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norabrice1701 · 8 months

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The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 12

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 12 Warnings: Discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy; torture (whipping); non-canon character death

The door to Cromwell’s office swings open without invitation or announcement. His gaze darts up from his desk, irritation hardening the lines of his face to see the dark-clad form of Charles Brandon. The man wears the same carefully disdainful yet detached look that he had when Cromwell ordered him back north to deal with the traitorous rebels.

“Your Grace?” Cromwell prompts, schooling his face into an innocent, confused look as thunder rumbles outside the window.

“I’ve just come from The Tower,” Brandon starts, voice oddly tight. “The prisoner – Avian, she -” The tense muscles of his jaw work as he draws a breath. “She has consented to swear herself into the king’s service.”

Cromwell can hardly believe his ears, yet still a grin cracks his face. “Is that truly so?”

Brandon nods brusquely. “It is so.”

The grin grows to light Cromwell’s eyes. “That is glorious news, indeed. Your Grace should not look so sullen. This is a victory not just for His Majesty, but for the future security of our great kingdom.”

Brandon holds his head high but keeps his mouth closed with disapproval blazing in his eyes.

Cromwell rises, arching a taunting brow. “You don’t approve? You would rather see her miserable treatment in The Tower continue?”

“I would rather a lot of things were different.” Brandon’s words hold a barely restrained edge of anger. “But I fully accept that there are things beyond my control. However much they displease me.”

Cromwell stares back at the man, shaking his head with faux pity. “Then you make your own hell, Your Grace. If you cannot make peace with the duty put to you by your King – by God – then there is little I can do to ease your conscience.”

Brandon’s mouth pinches to a flat line. “Then don’t ask if I approve.”

Cromwell suppresses an amused huff with a soft sigh. “But you say the prisoner is ready to commit herself?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Whatever else you say, that is truly wonderful news.” Cromwell glances back down at the papers on his desk. “Allow me to finish this missive and collect my Lord Hertford. We shall be along presently.”

A hard swallow works down Brandon’s throat. “I would advise against tarrying for too long. The lady’s resolve may be weak now, but I would be remiss to think her strength would not return.” Thunder claps on his words as Cromwell stares back at him. “But you needn’t wait in suspense,” Brandond says before turning with a sweep of his ark coat back towards the door. “Your spies will have no report of me entering her cell to sway her otherwise before you and Lord Hertford arrive.”

***

Lightning flashes in the stone council chamber. Charles blinks against the bright light, stomach churning even as he dares to hope against hope. The unpleasant memories from his last meeting in this room - seeing Avian chained to the floor, writhing under the effects of her gauntlet powders - assault him as he stands with his hands dutifully clasped in front of him, quietly watching Cromwell and Seymour enter. A third man follows behind them who carries a large rucksack, but he promptly takes up a silent post by the far wall.

Cromwell thumps his ubiquitous leather-bound ledger on the nearest table, darting a cold stare over to Charles. Seymour lingers close by the Lord Privy Seal’s side, his face an inscrutable mask as the jangle and clank of metal chains echoes off the walls.

Charles turns his attention towards the jailer as he enters, dragging Avian behind him. The yellow torchlight gives her skin a sickly pallor, her eyes blood-shot and deep-set in her gaunt face. Grime matts her skin, her hair hangs in limp tangles, and her dress carries innumerable soiled stains. He works a hard swallow against the heartbroken pang tightening his chest even as he’s careful to hold his face neutral.

God, he hopes this will work. Hopes this is what she needs.

Thunder echoes in the stone chamber as the jailer snakes a new length of chain through the shackles on her wrists and ankles before securing it to the bolt embedded in the floor. Her shoulders hunch forward under the chain’s pull, immobilized and trapped as she sways unsteadily on her feet.

Cromwell levels her with a harsh stare. “The woman only known as Avain - you are brought before us today to swear your service to his majesty.”

She looks up blearily, blinking through matted strands of hair and mumbling softly. “To swear my service…”

“Yes,” Cromwell continues without sympathy. “His Grace informs us that you are ready to consent.”

A shiver - or maybe a sob - shakes her haggard frame. Everything about it makes Charles ache to take her into his arms and shield her from the world. Avian’s sniffle sounds as lightning flashes on the stone walls. “I-I'm sorry, my lord… Your Grace,” she rasps, drawing a deep inhale. “But I cannot… it's not right. It will never be right.”

Cromwell's lips thin to a line of displeasure as he glares over at Charles. “You said she was willing.”

Charles schools his expression into one of careful disbelief. “Yes, but I also cautioned that it could have been a moment of weakness.”

The barest hint of a disquieting, pleased grin curls Seymour’s lips. “Weakness, indeed. We shall see, I suppose.”

Cromwell turns his gaze back to Avian with an air of finality. “I will ask you one last time, witch - will you surrender yourself to the king’s service?”

She draws a trembling breath, just barely managing to raise her head. “Never.”

Cromwell's answering sigh sounds in the small space as he closes up his ledger. “Then, you leave us no other choice.”

Seymour motions to the man along the back wall. He moves to bring the rucksack forward, and bile rises in Charles’ throat as the contents are revealed on the tabletop. Thick, menacing corded leather straps of a cat o’nine tails accompany a small jar of white granules that… that resemble table salt?

Another sickening wave rots his stomach as he glances from the implements back to Avian. Does she not hear the thunder? How much time does she need? Or perhaps she needs a bigger storm than this? Did he forget some key detail when she explained how he could help?

“Thank you.” Seymour intones flatly, reaching for the leather handle of the cat o’nine tails, threading the various knotted ends through his fingers almost reverently. “How many would you say, Your Grace?” He glances over at Charles with a cold cruelty hardening his gaze. “How many lashings until her tongue loosens and she consents?”

Charles bites his tongue, struggling not to seethe with visible rage. Does he have any ability to help her now? At least, anything that doesn’t also condemn himself to a fate of torture and death in The Tower? Helpless anger burns his veins even as he forces himself to exhale slowly, struggling to keep himself under control. “Preferably none, My Lord,” he answers carefully. “There's no cause for such extreme measures.”

“Extreme measures?” Seymour doesn't bother to hide his disgust. “She is a subject of His Majesty who refuses to do as her sovereign has commands. There are no measures extreme enough for such willful disobedience.”

Charles grit his teeth, cursing himself for what he knows he must say. “Then, how about you begin with two?”

Seymour steps away from the table, letting the whip’s leather ends hang with frightening promise at his side. Avian’s chains rattle as she tugs against her bonds - frantically watching Seymour approach, desperate to hide, trying to fold in on herself for protection. Heartbreaking panic races along Charles’ skin, resisting every urge to put himself between Seymour and Avian.

Seymour shakes his head with disapproving judgment as he looks at Avian. “I think you underestimate her, Your Grace. She won't even know the severity of the situation without at least two strikes.” He spins around without warning, the cat o’nine tails flying through the air and ripping across her back. Her broken scream fills the chamber, face twisting with agony. Again, Seymour whirls around just as fast, letting the leather whip tear through more cloth and skin on Avian’s back. Her pained cries and ragged breaths drown under the rumbling thunder. The back of her dress hangs in rough tatters with angry bleeding wounds gaping out.

Nausea rots Charles’ stomach as the scene unfolds before him but he forces himself to stay still… for now.

Avian’s pained sobs echo off the walls as Seymour turns back to the table, his face infuriatingly calm. He picks up the jar of white granules and without a word, sprinkles it liberally over the lash marks. Her guttural, agonized cry pierces Charles to the core.

If Avain doesn't kill both Cromwell and Seymour soon, then he certainly will.

Seymour looks over at him, unconcerned by the sight of the tortured woman. “Salt, in case you wondered. It draws out the pain like none other.” He clarifies as he circles around her. “Now,” he continues, glaring down at Avian. “Are you ready to swear yourself to the king’s service? I should almost hope that you say no. It will be a useful lesson for His Grace on showing too much leniency.”

Charles longs to call out to her, to plead for her to just consent. If he has brought her into an inadequate situation for what she needs to escape, then they can figure out the rest later. Once this ends. Once she’s returned to the safety of her prison cell.

Her whole body shakes with pain, but the defiant shake of her head is plainly visible. Charles ducks his head, eyes squeezing shut as his heart clenches. Why in God’s name won't she end her own suffering?

“Oh, come now, Your Grace.” Cromwell's reproachful, mocking tone grates on him. “I never took you to be so weak-hearted. Especially not after the hundreds of women and children you put to death in the North. Or is this different? Followed your cock to love, perhaps? Or does she indeed have you under some spell?” Cromwell looks to Seymour with mock-concern. “Let us hope that it does not spread.”

Seymour shakes his head. “It matters little. My point stands valid.” He moves again to employ his full strength, swinging the cat o’nine tails in a full arc before slamming it down against her. Her back arches under the heavy blow, another hoarse, jagged sound tearing from her throat at the onslaught. Red rivulets steam down her back from the savagely ripped skin.

Seymour doesn't look the least bit remorseful as he continues. “I suppose someone should keep count. Wouldn't want to do any lasting damage.”

Charles’ rage boils within him, wanting only to slam the man against the wall until his head runs as red as Avian’s back. The thunder booming outside sounds second only to the pounding of blood in Charles’ ears and Avian’s wet, tormented breathing.

Slowly, her trembling right arm extends with fingers fully flexed towards the nearest window. Deep sobbing breaths rack her frame as she visibly struggles to hold her arm, her left arm rising to join it within the confines of her chained shackles.

Charles holds his breath, daring to hope.

Seymour's distantly amused chuckle sounds over the thunder. “If you’re praying - or begging - for some unholy spirit to save you, you needn't bother. Not even the Devil can save you now, witch.” He swings the cat o’nine tails around again, and she moves in the same moment.

Bringing her arms around, she points her outstretched fingers towards Seymour with a sudden burst of energy. Blinding purple-white light shoots from her fingertips in brilliant streaks, aimed right at Seymour's chest. The force of blast sweeps him from his feet, throwing him across the stone chamber to slam into Cromwell.

Charles can't believe his eyes.

In the bright flash of light, Avian’s face twists with furious determination. Both Seymour and Cromwell lay across the room as dark, unmoving figures against the blinding display. A thunderous boom fills the chamber, deafening Charles as it knocks him off his own feet. He lands hard against the stone wall, dazed and disoriented as pain blooms in his back.

And then, the room falls dark and silent.

***

Blood pounds in Charles’ ears and his temples throb when his eyes re-open. With a groan, he struggles to his feet and tries to make sense of the scene.

The lone torch that remains lit casts long shadows around the darkened chamber. No lightning flashes outside the windows, and the thunder… has stopped. An eerie silence fills the air around him, rippling a wave of fear down his spine.

Squinting across the room, he can just make out the dark forms of both Seymour and Cromwell, still and unmoving. Faint tendrils of smoke rise from Seymour’s clothing, and Charles doubts that the man still lives. How could he after such a powerful hit to his chest? Cromwell lies equally still, but Charles isn’t sure how much of Avian’s wrath directly hit him. His gaze roams to find Avian, crumpled to the floor against her chains. Her utter stillness conjures long forgotten words in Charles’ memory.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as intrigue flashed in his eyes. “Have you ever drawn all the lightning out of a storm?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “Discharging that much of it at one time would likely destroy me.”

Awed affection burst in his chest, unable to believe how such a woman stood in front of him. His gaze fell to her hand in his, glimpsing the silver drops and streaks that faded to a dull metallic sheen. “You are truly a wonder,” he whispered. “If only the commons knew what you really are. What you can really do.”

Heartbreaking concern grips him and he pushes to his feet, rushing to her side through the dizziness that fuzzes the corners of the mind.

“Your… Your Grace?” A thin voice croaks from across the room. With bleary eyes, Charles turns to see the other man – the one who held the bag with Seymour’s cat o’nine tails – groaning from where he lay, slumped against the wall. “What…,” the man strains for words again. “Did she – is she…?”

Despite the roiling tangle of emotions within him, the corner of Charles’ mouth manages to lift with vague amusement and understanding. Indeed, how does one form words after witnessing such a stunning display? He’s had years to come to terms with his own awe and wonder at Avian’s abilities, but he’s not about to admit anything more right now. “I don’t know.” He says slowly, looking back at Avian and crouching down next to her.

Merciful lord. Blood puddles freely from her hands, weeping through the cracks of burned, seared flesh that extend up her wrists now exposed by the charred sleeves of her dress. The right side of her face looks equally burned, leaving her skin in angry, bloody tatters. Gently, he lowers a hand and carefully extends a finger just under her nose. Faint puffs of air blow across his skin, and his heart leaps with relief. “She’s alive.” He calls out, turning over to glare at the other man. “Go fetch the physician.”

The other man stares as he staggers to his feet. “But, sir – Your Grace – she… did she not just murder Lord Hert-”

“She can’t very well stand trial for murder if she’s dead! Go!” Charles barks without remorse, glowering as he shifts his weight to gingerly gather her into his arms. “She’ll be back in her cell. My lords Cromwell and Hertford also need attending.”

The other man’s scurrying footsteps fade down the corridor as Charles descends the stairs leading back to her cell. It gives him time to think, and the dark anonymity of her cell affords more privacy. Perhaps it might also afford him more opportunity to help… but to do what exactly?

With tender care, he lays her on her stomach, turning her head so the unharmed side of her face rests against the cool stone. He debates freeing the ragged remains of her dress from the deep wounds along her back, but that’s probably better left to the physician. He arranges her hands delicately, trying not to disturb the thin flesh, and the sight of her extensive injuries churns his stomach.

His mind races all the while. What happens now? Will she live? Is it possible for her physical body to recover from such horrific damage? And that’s all to say nothing of the ramifications with Seymour surely dead and Cromwell possibly, too. When Henry learns of it all, his fury will be unstoppable. Will he seek retribution against Charles? Or can Charles get ahead of it and convince Henry that it was Cromwell’s unrelenting torture that pushed Avian to the violent breaking point?

The swift footsteps of the physician steals his attention.

“Your Grace – what –” the man stops, eyes wide with horror as he stares at the woman on the floor. “What in God’s name?”

“A cat o’nine tails to her back,” Charles quickly answers. “And fire set to her hands and face.”

The physician steps closer, motioning to his apprentice to bring the torch forward. His face creases with harsh assessment as he stares down at Avian. “I don’t know, Your Grace,” he says slowly. “These are serious injuries. Those lashes run deep. And the burns – there’s hardly any skin left at all.”

Charles shakes his head, refusing to believe it. “There are mud mixtures. Pastes that can be applied to act as skin until it heals. I have seen it.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” the physician nods. “But those take some time to prepare, and even they are not a guarantee.”

Charles’ anger flares with each wasted minute. “This woman has likely just murdered Lords Hertford and Cromwell. If it should come to the King’s attention that you let the murderer die without facing justice, then you shall likely be counted just as guilty!”

The physician visibly pales under Charles’ authority, straightening his robes and nodding numbly. “Y-yes, Your Grace. Of-of course, I will do everything in my power. Let me… I’ll go prepare the necessary wares. In the meantime just…” He glances back at Avian, shaking his head as if struggling to find words. “Just… if you want her to live, I fear that prayer is all that she has. But I’ll return in a hurry.”

The physician turns and retreats, leaving Charles once again in the stillness of her cell with only the torrent of his thoughts.

He just has to think of something. He can’t just let her die like this, but nor can he let her stand guilty of murder. At least the physician was easy enough to bend to his will. Perhaps he can continue to make use of that.

He drops to his knees by her side, letting his eyes close. With a strange reluctance, he brings his clasped hands to rest on his knees in supplication. Avian probably wouldn’t appreciate him praying over her, but if it brings him some clarity, some direction – then maybe she can forgive him.

Assuming she lives. Assuming he can keep her safe.

By the time the physician returns, he has a plan.

#charles brandon #charles brandon x ofc #duke of suffolk #henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors #the tudors fanfic

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cartoonsliveon · 4 years

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More Lightspeed Au! No promises @h-theartist that this doesn’t break your heart.

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

“Hmmm?” Honey Lemon half groaned, blinking her eyes blearily and squinting against the bright florescent lighting. She turned her head with another groan, trying to hide her eyes against the pillow and block out the light until she was ready.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Baymax began to repeat, “How would you rate your pain?”

“Seven,” She mumbled into the pillow, not fully processing the question or her answer. She was only now becoming acutely aware of how much her back hurt and how sore her entire body felt. Seven felt both appropriate and a tad overkill, “Where am I?”

“We’re back at HQ,” She could hear Wasabi’s voice from above her, and felt his large hand as he reached to brush some strands of hair out of her face, “How are you feeling?”

“How long have I been out?” Honey Lemon deflects the question, turning her head so she can look up at Baymax with squinty, blurry vision. It suddenly occurs to her that she’s also laying across her stomach, likely so Baymax can monitor the injury across her back.

“It has been 2 and a half hours since we have returned from our mission,” Baymax answers.

“Possibly three hours,” Wasabi explains, “We found you passed out among a bunch of industrial shipping crates.”

“W-where’s Gogo?”

She sees Wasabi glance off to somewhere out of her range of sight, likely trying to silently communicate with Hiro or Fred.

“Where’s Gogo?” She demands, trying to push herself up with her hands. She finds herself holding her breath in pain as she struggles to sit up. Her arms shake from the strain she’s putting herself under though and lets her entire body drop back down onto the mattress.

“She got away Honey Lemon,” Hiro responds somewhere out of sight, slightly confused why Honey Lemon was asking this, “Her and Gigavolt. They got the tech from Yama and got away.”

Honey Lemon falls silent, staring down at the floor from the edge of her cot. What happened after she passed out? She remembered Gogo, tears streaming down her face as she fell into hysterics. So confused and... and in so much pain. And vaguely, for a moment, of Gogo kneeling down in front of her. The tears still evident on her face, the confusion still in her eyes. She was so.... wary. But had she said anything to Gogo? She could be sure if her “I’ll always love you” really happened or not.

“What happened Honey Lemon?”

“I was... I was trying to help Gogo remember,” Honey Lemon says quietly, glancing down at the floor as she recounts what happened, “She was fighting me and then... she heard me tell myself to woman up and-and then she ran off.”

“She was... I think she was scared Hiro. She couldn’t remember or understand why it sounded so familiar to her. I was trying to help her remember. But... then I... Gigavolt must of attacked me - Ahh!”

“Honey Lemon!”

“No!” Honey Lemon held a hand up to stop her friends as she forced herself to get up. This time though, she rolled off the edge of the cot as she swung her feet down to the floor. It hurt to stand, but Honey Lemon couldn’t waste time laying around, waiting for the pain to stop, “Gogo needs me. She needs us.”

“Honey Lemon you need to-”

“She remembered Tadashi!”

She suddenly feels her face start to burn a bit, acutely aware of the heavy silence that envelops all of them. She swallows the lump forming in her throat as she leans against the edge of the cot, watching as Hiro looks away from her, clearly trying to keep composed.

“She did?” Hiro asks, not even flinching as his voice cracked a bit. Honey wanted to pull him into a hug, wondering if she should have brought this up.

“Y-yeah.... she-she was remembering,” Honey tried to blink away the tears that were pricking in her eyes, “Gogo was....”

Honey Lemon couldn’t help trailing off. It was like she could hear Gogo’s heart broken, crushed voice right next to her as it echoed in her head. All that raw emotion seemed to wash over her again.

The gave a heavy sigh, “She broke down in hysterics, without realizing why she was crying. B-but she knew something bad happened.”

“I know if I can just find her, if I can just talk to her, I can help her remember. I know she can remember. I know its possible Hiro. I know it is. I can’t-I can’t just give up on her. Not when she needs me.”

“But we don’t know where Gigavolt is hiding. And they’re never going to let you, or any of us, get that close to Gogo or have a chance to be alone with her again. Not if they saw her break down and start remembering,” Wasabi reminded.

“For all we know, Gigavolt might have tried to wipe her memory clean again,” Fred added.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try,” Hiro argued, “Or stop trying to track down Gigavolt’s secret base. Gogo needs us. We can’t give up on her. Not now.”

She never liked being in this room, though she could never place why. Everything about the room made her uneasy though. The cot with its restraints out in the open, waiting for its next victim to trap. The bright lights that made her eyes hurt when she looked at them for too long. The large screen across the wall with the speaker and the lack of any other exit other than the one she was standing in.

She never understood the purpose of this room. She never questioned it though, feeling as though the less she knew about it the better. There are some things that are best left forgotten. Except now she’s looking for answers, and she can’t help but wonder if maybe.... just maybe.... this room might hold an answer or two.

She always had the sense that something bad happened in here. Something bad happened.... to her.

Lightspeed never really believed in it though. She never had any reason to suspect it to be true. But now... now she wasn’t so sure. She had no reason to believe Honey Lemon. She had no reason to trust any of Big Hero 6. But....that memory... how is she suppose to explain that? She couldn’t have just made it up.

“You seem troubled.”

She found Gigavolt standing in the doorway behind her, filling up the space as she took a startled step backwards into the little room. He stared down at her, leaning against the doorframe. His expression was completely neutral, other than a singular raised eyebrow to convey his confusion. Or... maybe suspicion.

“It-it’s nothing.”

“You know I don’t believe that Lightspeed.”

His expression softened slightly as he sighed. But he didn’t look away from her, standing his ground and blocking the only exit out of this room. And trapping her in the one room within this entire secret base that brings her so much unexplained anxiety. She can already feel her heart beating slightly faster as she stares at Gigavolt.

“You can’t let them get to you, not like this. They don’t care about you Lightspeed. They don’t know you. They’re just trying to manipulate you, use you.”

“I know. It’s just...” She hesitated, unsure how to continue. Or if she wanted to continue. She couldn’t think of any reason why she shouldn’t trust Gigavolt anymore than why she should trust any of the members of Big Hero 6. And yet, despite that, she couldn’t ignore this feeling deep in her bones that she shouldn’t confide any further information, “It’s just that she said things... things that... sounded familiar. Things that I feel like I should know.”

When Gigavolt didn’t immediately respond, she continued before she could potentially lose her nerve. She couldn’t afford to do that, not right now. Not when Gigavolt’s expression was starting to harden around the edges, as though a wall was starting to come back up.

“Why can’t I remember who Tadashi is? Why can’t I remember who he is but... but trying to remember makes me start crying? Who is he? Who’s Tadashi? Why do they insist on calling me Gogo anyways? Why won’t they call me by my name? Why are they the ones trying to make me remember? They’re not suppose to be trying to help us!”

Why does Honey Lemon insist that she loves me if we aren’t girlfriends?

“Nothing makes any sense!”

“You’re right,” Gigavolt agreed, glancing off over her shoulder, “It doesn’t. Nothing they say makes any sense. But that’s heroes for you. They hardly ever make sense. They’re taking advantage of you, of your amnesia. I would probably believe them too, if I didn’t know better.”

His hands clasped around her shoulders, trapping her in an unbreakable grip as he stared her in the eyes. He pretends he doesn’t notice the way she stiffens just a little bit, the anxiety that flickers in her eyes. He can tell that there’s more to this. There’s more that she hasn’t told him. And, even more concerning, most likely won’t.

“But we do know better. Which is why you can’t believe them. They’re trying to make you question everything. They’re trying to turn us against each other. And all they’re going to do is betray you in the end and lock you up. They don’t care about you. Think about all the pain they’ve put you through tonight. You can’t trust them. You can’t believe a word they say.”

“I just want to remember,” She says.

“I know,” He drags his eyes slowly up to look beyond her, at the opposite wall. At the large, seemingly harmless, blank screen. His grip tightens a bit more on her shoulders. He should have known that eventually this would happen, “I think there’s something you should see.... something that’ll help you remember what you need to know.”

#Big Hero 6 the series #Big Hero 6 #AUs #lightspeed au

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drawing-way-outside-the-lines · 4 years

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The true scent of Medieval times.

Pt 2. < Previous Sparkle: *She whimpered louder the more scared she became by the whole scenario and how she had gotten here, and how willing she had been to go THAT far to finally be with the man she had loved all her life. And her fear only intensified as she felt an unseen force grab onto her and drag her backwards into a darkness, where it felt as if she was sent falling down the tallest building. Well, that was only until she landed on the ground with a loud thud, all air being knocked out of her. She groaned loud, everything around her getting brighter although she had still to open her eyes. Fearing what she might face, she kept them shut tight, till a familiar voice reached her ears only few seconds later*

Raven: You're alive and just fine, you can open your eyes now.

Spakle: *Although his voice was deeper, rough, she knew very well whom was speaking, so she slowly opened her eyes, blinking a few times, before her bright surroundings started taking shape. They appeared to be in some sort of forest, the air was chilled, but mild. Judging by the bright green fresh leaves it was late spring.*

Raven: *She spotted him next to her, sitting on a fallen tree, carving a piece of wood into a point. He wasn't looking at her. His clothes was dirty, and so was he, even his usually silky black hair was dirty and it looked as if he had rolled the forest floor one too many times.* I would have gotten you out of there earlier, but I had to find you some suitable clothes first. *He kicked a foot against a leather wrap on the ground just a half meter from where he was sitting.* Get dressed before you catch a cold.

Sparkle: *she quickly sat up, trying her best to cover herself with the blanket, looking around confused* Where are we?

Raven: *He sighed soft and kept carving the wood* Medieval London....

Sparkle: *Her eyes got wide with shock* I thought you guys always said time travel isn't possible!?! Are you joking?

Raven: *He sighed annoyed and stuck his knife into a leather pouch strapped to his ankle, then slipped the wood down next to it, before he closed the pouch and stood up slowly, now for the first time looking at her with a slightly raised eyebrow* Do I look like I am joking?!

Sparkle: *Speechless she sat there watching him, until a black horse she hadn't notice before, grunting from behind Raven, snapped her out of it and she quickly flew up from the ground* How the fuck can we be in Medieval London when you always said that

Raven: Look... Willow has a son she gave birth to in the 90's, so clearly it's possible to travel in time *he sighed deep* But must I remind you what happened when she thought time travel was a great idea? She got her pretty behind stuck and nearly ended up there for good. *He grunted irritated and kicked the leather wrap again* How about you get dressed and we can deal with your little freakout, when I can't look directly at your privates?

Sparkle: *She was just about to interrupt him as his last comment reached her ears and she blushed bright red, angrily but quickly grabbing the leather wrap and dragged some fabric out from inside it. A beautiful tan and white maiden dress she had always seen in Medieval movies... although this one had a bit of blood on the chest? She looked at Raven with squinty eyes*

Raven: Yes... it's worn, I didn't have much time or you would have gotten a -may I add- very painful and completely unnecessary sex change! But don't worry, the previous owner wont be missing the dress. *He smirked lightly and sat back down on the tree trunk*

Sparkle: *She looked at the garment hesitating*

Raven: It's what we have.. for now... I will get you something better when the opportunity is there, but for now, I suggest you toughen up and put that clothes on you, if you want to survive. Cause whether you like it or not, I'm all you got right now, I'm your only chance at survival, and I am your only ticket out of here. So get dressed, and we can talk about everything over a beer.

Sparkle: *She frowned deep and gestured at the trees around them* A beer?!

Raven: I told you we are in London, didn't I?... well...slightly outside London, but close enough for a smaller horse ride. *He sighed deep* Clothes...

Sparkle: *She groaned irritated, but quickly started getting dressed, figuring it was probably best not to ask further about the stained dress*

Raven: There's shoes in the sack as well... and a cape to keep you warm. The blanket you are wearing must be destroyed so no one tracks us here *he nodded at the blanket she had dumped on the ground, waved a hand and it was gone in the blink of an eye* We ride as soon as you are done changing, and I prefer we don't talk till we are in a much noisier place, just in case we were already tracked.

Sparkle: But you already gave away our location....

Raven: Did I? *He smirked his usual smirk and stood back up, walking around the tree trunk, getting his horse ready for the upcoming ride*

*About 15 minutes later, they sat down, in a dimmed corner of a pub, with each their large beer*

Raven: So throw it at me.....

Sparkle: *She frowned soft* ...... how did you know I was there? You have been gone for quite a while now... like almost

Raven: Don't tell me! *He grunted soft and sipped his beer* I don't want to know how long time I have been gone, it makes it more difficult *he grunted with a soft sigh and wiped beer foam off his upper lip with the back of his dirty hand*

Sparkle: *She studied him for a moment, he looked tired in his eyes, beaten up, but not in a way as if someone had laid their hands on him, more in a way as if time had been unkind to him for quite a while. She sipped her beer before she spoke in a calmer voice* How did you know I was there and what was going on?

Raven: Luckily Bard never knew how to keep his mouth shut *he grunted soft*

Sparkle: But I thought no one was in contact with you?

Raven: None are. But just because I have broken contact with my family, doesn't mean they have broken contact with me. I still tune in from time to time, you're just lucky I tuned in at the right time and overheard Bards half drunk blabbering about this sweet young blonde girl, whom desperately had seeken his help in order to

Sparkle: *She cringed strongly* I didn't seek his help? How could I when I didn't even know about him? I mean, I barely know anything about your family, so how can I know about some random cousin’s powers?

Raven: ..... Oh I'm aware of that... Bard is very.... colorful, when he talks. *He sipped his beer again, but this time licked the foam off* I overheard him and decided to act fast, even if it could potentially risk my lovely hideout *he chuckled soft as he gestured at the surroundings, then a serious frown settled on his face* How did you come across him anyway?

Sparkle: ..... I was looking for you

Raven: But you knew I was gone, so why would you come looking for me?

Sparkle: *She shrugged lightly* A desperate attempt, I suppose? I needed someone to talk to

Raven: *He looked at her with a squint* Nah.... I'm probably the last one you would seek for a chat. You have to do better than that. How 'bout you tell me the truth, considering I just saved your ass *he pointed up and down her* and every other part of you for that matter.

Sparkle: *She sighed soft, tears gathering in her eyes as she took a sip of the beer* I'm not sure, honestly what happened... the past months has been a bit of a blur. I have felt so lonely with Penny, and I have been missing a man in my life more than ever.

Raven: THE man?

Sparkle: *She nodded soft and sniffled her nose* I know it's stupid, I don't need another lecture. I know I should just forget about him an move on with my life, not just for me, but for Penny as well. I'm a mother now, and it might not have been the way I always dreamed of, but I am a mother none the less. So I should try to just make the best out of it right? But I am tired of always having to make "the best out of it", my whole life has been like that! I just thought.... maybe after Penny was born, Andy and I would finally find each other, and private parts wouldn't matter any longer.... I mean... when you love someone enough right? If Evan can why can't Andy?

Raven:..... as much as I get what you mean, I also have to remind you sexuality isn't just something you switch on and off. Andy has tried to do the whole straight thing, for many years, and he was miserable. Besides, if he didn't fall in love with you back when he WAS straight.... how on earth could you still think it's all about body parts only? What was your brilliant idea here? Become a man and think he would fall in love with you just because you finally had a dick?

Sparkle: There were supposed to be a spell involved as well

Raven: *He shook his head lightly* Bard knows no spells... yes he has the power to alter someones exterior, but nothing more than that. He's a lower leveled demon, he's a scammer at best, who only cares about his own gain.

Sparkle: But I thought since he was a McKinney

Raven: McKinney or not, we are still just demons, not “God’s”, Sparkle *he grunted soft and sipped his beer* so why exactly did you seek me of all people, as far as I remember, you're not very fond of me?

Sparkle: *She sighed soft and nervously rubbed her sleeve* Ehm..... I needed a MAN.... and.... well.... you're the only MAN I know, who isn't a stranger.... who isn't someone I see as family, and who isn't gay....

Raven: Please hold back on the flattery, I can hardly stand it *he lifted an eyebrow teasingly as his sarcasm cut the thick air between the two of them* I'm not about to play happy family though, I have enough trouble already

Sparkle: ....... that's not what I meant. Being without a man in my life for so long, it's not just a need for everyday intimacy that I am missing out on.

Raven: *He lifted an eyebrow but chose not to comment* ...... so how did you end up butting heads with Bard?

Sparkle: There were some sort of family gathering when I showed up at your family's castle

Raven: Ah yes... and how did you even get there?

Sparkle:...... the portal at the clinic? *she smiled nervously and rather apologetic* Felix once blabbered about it over some drinks.

Raven: ..... not much of a surprise. *He grunted soft* Remind me to fix that when I return home at some point. That portal is to remain hidden for a reason. Otherwise fair maidens may just get themselves in all kinds of trouble *he smirked teasingly at Sparkle in her maiden dress*

Sparkle: Right *she cleared her throat rather awkward by the situation, and went on* I bumped into him while searching for you room. He offered me a drink and he just seemed so familiar and warm and friendly and.... did I mention I need a man so desperately I was seeking you? *She chuckled nervously* so before I knew it I was spilling out all my sorrows. He told me he could help me and well, he sounded very convincing. And.... it just all in a matter of minutes sounded like the fairy tale I always dreamed of. I guess I got carried away, and well, before I even got to think one clear thought I seemed to already be in the middle of it all.

Raven: Mh-hm...

Sparkle: *She sighed deep and lowered her head embarrassed* I can't believe how far I was willing to go for him. And you're right, there's no guarantee it would have even worked out. If he couldn't fall enough for me while he was straight, then it's most likely not about body parts, but rather about us simply not being compatible, no matter how much I wish we were. I think this finally opened my eyes.... I just hate that it had to come this far

Raven: Almost.... this far *he reached out and planted a hand on hers, squeezing it gently* Almost

Sparkle: Well, if it wasn't for you

Raven: No.... I'm sure you were already coming to your senses, I'm just not so sure Bard would have accepted a no. May I ask.... what you paid him anyway? I know Bard well enough to know nothing comes for free... so what did he want from you?

Sparkle: *She looked to the side, trying to avoid Raven's eyes* .......my next child..... he would take it as soon as I would conceive it, I wouldn't even know. I figured with all the abortions I have already been through, at least this would be less cruel, cause I wouldn't even know.

Raven: *He squinted his eyes* Sparkle.... this is

Sparkle: I know.

Raven: Did you sign something?

Sparkle: No.

Raven: Are you sure?

Sparkle: *She sighed deep and looked at him with teary eyes* I might be stupid enough to put myself through something like this for fucking Andy... but I didn't want to sign a thing till I had seen the result

Raven: But Bard can't reverse, and a job is a job...

Sparkle: Yes, but... I might not be as dumb as I look okay? I told him he would only get a child if I was satisfied. If I wasn't we would negotiate another price.

Raven: *He sighed soft and squeezed her hand again before he let go and sipped his beer*

Sparkle: So.... I guess I still owe him a

Raven: No. No papers were signed. And he didn't perform his procedure. He has nothing on you, and he might be a dick, but he knows very well there's nothing he can do without breaking several very strict rules, even he doesn't want to mess with. You're fine. Don't worry about him at all, let me deal with him once I get back.

Sparkle: And until then I do what?

Raven Do your best to forget all about him as fast as possible. And stay away from our castle. Well, that's when I get you back at least. For now, lets just keep you alive till I can set up a portal.

Sparkle: Does it have to be today? I mean, time works different here too, right?

Raven: Yes... it does. What do you have in mind?

Sparkle: How long can I stay here before my babysitter will wonder why I'm not coming home?

Raven: That's the tricky part. Time is fluent when magic in involved, I'm sure you have heard Andy speak of that before? *He sighed soft* I have been here literally for years. If you and I get separated I might even lose you for years. We can spend a day here and it might be a minute back home... we can spend a day here and it might be a month at home. There's no real way to calculate it. Not even between my home place and your time. Well it's easier, but calculating time from Medieval London and to Penny's next nap, is rather impossible. You are welcome to stay, for a couple days, maximum a week. Then I should try to get you back home safe. But while you're here, there's few rules...

Sparkle: *She nodded soft and understanding*

Raven: Stick to me at all time. It's absolutely the most important thing. As I told you, if I lose track of you, I might lose you for years... in our time *he poked his finger at the old wooden table between them* Blend in. This means you might see or hear things that can be hard to stomach, but this is another time, another place. Here you get a hand chopped off if you steal an apple. And try to keep in mind I am a demon *he pointed at the bloody chest on her dress* I'm.... different.... than I am back home. The longer I stay away.... the more it changes me. Lucky for you, I'm still tame..... mostly...... *he grunted soft and sipped his beer* but I have done things here that mostly belong to my past, however, nothing inhumane, cause rule number 3 is, do nothing that might change the future. You have probably heard this rule from lame sci-fi movies, but it's true. Change the past and you might as well change the future. It doesn't matter if you change it for the better, it may still create a ripple effect through time, and people or situations that belongs to the world that you know, might change completely. How would you like to return and find out everyone you ever loved never existed?

Sparkle: *She nodded slightly shocked and sipped a large portion of her beer*

Raven: That's the 3 rules... for now.... I may add more as we go along, but that's the basics and most important for now. I make most of it up as I go anyway *he shrugged lightly* I never was all too serious about stuff in life.... except the part of not changing the past. Even I wont be casual about this particular matter, which is why I stay away from any larger demon activity. I can't exactly end up in a history I am not supposed to be part of.... yet.

Sparkle: Wait..... yet? You lived in Medieval time?

Raven: ..... *he sighed soft* Yes.... but not in London... for at least another decade, that's why I came here, now... I wouldn't want to run into that old version of myself.... *he frowned soft then sipped his beer quietly, obviously not comfortable getting into further details on the subject*

Sparkle: *She nodded soft, well enough remembering bits and pieces Andy had told her about Raven's past*

Raven: Don't change yourself so much for anyone that you are no longer you. It's alright to change parts here and there to be more compatible, most people change some sides of themselves to fit better into the world, or relationships. Lets say a gambler finds a lovely wife, but the gambling is ruining the marriage, well, there's two choices then, either you quit gambling and keep your wife, or you keep gambling and quit your wife. In the long run we all have behaviors that can be toxic to ourselves, and the people we love. It is up to us to fix them and have a better chance at life, or keep them and keep... well... poisoning our own path. That's why I stopped being the murderous maniac I was... doesn't mean I completely changed who I was, I am still very much that person, I just try to keep it at bay, do stuff that tickles the urge but doesn't let it run rampage and destroy everything good in my life. I'm still Raven. And you should still be Sparkle. Naturally, you -like all other people-, have some stuff you could work on, specially since you're still rather young at mind

Sparkle: *She frowned deep* Is that your way to call me childish?

Raven: *He snorted soft* ..... perhaps.

Sparkle: *She opened her mouth, but figured there were no point in getting into a fight with him just yet, she needed a timeout from everything around her, and suddenly finding herself in Medieval London, seemed to be the best opportunity for that. No crying babies, well at least not her own, no responsibilities, nothing trying to constantly get in her way, no curve balls, no hidden traps she had to constantly try to be aware of, and best of all, no Andy! It seemed like a much needed break, so she wasn't about to potentially ruin that, by starting a fight with the only reason she was even there.*

Raven: How about we take a round of beer to my room *he nodded at the surroundings* The sun is sinking, which means soon this pub will be filled to the roof with people. There's not much to do around here after dark, besides getting drunk or getting in trouble... most people choose both.... There isn't really any internet or flat screen tv's around here *he chuckled soft* there's no need for us to get involved in something the first evening you’re here.

Sparkle: *She looked at the already growing mass of half drunk people and nodded* Sounds like a plan.

Raven: Aye! *He stood up slowly and nodded at a waitress* Can you send a couple rounds up to room 14, please... and a Whiskey?

Waitress: *She nodded confirming and disappeared between people, most likely heading towards the bar*

Raven: *He forced a soft smile as he looked at Sparkle, but his eyes were tired, heavy, and had lost their usual spark* Follow me.

#Trigger warning: Brief abortion mentioning #Sparkle Diamondsheart #Brandubh McKinney #Raven McKinney #Medieval storyline #unicorntales #inbetweendreams #story outtake #immortal #supernatural #demon #Irish demon #ts3 #sims3 #sims 3 #Daniel mumbles

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buckyskorpion · 4 years

Text

tess brain go hnnnnnnngh

hello this is only thing ive written in like a week and its for a new fic im SORRY but i thought i would post it anyway bc i have nothing else to offer hehe. it’s the beginning of my fic for laur’s writing challenge and boy oh boy has this morphed into it’s own beast. under the cut for those who dont care

“You know she’s not going to be happy about this,” Sam says.

“She’s never happy about anything,” Bucky replies. He flicks at a photograph pinned to your corkboard, your arm around some guy kissing your temple while you grin at the camera. There’s a bunch of photos just like it with the same dude; receding hairline, squinty blue eyes, tall but skinny in a vaguely malnourished way. One photo from what looks like a Halloween party catches his interest. You have a cardboard sign hanging over your shoulders to look like a square from the periodic table, and it reads ‘AH! The element of surprise’. Nerds, Bucky thinks with a scowl, and turns away from the corkboard.

Your office is nothing like he thought it would be, and that aggravates him. It’s hardly surprising - most things about you aggravate him. You have statues of Star Wars characters on your desk, a dying pot plant in the corner, books on quantum mechanics and Deutsch propositions left open and scribbled in on the coffee table. There’s too much personality left carelessly lying around, and none of it is yours. Bucky can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

Sharon walks in first, closing the door softly behind her and shoots them both a grimace. “She’s coming, but, uh- she’s not happy about this.”

“See?” Sam says, gesturing to Sharon as if she’s proving his point when Bucky agreed with him. He turns to face Sam lounging in the armchair on the other end of the room and flicks him the finger.

“Let’s try and contain this situation, shall we?” Sharon says. She’s nervous, Bucky notes, moving to stand in the middle of the room and smoothing down non-existent creases in her slacks. She refuses to look at Bucky, and that gives him a bad feeling. “Just listen to her yell for a bit. Bucky - let us do the talking, ok?”

Sharon is still not looking at him. Bucky nods instead of replying, baiting her to glance over, which she does. She trains her eyes on his nose and gives him a frankly insulting smile of recognition, immediately turning back to the door as her face drops. Bucky’s bad feeling intensifies.

Before he can try and figure out why one of the best Agents of SHIELD and former CIA operative can’t seem to pretend everything is fine, the door to the office slams open. It bounces back, smacks you in the shoulder as you storm into the room, and you push it back again with an aggravated shout. Sam rolls his lips together to smother his laugh but Bucky doesn’t bother. You turn a murderous glare onto him, and the shouting begins.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You march up to Sharon and jab a finger in her chest, forcing her back a step. “You gave me this job, why the hell are you coming in here fucking it all up?”

“We have some new developments,” Sharon says, keeping her voice even like she’s trying to placate a feral dog. It does not have the desired effect.

“Ever thought of picking up the phone?” you shout, throwing your hands wide. “Sending a text? A letter? A carrier pigeon? Anything but showing up to my six month long deep cover mission with two of the most recognisable faces on the fucking planet! Really, Sharon? Captain America?”

“She’s right, y’know,” Sam says, smiling through Sharon’s warning glare. “My face is pretty unforgettable.”

“It’s good to see you, Sam” you say, gritting your teeth like it physically pains you to derail your tirade for some niceties. “You should’ve left Barnes at home.”

“I offered to stay in the car,” Bucky says. He smiles, all teeth, and you poke your tongue out at him.

“Do you know how difficult it has been to be stuck here playing dumb with this bunch of incels for six fucking months?” You say, spinning away from Sharon now to open the small fridge in the corner. You pull out one of those mini bottles of whiskey and down half of it, baring your teeth at the sting. “Please don’t make it all for nothing or I will kill you all, and then myself.”

“The timeline has moved up,” Sharon says. She shakes her head when you offer her the rest of your whiskey and you shrug, chugging the remaining half. Sam makes an offended noise and you grab another one, chucking it towards him as he makes grabby hands. Bucky doesn’t even bother asking.

“That’s funny, because as far as I remember it’s me who sets the timeline,” you say. “And I say it’s staying exactly the fucking same.”

“Look, I know this has been a rough mission-“

“Rough? I am watching a bunch of psychopathic virgins reinvent time travel at a snails pace whilst entertaining their neo-nazi purist ideals and I haven’t been able to physically hurt any of them? Rough is an understatement.” you say.

“Sounds terrible,” Bucky says with an eye roll. Everyone in the room turns to glare at him.

“I’d like to see you spend one day with these scumbags,” you seethe, stepping forward with your teeth bared.

“Something tells me it can’t be any worse than having my brain fried by Nazi’s, sweetheart,” Bucky says. You hate when he condescends you like that, and Bucky knows it. You make to throw the empty mini-whiskey bottle at him but Sharon steps in-between you two, holding her hands up with a disappointed frown.

“Bucky, you were supposed to leave the talking to us,” Sharon says. She turns to you and adds, “And you would do well to remember that I’m your boss, agent. I give the orders.”

“Aw, let them fight,” Sam says from the armchair. “It’ll be fun.”

“Enough,” Sharon says. She claps her hands together to regain control of the room, but it’s tenuous. To you, she says, “We need you to speed up __________’s research. Find a way, I don’t care how, but in a month they need to figure out Stark’s theory of time travel.”

“Excuse me?” You glance between Sharon, Sam, and Bucky like someone can offer an explanation but no one does. Incredulously, you say, “I’ve been here slowing them down so they don’t figure it out, and now you want me to- speed them along? Give them the answer?”

“Yes,” Sharon says. Her eyes are saying something else to only you and Bucky aches to know what it is. “Sam and Bucky have come across some new intel that requires the _____ to finish their machine. We need you to help them get there in one month’s time.”

“Am I allowed to know this new, game-changing intel?” you ask. There’s a muscle ticking in your jaw that looks set to explode any second.

“Only that there is someone who is very interested in buying into what the ________ come up with,” Sharon says. “When you’ve completed your mission, you will be fully briefed.”

“Oh, great,” you say with an eyeroll. “I love ambiguity.”

“You’re a spy,” Sam says, staring at you. “That’s literally your entire life.”

“Can we focus?” Sharon asks, shooting Sam a warning glare to which he holds his hands up in a Gesture of innocence. To you, she asks, “Do you understand your mission?”

“No,” you say simply, turning away from Sam to have a silent conversation with Sharon that involves a lot of eyebrow movements. Softly, as if no one else in the room can hear you, you say, “You know why I can’t let them figure it out.”

Sam and Bucky share a look while the two spies in the room have some kind of telepathic argument. It doesn’t seem to last long. Once again, the bad feeling in Bucky’s gut returns when you look to the floor and don’t make eye-contact with any of them again. As per usual in Bucky’s life there are things left unsaid, omitted by silence, and he itches to know what has your shoulders rounding and the fight you always fling around like confetti, dying out as quickly as it flared up.

“The goal remains the same,” Sharon says, “but as I said, the timeline has changed. We will see you in a month or so, agent.”

“I guess you will,” you say. Sam claps you on the shoulder as he walks out and Sharon hands you a dossier with your new mission parameters. Bucky always feels awkward with goodbyes, especially with people he doesn’t particularly like and who don’t like him in return. You glare at your toes and say, “Don’t even think about touching me, Barnes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks past you and adds, “Don’t fuck it up.”

“You’ll know if I do,” you bite back, just as the door closes behind him. Your words follow him down the hall, past the laboratories blinking with dull red security lights and the fire exit door they left chocked open when they broke in. He doesn’t like the way that sits in his brain. It clunks around, tinkering with things he’d rather leave untouched.

Spies, Bucky thinks. They always find a way to get inside his head.

#we love dialogue in this house #also help me name the terrorist group lmao

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buckyhoneyno · 5 years

Text

High Without Your Love Pt.4

The long awaited update is here!

Buckyhoneyno Writing Playlist

The trio made their way to the party floor quickly but not before Y/N was backed into a corner of the elevator by her two soldiers who started kissing the side of her neck. The thought to press the stop button on the elevator passed through all of their minds but Y/N broke away swiftly when the door opened leaving them men slightly disappointed. It was early on but Y/N could already tell the two men were going to have such an issue keeping their hands to themselves.

“You can touch me all you want after I have been feed,” Y/N said with a roll of her eyes though her smile said that she was loving every bit of attention that they were giving her. Hands slide around her waist as Bucky kissed her head.

“Fine but just know we could be multitasking,”

“You’re not fucking me while I try to eat,” She said deadpan watching as he broke out in a loud laugh. “I will chock,”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with chocking earlier,” Steve said with a raise of the brow. It was out of character for him but he felt like he could open up his dirtier side around her and not be judged. So far, she seemed to love it.

“I hate you both,” Her grin said otherwise as she began to go through the fridge, grabbing trays of left overs. “Yay shrimp,” She said while giving a little happy dance. The three grabbed plates and began to pile them high while making ideal conversation that consisted of a lot of flirting, and teasing. Rather than allowing her to sit in a chair Steve pulled her to his lap cuddling her to his chest as she ate.

“Shit,” Y/N said randomly as a thought came to her.

“What?” Steve asked worried.

“I forgot I left my bag up here,” She said as she stood from her spot of his lap. Bucky stood with her getting ready to help her on her search.

“Ms.YN, I have located your purse and it is currently behind the bar,” Jarvis stated.

“Wow, an AI inside the building,” she hummed with an impressed look. “Don’t know why I expected less from Tony,”

“Ya it gets a little creepy at times though,” Steve stated with a small frond. He wasn’t a huge fan of invasion of privacy and Tony greatly lacked any respect for privacy. If Steve had it his way he would be an unknown every day person.

“Do you think he has cameras in the bedrooms,” Bucky questioned out loud to the group.

“After what we just did, I hope not,” Y/N said as she walked around the bar and picked up her bag. Reaching in she searched around for her special bag of goodies. “I’m going to go out on the balcony and smoke for a minute I’ll be back,” she said while walking towards the door.

“Cigarettes give people cancer doll,” Bucky scolded lightly with a slight frown. He wasn’t sure if they effected super soldiers like them but he didn’t want to take the chance on it.

“Good think I’m only smoking weed sarg,” She said with a wink before stepping outside. The two soldiers watched her from inside as they ate.

“Well what do we have here?” Tony said from the entrance of the elevator. “The three of you finally finish with your sexapades,”

“You’re hilarious Tony,” Steve said sarcastically.

“And where is your better third?” He had spent a better part of the night planning all the jokes he would make about their little threesome. “Outside on the balcony,” Tony looked out seeing the girl sitting with her phone out while blowing a large puff of smoke from her mouth.

“Oooh I think I’ll go chat with her for a moment then,” Tony held a sneaky tone to his voice as he almost skipped outside to the two soldier’s confusion. Once the door closed behind him he began a quick conversation with Y/N who looked to be handing him a metal stick. Tony put it to his mouth making them realize that it was one of those pens that people smoked with.

The two stayed on the balcony talking for another ten minutes before making their way inside giggling.

“I have this guy who sells me the cartridges for my pen, I can get you some if you want? I know a great strand that helps with anxiety,” Her voice was so caring and sincere and she talked to Tony who gave her a slightly squinty eyed smile.

“Ya that would be great,” He said before glancing at the table where the food was all laid out. “Oh my god, I’m so hungry,”

“Me too,” Y/N said before diving to her plate excitedly. Steve grabbed her waist pulling her back to his lap while giving her a few kisses behind her ear making her give a slight squeal while laughing.

“That tickles,” she laughed out while he smiled against her neck. Steve finally let up as he watched her eat.

“God, even when your shoving food in your face, you still are so fucking hot,” Bucky said as he watched his soulmate awestruck. She really did make everything she did seem like some beautiful show for him to enjoy. If he didn’t get his thoughts in check he would soon have to cover a tint that was starting to grow in his sweats.

Her answer was a closed mouth smile as she stuffed more food in. Steve kissed her puffed up cheek with a laugh.

“You three make me sick,” Tony said while biting into a shrimp with a fake glare.

“Jealous,” Y/N joked once she had swallowed all her food.

“Hardly,” he replied with a role of his eyes before taking his plate with him to the elevator. “I’m going to go to bed, try not to defile my kitchen you degenerates.”

“Goodnight to you too,” Y/N replied with a grin as he walked out of the kitchenette.

“mhmm defiling the kitchen sounds like fun,” Steve said as he ran a hand up her thigh as she nibbled on a piece of bread.

“so, does finishing this food,” She replied with a glance and a smirk over her shoulder. As if sensing the men’s more urgent needs she slowed her eating. Purposely taking longer so that they would at least start to get antsy.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Bucky mumbled breathlessly with a glare as he felt her foot under the table start to glide up his thigh. She tried to make it seem casual but the mischief in her eyes told a different story.

Wiggling a bit in Steve's lap she placed a hand on her heart.

“Sir I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m being a perfectly good girl,” She said with a tilt of her head and a devilish smile. She punctuated the end of her sentence by finally stocking her foot over his covered dick.

“You know we weren’t joking earlier. We can tie you up real nice if you want to get fresh with us doll face,” Steve said pushing her plate away, she was now just pushing around pieces to bide the time.

“You’ll tie me up if I’m bad?” She said with a pout over her shoulder, placing her hands on his knees she swiveled her hips on his laps, pretending to be adjusting herself. Steve let out a soft groan making pride sore through her veins. “Well then, I’ve been downright nasty, better go get the rope,” she said with a challenging raise of her brow. It was all the signal the two men needed. Steve scoped her up and held her to his chest, her legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Walking them into the elevator, Bucky pressing the button to their room.

Y/N had given both men a since of dominance but if they all really thought about it she held all the power over them. It had been only a few hours and the two soldiers were sure that there wasn’t a thing she could ask them that they wouldn’t do.

Y/N lips attached themselves to Steve’s throat as she let her fangs and claws out. The last three hours made it obvious that the two men got some sort of thrill when she shifted while they were rolling around in the sheets. She chalked it up for their love of danger.

Dragging her teeth over his neck she slowly found a spot under his throat that made him groan.

“Your hogging her Steve,” Bucky complained against her back with a frown, his pout was something Y/N had fallen for quickly. It was such a stark contrast to his extremely serious and deadly Winter Soldier persona. It showed her that there were sides to him that he was saving just for her and it made her heart warm.

“Were almost to the room, 1 minute isn’t going to kill you,” Steve shot back, slightly irritated that Bucky’s whining had stop Y/N’s exploring. Y/N gave a little laugh while looking over her shoulder giving Bucky a soft kiss before the elevator dinged.

When they made it into the room Steve tossed Y/N on the bed watching as she bounced with a loud giggle. Whipping off her shirt quickly she watched as her two soulmates striped. Bucky walked quickly into the closet and came back with a handful of belts.

"We don’t have rope in here but I think we can figure something out with these," He mused as he walked to the end of the bed. Y/N smiled brightly up at them, her pupils blow with lust, eyes red as blood.

"I’m all yours," She replied as she lifted her arms above her head in a submissive stance. "Do whatever you want to me,"

"Oh Doll," Steve gave a dark chuckle as he ran his hand up her torso. "I was hoping you would say that,"

Woop woop

What do yall think?

#avengers #marvel #captain america #bucky barnes #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #avengers imagine #winter soldier #avengers endgame

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elizabethemerald · 5 years

Text

Dreams of Drowning: Chap 2

AO3

Please remember to Reblog and Comment!

Claire. He can't pull her name from his mind. She can't be real. Can she?

***

Jim worked quickly in the kitchen. He was still the lowest chef on the totem pole, though even since his first week one of the cooks who had been there longer had already quit. They would be hiring a new cook in a couple of days. No wonder he had been able to get hired here. The facility went through cooks at an astonishing rate.

His weekend had been largely uneventful. He had no further dreams of the mysterious woman, but his thoughts still swirled around her. Who could she be? What could she want? What was she?

That last question echoed the loudest. She had called herself Claire. Seemed like a regular enough human name for such an ethereal being. If he had been religious he would have sworn he just met god. Though he would be more than a little concerned that god tried to drown when he first met her.

Jim’s line of thought paused as a sound kicked on. It sounded like a massive piece of machinery somewhere close. He placed a hand on the work table and sure enough he could feel the vibrations through that as well. He looked around at the other cooks.

“Does anyone know what that sound is?” Jim asked.

“What sound?” One of the cooks responded. He had been there the longest at five months.

“This one.” Jim grabbed two glasses and set them on the table next to each other. The vibrations made them clink together rhythmically.

“Oh that’s the pump turning on.” He said. “You get used to it. I hardly ever notice it anymore. No wonder it vibrates everything here, the pump room is just down the hall.”

“What on earth does a research facility like this need a pump that size for? Do we have a secret aquarium somewhere?” Jim and the cook laughed. Then Jim thought about his dream. “Or maybe its because of massive chamber filled with purple cloudy water?”

He laughed but the others grew still. The other cook, who had remained silent to this moment whirled, his face red with anger.

“We don’t talk about that! We don’t ever talk about that!” The man shouted. Then he stormed out of the kitchen. Jim looked to the first chef but he had gone back to work and ignored him. Jim set about his own work, including covering for the man who stormed out.

He couldn’t get this new thought out of his head. He wasn’t the only one who had these dreams? The other cook hadn’t mentioned seeing the woman though, had she only appeared in his dreams? Had other people been greeted by drowning as well?

These thoughts continued to rattle around his head as he prepared the chum. He had spent all weekend thinking up how best to change up the recipe with what he had available. This time it was going to actually have a taste that didn’t make a person want to gag and die.

The cook who had stormed out never came back to the kitchen. And he didn’t show up the next day either. Or the rest of the week. The cook who had been there longer didn’t mention his absence. It seemed he was used to folks leaving and never returning.

Jim kept a careful eye on the news for the next couple of days. He wanted to be sure the man didn’t drown in his sleep, but he never heard of the other cook again.

Toby and Darci were having a special date night that Friday so Toby asked if they could move their drink night. Wednesday worked just as well as any other night for Jim and he was always happy to see his friend again.When Jim arrived his friend was bent over at one of the tables a jeweler’s glass in his eye as he looked at a rock sample.

“Tobes! What have I told about bringing work to drinks night!” Jim said cheerfully as he walked up. He laughed even harder when Toby looked up the glass still in his eye, making one eye seem huge and the other squinty.

“You told me not to lick rocks at the table!” Toby laughed and gestured to the open spot. “I was the one who had to tell you to stop cooking every time we hung out! Why do you think we meet at bars now rather than at one of houses!”

“What can I say, I love to cook!” Jim sat and waved to the bartender. Him and Toby were regulars the staff knew their prefered drinks. Toby removed the jeweler’s glass and set it and the rock he had been looking at aside.

“Do you?” At first Jim thought Toby was joking, but his friend’s face was deadly serious. “I’ve heard nothing but you complain for the past couple of years about every cooking job you’ve had.”

“I just needed to find the right one.” Jim said with a laugh. He didn’t want to talk more about his work so he gestured to the rock. “What’s going on with this?”

Toby smiled at the waitress as she set down two drinks in front of them. Then gestured to small sample. “This continues to defy me. I’ve been a practicing field geologist for ten years. A hobbyist rock collecter for more than twenty. I can properly ID hundreds of minerals on sight. And I can’t figure this one out. I’m waiting on chemical analysis to come back but it continues to frustrate me that I can’t nail this one down.”

“It’s not uh, radioactive is it?” Jim said.

“Nah. I’ve gotten in the habit of checking each sample as soon as the boss’s kid sets it down on my desk. A few too many have tested positive for my liking.”

“The boss’s kid? I don’t think I’ve seen him.”

“Massive brute of a man. No respect for the finer needs of a geologist. His name is Bular.” Toby paused for a moment. “Of course I call him a kid but he’s at least as old as I am. Though twice as much of a jerk. Always dresses in black leather like he’s in some kind of biker gang. I’m pretty sure he only has a job because his daddy owns the security company.”

“Huh, well I guess it’s for the best that I haven’t met him. I tend to piss that sort of person off. And then get either beaten up or shouted at.”

“Yeah like you and Steve from highschool! I swear he beat you up so many times!” Jim snorted and rolled his eyes. “Though did you hear he and Eli finally tied the knot? They went over to Vegas and got married by a guy in a martian costume!”

“Really? Good for them!” Jim and Toby laughed for a long time at that thought. Neither were surprised by either bit of news. The two had been pining for each since highschool. And Eli was a die hard conspiracy nut. What would Eli think of a giant woman who drowned people in their dreams? Jim sobered at that thought.

“Uh, Tobes.” Toby picked up on the somber tone and focused closely. “Have you ever had a dream where you were sinking in purple water?”

“And I started drowning in it?” Jim’s jaw dropped as Toby supplied his exact next words. “Yeah. I had a dream like that.”

“What happened in your dream?” Jim asked.

“Well I appeared in this dream, immediately felt like I was drowning. It was awful. I think I had only been at 49B for two days. Then in the dream you and Darci appeared. And Darci started drowning as well. I couldn’t just let her drown! She’s the girl of my dreams, I’ve loved for years and years. I tried to blow the last of the air in my lungs into her mouth. Then I could breath again, and woke up sputtering a few seconds later. Darci said I had sweat so much in my sleep I soaked the sheets!”

“Wow.” Just like in Jim’s first dream, Toby had seen his loved one and been spared because of how he treated her. But there was one detail missing from Toby’s dream. “Did you see anyone else?”

“Other than you and Darci? No. I’m a little surprised I didn’t see my Nana. But it was just my best friend and best girl.”

“Hmm. I had a similar dream my first week. It was you, Darci and my mom who I saw.I think a couple of the other cooks have had the same dreams.” He didn’t mention the mysterious woman in his dreams.

“Yeah, they don’t talk about it much, but everyone who works at 49B has them.”

“Wha-what? Why do you think that is?” Jim leaned forward with an air of conspiracy. Was there something more to these dreams?

“Micro vibrations caused by all the machinery in the building.” Jim’s mystified look must have shown on his face because Toby elaborated. “Humanity’s ancient ancestors were cave dwellers. Micro vibrations are cause by two objects moving against each other, which could be a sign of a possible cave in. The vibrations cause paranoia, irritation and fear. Most likely projecting as fear of our loved ones getting hurt. Once you get used to it your body ignores it. I’m not surprised the cooks get it the worst. There’s a lot of machinery down there. I work next to the head researcher’s office. So everything up here is more insulated.”

“Huh. Micro vibrations.” That...made sense. Toby certainly knew more about science than Jim did. Especially any science that didn’t relate directly to cooking. Then could Claire be a projection of his longing for a relationship? The rest of drinks night passed quickly as Jim retreated into his thoughts.

Jim took a deep breath in the kitchen. The lunch rush was over. The kitchen stocked the cafeteria that all the researchers and security personnel used. Unfortunately the cooks were currently down two staff, so keeping up with the demand had been exhausting. It was time for his own lunch now.

He checked his phone. Oh, a new text message from his mom. ‘I have great news. Call me when you can :)’ Jim stepped out of the kitchen and hit the call button. After a few seconds she answered.

“Hey mom! What’s up?”

“Hi baby. I have the best news! Guess what it is!”

“Uh… I’m going to have a baby brother?”

“Jim.” His mom did not sound amused. “Do I have to explain to you how that’s not possible?”

“Please do not. Sorry, Toby and Darci are trying for a kid and he was telling me all about it. What is the good news?”

Jim could tell his mom was struggling with deciding between continuing her guessing game and just telling him the news. Her excitement won out.

“Zelda got us tickets to go on a trip for our anniversary! We fly out tomorrow morning!”

“Oh my goodness. How fun!”

“Yeah she was so sneaky about it. She even contacted my work to arrange for the time off. She’s so good at surprises, I love her so much. And I get to spend an entire week in France with her!”

“That’s great. Do you need someone to drive you to the airport?”

“No, Zelda’s friend Walter will be driving us.”

“You mean your ex boyfriend Walter?” Jim said with a slight chuckle. His mom huffed.

“No I prefer to think of him as Zelda’s friend.”

“Well have an amazing time mom! Call me when you get there so I know you’re safe.”

“Thanks Baby, I love you so much!”

And she was gone. Jim laughed quietly and walked back to the kitchen. He was glad his mom and Mr. Strickler had broken up. It would have been too awkward to work alongside his father-in-law during his brief tenure teaching his high school’s home ec class.

Though he would miss his mom. He was a little sad that he wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye in person before she left for her trip.

That night he dreamed of Her again.

As soon as he opened his eyes he knew he was under water again. He could feel it’s weight pressing down on him and all the small swirls and eddies in the flow around him, moving his hair and arms.

Claire was in front of him again. Her purple skin glowed and was almost translucent. He could only look up at her in awe. It was hard for him to think about things like Micro Vibrations when she was here in front of him. She looked at him curiously. Her head tilting this way and that.

She reached a hand as large as his whole body towards him. It was stopped by thick chains on her wrists. Jim had noticed the chains during his first dream of her. If this really was a projection of his anxieties then he was really worried about the state of his psyche. Claire gestured and the current in the water pushed him close enough that she could press a finger tip as large as his whole face against his forehead.

Jim looked around in confusion. He was in what looked to be the Arcadia airport. He had only been there a few times but recognized it vaguely. There in front of him was none other than his mom.

Barbara Lake struggled under the weight of a massive amount of luggage. The suitcase was taller than she was and kept popping open throwing her stuff around the airport. People were staring and laughing at her as she stumbled around trying to gather all her clothes and shove it back into the suitcase.

Jim stepped forward and the laughter stilled. He walked to his mom and helped her pack her things. When everything was packed he took some of the bags and his mom took the rest.

“Nervous about the flight tomorrow?” Jim asked his mom as they walked through the airport together.

“Yes I just…” His mom hesitated. “I haven’t gone on a trip like this in years. Not since before your father left. What if something goes wrong?”

“If something goes wrong, you two will deal with it. Together. Just like you’ve dealt with every other problem together.” He set the bags he was carrying down and watched them vanish into the floor. Then he hugged his mom close. “Ms. Nomura has always taken good care of you. That’s not going to stop now that she’s Mrs. Lake-Nomura.”

Jim gestured forward. His mom’s wife was waiting at the gate. Zelda had a bag and two tickets in her hand and was looking around. Barbara pulled away towards her. She turned back to face him again.

“I’m glad I got to say goodbye to you!” Jim said. “I love you mom.”

Barbara ran forward leaving the rest of her luggage behind. Zelda got his mom in her arms and twirled her around. Jim smiled.

“Let’s give them some privacy shall we?”

Jim turned away from their embrace to face Claire again. The purple water eddied around them stirring up her hair. Her pure white eyes were almost blinding in their brilliance.

“Thank you. For letting me see her off.” Jim said. He couldn’t tell if he said it out loud or in his mind. But She seemed to understand. She smiled at him. The smile made her eyes seem softer. He was lost in her smile. She was everything amazing and wonderful in the world and he knew in that instant that he would do anything he could to keep her smiling. To make her smile again and again. He was in love.

She giggled, an impressive sound considering her size. She tossed her head back in forth causing her hair to wave wildly around. She pressed a hand to her face then blew him a kiss.

Jim woke up gasping. His hair was wet like he had just gotten out of the shower. And there was the taste of the sea on his lips. Claire. He can't pull her name from his mind. She can't be real. Can she?

I’d love your comments or questions about this AU. It’s such a fun one to write.

#jim lake jr #claire nunez #toby domzalski #Barbara Lake #dreams of drowning #Trollhunters #writing emerald #please reblog #also jim falling in love with claire is some of the most romantic shit I've written #I eat that shit up

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sfthearts · 5 years

Text

Serendipity (part 3)

WHEW this part... I was literally nervous writing it (not bad nervous just excited nervous) because I knew how I wanted it to turn out but didn’t know if I could get it across, and I think I did?

I finished this during my own personal Crackhead Hours™️ so if there’s mistakes or something doesn’t make sense just... lmk and I’ll fix it or explain lol

Also, italics indicate a flashback :)

Mmm I think that’s all, enjoy! I really like this one 😌

Word count: 1744

——————————

(Y/N POV)

“Y/N COME ON HURRY UUUUPPPPP!! I want to get to the bar early so we can drink before everyone gets there!!!” Aspen yells to you through your apartment. She was waiting on your couch while you finished getting ready.

“You can’t rush perfection, my dear best friend.” You say back in a neutral tone. You hear her groan and you can almost see her throw her head back dramatically. You’ve had this exact discussion probably 500 times throughout your friendship, and she never does quite understand how much time and work it takes to put your face together. Aspen is more of a simple girl, some concealer and mascara, maybe a brow gel and she’s out the door. You, however, take a bit longer until you’re satisfied.

A short while later, you’ve completed your look and are ready and heading out the door. Tonight, you chose a simple black dress, not too short but not too long, that hugged your curves exactly how you like. Your hair was down and lightly curled, and you had on some cute black heels. Aspen had her blonde hair straightened, and wore black fake leather pants and a cropped vintage band tee, paired with some high top vans.

You call the Uber to pick you up and chat in the meantime.

“So, do you think you’re going to see your boooyfriend tonight?” Aspen asks with a teasing tone in her voice.

“I doubt it, what even are the chances of that happening? There’s so many bars in this city, and who knows if he even likes bars?” You ramble. Aspen stops you by putting her hand over your mouth. You lick her palm in response.

“EW you filthy RAT!” She screeches as she wipes your spit off on her pant leg.

You smile, pleased with your work. She begins to tell you to stay positive and that you never know what may happen, when the Uber pulls up. You hop in after Aspen and make small talk with your driver until the car arrives at your destination. It was only a short drive, about 5 miles. You and Aspen thank the man and both of you get out quickly, smoothing your dress down once you’re outside the bar.

You hear music playing from inside, and see a small group outside smoking on some benches. You lead Aspen inside and immediately walk up to the bar, ordering drinks for each of you. A lemon drop martini for you, and a vodka cranberry for your best friend. Clinking your glasses together, you each take a sip, tongues and throats adjusting to your first sip of alcohol that evening. You find a large table near the back, as requested by your mutual friend Katie for her birthday celebration.

Craning your neck, you scope out the scene of the bar, looking at each person and making up little stories about them in your mind. The guy across the bar in a flannel shirt is talking to a girl with big fake blonde hair, they look like an odd match, but are talking too closely to not be here together. The door opens, interrupting your thoughts. You turn toward it to see if your friends had arrived and, holy shit.

“Y/n, are you ok? You look like you just saw a ghost” Aspen says, voice laced with concern.

“Aspen, that’s the guy!” You say, now more delighted than shocked. Finally, you have the chance to talk to him!

“Shut the fuck up!! I LOVE BEING RIGHT!” Aspen exclaims, reminding you of your previous conversation.

“Shut up not now, what do I do?!” You ask her

“Well, maybe just go up to him? He looks like he’s here alone for now. Here, finish your drink quick and go up and get another” Aspen says, lifting your drink up to your mouth. You slam what’s left of it and head up to the bar where mystery guy is standing, waiting to order a drink. Maybe it was the liquid courage from the drink you’d just slammed, but it felt like the time had come to introduce yourself to this hot, familiar, mystery man.

(Brendon’s POV)

“Hey can I get the house IPA please?” You ask the bartender. He nods and hands you a bottle from the fridge below the bar.

“You wanna open a tab or pay now?” He asks, and you tell him to keep it open, handing him your card. He nods and turns back around to the other patrons.

You were about to walk the other way, when a hand taps you on the shoulder. You whip around to see who it was, and your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you see her.

Immediately, you smile. Something about her presence makes you absolutely giddy, and for some reason you don’t even care to ask why.

“Hey, you’re the girl from the party!” You say, admittedly much more excited than you intended to sound. Though, if broad grin is any indication, she must be on the same page.

“And you’re the boy from the party” she says back smoothly. “Ok. I have a question for you.”

“I may have an answer for you” you respond curiously.

“Why do you look SO FAMILIAR?” She exclaims. Clearly she’s has a drink or two already, but you don’t mind. It’s cute that she really doesn’t give a fuck right now.

“I, ah, I was actually wondering the same thing about you.” You admit, placing a hand at the back of your neck. This wasn’t the answer she was looking for, apparently, because her face turned to one of pure confusion and frustration.

“Let’s start by introducing ourselves, hi I’m Brendon” you say, sticking your hand out for her to shake. It looks like something’s just clicked in her mind as she looks at your hand and back at you.

“

(Y/N POV)

“B..Brendon?” You say, bewilderment in your voice. He nods slowly and raises his brows in response, clearly confused.

Immediately when he said his name, it all hit you at once. The thick raven hair, the squinty eyes when he smiled, the scar in his eyebrow, it was unmistakable. You almost have tears in your eyes as you smile at the boy, as memories buried deep in the past resurface now.

“Bear?” Is all you can say, you watch as his face goes from confused to shocked to elated all in a second. He says nothing but takes you in his arms and squeezes tight. You wrap yours around his torso, face buried in his chest.

“My Honey, oh my god I missed you so much!” He says into your hair.

Finally, you each pull away from the hug, still beyond amazed at the sheer coincidence, or maybe fate, that you’ve somehow crossed paths again all these years later.

“Come on, let’s go outside and talk” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you back outside and onto a vacant bench.

“Y/N dear it’s time to come inside and wash up for dinner. We’re going over to the neighbors for dinner, they want to welcome us to the neighborhood! They have a little boy around your age, he’s already 6 but you’ll be in kindergarten together!” Your mom tells you from your new front porch. You were very busy having a great time drawing with chalk on the driveway.

“But I don’t WANT to meet him mommy, boys are smelly” you say, wrinkling your nose up at the thought of going to meet some dumb boy.

“Well that’s too bad sweetie, we’re leaving in a few minutes. Come on, wash up.” She replies, holding the door open for you.

A few minutes later, yourself and your parents stood at the neighbors front door, mom tells you their names are the Urie’s. Their name sounded kind of silly. You laugh a little when you remember it again.

The mom answers the door and shakes your parents’ hands, and bends down to your height. She introduces herself as Grace, and asks your name. Suddenly a bit shy, you hide behind your dads leg, and whisper your name to her. She smiles warmly and says your name is beautiful for a beautiful girl like you.

She leads the three of you inside and introduces you to the dad, and as your mom had promised, a boy peeks his head around the corner. He smiles brightly and runs to meet you.

“HI! I’m Brendon! What’s your name?” He almost yells, and you quietly respond with your name.

“That’s a cool name! I’ve never heard that name before. Do you want to come see my room? I have lots of fun toys!” The boy says excitedly, you’re pretty sure he didn’t even take a breath. You’re nervous, but for some reason you decide to nod your head. He immediately takes your hand and brings you up the stairs to his bedroom to show you all his cool toys.

That day was the first of hundreds the two of you would spend together over the next 5 years, and start the beginning of a wonderful friendship. Over the course of the time you spent together, Brendon had become the most caring and protective best friend you could ever ask for. His mom would always tease you two, telling you he was the Bear to your Honey, always protecting what was his. You’d both roll your eyes, but the nicknames stuck. He would call you Honey and you called him Bear.

The summer after 5th grade, everything changed. Your dad got a job in Florida, meaning you had to move away. You and Brendon were both absolutely devastated, spending many of your remaining summer afternoons crying with each other on his bed, or yours.

Weeks, months and years flew by. You never really thought of your old best friend anymore, as you’d grown and made new ones over the course of life. Sometimes your mind wandered back to him, but those times were so few and far between. He hardly looked the same now, he gained a lot of muscle and became a lot more handsome than the last time you’d seen him, more than 10 years before. His face looked older now, but sitting so close you could see now that indeed, this was your Brendon. Looking at him now, sitting on this bench next you you, it just didn’t feel real.

#brendon urie fanfic #brendon urie fic #brendon urie fluff #brendon urie x reader #brendon urie

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thethespacecoyote · 5 years

Text

So I found the Bad Things Happen Bingo blog last night and of course put in a request for a card...and the trope “locked in a trunk” apparently inspired me enough to write all this even though I haven’t received my card yet so....here we go...

Uhh modern AU? And warnings for parent/child abuse and claustrophobic situations. Brendol Hux is a fucking asshole, what else is new.

It all starts with a simple request.

“Move in with me.”

Hux halts the rim of his coffee cup right before his lips. His eyebrows lift in surprise for a moment, before slanting back to their usual place.

“Father won’t like that.”

Kylo snorts, resting his chin in his palm.

“So? You’re old enough not to need your dad’s permission for everything.”

Hux hums, leaning back into his chair. The late afternoon breeze brushes the scant strands of hair not combed back in the style he wears to work. Kylo likes when they meet at this cafe and he can see Hux a little more relaxed, not weighed down by his work or studies. Still clad in his perfectly ironed grey dress shirt, of course, but with a more casual air about him.

Grey is a Monday color. Hux usually grows a little more vibrant as he gets through the week. On a particularly good Friday, Kylo might even see him wearing blue.

“Hey.” Kylo reaches across the table, tapping Hux’s hand.

“Promise me you’ll at least…ask. Okay? Start a dialogue.”

Hux huffs.

“I think you know how well ‘dialogues’ with Brendol go.” His lips alternate between a flat line and a frown, as if imagining such a conversation. He sets his empty mug down onto the table, letting out a sigh.

“Fine. I will…try. Later.” He slings his book bag up over his shoulder, before moving to leave.

“Hey.” Hux stops, only for Kylo to grab him by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. He shoots Kylo a frown belied by the blush in his cheeks when he pulls back. Kylo only winks and pats him on the chest.

“Good luck.”

Three hours later and back in the comfort of his own apartment, Kylo decides to send Hux a text. Mostly to see how things went, and definitely not because he’s thinking how nice all of Hux’s personal belongings would look alongside his.

>>6:34pm

Hey howd it go with the old man?

Kylo rests the opened phone atop his knee, looking back around the living room. He’ll have to tweak his cleaning habits, stop draping his workout shirts over the arm the couch before he remembers to launder them. Hux isn’t quite a neat freak but Kylo’s seen his room and the order that he keeps, and he would prefer not to drive his boyfriend completely crazy once they move in together.

Hux has always wanted a cat. The landlord requires a deposit but Kylo thinks it might be worth it. He’d cover it all out of pocket if it meant getting Hux to agree.

Kylo hopes he will. He’s been considering this for a long time, working up the courage to show Hux just how much he means to him, how seriously he’s taking this.

>>6:46pm

if hes being a dick you can always just come here u know

It wouldn’t take them too long. There’s not much furniture Hux would have to move in, after all. Most things in the house belong to his parents and he hates their taste with a passion. Kylo can’t really blame him—he’s seen the Hux residence many, many times, and he’s not impressed. It’s bizarrely antiquated, and stuffed full of his father’s ornamented trophies and old military curios, as well as familial paraphernalia that Kylo can’t understand anyone would want.

“What the hell is that?”

Hux drops his book bag atop the ottoman, turning to where Kylo bends over a huge, black and gold trunk against the far wall of the sitting room, lying beneath a rack of Civil War-era swords.

“That damned thing. It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say.” Kylo raps his knuckles against the lid, knock resounding in the dense wood.

“You know my granddad threatened to lock father up in that thing when he was young and misbehaving?” Hux sneers. “Shame, honestly. I would’ve left him there to rot.”

“Hah. If only.”

Two hours later, and Hux hasn’t answered any of his texts.

It’s then that Kylo starts to get worried.

Phasma says Hux is interviewing for grad school upstate.

When Kylo presses her for more details, though, she tells him she hasn’t actually seen him, just heard word from his parents. To her credit, she doesn’t seem all that convinced, but waves off Kylo’s more extreme concerns.

“Armie isn’t useless. He can handle himself.”

And that’s true. Kylo knows this. And he certainly doesn’t want to be—overprotective. At least not so badly that it’ll end up driving Hux away. He’s just asked the man to move in with him, he doesn’t want to push his luck and scare him off.

So he gives Hux a few more days. Kylo texts him from time to time and leaves a voicemail once, hoping for a response, but doesn’t want to come across as desperate, or creepy. He’s worried, obviously, but if Hux has his reasons for keeping his distance, then Kylo’s going to try to respect them. Even if the possibility that Hux is ignoring him hurts.

On the third day Kylo finally decides to go by Hux’s house to see what’s going on.

He dislikes both of his boyfriend’s parents for obvious reasons, but if anyone’s going to know what happened to him, it’s them. So Kylo bikes to the ritzy urban neighborhood Hux lives in, zips his hoodie up over the metal T-shirt he’s wearing, and rings the doorbell.

He hopes it’s Hux’s stepmom who answers the door—she seems to like him, at least outwardly—but to his misfortune it’s the reddened, squinty-eyed face of Brendol Hux that peers from beneath the chain lock. He always reminds Kylo of a bulldog well past its prime, toothless and arrogant.

“Oh, it’s you.” Brendol hisses, openly disdainful. A usual greeting.

“Mr. Hux,” Kylo starts, deciding it best to ignore the vitriol. “Is Armitage in?”

Brendol’s bushy eyebrows furrow, lower lip jutting out.

“No.”

The door starts to swing close, but before Kylo can hold himself back he grabs the handle and holds it firm.

“Wait!” Kylo’s never liked to sound desperate, especially in front of Hux’s parents. “I…where is he?”

Brendol’s face colors deeper with anger, quickly snapping back.

“Not here. He’s out of town. Let go of my door, boy.”

Kylo glares, searching the part of Brendol’s face he can still see between the door and the jamb. Something’s off, even for the pompous man he’s come to dislike, and for a moment he wonders if he could force his way inside, interrogate this bastard as to Hux’s whereabouts.

“All right. Tell him I came by,” Kylo says, knowing Brendol won’t. He releases the handle and lets the old bastard slam the door in his face, leaving Kylo alone on the stoop.

Cold breezes at his hair, making him shudder even with his sweatshirt. He looks up, searching the flat, dim windows of the home, fruitlessly grasping for an explanation.

Hux, where are you?

By the fifth day Kylo thinks he’s going to go crazy.

He tries calling Hux’s phone again but it doesn’t even go to voicemail now. It must be out of battery, which is insane—Hux never lets his phone run out of battery, he’s far too paranoid not to be in constant contact with his job, his schooling, his boyfriend. Unless he’s being isolated on a mountaintop as some kind of perverse MBA interview, Kylo’s no longer buying that excuse.

Not that he really bought it in the first place.

Phasma says she’ll try to file a missing persons report in the morning, provided they don’t hear from Hux. Kylo can’t wait that long.

The sun is already setting by the time Kylo decides to go back to Hux’s house, this time not planning to take Brendol’s bullshit. He has no evidence but he knows the old bastard’s lying. Hux, changeable and prissy as he can be—wouldn’t cut off contact with Kylo for no reason. Not after everything they’ve been through together. He just wouldn’t.

Kylo pumps the pedals of his bike furiously, cold wind whipping his hair out of the bun he’d tied it back into. He tries to focus on not hitting cars or other pedestrian but his mind is already racing a mile ahead, right to the ornate porch of the Hux family home.

He doesn’t understand how, but he knows Hux is there. After all, he promised Kylo he’d talk with his father right before he disappeared. He’s convinced Brendol’s done something, that somehow he’s keeping Hux in that house, isolated away from everyone who cares for him.

But Hux isn’t stupid. He would’ve figured out a way around his parents, find a means to contact Kylo, or Phasma, or his work. He must have.

Unless he’s unable to. Kylo’s worst fears creep up as he takes a turn too quickly, nearly wiping out against the asphalt. His heartbeat hammers, sweaty fingers clenching around the handlebars.

No. Not even scum like Brendol would sink so low. He couldn’t. What could possibly be the reason? Hux has never gotten along with either his father or his stepmom, but they were still his parents.

They couldn’t. Unless—

—Brendol has never liked Kylo, never appreciated his closeness with his son. He’s always looked at him with contempt, like he’s tainting something valuable with his mere presence. So Hux has kept their relationship away from his father’s eyes—at school or their favorite cafes, or Kylo’s apartment.

“He’s obsessed, you know.” Hux rests his head on Kylo’s shoulder, hand sheathed in his boyfriend’s larger one. They sit on Kylo’s large couch, hardly paying attention to whatever’s playing on the television.

“Your dad?”

Hux nods.

“It’s like he was born in the 1800s. He wants ‘heirs’ to carry on the family name.” He breaths out, derisive and tight. “He’s insane.”

Kylo squeezes his hand, resting his chin atop Hux’s head.

“I mean. We could always adopt.”

The chuckle Hux lets out is humorless.

“Right. He’ll never accept that.”

Maybe Brendol has never quite understood the depth of his and Hux’s relationship. And Hux has kept it that way, until—

Kylo pushes his bike even faster, heat and anger brimming behind his eyes as he envisions what might have happened. Hux is a fighter when backed into a corner, even in arguments with his father, he wouldn’t have—Brendol must’ve—

Kylo’s mind guides him through the mental map he has of Hux’s house, digging into every niche, trying to uncover what must’ve happened to Hux, where his boyfriend could possibly be—

Then he’s in the sitting room, and some unbelievably force is pulling him towards the northern wall, right beneath the rack of oxidized, heirloom swords as Kylo’s ears fill with the sounds of a distant scream.

He can barely hold a shock of tears back as his heart drops out of his chest.

Kylo halts his bike in front of the Hux residence, letting it fall against the sidewalk as he storms up the steps. He forgoes the doorbell and slams his fist below the knocker, pounding into it until the door wrenches inwards to reveal Brendol, still protected behind the chain latch.

“Again? What do you want?” He spits, already furious, but Kylo won’t let himself be turned away this time.

“Let me see Armitage.”

“No. I told you, he’s not here.”

Kylo keeps his grip firm on the handle, preventing Brendol from closing it on him.

“Let me in.”

“No. Leave, boy, before I have you arrested.”

Kylo scrapes his knuckles against the door’s carved decoration, lips snarled in anger.

“The only person who’s going to be arrested tonight is you, you monster.”

Brendol balks, mouth falling open.

“Really? All this, over such a runt?” The man shakes his head, looking at Kylo with open disgust. “He’s gone, boy, and you’d best forget about him.”

“I won’t!”

Kylo roars and rams as hard as he possibly can, inwards, and before Brendol can react the latch rips from the old wood of the front door, scattering splinters as the golden chain swing wildly. Kylo pushes through the doorway, shoving Brendol aside as he takes off out of the foyer and down the hallway. He can hear Hux’s stepmom scream from the dining room, then the sound of twin footsteps hammering after him at different paces.

Thankfully, Kylo can outrun the pair of them—and he already knows exactly where he’s going.

The persian rug in the main hallway bunches up beneath his feet as he abruptly turns into the sitting room, where he and Hux had spent many an afternoon hanging out after work or school. It’s the most palatable room in the house though that’s not saying much—full of weighty, old-fashioned furniture, tacky wallpaper, and the smell of aged upholstery as it is.

Kylo grabs the heavy armchair he used to sit in, scraping up the hardwood floors as he shoves it in front of the door, locking the carved back beneath the handle. Moments later the door shakes with impact, knob frantically turning in place. Kylo backs away as Brendol screeches and slams his fist against the heavy wood, intimidated only momentarily by the man’s vitriol and threats before he turns around and stares across the room to the furthest wall.

The trunk sits dark and huge and hideously ornamented, right where it had always sat every time he and Hux had wasted hours in this room, studying and talking of the future, stealing a kiss and sometimes more whenever his parents were out of the house—

“Can you open it?”

Hux lifts his eyes from his textbook, tilting his head to the side as he notices Kylo looking at the trunk.

“Sure. There’s a key on the bookcase, right by granddad’s picture.” Kylo follows where Hux points, landing on a black and white portrait of a severe older man. “There’s nothing good inside it, though. No hidden treasures, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Kylo shakes his head, smirking.

“And here I was, planning on marrying you for your fortune!”

“Pfft.” Hux rolls his eyes before returning to his studying. “You’d have to pry it from my father’s cold, dead hands first.”

Kylo races over to the bookcase, nearly tripping over a gaudy footrest in his haste. He grabs for the fourth shelf up, knocking over Hux’s granddad’s photograph as he grabs for the key braced up against it. The brass feels cool against his sweating palm but calms him little as he stumbles over to the trunk and lands on his knees before it.

Hot tears already leak from the corners of Kylo’s eyes, hands shaking between rage and fear as he fumbles with the key. A harsh sob breaks from his lips when he nearly drops it, the weighty brass hard to keep hold of as he jams the toothed end into the lock.

The pounding on the door continues. He can hears Hux’s step-mom shout something about the authorities, before Brendol angrily cuts her off. Kylo tunes out the argument, turning the key into the lock and opening it with a heavy click he can feel in his throat.

The lid swings up and open of its own accord, base of the trunk rocking only slightly with the weight inside.

A strange noise claws from between Kylo’s lips, wrought with pain so deep it doesn’t even sound human.

At first he thinks Hux must be dead. He’s so small, bunched up and forced into such a cramped space, his knees jammed up to his chest and hands resting beneath his cheek. A bruise had blossomed and died on his face, its edges already fading to yellow. There’s dried blood on his forehead and fresh underneath his fingernails—whittled down to the quick—and it’s painfully more vibrant than his skin, even his hair. The usual warm ginger locks look wan and limp, and he’s so pale and still and thin and he’s dead.

At first Kylo can’t even touch him, one palm clasped across his face, soaking up his tears and soft whimpers of no and please. But then the door shudders from impact, and Brendol’s roaring from the other side, shouting swears and slurs, and Kylo pulls his hand away and tries to breath, to calm himself enough so that he can finish this—even if it means confirming the worst.

Hux is still in the dress shirt Kylo saw him in last, the light grey fabric wrinkled and grimy. The inside of the trunk is dirty, velvet dusty and stained and smelling, a sickening coffin for someone as fiery and strong as Hux, and Kylo knows he needs to get him out of here, that he doesn’t deserve this, but it’s so hard to get his arms to move, not after the effort of lifting that key, knowing what he’d find inside—

But just as Kylo finally reaches into the trunk, trying to figure out where to put his hands first, Hux’s face twitches. Kylo gasps, holding his breath as he watches, for another sign of life just to confirm it’s not his grief-addled brain playing tricks on him. But sure enough, before his eyes Hux’s lips part, a slight cough disturbing the red dust at the bottom of the trunk.

“A-Armie?” His voice is so small, so tight, it doesn’t even belong to him. Kylo wishes it didn’t, wishes he didn’t have to be the one pulling his boyfriend out of a fucking trunk—

Hux doesn’t respond much to his voice, his reddened eyelids only fluttering slightly. With more care than Kylo’s ever used in his life he slips his hands into the trunk, beneath Hux’s hunched shoulders and bent legs. There’s not enough room to stretch him out all the way so he lifts his torso up first, canting his shoulder so Hux can rest his head as he lifts him up and out. His legs finally are allowed to unfold, dangling limply over Kylo’s forearm.

He sobs again, harder, when he feels how light Hux in his arms. He’s always been a little on the scrawnier side, but Kylo’s never been able to feel his ribs through his back. Has never been able to hold him like a child, like a delicate treasure on the verge of disintegration.

All Kylo can think it’s that it’s been five days. Five. Days.

Hux is still so cold and still in his arms he almost can’t believe he’s still alive, that he could’ve possibly lasted that long without suffocation, but as Kylo cradles his boyfriend he can’t deny that barest breath between cracked lips. He clings to it, in fact, the fragile thread that still holds Hux to the living world.

Kylo’s sure to hold his boyfriend close while not confining him—never confining Hux ever again, never would he be trapped like that, oh God, Kylo would never allow it—

Hux moans, his head resting against his Kylo’s broad shoulder. His bloodied fingers twitch against the fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt, curling weakly into it as his eyelids struggle to open. Kylo shakes his head and tightens his grip, pressing his lips to the top of Hux’s hair. It’s lank and dirty, smelling of sick and the musty interior of the trunk but Kylo inhales deep anyway, salvaging the barest cling of familiar shampoo on Hux’s scalp.

“Everything’s going to be okay, all right?” Kylo says a little too loud, perhaps leaning into hysteria, but he wants Hux to really feel it, to know immutably that he’s safe, that no one else will ever lay a hand on him again.

Kylo stays holding him, cradling Hux’s brittle body even as he cradles his phone between his ear and shoulder, even when the cries of Brendol and his wife are drowned out by the scream of sirens as they light the sky outside the sitting room’s only window red. He parts from Hux only when a new voice and a measured knock sounds on the door, and by then his boyfriend’s eyes are opened—the vibrant green now dull and rheumy, his cheeks glistening with quiet tears.

Kylo gets him out of that house quickly, and though Hux looks waxen and exhausted against the bland canvas of the stretcher, it’s a far better sight than what had greeted him when Kylo had first opened that trunk.

Even as he kisses Hux’s scraped knuckles, riding beside him in the ambulance, Kylo knows only a thousand nights spent sleeping at his lover’s side will chase that image out of his nightmares.

#spacetext #kylux #fanfic #i stayed up until like 4 am last night writing most of this #apparently i was on a roll #it hurts me tho #oof #hurt/comfort #bad things happen bingo #parental abuse #idk how hux survived that long #maybe it was an old trunk with holes or openings somewhere #sw

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isobel-thorm · 5 years

Note

date + 17 (to distract)

As weekends went, Kate Flynn’s Saturday had been going appallingly badly. First, Burke had come back around, drunk off his ass and reminiscing about the old times. “Danny an’ you would’ve been marvelous, Lass. Made gorgeous babies, made a kingdom worth fighting for.’ He had always put more weight on promises made in the world of men for the Irish mob. Her father and Burke had promises their kids to each other down the line to make a bigger mob family, and now that Danny was gone it was all in shambles. But it didn’t stop Burke from trying to hold onto it.. Make it seem like he cared. Like he was her father-in-law. Like he wouldn’t have probably killed little Jay the second he reached his teenage years because now that the Flynns and Burkes wouldn’t marry into one family, they were still rivals. But now she didn’t have to worry about that. The moment she thought about that she realized how decidedly cruel that was. Thomas Burke deserved a lot of things, but not the short future that Fate had put in front of him. Not by those means, anyhow.

She had told him to sober up, hung up the phone and gone to wash dishes to get her mind off of the phone call and life, but it only amplified it. And before long she had stopped, near crippled at the feeling of just how alone she fucking was. She, Ciaran and their father had fled Ireland to run away from the Driscoll’s wrath, befriended the Burkes to save face, and then they lost their father to the Greccos, then the whole thing with Giorgi, and then they had lost Danny to the Marcanos, and now she was going to lose Burke, and they were all just so fucking alone in all this in a place she still wasn’t sure she should call home or not.

All she wanted to do was tuck Jay into bed, pour herself a whiskey and call it a night.

And then John Fucking Donovan happened.

It was embarrassing just how much of her life could be summarized with that statement lately.

She had been battling one last particularly bad grease stain when she heard her front door slam open.

She had reached for her chef’s knife the same moment Jay immediately started crying from off beside her; and she had to come with the terms that she was probably about to kill this intruder in front of her two year old son when the fear came screeching to a halt at a voice:

“Honey, I’m hooommmeeee!”

She froze and immediately dropped the knife into the sink. “Donovan?!” she turned around sharply. “Christ, you scared the shit out of- JOHN?!”

The man was standing in her doorway- or rather bleeding into it, considering the giant bloodstain on his side, seeping through his jacket.

Because he wouldn’t be John Fucking Donovan without an entrance that didn’t traumatize people. She was fairly grateful Jason was barely two and wouldn’t remember that particular sight.

John waved weakly at her. “Yeah, hi. You should see the other guys.”

She flew to his side, immediately assessing whatever damage had been done on her so-called best friends. “Who did this? What did you do?!” “Would you believe me if I said it was Lincoln’s fault?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Hey, don’t swear in front of the gremlin,” John chided. He put his hands up when Kate started to pull his jacket off. “Hey, easy on the goods, if you wanna get me naked all you have to do is ask me-OW!” he gaped at her when she slapped him before he could finish the sentence. “I got shot!” he protested, though he let her manhandle him back into the kitchen and up onto counter.

“I can see that,” Kate insisted. “What. Happened?”

“Some of Scaletta’s friends didn’t like me asking questions about that McNair broad disappearing.”

“You fucked with Vito’s people… without Lincoln around?”

“We’re all big boys, we can handle ourselves.”

“Clearly not!” “Vito and I are fine!” “Does he know that?!” “Clearly not,” John parroted. He flinched when she managed to get his jacket off and went to work unbuttoning his shirt. “Go figure, the big boss is the reasonable one.”

“John,” Kate chastised.

“Just call Marshall!”

She grimaced. “Do I have to?” Dealing with that basket case was hardly on her list of priorities any day.

“Well, either you deal with him or you watch your best friend in the whole wide world bleed out. Your choice.” When she tilted her head, considering, and he scowled. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

She left for a few seconds and came back with a wet cloth and went to work cleaning the wound. After a few moments: “It’s a graze, you dall bastard! You’re fine!”

“It has to be there! I can feel it!”

“All in your head, then. For a man who saw his share of combat you sure are whiny about all of this.”

“Must be the bloodloss.”

She rolled her eyes and then prodded gently around the wound. “Fair point, but it could’ve been worse. You’ll do fine, I just have to finish cleaning it and dress it and then you’ll be good as new.”

John hummed after a moment. “What’s ‘dall’ by the way?”

“What?”

“You called me ‘dall’ bastard. You gettin’ Irish on me again?”

“I’m always Irish.”

“Yeah, but not in the voice. You do that thing where the accent and slang comes out when you’re all emotional. Awwww, you were worried about me. You do care!”

“Fuck you, Donovan.”

“Hey, next thing we know you’re gonna tell me that Jason really is nicknamed ‘Jay’ for me. Color me flatt-”

She surged up and kissed him full on the mouth, and John felt his heart skip a beat- or maybe that was over the bloodloss, too. Sure, it wasn’t the first time they had kissed,they had done it plenty of times when they had been checking in on each other and run into potential trouble and figured looking and acting like an amorous couple would be a decent deterrent. And it worked a lot. So this, when they were alone - well, that was something. And Hell, he was very into it. He’d be a damned fool not to be. He opened his mouth when she tilted hers and-

There was suddenly a wet, hot burning pain across his injured side that had him yelping -in a very manly fashion, thank you very much- into her mouth and trying to wriggle away when she held him still. When she finally let go his head snapped down towards his side to see she had poured rubbing alcohol over his side. The wound site was white and bubbling already. And then it hit him. That kiss was a distraction to shut him up or keep him still. She had fucking played him like a fiddle, full on femme fatale’d him for once compared to doing it to any other man around but him. “Oh you fucking minx. You can’t play with my heart like that. I’m not one of your Johns. Well, I guess I am, but I’m the John. capital J. The others are lower. And common.” He drew his lips together to muffle another groan when she dried what remained of the alcohol on his side and covered the wound with gauze and taped it up.

When she did that squinty grin of hers at him in response that usually meant trouble and his heart fluttered a bit again, and he promptly realized that he was in far, far deeper than he thought he was. He could blame it on the bloodloss again, but it was her door that he had decided to stumble through after getting shot. Oh, he was in trouble. Deep trouble.

At least it was his kind of trouble.

#I just gave y'all the best part before #and I wanted to make this longer #but my brain refuses so #HERE #Date #jackkelsos #Kate Flynn

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blissfullylostinarabbithole · 7 years

Text

An End and a Beginning

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Dean takes you to see your favorite band for the last time.

A/N: Is anyone else having trouble tagging people? All recent requests for tags haven’t been working for me.

Dean kept stealing glances at you through the rearview mirror, the ball of guilt in his core growing by the mile. You were meant to spend the weekend in Colorado for a concert, but a case was taking you all across several state lines...in the opposite direction.

“We’ll try to kill this son of a bitch quick so you can make that show, alright?” Dean wanted you to know he hadn’t forgotten.

“Hm? Oh yeah, thanks,” you replied dismissively.

It only made him feel worse. You already paid for your ticket and you weren’t even mad; you were just looking over the pages Sam had printed out regarding the murders you were investigating. Normally it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but earlier in the year your favorite band had announced they would be parting ways after a final, farewell tour. The way your face fell when you heard would be forever stamped in his memory, and he hoped to never see you that heartbroken ever again.

The closest they would come to Kansas was Colorado, and you didn’t waste any time making plans to attend that show. Now, he was dragging you east two days before you’re meant to leave. It couldn’t be avoided; they needed your help. But Dean was going to make damn sure he did everything he could to get you back in time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Dude, calm down.”

“I promised,” Dean ground out.

“You promised you’d try, and you did. It didn’t work out that way,” Sam tried to soothe, turning to the back seat to make sure you were still asleep.

“She could be in a crowd right now, singing along to whatever song, but instead she’s here, covered in blood and sleepin’ off another hunt.”

Sam sighed, sagging back into the seat. He knew there was no point in arguing when Dean was like this. The ride back to the bunker was silent after that, and when they parked, Sam didn’t waste any time getting out of the car and inside, leaving Dean to wake you.

“Hey, we’re here.” He gave you a gentle shake until your eyes fluttered open. Though his heart sank at the sweet smile you flashed, his own was instantaneous. “Head on in, I’ll get your bag.”

“Thanks,” you yawned, getting out and shuffling to your room.

Dean watched you go, knowing no matter what, you’d never hold his broken promise against him. Lives were saved, and nothing would make you feel bad over it.

The following morning, you were woken by Sam asking if you knew where Dean went. He showed you a note he found in the library saying he’s be back in a couple of days, and said his bed hadn’t been slept in. You decided to give him a call, but all he said was that he needed to run an errand and that everything was fine before hanging up.

You and Sam spent the time Dean was away updating archives and taking inventory. When he strolled in the next evening, he wore a satisfied smirk, but went straight to bed without explanation of where he’d been.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Y/N, wake up. We have a case.” Dean chuckled when you bolted up and tried to untangle yourself from your sheets. “Easy, Sweetheart, we got time.”

“Why are you smiling?” you asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously at him.

“What? I can’t be in a good mood?”

“Just before a case? No.” You got out of bed and went to wash up without waiting for a response. When you got out, Dean was holding your backpack.

“I already packed for you. Let’s go.”

In the garage, he gestured to the front seat as he headed to the trunk to stow your bags.

You raised a confused brow at him. “Sam’s not coming?”

“Nah. It’s a simple case, and he wouldn’t get out of bed, so it’s just you an’ me.” He winked, and you shook your head and smiled as you climbed into the car.

After a short nap, Dean woke you to get some breakfast. You were too sleepy to notice he hadn’t told you anything about the case other than you were meeting Donna for it, but not to see how easily he smiled. He asked what you’d gotten up to while he was gone, and hung onto every word. You had to admit it was nice to see him like this, so you decided against asking about his mood again.

Now wide awake, Dean blasted the stereo while you sang along to your favorites. When he reached the freeway’s onramp, you did a doubletake.

“Dean, this one goes east. Shouldn’t we be going north?”

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road. “Not this time. We’re meeting her in Chicago. She’s going to a convention or something.”

Satisfied with his answer, you sat back and enjoyed the ride. A few hours later, you noticed a faint vibrating sound coming from the glovebox. You reached in and pulled out one of their old phones and handed it to Dean before turning the music down.

“Hello?... Right, Mr. Jones. Would you mind holding for a moment while I check your status?... Great.” He set the phone down on the seat and turned the music back up, grinning at the amused look you were giving him. After a couple of minutes, he turned it back down and picked up the phone. “Well, Mr. Jones, it looks like it’s all settled on your end and your reimbursement check is in the mail… Uh-huh, no problem. Have a nice day!” He hung up and shoved it back in the glovebox.

“What was that about?”

“Just some loose end,” he dismissed.

“You’re being really secretive,” you huffed. “More than usual.”

Dean chuckled, but otherwise didn’t respond.

After stopping for lunch, the next several hours went by in companionable silence, occasionally broken by either his humming or your soft singing. By the time you reached your destination, you were eager to stretch your legs, so Dean suggested you go to a bar before dinner.

In the morning, Dean didn’t bother waking you. He let you sleep until you woke naturally and took you out to a late lunch. He told you Donna was running late, and wouldn’t be able to meet until the following day. With nothing to do, you suggested going for a walk at a beautiful park you passed on the way, and to your surprise, he readily agreed. When the sun began to set, he said he wanted to get back and have an early night, but when the street your motel was on came and went, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“Ok, what’s really going on? You just passed the street and I know you know it.”

“You couldn’t give me five more minutes?” he groaned.

“For what?”

He looked over at you and smirked. “You’ll see in five minutes.”

You watched him intently, as if you could read his mind out of sheer will. When he saw you staring, he burst out in laughter, making your glare. His laughter tapered by the time he parked and asked you to follow him. Just as he was about to round a corner, he stopped and reached into his jacket’s pocket and handed you an envelope.

“What’s this?” You took it and pulled out the tickets inside. “Oh my god...OH MY GOD!!” Without thinking, you jumped into Dean’s arms and kissed his cheek. “How did you even get these?! Every show is sold out!” It was then you noticed the name on the tickets: Mark Jones. “Mr. Jones… Did you steal these?”

“What? No,” he scoffed, giving you that offended, squinty eyed look. “I confiscated them.”

“How?” Neither of you seemed to notice he was still holding you.

“With my badge,” he grinned. “I found the owner of the best seats, told him the tickets were counterfeit, and the seller was under investigation.”

“Dean, that’s…” What? Wrong? With everything else you’ve done, this hardly seemed like a big deal. “Brilliant.”

You giggled when his eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was only then you realized how close you were. You knew he did too when you saw his cheeks redden under the light of the street lamp and practically heard the lump he swallowed.

“We, uh, we should get inside.” He put you down so slowly, it made you wonder if maybe he didn’t want to. He cleared his throat and placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you to the front entrance of the venue.

When you got inside and the usher showed you to your seats, Dean went off to the bar to get some drinks. The opening act came on, and they were so much better than you expected that even Dean seemed to enjoy their music. During the intermission, you went to the restroom while Dean got more drinks so you were ready for the headlining act.

When the band came out on stage, Dean couldn’t help watching the way your face lit up, and it made his heart swell. The music started, and he turned toward the stage but kept watching you out of the corner of his eye, loving how into it you were. He was surprised to find himself singing along to a song he recognized, and looked over at you to see the shocked look on your face.

A slow song started to play and he felt your hand wrap around his. When his eyes found yours, he felt his heart stop for a moment.

“Dance with me?” you asked, almost pleadingly.

He swallowed hard, and unable to speak, simply nodded. He wrapped his arm around your waist and began swaying with you. You were both completely lost in each other that moment. Looking into his eyes, you noticed he wasn’t guarded. He was raw and unfiltered, and you were taken aback. For the first time, he let you see everything, and you knew he was in love with you. It was enough to bring tears to your eyes as you pulled him in for a kiss, pouring all your feelings into it as he did with one look.

It was a while before either of you noticed the room was quiet. When you pulled apart, you both looked to the stage to see the band smiling down at you.

“Thanks for upstaging us,” the singer joked, bringing laughter from the audience. “First kiss?” he asked, grinning widely when you both nodded. “Congratulations. This one’s for you.” As the crowd cheered, he turned to speak to the other members, and they began to play a song that wasn’t on the setlist.

The night wore on, and Dean couldn’t believe everything that had happened; everything he’d done to get you here. Most of all, he couldn’t believe you were his. That, and he had a new favorite band.

Permanent - @melconnor2007 @ria132love @psychicwitchphilosopher @sireennotsiren @silence–in–the–library @thefridgeismybestie @hymnofthevalkyrie @abbybills22 @mvasquez492 @ek823 @nicky10876

If I missed you, or you wish to be added or removed, please let me know!

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #reader #reader insert #SPN #Supernarural

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fullmoonimagines · 7 years

Text

Stuff // Theo Raeken

My thumb gently glides along his jawline, I swear if it was any sharper I would have a cut along my finger. “Like what you see?” Theo smiled, his face only becoming that much more attractive with the addition of a genuine smile. “You could say that.” I replied, a smile on my face to match his. I look at his bright green eyes, his messily tousled hair thanks to yours truly, and his soft rosy lips, God he’s so attractive. And clearly he knew it too, the way he used his good looks and charm to get me to come over so last minute to his place, not that I regretted it, a steamy make out with the gorgeous Theo is hardly something I would regret. “You’re lucky I like you and that you’re so damn good looking.” I teased, scooting my way closer to him in his plush bed, his arm wrapping around me as I did. “Tell me something I don’t already know, Y/N.” I roll my eyes and nudge his side with my elbow, a slight scoff slipping from my mouth. “I mean you’re lucky that I like you enough to skip out on my after school studying to come over and make out with you.” A smirk appears on Theo’s face, a proud one at that while he leans in closer, his lips nearly against mine yet again. “What kind of bad boy am I if I can’t convince my own girlfriend to ditch studying for me?” I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head before leaning in to kiss his soft lips yet again.

Our kiss is interrupted with a buzz, Theo’s phone lighting up with a text, but my eyes aren’t focused on the text but rather the time. “Shit, is that the time?” I ask hurriedly, quickly pulling away from the comfort of Theo’s arms and standing up to grab my shirt, tossing it back on. “Yeah, 7:28...Why do you have somewhere to be?” He asks, slowly reaching for his shirt and pulling it on over his strong and chiseled torso. “There’s a pack meeting at my house tonight, I’m supposed to be there, my brother made me promise to help.” I scrambled around Theo’s room, looking for my jacket before he whistles at me, pointing over to his desk where it must’ve landed after being thrown off. Grabbing the jacket, I reach inside to find my phone, a stream of notifications popping up. “Shit, I gotta go.” I mumble, gathering the rest of my things together. “So you’re just gonna use me for my body and then leave? I thought you were different than that Y/N.” Theo taunted, coming over to me and placing his hands on my hips, giving me that alluring look that got us here in the first place. “Ha ha very funny Theo. I really have to go, I’ve already have seven missed calls, four voicemails, and 18 texts from my brother, he’s probably in the process of sending out an APB already.” Theo shook his head, he knew I was right, my older brother is the overprotective type. “Come on, I’ll drive you, don’t want your brother to lose his mind...again.” He joked, making me turn to give him a stern look, his hands raising in surrenderance to show it was a harmless jab.

Once we had gotten into the car and got going I decided to call my brother, taking a deep breath as I held the phone to my ear, waiting for him to pick up and for the crazy to ensue. “Y/N! Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone!” I sighed, closing my eyes as the pestering questions started to roll in on the other line. “Are you okay?” “S-, Yes I’m perfectly fine.” I began, trying to reassure him I wasn’t in any distress. “ What the hell were you doing?” “ I was just d-,” “I called, texted, left voicema-.” “CAN YOU LET ME SPEAK?!” I shouted, completely sick of being interrupted a million times over, taking his newly given silence as a yes. I huffed in relief, finally I was able to talk. “I was just busy doing...stuff.” I look over at Theo, a grin on his smug face as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other holding onto my knee. A resigned sigh is given off and what was probably a few mumbles of sarcasm on the other end of the call, “Just get home please, we need your brains now.” Looking up at the road we were only a few miles away now, stopped at a redlight. “I’ll be there soon...Okay, I love you too, bye.” I hung up and shoved my phone back into my jacket pocket, leaning my head back against the headrest of the car seat. “Trouble with the big bro?” Theo rhetorically asked, giving my knee a squeeze before we started moving again. “You know how he is, overprotective and paranoid...Not to mention if he knew I was with you he would actually lose his mind.” I turn my head to look over at Theo, his eyes focused on the road but a shrug came from his shoulders, “He’s gonna find out sooner or later babe, not sure I can keep my distance from you at school much longer.” I smiled, leaning over to press a kiss into his cheek as we pulled into my neighborhood, Theo’s truck parked just a few houses down from mine, a standard routine we made up on the nights when Theo would sneak into my room. “Thanks for a good time, text me later?” My hand resting over the nape of his neck while he nodded. “See you later beautiful.”

After a quick peck goodbye, I hopped out of Theo’s truck, making my way down to my house, mentally preparing myself for the madness that is my brother. I knocked on the door, hearing my brother rush over, opening it quickly. “Hey, sorry I’m late.” I mumble, looking up at him and his puzzled face. “Remind me again what stuff you were doing that kept you so busy that you’re nearly an hour late to a pack meeting.” He asked, that squinty questioning face of his staring back at me. “Stiles, I told you, I was doing stuff, you don’t need to worry about it!” I try to step into my house when I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back, making me gasp not only out of surprise but because of Theo’s open presence in front of my brother. “Hey, I’m stuff.” Theo so self-contentedly announced, a proud and devilish smirk on his face.

Just then I look up at Stiles, my face flushed bright red, heating up by the second the more I stood there with Theo beside me. Stiles’ eyes bounced back and forth between Theo and I, his stare lingering on Theo, his eyes narrowing at him. But once his line of sight meets with the dark hickey on Theo’s neck, he immediately grabs my arm and yanks me inside the house, slamming the front door closed in the process; leaving Theo outside on the porch to smirk to himself once he heard what Stiles had so obnoxiously yelled. “Y/N Stilinski, you are NEVER seeing that sparkly eyed demon again.”

Inspo for this imagine was a comic, you can find it here!

Writer’s Note: Sorry guys! I got a little side-tracked, but here it is! Thank you @lexsdesires for her amazing writing once again!

#theo x reader #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken imagine #theo imagine #theo raeken imagines #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski #brother!stiles x reader

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h-styles-babes · 7 years

Text

No Control | Chapter Twenty

Summary:

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

TWENTY

When we get back to Harry’s home, it’s half six and we’re supposed to be at Grimmy's party at eight. Harry lets me set up in his bathroom so I can do my hair and makeup while he makes some phone calls. I can hear him in his room, talking in a hushed tone to who I’m assuming is someone from his team. He’s not saying a whole lot, letting the other person talk for longer stretches of time, and when he does respond it’s in short answers and little clips. I don’t even try to listen to what’s being said, minding my own business and continuing to curl my hair into big waves instead of the little kinks that’s its natural state.

I’m part way through applying my makeup, brush poised over my eyelid, when Harry leans in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me through the mirror. I look up at him with a smile as he watches me, a little quirk to the corner of his lips. When he just continues staring without making a move or saying anything, I chuckle somewhat uncomfortably.

“What?” I ask, going back to swiping on eyeshadow so we don’t just keep staring at each other.

Harry’s smile widens as he shakes his head a little. “You’re just absolutely stunning, is all. Most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.”

My cheeks begin to heat, making the addition of blush obsolete. “You hang out with models and actresses on the regular, Harry. All of which are much more pretty than me.”

His brow furrows and he shakes his head, walking further into the bathroom. He wraps his arm around my waist. “Micky, I don’t think you see yourself clearly. The first time I saw you, I physically lost my breath. Seeing you was like a kick in the chest, you’re so pretty. Your big round eyes, your plump pouty lips, your soft skin. And then, when I got to know your mind, you just got a million times more beautiful, if that’s even possible.”

I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes as he looks at me with such admiration, a shine in his eyes that seems brighter than normal. My vision blurs with the pooling in my eyes. I roll my eyes up to the ceiling to keep them from escaping down my face.

“Don’t you dare make me cry, Styles,” I warn through a laugh.

“I didn’t want to make you cry,” he promises, pressing kisses to my cheek. “Just want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

I reach my hand up to wind in the hair at the back of his head as he nuzzles his face against mine. He lightly sponges kisses across my jaw and down my neck. I changed into one of his button up shirts when we got back so I didn’t have to pull a shirt over my head after doing my hair and makeup, so he brushes the collar aside to trail over my shoulder.

“We’ve got to get going soon. Finish up and get dressed.” He smacks one more kiss to my cheek and lightly swats at me bum, making me jump and laugh. He winks at me in the mirror before going into his closet to get changed.

Harry is down stairs while I get dressed in his room. When I’m finally put together, I almost don’t recognize myself in the mirror. I’ve dressed up before for my father’s work parties and events that Trevor and I have gone to together, but this is different. For the first time, I see myself as someone that actually fits at Harry’s side. The dress looks even better with the stockings and the black heels and my hair done. I look older than my twenty-one years, too, which is a miracle since I’ve always had a bit of a baby face.

I go down to the first floor and hear Harry tinkering around with something in the sitting room. When I see him, I have to bite the inside of my cheek. He’s wearing black slacks, a black button up shirt tucked into the trousers, the buttons undone to the center of his chest, and a black coat.

“You look entirely too good in all black,” I tell him.

His head jerks up at the sound of my voice from where he’s fiddling with something in his hands. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as his eyes roam over me, his lips gradually lifting into a smile. “You look incredible.” He walks closer to me, wrapping an arm around my waist.

“So do you,” I reciprocate. With my heels on, we’re closer in height, but he still has quite a bit on me, a testament to how drastic our height difference is usually. “What’ve you got there?” I ask, looking down at the other hand that’s dropped by his side.

“The surprise I told you about earlier.” He raises his hand and presents it palm up, a black ring box sat in its center.

My brow furrows as I look at it. He wiggles his hand a bit, encouraging me to open it. I take a deep breath and take it in my hands, clicking open the top and gazing down at the little diamond encrusted ring that’s shaped like a tiara.

“Oh, Harry, it’s beautiful,” I breathe.

He grabs the box from me and takes the ring out of its little cushion. He pockets the box and takes my left hand in his, slipping the ring on my middle finger. “You’re my princess, so I thought it was fitting you have your own tiara. And since it seems a bit impractical to wear one on your head, this ring seemed like a better idea.”

I laugh as he kisses the ring and then runs his thumb over his ring that I’m still wearing on my thumb. My heart is hammering in my chest with how happy this man makes me and how amazingly perfect I find him in every way. I know he has his flaws, some I’ve yet to see, but everything about him fits with me, and my heart can hardly handle that without jumping out of my chest.

“Thank you, Harry,” I whisper. I lean forward and tilt my head to press my lips to his briefly, not wanting to get the lipstick I’m wearing all over his face. When I pull back, I wipe my thumb over his lips to get rid of the little that transferred. He smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Come on, we’ve got a party to get to.”

Grimmy’s holding this dinner party thing at some fancy restaurant where he’s reserved a large back room. Harry and I are a little early since he wants to spend some more time with Nick and some of their closer friends before anyone else arrives, so there’s only a handful of people talking to each other in small groups. There’s a DJ set up in the corner, but right now there’s only soft music playing in the background. Servers are bustling about the space getting things properly set up for when we’re to eat and a table full of booze is being filled for the guests. I don’t know how much money Nick makes as a radio host, but it’s obviously a pretty penny.

When Nick sees us, his eyebrows raise when he sees me, whistling low. “Well, look at you. Looking fit in that dress, Micky. Trying to upstage the rest of us?” he teases. He’s dressed in a white button up shirt with an unidentifiable print on it, a black blazer, and grey trousers, looking well put together and charming. He pulls me into a hug with a kiss to my cheek and then hugs Harry. “Have the prettiest lady on your arm tonight, Haz.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah, I know. One of my finer moments.”

“Gonna be breaking quite a few hearts tonight, Styles,” Grimmy warns. “Not to mention the media storm you two have been causing.”

“We’ve been avoiding it,” Harry informs. He let me know earlier than he hadn’t actually took the time to read any of the articles he came across, merely skimmed the headlines, which were bad enough on their own. I haven’t even done that much, not really wanting to see the lies people who don’t even know me are making up. Plus, I haven’t wanted more of a reason to tear apart that Jeanine girl; I’m already teetering on homicidal as it is.

“Well, other than the bullshit they’re all spewing,” Grimmy starts, rolling his eyes in exasperation, “the good eggs are quite taken with Miss Micky, here.”

“Really?” I question, a bit surprised. I still hadn’t gone on my social media accounts, either, knowing it would be too much work to block thousands of people. I’m just letting it blow over for now.

Nick nods. “Oh yeah. The ones that actually care about Harry keep going on about how pretty you are and how they’re happy to see Harry with someone so normal. And they quite like your fashion sense.”

I nearly burst out laughing. “My fashion sense is what I can get for cheap at TopShop or Forever 21, with the occasional designer piece forced on me by my rich mate.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. People are into it. Take what you can get, love.”

Three hours, delicious food, lots of dancing, and too many shots of tequila later, Harry and I are hands-y and overzealous with the PDA. His friends keep teasing us when they catch us pressing our bodies too close together and Harry’s hands slipping up the hem of my dress. Cara and Rita are among those in attendance, and they stay around us all night, kindly keeping me company when Harry gets pulled away and complimenting me on my dress.

Some other way too famous faces comes over throughout the night to introduce themselves to me. I’m a little overwhelmed, especially considering I’m a bit intoxicated, but I take it in stride as best I can. We chat as if we’re casual friends, all of them making some sort of comment about how whipped Harry looks whenever I’m around. I brush it off, saying that we just care about each other, but I can’t say it’s not nice to here that other people see how Harry and I are toward one another.

Harry and I reunite at about one, both of us dragging our feet and tired from the long day and the alcohol. Harry’s eyes are a bit red and squinty from the booze he’s had tonight, but he still looks adorable. If possible, he’s even more charming when he’s a bit toasted, so the night has been fun, filled with lots of laughs and new memories made.

He pulls me to his chest, automatically squishing his face into the crook of my neck. “Ready to head out?” he asks, his words slightly slurred and muffled against my skin.

I nod and run my hands through his hair, which has gone back and forth from being down around his shoulders and up in a bun at the crown of his head all night.

“Let’s go say bye to Grimmy,” he offers. He takes my hand and pulls us through the crowd of people to where Nick is with Kelly Osborne and Pixi Geldorf, all of them very obviously hammered, faces red and leaning on each other for support, though they’re all unsteady on their feet.

We say our goodbyes, Nick clinging onto Harry and pressing kisses to his cheeks, gushing about how good it’s been to see him again and how he can’t wait for Harry to be done with tour so they can spend more time together. Then he moves onto me, raving about how nice and pretty I am and how good I am for Harry. He kisses me square on the lips, making me promise to keep in touch with him, taking my mobile phone and shoving his in my hand so that we can have each other’s numbers.

Harry and I finally make it to the entrance of the restaurant, which closed its doors to the public a few hours ago, so it’s completely empty. Harry had the sense to have us picked up by a cab earlier in the evening, knowing we’d both be too pissed to drive back to his house at the end of the night. Harry informs me that the Uber he’s called is just down the street, so we exit, fine to wait on the curb for the few moments it’ll take for the car to get here.

However, we weren’t expecting there to still be paparazzi camped outside the building at this hour of night. As soon as they realize Harry Styles has just walked through the doors, flashes start going off and chants of Harry’s name, too loud in the otherwise quiet night.

Harry pulls me behind him, trying to keep me shielded from all the paps. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles under his breath. I press myself as close to Harry’s back as I can, stumbling slightly over my heels and needing him for balance. Through all the flashes, I see the arrival of car headlights, our Uber pulling up to the curb. We’ve only got to walk a few metres to be well on our way home, but it’s going to be a bit of a challenge with the amount of people between us and it.

“Guys, please, just trynna get home,” Harry pleads, suddenly sobered completely.

Amongst Harry’s name, I can now hear my own name being called out, which is strange, to say the least, and I keep my head down. An unfamiliar hand is suddenly on my shoulder, keeping me back from Harry, and jerking my hand in his.

Harry looks over his shoulder and sees what’s going on, immediately rounding back and addressing the guy who’s got his hand on me, face more menacing than I’ve see it.

“Hey, don’t fucking touch my girl, yeah? Not polite to grab a lady.” he barks out. He curls his hand around my waist, pulling me against his side, glaring at the guy who grabbed me. I can hear some murmuring, most likely the paps already gossiping about the stories they can spin about Harry’s small outburst. I see Harry roll his eyes before forging ahead once more, getting us to the car with no further incidents.

Once the door’s closed, he turns to me, face in his hands as he looks over me, breathing a little erratic. “Yeh alright, love? Didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Harry, I’m fine, babe,” I promise, wrapping my hands around his wrists. “Only grabbed my shoulder.”

He looks at me for a few more moments before sighing and kissing me on the lips, and then all over my face. I can’t help but giggle and his lips flutter over my skin, and it eventually gets him laughing, relieving the tension from the run in with the paparazzi, some of our drunkenness seeping back into our behavior.

When we get back to Harry’s house, we stumble into his bedroom, both of us tired and flopping into his comfy, large bed. I kick my heels off and start pulling pins out of my hair; Harry sits next to me and struggles to pull off his own boots, falling over onto the bed several times before he’s successful. I’m already out of my dress by the time he’s made it to the buttons on his shirt. I see him pout down at his chest.

“Do you need some help, love?” I ask over a chuckle.

His pout is still present when he looks up at me, but it’s gone in an instant, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his eyes clouding over.

“What?” I ask, slightly confused.

“You look so fucking sexy,” he rasps out, his fingers abandoning their task and dropping to his thighs.

I remember that I’m only dressed in a garter belt and my stockings, and finally realize what he’s on about. My fingers involuntarily go to the elastic straps attaching the belt to the nylons.

“Come over here,” Harry orders. “I’m not so tired anymore. I’m gonna have you with your pretty lingerie on, princess.”

We drive back to Holmes Chapel the next morning. Harry’s flight leaves out of Manchester Monday afternoon, so we’ve decided to spend our last day in our hometown to visit his family again before he’s got to go back on the road for a few months.

Harry looks over at me as he’s driving and I’m lulling in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat, my head propped against the window, jolting with every bump that we roll over. He smiles before glancing back at the road.

“What?” I whine, only half awake.

“I feel like you’ve taken my entire collection of band tees, love,” he teases, referring to The Beatles shirt I’ve currently got on underneath my jean jacket.

I scoff. “I’ve seen your closet. You’ve got to have at least fifty more. And if you don’t want me to take them, stop handing them to me to wear.”

He shrugs, still grinning at me. “Told yeh, like seeing you in my clothes.”

“Then stop complaining,” I laugh, reaching over to pat a hand to his chest. He captures it with his own holding it to his heart for a moment before lifting it and pressing a kiss to my palm. My own heart flutters at his show of affection and I can’t help but smile.

Harry keeps my hand in his in his lap. “Mum just wants a day in, watch some films, laze around.”

“Sounds great. I could probably use a nap.”

He smirks. “Wore you out?”

“We didn’t get to bed until three, you woke me up at five to go again. Then when we both woke at nine, we went again. Yeah, I’m a little tired,” I joke, squeezing at his hand.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. We’ll get a nap in later. Wanna go to Manchester tonight, too. Go on a date.”

I look over at him, eyebrows raised and trying to keep the smile off my face. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah. There’s a pub out there that does live music on the weekends I wanna take you to.”

“I’d love to. Less drinking tonight, yeah?”

He groans and nods. “Absolutely. Still got a headache.”

I pout at him playfully. “Aw, my poor baby.”

“I need a good cuddle when we get to Mum’s.”

“We can do that.”

“Good.”

As promised, Harry and I have a cuddle on Anne’s couch as we watch Pretty Woman with his parents. I’m laid across the couch on my back with Harry tucked into my side, his head on my chest. It’s incredibly comfortable and I feel so warm, running my fingers through his hair and feeling his breath puff out against my chest. Anne and Robin are cuddled together on the loveseat, looking just as comfy and sleepy as Harry and I are.

Towards the end of the film, the front door opens and Gemma steps through. One glance at the sitting room and she rolls her eyes when she sees Harry and I together. She plasters a smile on her face, though, when her mum greets her and Harry perks his head up to say hello. I think I’m the only one to see her little move, so I just ignore it and keep it to myself, not wanting to be further on her bad side than I already apparently am.

Gemma very pointedly ignores the fact that I’m even in her house for the remainder of the evening, only speaking to her family and not even reacting whenever I say anything to contribute to conversation. I try not to take it too personally, because I know she’s just being protective of her brother, but it still kinda bites to be so openly disliked by someone that means a lot to Harry.

“You ready to get going, love?” Harry asks just after five. We’ve got to stop by my house so I can change before heading into Manchester, so we’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.

I nod and he helps me off the couch. I stretch and gather myself as Harry and his family say goodbye, Anne getting obviously teary at having to say goodbye for another few months. Him touring so often has got to be hard on her, and I couldn’t imagine having to let a child go out on their own at such a young age and then never really seeing much of them again in the following five years. I’d cry every time we had to say our goodbyes, too.

TWENTY-ONE

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #No Control #one direction #harry styles fluff

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tearinmyheartforjosh · 7 years

Note

Can I request an imagine where Josh and the reader have a sleepover (They're already dating, they just don't live with each other) and it's really cute, at some point late at night they're dancing around the kitchen. You imagines are the cutest, I swear I've died 100 times whilst reading them!

(I had so much fun writing this one! Thank you for the prompt, hope you like it!!)

You park your car in the visitor parking spot, grabbed your over night bag from the passenger seat beside you, and locked your car before buzzing Josh to let you in. He had just gotten back from tour. The six months he was gone was too long it felt like. You basically live at his place while he was in town. Spending 5 out of 7 nights there. But six months was too long to not be at a place that felt so much like home.

You’re not sure if Josh ever locks his apartment door, because it always open when you go over - even when you’re surprising him. But you look past it, letting yourself in anyways.

You can see Josh, he has his back towards you, ear buds in and talking to someone on his phone while he sorts through the mail he had collected while being away. You’re thankful that he’s pretty oblivious to his surroundings as you sneak up. You throw your arms around his shoulders, jumping up onto his back.

“Whoah!” Josh shouts in surprise, pulling an ear bud out to hear what was going on. He turns his head to look at you, and you almost have tears in your eyes when he grins so big, you can hardly see his eyes.

“Hey, Mark,” he says to the person on the other line. “I’ll call you back.” He doesn’t even give Mark a chance to reply as he rips the other ear bud out, throws his phone on the table and turns to that he can wrap his arms around your small frame.

“I missed you,” you whisper into his chest and he tightens his grip around you. You feel complete again. Every time Josh leaves, it’s almost like he takes a part of your heart with him. Of course you miss him while he’s gone, but you get used to the empty feeling in your chest until he comes back and then you wonder how you ever went so long without him.

“I miss you too, baby,” he replies softly into your hair, before pressing a light kiss to your head. You look up, leaning in for more kisses, snaking your arms around his neck and standing on your tippy toes, trying to get as much as him as you can. You can tell he feels the same way when one of his hands finds his way to your hair, and now you’re feeling like there’s too much in between you guys.

“Josh?” You almost moan, as his lips find his way to your neck. And without warning he lifts you up by your legs and you take that as a sign to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you towards his bedroom.

“Way ahead of you babe,” he smirks, pushing open the door and kicking it closed with his foot. He lightly tosses you on the bed before landing just over top of you and smothering you with kisses again. Your smile was so big, Josh never made you feel unwanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muses, holding himself overtop of you, eyes running everywhere over your body. “I missed you so much.”

You reach your hand out and touch the side of his face. His eyes are deep, like he has a thousand thoughts running through his mind. You do too, but as his body presses against yours, there’s only one that you can really think of. “Show me,” you tell him. He gets a mischievous grin and happily obliges.

You’re not sure what time it is when you roll over into Josh’s bare chest, nuzzling your head into his neck. He take his hand and lightly draws it against your arm, raising goosebumps. You’re in total bliss, you’re really not sure how this could get any better.

“You should go away more often,” you say after a couple minutes of quiet. Josh looks down at you, confused expression as he waits for you to continue. “That was incredible,” You grin. Josh rolls his eyes, smile appearing on his face. He moves so that he’s on top on you again, and you think that you can’t possibly go at it again. But instead he bends down, kisses you quickly and then hops out of bed, grabbing his boxers and putting them on swiftly. You sit up, giving him a curious look.

“If we’re going to keep this up, we need some food,” he states with his big, classic Josh Dun grin before disappearing out the bedroom door. You throw your head back in a light laugh before scrambling to get out of bed and find one of his shirts and following him to the kitchen.

The light on the microwave reads 2:33am when you enter into Josh’s tiny apartment kitchen. He has most of what was left in his fridge out on the counter. Which is basically eggs.

“I forgot to go grocery shopping,” he admits, with a squinty smile when he notices you.

You look around the tiny kitchen, trying to get ideas of what to make when you notice a Chinese take-out menu sitting on the counter. You grab it and hold it up to your boyfriend, raising an eyebrow.

“I like you’re thinking,” He nods. And half an hour later you’re both sitting on his couch with Chinese take-out boxes and binging X-Files. You’re sprawled across the couch, legs resting over top Josh’s lap. You’re half paying attention to the TV show, half scrolling through your twitter feed when you see a tweet from Paramore, releasing their new song.

“Did you know about the new Paramore song?” You ask, holding your phone up to him so he can see the post.

“Oh yeah!” His eyes light up. “Hayley mentioned something about that last time I saw her. Plug it into the speakers!”

You get up and plug your phone into the speakers Josh had set up across the room and press play. Both you and Josh are dead silent, listening, deciding if you liked what you were hearing. The song ends and you’re both still silent.

“Well,” Josh clears his throat after a couple of seconds pass. “I know what I’m going to listen to non-stop for the next - rest of my life.”

“Right!” You shout in agreement, immediately playing the song again. And by the 15th time of listening to it, both you and Josh are dancing on the furniture, singing the lyrics at the top of your lungs, pretending to play the instruments and genuinely just acting like idiots together.

You’re dancing on the couch as Josh passes you, so you take the opportunity to jump on his back for a piggy back. He spins you around as fast as he can before collapsing on the couch, both laughing till tears.

“Ah man,” Josh sighs after your laughing fit, looking over at you. And he can’t believe how beautiful you look in his over sized shirt. “I love you.”

That stops you mid laugh. You and Josh haven’t been dating for very long, only 8 months, and most of that had been long distance while he was on tour. And while you knew you loved him from the start, you never said it; afraid that he wouldn’t feel the same way. So you were perfectly content waiting until the time was right. What you didn’t expect was for him to say it first. “I really, really do Y/N,” he continues when you don’t say anything. “You make everything an adventure and I just, I love you.”

You’re grinning uncontrollably as Josh bares his soul to you, but you want to keep it cool. “Yeah, you’re alright.” You tease. Josh laughs and starts tickling you until you can’t breath, determined to get you to say it back. “Okay!” You shout in surrender, your sides sore from laughing. Josh pauses, keeping his hands close for another tickle attack if he doesn’t hear the right answer. “I love you, Joshua Dun.”

#tearinmyheartforjosh #anon #answered #josh dun imagine #reader x josh dun #josh dun fluff #tyler joseph #twenty one pilots imagine

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reciprocityfic · 7 years

Text

fires, chapter two

Title: Fires Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick x Michonne Rating: T Summary: "Because sometimes fires burn to make way for something new…something beautiful.“ The evolution of Rick and Michonne’s relationship throughout the course of season seven.

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry this took so long :/ I truly thought I would have this up just a few days after the last chapter, but my inspiration and motivation is so up and down because depression! and also I tend to always end up writing way more than I intended to.

That being said, this won't be the final part of this story. I still have (at least) one more chunk to tell. I was actually going to add a couple more sections to this chapter, but it was getting way too long and I wanted to get something up for you guys asap. I'm going to try my best to have the last part up before 7x15 airs, and then I might do some sort of epilogue afterwards, depending on people's interest and my inspiration/writing stamina.

As always, love and thanks to you all, xoxo.

chapter one on tumblr, ao3 or ff.net.

chapter two on ao3 or ff.net.

CHAPTER TWO: INCANDESCENCE

Their lives falls into some strange pattern of domesticity as they prepare for war.

Everyone wakes up in the morning, eats breakfast and then kisses each of their loved ones goodbye, before heading off to complete whatever task assigned to them. They work diligently into the hours of the early evening and then call it a day, heading home to spend the remainder of the night with their families and friends.

In their house, some combination of her, Rick, and Carl make dinner, and then they sit around the table with Judith and eat, discussing all they had accomplished today and their plans for tomorrow. Sometimes they talk strategy, but they try not to. They silently vow to keep their family time free of those kinds of topics. They can’t keep it as pure as her and Rick’s bedroom, but they work to keep it as pure as they can.

The minutes tick by. Judith coos and babbles and they all laugh at her, Carl tells her what’s happening in his latest comic book, Rick nudges her foot with his under the table, or reaches out and finds her hand once they move into the living room after they’ve cleared the table. Carl makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat at any sign of PDA, which Judith adorably attempts to imitate as they laugh again, and a deep blush never fails to color Rick’s cheeks even though he knows Carl’s repulsion is all in good fun. She squeezes the fingers that are laced with hers. He turns his head towards her, the corners of his mouth turning up into a mischievous grin, and she has to look away as a wave of heat begins to roll over her own skin.

The day dwindles to a close. They each take turns tucking Judith into bed, and then Carl retires to his room for the night. Her and Rick settle into the kitchen and do the dishes before heading up the stairs

There are exceptions to the routine, of course. There are the occasional overnight runs, and Negan comes to visit every couple of weeks, and they put on calm, resigned masks to hide the fact that they’re all scrambling around in the background, ensuring none of their battle plans are discovered or even suspected.

But more often than not, their days follow that same, strange pattern, and the monotony of it is comforting, in a way. Familiar in the way it brings back the taste of a way of life long abandoned and forgotten. In fact, the days could classify as normal – normal in the old way – if their jobs didn’t constantly revolve around preparation for a war against a sadistic man wielding a barbed wire-covered bat and his legion of disciples.

On one of these ordinary evenings, she and Rick stand at the sink in the kitchen, as they always do. The only sounds are the swishing of her hands in warm, soapy water, the clank of him placing dry dishes onto the counter, and the faint sound of crickets filtering in through an open window.

They don’t talk much, which is hardly unusual. Words aren’t always needed between them. Sometimes the calm of being together, the sound of one moving and breathing around the other, is enough.

But there’s something off about him tonight. There’s the slightest edge to the silence that even she might not pick up on, if she were the tiniest bit more tired or distracted. But she’s not, and she notices.

It’s not an angry off. Not a worried or upset one. It’s just…

Off.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asks, bumping his hip with hers gently.

He hums, hesitates, before pressing his lips together and tossing a half-smile in her direction.

“Nothing.”

She rolls her eyes playfully as she hands him a freshly-scrubbed fork.

“Well, I know that’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?” he questions as he dries the utensil, shifting and bumping back into her. “How?”

“Your eyes are all squinty,” she informs him.

He chuckles softly, but the sound gets louder when he glances over and sees her face, her eyes narrowed at him and her lips pursed in an attempt to mimic his expression.

“So that’s what I look like when I’m thinking, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

He laughs again, but goes back to wiping off dishes without another word. She frowns, and sighs. She wishes he would tell her, but she won’t push him. He never fails to respect her independence and give her the space she needs, and she can do nothing but extend the same courtesy to him. So she puts her hands back in the water that’s gained the slightest chill, now, and drops the subject. If it’s important he’ll tell her in his own time. She knows that.

They fall back into their comfortable silence, and finish the dishes shortly after that. He places the plates and pots and utensils into the dish drainer on the counter so they can finish the last of their drying overnight, and she drains the sink, wiping her hands and then the area around the sink with a dishtowel as the water swirls and gurgles away. She’s about to grab the baby monitor so they can head upstairs when his voice stops her.

“Michonne?”

She turns, and finds him still in his spot by the dishes, that pensive look still on his face. She puts the monitor down and walks back across the room, stopping mere inches from him. A faint frown rests on his lips now, and the corners of her mouth turn down too at the sight, in a form of solidarity.

“What is it?”

He reaches his arm out and places his hand on her shoulder before letting it trail down her arm. His fingertips are pruned and slightly cold from their time spent covered in water, and goosebumps raise on her skin.

“We never would’ve met before, would we?”

The frown on her face grows. His question throws her, gives her an uncomfortable feeling as it rattles around in her brain. It’s something she’s never really considered, other than the passing thought of how lucky she was to have found him. She never qualified if she meant lucky in this world or lucky in the last one, too. It didn’t matter. She was just lucky to have found him at all.

She tilts her head slightly, a trait she’s picked up from him.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

He shrugs, dropping his eyes to the floor and grabbing her hand, twining their fingers together.

“I don’t know. It’s just…we never would’ve met before. If it weren’t for everything that happened, we would’ve never known each other.”

He’s still staring down, so she peers at the top of his head curiously, wondering what could’ve made him think of this. His thumb rubs nervously against the back of her hand.

“No,” she confirms. “Probably not.”

And as the words leave her mouth, her stomach drops. The weight of that realization hits her as she admits the truth of his words out loud. It almost knocks her off her feet.

“We lived very different lives,” she says flatly, as if her brain must offer up some sort of explanation as it processes this new information. “It’s unlikely that they ever would’ve…intersected in any way.”

A loaded silence settles over them. She imagines a life without him, and an unpleasant shiver runs through her.

“And even they did, you never would’ve looked at me twice.”

He lifts his head, a wry smirk playing on his lips. She scoffs and lets go of his hand, taking a step back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on now,” he implores, leaning and wrapping his arm around her waist. He pulls her back into him and she doesn’t resist, even as she glares at him.

“I doubt that I was exactly your type. A scrawny, white, small town sheriff’s deputy with a stupid southern accent who’s never been out of the state of Georgia?” He laughs, and shakes his head. “Nah. Not for a refined city girl like you. An artistic, well-traveled, big-time lawyer. Even if we somehow had ended up in the same room, you wouldn’t have even noticed me.”

She meets his gaze. His eyes are light, because he’s mostly teasing her, and she knows this. But she doesn’t miss the small glint of sadness that shines in them too. He believes his words. And she wishes she could do something to take that away, wishes she could tell him that he’s wrong. But she can’t, because he isn’t.

“Your accent isn’t stupid,” she mumbles, and now she feels stupid, but it’s the only honest thing she can think of to say that doesn’t taste bitter on her lips.

She brings her hands up to his chest and begins to fiddle with the top button on his shirt. A pang of hurt thumps in her heart.

“And you don’t have much room to talk,” she declares, tearing her eyes away from his. She stares straight ahead instead, watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows.

“I mean, you married your high school sweetheart, babe. I didn’t date anyone in high school because I thought it would never work out and they would just end up being a distraction. And you. You fit the popular country boy stereotype to a tee. You were a police officer. You went around protecting the streets, were probably everyone’s hometown hero.”

She smiles softly as she envisions it, him riding around in his patrol car dressed in his deputy uniform, Carl’s hat on his head. Chaperoning his son’s field trips. Mowing the lawn, and putting up Christmas lights. Waving to the neighbors as he walked out to get the paper every morning.

She wishes she could see it, for real. That she could get a glimpse of him in his old life, even if it was just for a second.

“You had everything,” she murmurs as she continues. “The kind, sweet wife. The perfect little boy. I just don’t fit the part. I don’t exactly look like your typical, small-town girl next door.”

She pauses, feeling the slight pressure of tears begin to build behind her eyes, but she blinks and pushes it away. Her fingers still play with the buttons on his shirt. Her stomach churns.

“No. You’re wrong.”

She tilts her head up to find him staring down at her. A smirk still plays on his lips, but it’s changed from the cynical one he’d worn earlier. It’s sweeter. It gives off a certain fondness.

“I would’ve noticed you. Trust me, I would’ve noticed you. And I would’ve remembered you, too.”

His words are candid and sincere and she does trust him. She believes him, despite all her skepticism. She can’t help but smile, and she feels the tears come again, but she swallows them as he pulls her into a hug, wrapping himself around her, swaying their bodies back and forth. He drops a kiss onto her forehead, and she reciprocates by pressing her lips against his chest, right over his heart.

“Some of the people were talking today while we were taking inventory of the weapons,” he begins, his voice rumbling against her cheek. “Tobin and Tara, and a few people that are over from Hilltop. And someone asked what we would give up to have this all never happen. To go back to the way things were, to our lives before everything.”

“We never would’ve met,” she whispers, echoing his previous statement, and she feels him nod.

“I don’t have to wonder what I’d give up. I know what I’d have to give up. I’d have to give up you. And I just…I don’t know, Michonne.”

He releases her and takes a step back, shrugging and looking at her with an expression that’s almost embarrassed.

“I know that I should want it back,” he begins with a sigh. “I should want to prevent the pain that we’ve all suffered. I should want it back for everyone we’ve lost. For all of friends that we’ve seen die. I should want it for Lori, and for Carl. So he could have some sort of childhood. I should want it for Judith, too, although…I don’t really know if I’d have her either. I don’t know what would’ve happened with Lori and Shane.”

She can detect the subtle ache in his voice when he mentions the names of his dead wife and best friend, and she goes to stand next to him, snaking her arm behind him to rub circles over his back, and rests her head on his shoulder. She wishes she could soothe that hurt for him. Find some way to banish that uncertainty lingering in the back of his mind when he thinks of Lori and Shane. Figure out how to stop him from always having to wonder.

“I should want it for you, too,” he starts again, and the shame in his tone is profound. She snuggles further into his side as he runs a hand over his face.

“Fuck, I feel like an awful, selfish person. I should want it for you. I should want it for Andre and Mike. So you’d never have to go through the pain of losing them. So your baby could be alive, having the life he deserved. But, shit, I just don’t know.”

She inhales sharply when he mentions the names of her son and old boyfriend. She thinks of them, takes a moment to love them and mourn them, and then ponders Rick’s question some more. What would she give?

And she feels the first hints of guilt begin to come together inside her, too.

He slings an arm around her shoulders, and brings his head down to rest on top of hers.

“I really love you, Michonne.”

Her heart skips a beat, as it always does when he tells her that. She extricates herself from his embrace, and then comes to stand in front of him.

“I love you, too. So much.”

The corners of his lips twitch up involuntarily, and warmth floods her veins, traversing every inch of her body. She knows she’ll never tire of seeing any hint of his beautiful smile, especially when she’s the one to put it there.

“You’re not an awful person,” she assures him. “And you’re not selfish. I don’t know, either. It’s a little hard to admit, and if someone had asked me a year ago if I’d ever answer that question with a word other than ‘anything’, I wouldn’t have believed them in the slightest. But I never expected…you.”

She takes his hand again, closes her eyes as he squeezes.

“I never expected Carl and Judith. I never expected any of our family, but I definitely never expected you.”

“It’s a hard question. A lot to think about,” he says.

She nods as she looks up at him.

“It is. Feelings are hard. Love is hard. What you though were the simplest things get complicated.”

He hums in agreement. They stand there for a moment, playing with each other’s fingers.

“You want to go to bed?” he asks, breaking the silence. She smiles, and lifts herself on her toes to kiss him.

“I do,” she answers, and he smiles back at her, placing one more kiss on her lips. They separate, and she grabs the baby monitor and he turns off the lights, and they both head upstairs.

After bedtime rituals are performed, they settle onto their meager pallet, which has become more comforting and warm than they’d ever imagined was possible in these past weeks. They lay on their sides and face each other, and talk about nothing, about silly and frivolous things, their conversation interspersed with soft giggles and lazy kisses. They continue this way until his blinks become progressively longer and heavier, and she lets out a series of yawns so big her eyes water. He reaches over and turns off the lamp, kisses her once more, and then closes his eyes, falling asleep in record time. Gentle breaths and light snores fill their room.

She resists the urge to close her eyes for a moment, though. Ever since their reconciliation in the prison cell, she’s had a habit of watching him sleep. She tries her best to stay awake a few minutes longer than him every night, just to catch a sight of it. There’s something about seeing him so peaceful. He takes on so much, bears the weight of everyone’s expectations, hopes, and lives. And seeing it melt away as slumber overtakes him calms her, gives her one more happy moment before she shuts her eyes.

She lifts one of her hands and places it on his face, trailing her thumb over his cheekbone. She inhales slowly and lets herself drown in how right this feels. It’s like nothing she’s ever experienced before. Being with him – loving him – is so easy. It’s as natural as breathing. This is where she belongs. In this house, with him and his children, living in this home they’ve built despite every odd being stacked against them. She belongs next to him. With him, always, in every aspect, loving him with all that she is. She’s never been so sure of anything in her life.

What would you give to go back to before?

“Rick?”

She doesn’t really expect him to open his eyes, as he seems so lost in his slumber, but he does. His face is just illuminated enough by the faint light of the full moon shining in through the window, so she can see his eyes open and looking at her. Barely open, his eyelids still heavy and begging to close again, but open all the same.

“Yeah, gorgeous?”

She laughs at his pet name. She learned very quickly, when they started all of this, that he had a hopelessly romantic side to him, underneath all his jagged cynicism, that only shone through in his most unguarded moments. Thus, all those moments belonged to her. She fell for this new facet of him just as hard as she had fallen for all the rest of him.

Precious. To see him like this was an absolutely precious thing to behold.

He was so precious to her.

She loved him so much. More than she could fathom. More than she’d ever dreamed she could love someone else.

She’d always considered herself lucky to find him, lucky to be able to call him hers, but that crushing feeling of belonging and adoration and rightness had enveloped them so completely, from that first brush of his lips against hers, that it made her pause.

She’d thought it luck. But maybe it was more than that. She’d hardly believed in that sort of thing in her previous life, but everything was different now.

Maybe it was more than luck.

“I think we maybe would’ve met before,” she says tenderly. He stills under her hand, and then she sees the flash of his teeth in the moonlight as a slow smile spreads over his face. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him, burying his face in her neck and placing a kiss on her jaw. In a matter of seconds, it seems, she feels his steady breaths start back up against her skin.

She runs her fingers through his curls, and closes her eyes.

* * *

She’s on a run with Rosita, technically looking for ammo, but as always, keeping their eyes peeled for anything that might be of use to the community. They see a supermarket and park their car, not expecting much but checking it out anyways.

The place is clear of walkers and pretty much everything else, as is the case with most grocery stores at this point. The grab a buggy and find a few stray items: five cans of soup, a pack of diapers that are miraculously Judith’s size, some bottles of shampoo and seven bars of soap. Rosita pauses to grab a handful of bottles of ibuprofen and a box of band-aids as Michonne rounds the corner of the aisle.

Her face lights up at what she sees sitting on the ground, in plain sight, almost as someone had placed them there just for her to find.

Rosita looks up when she hear Michonne walking back to her and the buggy, and she almost laughs at the four bottles of wine she’s cradling in her arms.

“Where’d you find that?”

“Just around the corner,” she informs her and she gingerly places the bottles in the metal cart. “They were just sitting there like they were waiting for me to find them.”

“Who would leave them behind like that?” Rosita asks, genuine confusion in her voice. “Honestly, if it weren’t for all the other people we’re looking out for, alcohol would be the main thing I’d scavenge for.”

Michonne smiles and shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly not complaining. They’re all mine now.”

Rosita lifts an eyebrow.

“All yours?”

Michonne hesitates, biting her bottom lip. Officially, they were supposed to share everything they found with the community, but people swiped things they found for themselves every once in a while. And she knew once Alexandria got wind that there was wine in the pantry, the alcohol would be gone in a matter of minutes.

“I’ll split them with you,” she concedes, as an idea pops into her head. “But you owe me a favor,” she quickly tacks on.

Rosita eyes her suspiciously.

“Do you have an idea what this favor might entail?”

“Take the kids tonight,” Michonne exhales quickly. “I’ll tell Carl to bring over his Xbox so he and Tara can play. And I’ll send over Judith’s pack-and-play and a few toys. She’s easily entertained. It’ll be a breeze.”

She sees Rosita hesitate, so she continues.

“You know, you’re actually really good with Judith. I know you don’t have that much practice with her, but she’s an easy baby, I swear. Plus, Carl will be there if you need him.”

Michonne holds back a deep sigh as she’s once again met with silence. Her expression softens when she sees the trepidation on Rosita’s face.

“I think you pretend sometimes you don’t enjoy your time with her, but I think deep down, you do. You just don’t want to be around her too much. And I’m not faulting you for that. I totally get it. I did the same thing when I first found everyone back at the prison. I’ve heard you mention your nephew before. And I know that being around babies can bring up some…memories that hurt. Trust me, I’ve been there. But also trust me when I say that being around babies again can be the best thing to start and heal those wounds. It can be cathartic, in a way. Take it from someone who knows.”

Rosita looks at her with wide eyes as Michonne takes a deep breath. She’s only told Rick and Carl about Andre, but lately there had been a general assumption among their closest family that she’d probably been a mother. It doesn’t bother her, exactly; like she told Carl all that time ago, it wasn’t really a secret. She’s still getting used to actually acknowledging it in front of everyone, though.

Rosita still hesitates, and Michonne closes her eyes and steels herself for disappointment. But then Rosita’s voice rings through the air and pleasantly surprises her.

“Okay.”

Michonne can’t hide the smile that lights up her face.

“Okay. Great. Thank you.”

Rosita nods, and they make one more quick trip around the store before they’re satisfied that they’ve grabbed everything.

“So,” Rosita starts, her voice full of implication as they walk to the front of the store. “What are you doing tonight? Got a hot date?”

Rosita turns towards Michonne and wiggles her eyebrows. Michonne laughs, and spots a pack on M&Ms on the floor next to a pop machine. As Rosita shits her focus back in front of her, Michonne grabs the candy and stuffs it in her back pocket. That was one thing she wasn’t sharing.

She chuckles again as she thinks of Rosita’s question.

“Yeah, Rosita,” she answers, still unable to wipe the smile off her face. “Yeah, I think I might.”

* * *

She hears Rick walk into the house forty-five minutes after she returns from her run, closing the door behind him rather loudly, letting out a deep sigh. She hears him kick his boots off in the foyer, and her stomach twists in anticipation as his footsteps approach, another smile spreading across her face.

His lips quirk up as he enters the kitchen and finds her leaning against the counter, arms crossed in front of her.

“Thought I’d beat you home.”

She shrugs.

“Run went well.”

An immediate look of satisfaction takes over his face. She can’t help but grin at his reaction.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, nodding her head. “No herds or complications or strangers, or anything like that. Found a pretty good amount of bullets. A handful of guns, too. And then we stopped in a supermarket, and found some food. A few first aid things. Not very much, but at least it’s something.”

“Something is always good,” he assures her.

She smiles again as she looks at him, her heart filling with love and her belly tightening as she thinks of the evening they’ll have. He tilts his head and peers at her curiously, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“What’re you up to? Standing here all by yourself, looking at me like that?”

“I was waiting for you. I missed you.”

She can see his cheeks begin to flush even from her spot across the kitchen, and she shakes her head slightly, almost laughing at his bashfulness. It’s still odd to her at times, seeing that timid side of him, when she’s spent so much time with bold and powerful version of himself that he wears for everyone outside of the walls of their home. He can be so confident so often, even coming across as cocky at times. At yet here he is, standing in their kitchen, blushing like a middle school boy who just talked to his crush for the first time. All because she told him she’d missed him.

Her heart beats with so much affection for him that it’s nearly painful.

“Come here,” she commands softly, opening her arms. He walks across the kitchen in a few large strides, leaning into her, pinning her body against the counter with hers. They wrap their arms around each other, and he drops his head onto her shoulder. She rests her face against his curls, slightly damp with sweat from hours spent working in the sun.

They stay like that for a few moments, enjoying the feel of being in each other’s arms after spending the day apart. Before long, though, she tugs on his hair gently. He lifts his head up, and she waits for his eyes to lock with hers before speaking.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he says back, the tips of his fingers beginning to trace imaginary patterns along her back.

She stands up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his, sucking the bottom one into her mouth before pulling away from him.

“I missed you, too,” he tells her, tightening his hold on her as he leans down to kiss her again, more deeply this time. His tongue slips into her mouth and strokes hers, and when they separate both of their chests are heaving slightly.

He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, laughing under his breath, the way he always does when he’d rather keep going but doesn’t want to risk either of the kids finding them making out in some dim corner of the house. But after a moment, he pauses, and glances around. She can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“It’s awful quiet in here,” he remarks finally. “Where are our kids?”

Her breath hitches at the use of the word our. He’d taken to addressing Carl and Judith with it a few weeks ago. It started one morning while he was scouring through his dresser for a clean t-shirt as she put her headband on, the two of them mindlessly talking about the day ahead of them.

“Oh,” he began, as he pulled out a dark gray t-shirt he found tucked away in the corner of the bottom drawer. “Our kids keep asking about that bean casserole thing you made a few weeks back, with the crackers. Well, Carl keeps asking about it, and he just goads Judy to nod along and clap her hands. I can make it if you don’t have the time, or don’t feel like or anything. Just write down the instruction, and whatever ingredients we don’t have, and I’ll stop by the pantry and try to scrounge them up.”

She vaguely heard what he said, but she couldn’t really process it because she was caught up on the first two words that slipped from his mouth.

Our kids.

She turned towards him and froze, styling her hair all but forgotten as she clutched her headband in her fist. The only part of her that seemed to be moving was her heart. It was pounding so violently that she was convinced he could probably hear it.

He looked at her when he didn’t receive any sort of answer or acknowledgement from her, his eyebrows knit together. But his eyes widened when he saw her stiff body, the unreadable expression on her face.

“Mich, what’s wrong?”

She stayed still for another long moment, before forcing herself to take a deep breath. She dropped her gaze to the floor, extending her arm to place the piece of cloth still clutched in her grasp on top of his dresser. She hoped he’d miss the way her hand shook as she reached out. But she knew he wouldn’t.

“Michonne,” he murmured. She heard the floorboards squeak as he took a step towards her.

“You said our,” she managed to choke out, and she hated the way her voice broke as she finished her sentence, and hated the pressure of tears she could feel building behind her eyes.

It’d been that way for a while, if she were being honest. It’d been that way with Carl ever since she found the two of them after the prison. She’d started out as his best friend, and she still was, but it became something deeper than that. Something more. She hadn’t realized it right away, not until she stood on the porch with him on the night that turned her life upside-down in the best way.

It should be someone who loved her, someone who’s family, and I…I’d do it for you.

They’d always loved each other, and they’d always been family. But somehow, stating it plainly like that – having it out there in the open.

Something shifted.

With Judith, the feeling came over her more gradually. Once she’d allowed herself to engage herself with the baby girl, to swallow her pain and open her heart, she’d fallen in love with her just as quickly as the rest of the group had, and quickly became a trusted member in Judith’s babysitter rotation. Her role hadn’t been any different than Carol’s, or Maggie’s, or Beth’s, or Tyreese’s. Not at first.

But then there had been moments, small ones, that didn’t even register until she looked back on them. Like when she was the first one to join Rick and Carl to fawn over a relocated Judith after Terminus, or when Rick had kissed the baby’s forehead and placed her in Michonne’s arms as he marched off to Grady, trusting her enough to leave both of his children in her care.

Then, of course, when they settled in Alexandria, as everyone broke off into groups to move into their own homes, she had stayed with Rick and his children. It hadn’t even needed to be discussed or decided. She simply stayed. And it was good and it was right and no one questioned it.

And now, Michonne was just the collectively-assumed second guardian of Judith Grimes. When something concerning Judith came up and Rick wasn’t around, all questions went to her. The baby girl’s parentage was universally known, even thought it had never explicitly stated.

Until that morning.

Our kids.

He didn’t respond to her stammered observation immediately, instead giving her a moment for her head to clear and breathing to steady. But after a minute, he approached her, placing his hand on the small of her back, leading her back to their blankets and settling her on the floor next to him. He reached out and grabbed both of her hands.

“Yeah. I said our.”

“Why?” she whispered, and he laughed quietly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Because it’s true. Because they are ours. They’re yours. I mean, you love them like they are. I can tell that every time you’re with them. And you take care of them like they’re yours.”

He laughed again, and shifted closer to her, dropping her hands to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her into his side.

“Carl adores you. I hope you know that. I know boys aren’t always the best at expressing their emotions, especially teenage boys. And especially ones who have me as their father. But he loves you with his entire heart. And Judith can’t really sit me down and tell me she loves you, but she lights up whenever you walk into the room. And you’re always making us all jealous with the way she’s constantly reaching for you over everyone else.”

They both chuckled together at that, and he squeezed her shoulder before exhaling slowly.

“Michonne,” he cooed, and he reached over with his free hand and grasped her chin, turning her face towards him. He gazed into her dark eyes, his thumb passing over the tip of her chin again and again.

“You’re the only mom Judith’s ever gonna know. Of course we’ll tell her about Lori. We’re gonna make sure Judith knows as much about her as she can. We’ll let her know how much Lori loved her, and how we’ll always remember her and love her. But…Lori is Judith’s mother. None of us will ever forget that. But you’re Judith’s mom.”

He closed his eyes suddenly, and bit his bottom lip before continuing.

“At least, I want you to be. If that’s something you want, too.”

She felt tears begin to build behind her eyes, and he moved his hand to wipe one that managed to escape with his fingers before cupping her cheek.

“If it’s too much right now, that’s okay,” he assures her seriously. “I’d understand if you wanted to avoid that after everything you lost. And if it’s something you don’t think you’ll ever want, we can…try to figure something out.”

And her heart, which had already been on the brink of bursting, swelled three more sizes. Because he meant every word he said. He wanted Carl and Judith to be both of theirs so badly, but refused to forget about her Andre, about her loss and her pain. He refused to force her into something she wasn’t ready for, or anything she didn’t want at all.

But he didn’t have to worry, and she reached up and grabbed his face between both of her hands, pulling him down and planting a kiss on his lips before resting her forehead against his.

“I want that,” she told him, and more tears fell down her cheeks when she saw the wide smile that immediately broke out on his face. “I want that with you. I want Carl and Judith to be ours.”

“Our kids,” he declared softly.

She smiled back at him, and repeated his words.

“Our kids.”

And even though it had been a few weeks since they’d made that decision together, she’s still not quite used to hearing it, is still knocked breathless by the immense joy that floods her at the thought of Carl and Judith belonging to both of them. She takes a moment to revel in that, and to hold him to her a little tighter, before answering his question.

“They’re spending the night at Tara and Rosita’s.”

He looks at her questioningly, but the corners of his mouth already begin to turn up.

“Oh yeah?”

She hums, and then points in the direction of the refrigerator. He turns his head, and she can tell when he spots the bottles of wine, because a grin stretches his lips over his teeth.

“Where’d you find that?”

“Sitting in the middle of the floor of a supermarket, like it was waiting for me,” she tells him, chuckling lightly. “I agreed to split them with Rosita if she and Tara babysat.”

“Not passing them around?”

She scoffs.

“Hell no. I earned those fair and square.”

“Yeah, sounds like it was real hard work, Miss ‘It was Sitting on the Floor like it was Waiting for Me.’”

She slaps him on the chest lightly, and then rolls her eyes when he purses his lips into a pout.

“You better shut your mouth,” she warns him, “and don’t you tell anyone about it. If we don’t follow the rules, no one will. It’s our secret.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he promises her, and then an impish glint creeps into his eyes.

“So, what are you planning on doing with all that wine?”

“I have a date.”

“With who?” he inquires, his fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt.

“Tobin,” she deadpans immediately, and he scowls, pushing away from her. She laughs, and then reaches out and grabs his arm to pull him back to her. He’s able to feign his anger for just a moment before he concedes, bringing his arms around to embrace her once again. A frown still rests on his lips, though, and she smirks as she brings her hands up and pushes at the corners of his mouth with her forefingers.

“You’re such a baby,” she teases, and then takes one of her fingers and taps the bridge of his nose. “I have a date with you, silly.”

He takes one of her hands from his face and brings her pointed finger to his lips, biting it softly before pressing a kiss to it, and then places the hand into her lap.

“What do you have planned?”

“It’s a dinner date. Wining and dining. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“And what’s for dinner?”

She hesitates slightly, looking towards the fridge.

“Um. I think there’s still some leftover quiche from yesterday.”

“You’re giving me leftovers on our romantic dinner date?”

“Shut up,” she grumbles, slapping him again. “Besides, that’s not even the most important part. The wine is what really matters here. That’s the most important part.”

“That does sound good. I haven’t had a drink since we stole that beer from The Saviors, and it was way longer before that.”

His hands slip underneath the bottom of her shirt again, reaching up further this time, and he ghosts his fingers over her spine. Goosebumps rise over her skin, and she smirks.

“I was wrong. The wine isn’t the most important part,” she tells him abruptly, tugging him closer and reaching up to lace her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes and groans just slightly. Her stomach flips.

She brings her face to his, kissing his temple and then speaking into his skin.

“The most important part is that the kids are gone, and we have the whole house to ourselves all night. No crying babies, no teenage, wandering eyes, no distractions. Just you and me.”

She kisses down his cheek and to his jaw, and he pulls her closer, his hands already starting to lift up the back of her shirt instead of hiding under it.

“Just you and me?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.”

“And the kids are already gone for the night?”

“Yep,” she confirms. “Already took their stuff over and everything.”

He pulls her tank top over her head, tossing it over his shoulder as his eyes immediately go to her chest. She laughs, and he snaps his head up quickly to stare at her, that impish glint back in his eyes, multiplied tenfold.

“Well, then,” he begins, lunging forward and pressing his face into her neck, kissing and licking at her soft skin, until she tilts her head back to give him more room to work with. “I think we should get started on that most important part right away.”

She giggles again, grabbing and lifting his face so he’s looking at her. She leans in and sucks at his bottom lip before pulling back and pushing his disheveled hair back from his forehead.

“Me too,” she tells him, her voice low.

He beams, and crashes his mouth against hers.

* * *

They end up cuddled up together on their couch, a few half-plates of quiche and whatever other random food items they found tucked away in the cupboards sitting on the coffee table in front of them. The pack of stale M&Ms rests on the arm of the couch, just a handful of the candies left at the bottom of the package. The two bottles of wine, now empty, sit on the floor just in front of the couch.

She’s clad in his boxers and his button-up, with just the middle few buttons latched together. Her hair is loose and splayed out over his chest as she lies against him. He, meanwhile, is as naked as the day he was born under her, running his fingers absentmindedly over her thighs and dipping below the fabric of his stolen pair of underwear every so often. The clothes they aren’t using are discarded haphazardly in a path from the kitchen to the living room.

The house is dim, the only sources of light being the small lantern they left burning in the kitchen and the one on the table. She gazes up at him, and watches the way the yellowish light dances and cast shadows over his skin. Smiling slightly, she brings one of her hands up to gently trace the planes of his face with her fingertips.

He’s beautiful. Undeniably so. She hadn’t noticed it at first, when they’d met back at the prison, but once she’d realized it, she was almost dumbfounded at how she hadn’t seen it before. Everything about his face is set just so, from his expressive bright blue eyes, to the perfect slope of his nose, the fullness of his pink lips, and the strong line of his jaw.

She hadn’t noticed it at first, but she makes up for that now. Sometimes when she gazes at him, the pure beauty of him knocks the breath out of her.

She thinks back to their conversation the other day, and how he said she wouldn’t have registered his existence in a room full of people back in the old world. She’d solemnly agreed with him; he wasn’t remotely close to any type she might’ve had before. But now, as she takes this time to admire him, she think that even then, if she had just taken a moment to really look at him, she wouldn’t have been able to stop looking at him.

He stirs under her touch after a few moments, his nose twitching and a slight hum coming from deep inside his throat. He’d been half asleep, dozing as they’d both been doing on and off for the past hour.

“What are you up to?” he mumbles, a moment before opening his eyes.

“Just watching you,” she whispers.

He smiles, tilting his chin up to press a kiss to her palm as it ghosts over his mouth.

“Like what you see?”

“I do. In fact, I love it,” she amends, lifting herself from his body slightly so she hovers over him. “I love you. I love this – being here with you like this. I…I love it. With all my heart.”

She can’t help but smile again, because she’s so happy. She’s warm and safe and fed and tipsy and so in love with the man beneath her.

She settles back down onto him, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. She can’t help but think of their road trip some weeks back. It had been the closest they’d probably ever come to going on some romantic vacation together. And she’d adored every second of it.

“I wish it could always be this way,” she breathes, as if she’s admitting some deep, selfish secret that she’s ashamed of. “I want it to always be this way.”

“It will be,” he says, bringing his arms up and wrapping them tightly around the small of her back. “As soon as we win this thing, it will be.”

He tugs on her head gently, tilting her face up so they can gaze into each other’s eyes. The blue of his irises is so deep, even in the scant light. They’re like the ocean, and she feels like she could get lost in them. Like she could drown in them.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you happy,” he vows.

Her eyes well up, and it’s all she can do to lean in and give him a deep kiss. She feels the truth of his words echo in every cell of her body. It’s overpowering, the way her chest constricts with her unending affection for him.

Once they separate, she lays her head down next to his on the pillow he’s resting on. Their cheeks touch, and the rough hair of his beard rubs against her skin.

After a few moments of silence, he speaks.

“I’ve always wanted to have sex with you on this couch. Ever since that first night.”

She laughs once, and reaches out to grab the pack on M&Ms. She sits up, straddling his waist, and then shakes a couple of candies in her palm and pops them in her mouth. Then she takes one and presses it against his closed lips until he opens up and accepts her offering.

“What took you so long?” she asks.

“I didn’t exactly have the opportunity,” he says around the chocolate in his mouth. “What, with two kids and Daryl roaming around our house.”

“True,” she concedes with a smirk, and eats two more pieces before feeding him the last one. She crumples up the wrapper and deposits it on one of their empty plates on the table. She leans back, and lays her hands flat on his chest.

“Well, you got your wish.”

A devilish grin spreads across his face, and he reaches up and takes her hands.

“Yeah, I guess I did. It took me awhile, but I got there.”

She chuckles, and then settles back down onto him. His fingers go back to stroking her legs.

“You know, I would’ve had sex with you on this couch that night. You’re the one who had to go and remind me that someone could’ve walked in on us.”

She snorts.

“Yeah, sure. There’s no way in hell you would’ve let our first time be on the couch. You’re too romantic. You would’ve spread rose petals all over the bed if I’d given you the time.”

“You think I’m romantic?”

“Hopelessly so.”

“Huh.”

She lifts her head, her eyebrows pulled together.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do. It’s just…” he hesitates, letting out a long sigh. “Lori never thought I was romantic.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, glancing at her bashfully. “I tried sometimes. It just never came across, I guess.”

“What’d you do?” she probes.

“I don’t know.” He takes a moment to think, pushing a loud breath out between his lips. “Well…okay. So, when I was gonna propose, I was trying to figure out where to do it. I could’ve taken her to some fancy restaurant in Atlanta or something, but I felt like everybody did that, you know? I thought it should be different. Special. So I decided to do it where we had our first kiss. Which was, admittedly, not a glamorous place. It was under the bleachers at the football field. We kissed during a Friday night game on a dare. So not your traditional romantic spot. But, I don’t know. I thought it would be cute.”

He pauses, and bites his lip. A look comes over his face that seems regretful.

“Lori didn’t think so,” he continues. “She reacted okay when I actually proposed, but later on I found out she wasn’t such a big fan. I should’ve just taken her to a fancy restaurant.”

He laughs once, and turns his head to look at her. Again, his expression conveys just the slightest hint of guilt, and she frowns, bringing up her hand to rest on his cheek.

“That sounds romantic to me,” she tells him fervently. “Of course, no one’s ever proposed to me, so I don’t have anything to compare it to. But it still seems pretty romantic.”

“No one’s ever proposed to you?” he asks, his tone rising with curiosity.

“Nope.”

“Why’d you and Mike never get married?” he wonders, taking hold of her hand. He brings it to his mouth and kisses her fingers before placing it back on his cheek.

“We talked about it a few times, but we just never thought it was necessary,” she explains. “Neither of us had this strong desire to do it. I mean, we were together, and we loved each other. We were committed. Going through a ceremony and getting a piece of paper to confirm it wasn’t going to do anything to strengthen or weaken that bond.”

“You don’t have to,” he agrees. “I thought you did. Growing up where I did, in a small town like that, I definitely thought you did. I know that you don’t now. That you still love each other just the same, with or without it.”

“Yeah.”

She rubs her hand down his face before bringing it down and curling herself into him. She can feel her eyelids getting heavy.

“I’m tired,” she admits, after a few minutes of just breathing each other in.

“Want to go to bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Head upstairs. I’ll put the plates in the sink and then be up.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Let’s just stay down here. We’ll get the plates in the morning. Everything feels so perfect. I don’t want to move.”

All of a sudden, the room gets even dimmer than it was.

“The light in the kitchen must’ve burned out.”

“See?” she says, the corner of her mouth turning up. “It’s a sign. We’re supposed to stay right where we are.”

He laughs lightly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Still, he reaches over to extinguish the lantern sitting on the table, and then darkness overtakes them. He rolls back into her and they maneuver together so they are both laying on their sides, facing each other, her tucked between the edge of the couch and his body. He feels around for her face, and places a kiss to her lips, and then one on her forehead, before settling his head down into the pillow.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers. “Thank you. For all of this.”

She presses a kiss to his chest.

“Goodnight, Rick.”

She closes her eyes and relaxes into him, letting exhaustion from her long day and the incredible peace she feels whenever she’s in his arms overtake her. Just as she’s on the brink of sleep, she hears his voice.

“Mich?”

“Yeah?” she mutters drowsily.

“Marry me.”

Just like that. He says it just like that.

She’d never fantasized outright about getting engaged, not to Rick or to Mike. But somewhere inside her, she supposes she had subconscious expectations. Not about where or when it would happen, or what her ring would look like, or what the man in front of her would say leading up to it. They were more rooted in what she would feel, and she couldn’t even say that those expectations were good. They didn’t concern the love that might fill her heart, or excitement to start this new chapter of her life that might overtake her. They were closer to fear. To the apprehension that would stir deep in her gut at the thought of making such a strong and final commitment, at the prospect of giving herself over to someone else so completely.

And in the half second before she fully registers his words, she finds herself expecting all those reservations to bubble to the surface and spill over into her brain.

But they don’t.

Rather, she finds the peace is still there. If anything, it grows at the thought of spending the rest of her life with him, at being tied so closely to him until the day she died. At the thought of being his, and him being hers, clearly, for everyone to see.

“Yeah?” she whispers breathlessly.

“Yeah,” he answers, and his voice is so soft and gentle that she almost cries on the spot.

But instead, she swallows them back, with surprising ease. And a resounding, unequivocal joy begins to grow in her heart and pump through her veins.

She discovers that the decision she though would be the hardest, most daunting one she’d ever have to make, is turning out to be the easiest. Her answer is clear. Obvious. She loves this man so much, so fiercely, that she can really only answer one way. Her heart won’t allow her to even entertain the other option.

She is in love with him. That truth rings more strongly than it ever has before inside her as a slow grin forms on her face. And her answer is easy.

“Okay.”

It’s as simple as that. And she remembers what he’s taught her: sometimes the most important things are best said in the plainest of terms.

His lips press against the top of her head. And she can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.

“Okay.”

* * *

She wakes up with a pounding headache.

She groans and rolls her neck in vain, because she knows the pain isn’t from an odd sleeping position or a kink in her spine. It’s the fucking wine, and she could roll her eyes at herself if she’d been willing to open them and face the harsh light of day.

Thoroughly hungover from two shared bottles of wine. She’d become such a lightweight.

She feels Rick shift under her, and she hesitantly drags open her eyelids, lifting her head and resting her chin on his chest to peer up at him. She finds him gazing back at her, a small smirk on her face.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

His eyes are groggy, but he seems slightly more aware than she is. He’s been awake for a while.

“When did you wake up?” she asks him.

“I dunno. About half an hour ago, maybe.”

“Why didn’t you get up?”

“You were layin’ on top of me,” he explains, his accent more pronounced than usual, as it always is after he just wakes up. “You looked comfortable. Didn’t want to wake ya. Plus, I figured you were gonna need your sleep.”

She does roll her eyes this time, making a show of it, and he laughs lightly when he sees the look on her face. But she can’t feign her annoyance for long, because it’s so sweet, the way he’s always thinking of her.

She stretches slightly, placing a chaste kiss to his lips and then to his cheek.

“Do you have a headache too?”

“A little,” he says with a shrug. “Nothing too bad.”

She hums, and then lays her head back down on his chest, listening to the whooshing of air moving through his lungs, letting her mind drift back to the night before. Warmth fills her as memories flit through her brain in rapid succession, replaying their evening like a movie.

When she reaches the end of the night, and recalls the moments right before they’d both fallen asleep, her stomach drops.

She’d agreed to marry him.

Her stomach twists, and her insides churn like the ocean during a hurricane, but it isn’t regret that weighs on her and pulls her down from her blissful mood; it’s uncertainty.

Had he intended to ask her, or did the question just kind of slip out of his mouth when he wasn’t thinking? They’d both been slightly drunk, and exhausted, and that wasn’t really ideal circumstances for making a life-altering decision like this.

Were they engaged?

She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, and then slowly maneuvers her head so that she can look at his face, nervous butterflies swarming within her.

She finds his eyes focused on her, but a timid glint shines in them, and she automatically knows the same questions she has are running through his mind.

And yet, neither of them seem to be able to be able to voice them.

She feels awkward in his presence, for the first time she can remember. Even in those earliest days of their relationship – those days full of mistrust and muted animosity – she’d never felt awkward with him. The emotion unnerves her, and she clears her throat, sitting up. She feels cold now that her body isn’t pressed against his, and the cool morning air sends a shiver through her.

“I’m going to go look for some ibuprofen,” she tells him. “I think there might be a bottle hiding in the bathroom somewhere.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, nodding slowly. “I’ll clean up.”

“Okay.”

Their gazes linger on each other for a moment longer, before she throws him a tight smile and gets up. She’s halfway to the stairs when she hears his voice calling her name.

“Michonne?”

She freezes, the anxiety that had abated a bit as she put more space between them coming back full force. She takes a moment to collect herself, inhaling and exhaling deeply before turning on her heel.

She finds him standing in the living room, holding his worn jeans in his hand, an indiscernible look on his face. He takes a moment to pull his pants up and over his hips before taking a deep breath, shaking his head slightly and rolling his shoulders before starting towards her purposefully.

He stops mere inches from her, but keeps his eyes trained on the ground. She watches his back rise and fall as he once again breathes heavily, and then he reaches out and laces his fingers with hers.

“What I said last night,” he starts quietly. “When I...when I asked you to marry me.”

His voice breaks, and her pulse doubles in time as he voices those words, and she feels his fingers tighten infinitesimally around hers.

A quiet beat passes between them, and she waits for him to continue. She can barely breathe.

“I meant it,” he blurts out suddenly, finally, and when he lifts his eyes to meet hers, what she sees nearly stops her heart altogether.

The lines of his face are set so sincerely, so severely, but in the most beautiful way. His eyes are full of unshed tears, and he looks so vulnerable, more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him. It’s as if his entire life hinges on her next words.

Her own eyes begin to water, so many emotions stirring inside her. But she finds that the most powerful one is that peace. The same peace she felt laying in his arms last night settles over her like a quilt. Any hint of discomfort or tension she was feeling is expelled completely and nearly instantaneously, and she steps into him.

“I meant it,” he repeats ardently, and she feels his breath wash over her face as she wraps her arms around the back of his neck and pulls his forehead down to rest against hers.

“I meant it, too,” she murmurs to him, and she’s unable to stop an unabashed grin from overtaking her face. She feels him inhale sharply, and he pulls back from her. He studies her expression, and then beams as the devotion and love he sees in her eyes begins to seep into his heart. His tears spill over and begin to run down his face, and she feels dampness on her own cheeks as his smile somehow seems to grow, and a light laugh escapes his throat.

They reach for each other simultaneously, their lips crashing together in the sweetest kiss she’s ever tasted, their mouths opening and his tongue stroking hers with near desperation. Their chests heave as they break apart, and he wraps his arms around her immediately, crushing her against him and lifting her off the ground. She curls her fingers into his hair and pulls him as close to her as she can manage. She never wants to let him go.

“So,” he drawls, his voice so light it’s almost buoyant. “You’re gonna marry me.”

“Yeah, sheriff,” she tells him, the tenor in her voice matching his in its joy and levity. She rests her cheek against his head. “I’m gonna marry you.”

They both laugh, and he pulls back to press his lips against hers again, before adjusting their positions so he can trail incessant, hungry kisses up her jaw and along her cheekbone.

“I love you so much,” he whispers into her skin. “I’ll love you until the day I die. I’ll love you forever.”

Her heart clenches, and she closes her eyes, focusing on the feel of his lips and skin, of his body pressing into hers.

“I love you, too,” she murmurs back, craning her neck so she can place her own kisses over his face. “Forever.”

She loves him so much. More than she ever thought she could love anyone again. She loves him with more love than she even knew existed in this world.

She’ll love him everyday, every moment for the rest of forever.

#richonne #richonne fanfiction #richonne fic #rick grimes #michonne #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #this post is so ugly i'm sorry #forgive any typos i proofread but i also finished this up at 5:30 am on no sleep so

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kbox-in-the-box · 7 years

Text

Austin Kingsley: Star Prodigy — Episode 1, “Saving Alexandria,” Part 6

The bright-eyed newswoman, with the compact camcorder mounted on the shoulder pad of her white blouse, wasn't the only reporter thronging the pair of black-haired, stubble-jowled, surly criminals who were led onto the maglev car, in handcuffs, by the grizzled veteran cop, but her running commentary to her viewers set her apart from the bustling crowd.

“Former youth gang leaders, who graduated to serving as hitmen for alleged mob boss Victor Bishop, the Dark brothers — older brother Gregory Powell Dark, and younger brother Michael Donovan Dark, who cofounded the Dark Knights street gang as teens in the 1970s — could be heading to prison for a permanent stay this time, thanks to a particularly incriminating videotape recovered by Apex City Police Detective Hector Haggerty. This is Tandi Sinclair, with First-Person Shooter News. We're currently broadcasting from the Lehnsherr Elevated Maglev Line, and we'll continue to provide live updates, as the Dark brothers are transported to the Apex City Courthouse.”

Greg Dark stood taller, as his narrowed eyes surveyed the car with quiet, predatory contempt, while Mike Dark's wide eyes flitted from face to face, among the now-nervous commuters, his shoulders hunched over like a jungle cat ready to pounce. Even as Hector Haggerty hung firmly to the chain connecting his two suspects' handcuffs, his other hand struggled to maintain his grip on the slippery transparent plastic evidence bag, containing the Betacam tape, while also manipulating his radio mic.

“Whose bright idea was it to pull Detective Bakshi off this shift?” Haggerty hissed into the receiver. “It's bad enough we're transporting two dangerous subjects out in the open, on the Double-L, but there should be a minimum of two officers on this detail.”

“I know those guys,” Mitzi Klingfeld whispered in excited disbelief to Austin Kingsley, who sat next to her, across the aisle from where the assembled press surrounded the standing Haggerty and the Dark brothers. “I mean, I don't, like, KNOW them, know them, you know? But they liked to stop by Bishop Builders' offices, back when I was temping there as a secretary.”

Austin scanned the details of the scene in rapid succession. Haggerty responded subconsciously to the jostling reporters, with their babbling queries and flashing cameras, by becoming more unguardedly animated (and aggravated) in his radio conversation with headquarters, his grip slackening ever-so-slightly on the chain connecting the Dark brothers' handcuffs.

As they felt that barely perceptible bit of give in their restraints, Mike's eyes met Greg's. Greg never shook his head, and Mike never nodded, but they didn't need to. They were brothers, and while Austin was well aware of how inept he was at reading people, he could still recognize what families could say with certain wordless gestures.

“They're going to try and break free,” Austin told Mitzi, before rushing out of his seat, away from the clustered media.

“What?” Mitzi checked incredulously. “No, that's crazy, they wouldn't …” she trailed off, as Mike's wild eyes locked into an unblinking stare with her own, and he broke into a savage grin. “… Oh, no,” she breathed.

The collected reporters could barely blink before the Dark brothers had pulled themselves loose from Haggerty's grip on their restraints, with Mike retrieving a small and mysterious silvery device from the cuff of his pants leg, and melting the links of his and Greg's handcuffs with it, before Greg slung one arm around Tandi's waist, and fished a hidden razor from the shirt cuff of his other arm, to press against her throat.

“Everybody down on the ground, now!” Mike shouted, pointing the device (apparently a weapon) at Haggerty, whose service pistol was already unholstered and aimed at Mike's head in turn.

“This wasn't part of the plan, Mike,” Greg growled discontentedly, even as he backed his brother's play by holding Tandi hostage, all while she kept filming, her camcorder still mounted relatively steadily on her shoulder, its eyepiece still affixed firmly to her face, as she broadcast what she was seeing live.

“Forget that noise, Greg!” Mike yelled. “I know what our orders were, but the way I figure it, we've got a lot better chance of shooting our way to freedom from a moving train car, through only one cop, than waiting until we're in the city courthouse, surrounded by an entire police department.”

“So who smuggled the contraband to you two dullards?” Haggerty interjected, his aim never wavering.

Greg's lips curled into a rare smile. “You're the detective, Haggerty. You figure it out.”

“Here's what I'm thinking,” Haggerty snarled, as he edged toward the Dark brothers. “I think this is all a load of bull. Oh, sure, the razor blade's real enough, but I'll bet my next paycheck that toy you're waving in my face is some sort of welder's torch, mocked up to look like a Flash Gordon ray-gun.”

“Actually, it appears to be an authentic, albeit crudely constructed, handheld matter-and-energy disruptor,” a professorial voice from behind Haggerty informed him, before Austin Kingsley stepped forward, clad in a skintight black bodysuit, his limbs and torso outlined by electric yellow patterns and symbols, whose flowing neon lines seemed at once ancient and alive. “Then again, it's hardly fair of me to expect Athenæum-grade quality from street-level merchandise.”

“Well, now, I didn't know the circus had come to town,” Mike chuckled, as Haggerty rolled his eyes, and even Greg allowed himself a skeptically squinty-eyed smirk. “So who are you supposed to be, sunshine?”

“The Star Prodigy,” Mitzi blurted out, before Austin could reflexively confess the secret identity that he'd concealed, by creating glowing golden hard-light holographic wraparound sunglasses to obscure his eyes and cheekbones. “I mean, um, I … heard him, you know, call himself … the Star Prodigy.”

“Another vigilante,” Haggerty shook his head wearily, “just like the Zenith Vanisher, a decade ago.”

“Not exactly humble, with a name like that, are you?” Greg quipped casually, his gravely voice almost light-hearted, in spite of the drops of blood his blade had drawn from Tandi's skin.

Austin shrugged and strolled forward, blithely inserting himself between Haggerty and the Dark brothers. “I'm not wrong, though, am I?” he checked, behaving as though he'd been handed the floor during a college debate tournament. “You alluded to a plan. I'm going to guess it was not one of your own devising, or else you wouldn't be so quick to disregard it. And while a closer examination of the disruptor which you're wielding so carelessly reveals that it has a remarkably slipshod assembly, I'm still going to say it would be well out of the reach of whatever meager resources either of you might be able to lay your hands on.”

“You know, maybe you're not a genius, but you've sure got a smart mouth on you, Mister Star Prodigy,” Mike glared at Austin, before turning the disruptor on him instead of Haggerty, “especially considering I'm the one with the death ray that can turn your head into a canoe.”

“Fire it here, and you'll do more damage than that,” Austin warned.

Greg narrowed his flinty eyes even further. “Explain,” he demanded, before a light jab from the tip of his razor drew a gasp from Tandi's throat, “and no funny business.”

“Whoever supplied you with your plan and weaponry wanted you to discharge the disruptor at the courthouse, yes?” Austin reminded the Dark brothers, racing through his exposition. “As soon as you used it to remove your handcuffs, the protective casing started to degrade. Your mistake was, you thought of it as a laser gun. It's a bomb, and according to the plan, you were meant to set it off while surrounded by as many law enforcement agents as possible.”

Greg's once-unyielding hold over Tandi loosened, as the chilling plausibility of Austin's claims settled over him like a shroud. “Mike …”

“He's bluffing, Greg!” Mike bellowed, even as the beads of sweat that sprouted on his brow betrayed his sudden shortfall of confidence. “And I'm gonna prove it, by plastering his smug face all over the side of this train.”

Austin blinked in almost comical astonishment, before rounding on Mike with the closest thing to righteous indignation that Mitzi had yet seen from him. “Are … are you SERIOUS? How has NONE of this sunk in?”

“Yeah, that's a great idea, egghead,” Mike retorted. “Keep calling me stupid, because THAT'S gonna change my mind.”

“I am NOT calling you STUPID!” Austin yelled back, before snorting bitterly, “Although, given the fact that I'm having to stand here and explain to an ostensible adult precisely why it's a bad idea to pull the trigger on a MATTER and ENERGY DISRUPTOR inside of a MAGNETIC LEVITATION train, I don't suppose I can be charged with calling you intellectually GIFTED, either.”

“Hey, hero?” Haggerty gritted his teeth. “Maybe try NOT insulting the guy who's got his finger on the bomb, yeah?”

“I'm sorry, but what exactly do you expect me to do here?” Austin threw up his hands in frustrated futility. “Draw him a DIAGRAM?”

“You don't know WHEN to shut up,” Mike began laughing, even as his body quaked with outrage. “You don't know HOW to shut up …”

“I'm honestly trying NOT to be condescending!” Austin insisted in earnest exasperation. “But I also don't know who to blame more … YOU, or the educational system that clearly FAILED you!”

Just as the Dark brothers had preyed upon Haggerty's momentary distraction, so too did Tandi capitalize on the scene between Mike and Austin to elbow a briefly unwary Greg in the gut, all while keeping her camcorder (still broadcasting live) mounted solidly on her shoulder.

Mike's burst of panic was all it took for him to pull the trigger on the disruptor, which burned his hand as it exploded in slow motion.

“Desperta Ferres!” Austin exclaimed, clapping his hands together in front of him, to generate a sphere of neon yellow energy capable of containing the fluorescent red ball of explosive force blasting forth.

For a few seconds, it almost seemed as if he might succeed in completely muting the blast … until the shockwave literally knocked everyone off their feet, even before the Lehnsherr Elevated (“Double-L”) Maglev Line lurched to a grinding halt.

When the lights in the train car flickered back on, less than a minute later, Haggerty found himself regaining consciousness roughly in time with the rest of the commuters, and sought to take stock of the total damage done. While almost all of the other passengers appeared to be waking up with only minor injuries, both of the Dark brothers were still sprawled out cold on the floor, which Haggerty counted as his first stroke of good luck that day.

As Haggerty clapped his spare set of handcuffs on the Dark brothers' wrists — one bracelet for each brother, with the chain between them passed through the gap of an enclosed loop seat armrest — he heard Tandi slapping the side of her camcorder, as it emitted white noise.

“You've got to be kidding me!” Tandi groused as she peered into the viewfinder, before she spotted that she'd attracted Haggerty's notice. “The best live coverage of my entire broadcast news career, and the electromagnetic pulse must have blanked my tape!”

Haggerty's face fell as he remembered the Betacam tape he'd dropped when he drew his gun, and he scrambled across the floor to recover the evidence bag. “Here,” he handed Tandi the camcorder tape, compatible with her equipment, “play this, please.”

When nothing but static appeared, Haggerty rose slowly from his knees, trembling as he took to his feet, squaring his shoulders as he ascended to his full height, and inhaled deeply, before he screamed and swore and pounded the wall of the train car until he was fairly certain that at least one of the bones in his hand was broken.

“That's obviously bad, then,” Tandi exhaled, as the other passengers still cringed at Haggerty's outburst, “but at the risk of sounding pedantic … HOW bad?”

“Bad enough,” Haggerty shrugged, his demeanor almost as calm as before, all except for his breathing, loud and voluminous, his barrel chest expanding and deflating like the bellows of a furnace. “Our new friendly neighborhood vigilante just erased the best evidence we had against these two walking stains. Even with the stunt they just pulled here, it wouldn't take much for Victor Bishop's lawyers to see to it that the Dark brothers get off scot-free.”

Haggerty's eyes searched the train car for the offending vigilante, but the Star Prodigy was long gone.

And so was the woman who'd named him, whom Haggerty and Tandi had already forgotten.

#Austin Kingsley: Star Prodigy #Austin Kingsley #Star Prodigy #Mitzi Klingfeld #Tandi Sinclair #Dark Brothers #Gregory Powell Dark #Michael Donovan Dark #Dark Knights #Victor Bishop #Bishop Builders #Hector Haggerty #Zenith Vanisher #Apex City #Athenæum #Saving Alexandria

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