beautiful, wonderful, and deserving of love my real granddaughter is.”

All jokes aside, Grandma Rose’s words warmed Rosalie’s heart. At least one of the extended family members didn’t think she was a disgrace.

“Well, kids. Would you look at that? The pompous son of a bitch wants to go blab about himself. Someone should go tell him to shut up.”

Rosalie looked to the small stage at the front of the lounge. Sure enough, there was her father, Jason, dressed to the nines in a likely customized Hugo Boss suit, a pink Hibiscus sticking out of his breast pocket. Jason looked around at the crowd, clearing his throat to get the attention of his guests.

“Welcome, everyone! I’m so glad that you’re here and could join me on this fantastic excursion…”

Jason continued his schpeal and Rosalie tuned him out. He was likely talking about how great he was for paying for everyone’s accommodations, or how lucky they were to be spending time with him on this 1K-a-night cruise. Rosalie had heard it all before, multiple times, and she was sick of it, frankly.

What was it about rich people’s money that made them think that they were gods and should be treated as such?

Derek squeezed Rosalie’s hand hard, his nails digging into the back of her hand.

She looked to him in explanation, but he only nodded his head towards the stage.

Where Drew was shepherding Ashleigh up the steps, his hand resting on her backside.

“Yes, as I said, we have two exciting announcements that Evelyn and I could not wait to share with you tonight.”

Jason looked fondly towards Ashleigh and Drew, who were now hobbling towards him. There were resounding gasps and excited squeals, but Rosalie could only focus on Drew.

Drew was still as handsome as the day that she had first met him. His blue eyes sparkled with confidence and charm. He’d grown a beard since Rosalie had seen him last, wafts of brown hair covering his strong jaw. He stood behind Ashleigh, his hands moving to rest on her stomach, and that’s when time stood still.

Because, under Drew’s lithe fingers, was a protruding bump. Rosalie, despite herself, couldn’t help the gasp that formed around her lips, nor the shaking of her hands.

Drew, when he was with her, had told Rosalie that he didn’t want kids. He’d had daddy issues too and didn’t want his offspring to grow up with a messed-up dad. Even though Rosalie desperately wanted a family, she was so in love with Drew that she’d put those dreams aside, for him.

Now, Drew stood proudly cradling his pregnant fiancée’s stomach as he spoke sweet nothings into her ear, looking thrilled to become a dad.

Derek squeezed Rosalie’s hand tightly, then removed it to wrap around her shoulders instead, nestling her into him. Derek’s lips brushed the top of Rose’s head, then her forehead.

“Fuck, Rosie. I’m so sorry. I… he didn’t deserve you. You’re better off without him. Do you want to go?” Derek whispered huskily in Rosalie’s ear, breaths coming out shallowly.

Rosalie didn’t need to feel the tenseness of his arm around her to know that he was pissed. She could tell just by the tone of his voice that he wanted to kill Drew.

Rosalie turned her head so that now her lips would be close to his ear. “I… I should have known. I—No, we need to stay. If I leave now, then Ashleigh and Evelyn will know that they’ve won, and I can’t let that happen.”

Rosalie rested her head on Derek’s shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace.

Someone kicked her leg under the table. Rosalie raised her head to look at Derek questioningly. His expression matched her own.

“Rosalie? Dear, are you here?” Jason called from the stage, his snake-like grey eyes checking the crowd for his daughter.

“She’s here, you pompous prick!” Grandma Rose yelled to her son, shoving Rosalie gently with a hand to her back. From a distance, Rosalie heard Stiles guffaw. She imagined that Lydia smacked him in the head while trying to control her own laughter.

Jason scowled, but ignored his mother, watching with a forced smile as his daughter and her ‘fiancé’ ascended the stairs. Derek had a tight hold around Rosalie, who had forgone her shoes in the shock of the moment. She leaned on him, both physically and metaphorically, for strength.

“Some more good news for my daughters. Somehow, someone managed to put a ring on my dear little Rosalie. Yes, it shocked us, too. Good on you, Derek!” Jason looked to Rosalie’s bare feet. “And it seems he doesn’t mind her habit for walking around barefoot. Welcome to the family, Derek Hale!”

Most of the crowd laughed, Evelyn and Ashleigh’s shrill merriment sticking out the most. Derek held Rosalie tighter. She bit the inside of her lip in an attempt to stay strong.

From Jason’s other side, Drew asked, “Wait. Isn’t that the guy who broke your nose?”

Derek rested his forehead on the side of Rose’s head, huffing into her ear “Yes. That was me. And if you don’t shut up, I’ll break your nose, too, you douche”.

That made her chuckle, and with his arms securely around her, Rose knew that she’d be alright as long as Derek was by her side.

#teen wolf #derek hale #derek hale fic #derek hale fanfiction #derek hale x oc #tyler hoechlin #derek hale au #derek hale fluff

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