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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 years

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Hold On By Chord Overstreet

Warning: This story contains describing of self harming and suicidal thoughts. Please do not read if this is triggering for you.

You matter. Your mental health matters.

Summary: Being an Avenger was busy - filled with training, stopping the bad guys, and doing a little too much paperwork. When a day off comes your way, you decide to spend it with your favorite Black Widow. Your night takes a very different route, very quickly. Warning: Self harm, self harm scars, blood, use of a razor blood, guilt, major character death, mention of Red Room

Word Count: 2.7k

You loved your job - it was daunting, exhausting, draining but being part of the Avengers was something you could do for the rest of your life. Nick Fury found you working long hours at a local clinic. He knew of your gifts - you were a healer - no physical injury was too much for you. The only limitation was the injury was transferred to you but you had an incredibly healing factor. Your time with Charles Xavier pushed the limits of your ability. Fury offered you a spot on the team and you accepted without much hesitation. You fought alongside Captain America and Iron Man during Loki’s invasion of New York. You battled against Ultron and now you were helping Steve and Natasha train the new group of Avengers. It has been exhausting but rewarding. You were spread far too thin. Clint retired to his family. Bruce was MIA. Thor was off-world and Tony was taking a step back from behind a superhero after his creation destroyed a whole country - you didn’t blame him. But with the extra training and bad guys still being bad you hadn’t had time to spend with your favorite Black Widow.

You and Natasha became close rather quickly much to the team’s surprise. You understood her on a level close to Clint’s understanding of the ex-assassin. You didn’t force her to change who she was. Natasha could sit in your presence and not have to utter a word but knew someone was there for her. Before Ultron’s attack, Natasha was showing you all the Bond movies. She told you it was a disgrace that you haven’t seen the movies while being in this line of work. Movie nights were your favorite. The two of you tucked away, under blanks with your favorite snacks. Natasha would mutter the lines and usually it would annoy you but it was Natasha - she could get away with anything in your eyes. Tonight was perfect to start movie night back up. Steve cut training short and gave everyone the night off. Since you all have been back at the compound, something was off with Natasha. You couldn’t pinpoint if she was still struggling with what Wanda did with her head (which she apologized for) or the way Bruce left her.

You made your way to Natasha’s room, arms filled with snacks and your favorite blanket hanging on your shoulder. You knocked on her door. No answer. You knew she was in her room - FRIDAY informed you of that. You knocked again.

‘Tasha, I can’t open the door, my hands are full.’ Still no answer. ‘FRIDAY, where is Natasha?’ You asked the AI again.

‘She was in her room from my last pinpoint. But she removed my access to her room.’ You didn’t like that. You dropped the snacks on the floor and tried opening the door, it was locked.

‘FRIDAY, open Natasha’s door.’

‘Before she deactivated me she turned on do not disturb mode.’

‘I don’t give a damn what she said. Override and open her door before I break it down.’ The AI didn’t respond and the seconds ticked away, feeling like hours. The soft click of Natasha’s door unlocking filled the quiet hallway. Her room was dark when you opened the door, muttering a thank you to the AI. The only light was the glow around the bathroom door. ‘Nat.’ You called out as you ran over to the bathroom, finding another locked door. ‘Natasha, it’s me.’ You said, giggling the handle. ‘Please open the door.’

It finally hit you. Your powers picked up that someone was injured. It started as a tingling in the palm in your hands that moved by your arms and soon covered your body. ‘Romanoff, I’m breaking down this door.’ You braced your shoulder against the closed door, slamming yourself against it. Damn Tony for building this place so well, you cursed. You took a step back and kicked the door. It swung open. That is where you found her. Natasha was sitting against the frosted glass door of her shower, wearing black spandex and a white tank top. It was her normal outfit when she was relaxing in her room. But what stopped you in your tracks was the thin razor blade in her hand, covered in blood. Her thighs and arms were covered in thin lines, oozing blood. She was staring at her arms, her eyes glossed over, as the blood was dripping down. The door being forced open didn’t break her gaze.

‘Nat,’ You said softly, kneeling in front of her. The sound of her name forced her to look away. She looked at you. She looked through you, her eyes showed no recognition. ‘Nat, can you hand me that blade?’ You asked, pointing to her hand. Her eyes followed where you were pointing. She didn’t hand it over. She closed her hand into a fist and started to squeeze. Blood trickled down her arm. ‘Natasha.’ You said, grabbing her arm. Her head snapped back to you. Her eyes were less glossed over.

‘Y/n?’ She questioned.

‘Yeah it’s me. Can I have that razor blade?’ You’ve never seen Natasha so scared, so small. She dropped the blade in your outstretched hand and you placed it on the sink counter. ‘I’m going to heal you know, okay?’

‘No! Don’t!’ She struggled to get away from you but you had her trapped. You’ve dealt with people self-harming during your time at the clinic and that last thing you wanted was them to feel trapped, isolated. But you had no choice.

‘Natasha, you are losing a lot of blood. I need to heal you.’ You watched as her head tipped forward - the mention of her blood loss pulled her out of her dissociative episode and you watched her face morph into pain.

‘You weren’t’ She struggled to find her words. ‘Suppose to find out.’ It was slurred together. You placed her fingers on her temples.

‘Everything will be okay, Natty. Just sleep.’ Her eyes struggled to stay open, fighting your powers. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up.’ Your powers won and her eyes closed.

Once Natasha fell asleep, you healed the cuts on her thighs, arms, and the one on her hand. Your body ached as the cuts transferred from her body to your own but they healed quickly. Once the cuts were closed, you grabbed a washcloth and cleaned up the blood on Natasha. As the blood started to disappear, you saw old scars. Your heart broke but you forced your own emotions down. You pushed your own emotions down to focus on Natasha. You cleaned the blood off your hands and changed Natasha into a sweatshirt and shorts. The sweatshirt was one of yours. She stole it one night while in your room and never gave it back. You gently picked up the sleeping Black Widow and laid her in her bed. You stayed there for a second, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. How did you not notice she was hurting? You were a healer! You let out a frustrated sigh and left her room. Quickly, you cleaned up the mess in the hallway and grabbed a Gatorade and apple juice from the kitchen. When you returned - Natasha was still out as you placed the drinks on her nightstand. You moved the loose hair out her face and kissed her forehead.

‘Please don’t leave me.’ You mumbled against her skin. ‘Hold on, I still want you. Come back, I still need you.’ You whipped away your tears before they fell on her skin. You returned back to the bathroom, shaking the image of Natasha’s body from your memory as you cleaned the floor. The bathroom was clean as if it never happened, as if you almost didn’t lose the most important person in your life. You washed your hands again. The water turned a light pink as Natasha’s blood swirled down the drain.

What if you didn’t want to watch a movie tonight? Would you have found her in time? Or would Natasha be another person you were too late to save - flashes of Pietro’s bullet riddled body filled your mind. You let out a shaky breath. You knew something was wrong. Every time you entered a room, where it was only Natasha, she would leave quickly. As you both spared, you felt that same tingle but she said it was only a pulled muscle or bruises left from a previous training she did. You thought if something was truly wrong, Natasha would come to you. After years of friendship between the two of you - there was trust. Wasn’t there?

The sound of movement from Natasha’s bed - pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. You turned off the water, dried your hands, and walked back into her room. You watched as Natasha sat up, looking around her room confused. ‘Take it easy,’ You said softly sitting on the edge of her bed. She watched you intensely as you handed her the Gatorade that you opened. ‘You lost a lot of blood. Drink this, it will help.’ To your surprise she drank it without any argument. She always was stubborn about following doctor’s orders. Once she was done, she handed it back to you. Now her eyes were no longer on her. She became fascinated with the string coming from the sleeve of your - well her sweatshirt. The air was thick with tension. It reminded you of when you were young. After every fight your parents got into the next day they would ignore each other. You had to break the silence.

‘I’m not going to force you to talk about it.’ You said. ‘But when I found you sitting in your bathroom - there was so much blood.’ You tried to keep your voice steady. Your voice shook. Keeping your emotions hidden wasn’t your strong suit - it was why you never went undercover. ‘I can’t imagine a world with you gone. I’d be so lost if you left me alone.’ Natasha closed her eyes and you watched as her lip shook but no tears fell.

‘I didn’t want you to find out.’ Her voice was thick with emotions, slipping back into her Russian accent. You learned when Natasha was overly tired or her emotions were out of control, the mask started to crack. The first sign was her accent.

‘Why?’ You found yourself asking.

‘Because I should be stronger than this. I should be over what they did to me. But when she fucked with my head it all came rushing back.’ Her voice was becoming louder. ‘I want to be free from them. Why can’t I be free?’ The tears finally escaped. Natasha was unable to fight them back. The sob that left the Black Widow was heart wrenching and it startled you. Without thinking, you pulled the red head into a hug. You felt her body tense but you started to rub small circles on her back. She melted into your embrace, allowing for the mask to fall. Her body shook as she cried, tears staining your shirt. But you didn’t care. You moved into a more comfortable position with your back against the wall while Natasha's head was still buried in your shoulder. Her hands twisted at your shirt - trying to ground herself. Soon her sobs turned into hiccups and you felt her breath even out. But she didn’t move away. You moved your hand from her to back to her hair - running your fingers through her red locks.

‘It messes with me too.’ You finally said. ‘What Wanda showed me. You were there - the whole team was Tony, Maria, Steve, Sam, and even Nick. You were all hurt and I couldn’t get to you in time. You all died in my arms.’ Natasha turned her head to face you. ‘Then it happened - I wasn’t fast enough.’

‘Pietro’s death was not your fault.’ You hummed, nodding your head. You could still hear Wanda’s broken screams and the wave of her magic pulsing through her body. You could heal a lot but a broken heart was not one of them. The image of her face as she stepped onto the boast she found you holding the body of her brother - his blood soaking your uniform still haunted your dreams.

‘You were in mine.’ Natasha confessed. ‘I was back in the Red Room during Target Practice. Sometimes they kept the bag over the person’s head but when I stepped up they removed it and it was you. They made me pull the trigger. It was my last assignment before graduation.’ You felt her body shake and you braced yourself for the next round of tears but they didn’t come. ‘It was a constant repeat.’ She pulled away from you, leaning against her head board. You hated to admit it but you missed her being so close. The warmth of her body. ‘The cutting gave me control. It allowed me to feel a different pain. I didn’t think it could get this bad but it became addictive.’ She licked her lips. ‘I’m sorry.’ You shook your head, putting her finger underneath her chin lifting her head up.

‘You have nothing to be sorry about. You are not alone in this. I am right here.’ She nodded as you cupped her cheek in your hand pushing her tears away. ‘Let me take your hand, I’ll make it right. I swear to love you all of my life.’ Her breath hitched at the mention of love.

‘I need time.’ She said softly. ‘I can’t give my heart away and get it broken again.’ You nodded, cursing Bruce Banner in your head. Hulk or not - you wanted to slap him.

‘I can wait.’ You took her hands and pulled back her sleeves, revealing her scars. You traced every one of them. ‘No more hurting yourself, okay? I know it’s not going to be easy but I will be here.’ You chucked, shaking your head. ‘I’m being selfish. I still need you. I don’t want to let you go. I’m not strong enough for that.’ Natasha nodded. ‘Please don’t leave me.’ You whispered.

‘I won’t.’ And you believed her.

October 2023

You watched as your family gathered around, readying themselves to fix a wrong that happened 5 years ago. You were listening intensely as Bruce explained your job. You weren’t going, mostly because Natasha pleaded with you to stay here. But you were in charge of sending them and bringing them back. No pressure. Warm arms wrapped around your waist and you leaned into your girlfriend’s embrace. ‘Don’t stress, kotenok.’ Natasha whispered, kissing the side of your head. Bruce went to join the others on the platform. You spun around in Natasha’s arms, kissing her deeply not caring who was around.

‘You be safe up there. Don’t do anything stupid.’ She chuckled, kissing your forehead.

‘I love you.’ She said.

‘I love you too.’ She kissed you again and joined the rest of the team, taking her spot next to Clint. You listened as Steve gave his famous hero speech. But your eyes never left your girlfriend.

‘Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we’re going to win. Whatever it takes. Good luck. You saw Natasha smirk at Steve then at you.

‘See you in a minute.’ You took that as your cue to push the button and you watched your family disappear. The countdown started. 1 minute then flip the switch to bring them back. Anxiety creeped over you as the seconds ticked by and you felt the familiar tingle in your palms as the alarm went off. You had no time to dwell on it as you flipped the switch. The circle of Avengers reformed, all slightly off balanced from the sudden impact. The room was buzzing with excitement at a successful mission. But your eyes failed to see your favorite redhead. Clint fell to his knees. The sound echoed throughout the room, silencing the group.

‘Clint,’ You said. ‘Where’s Nat?’

I just wanna hear you

Saying, ‘Baby, let’s go home.’

Let’s go home

Yeah, I wanna take you home.

Part 1 of 3

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow imagine #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #marvel imagine #engame #time heist

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magniloquent-raven · 3 years

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(pt1 here)

billy grew up afraid of finding his soulmate.

when he was eight his father caught him trying to wash nail polish off with soap and a hand towel.

he’d heard girls at school saying it was what you did when your soulmate was a boy. you were supposed to paint yourself up all pretty and find the person who matched. and it was easy enough to sneak into the vanity and steal a bottle of his mother’s nail polish. but once the paint dried he realized it would be impossible to hide from his father, and he panicked.

his mother showed him the bottle of nail polish remover after neil left. dabbed some on a cotton ball to rub at the thick layer of paint. she was silent, kneeling on the floor in front of him cradling his sprained wrist while he sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

they both had questions, but neither of them got answers.

it took billy months to work up the courage to try again.

he wasn’t sure why he was bothering, at first. he knew he couldn’t look for his soulmate the traditional way. and he was constantly terrified that his father would find the supplies he’d started hoarding. it seemed like more risk than reward, and yet. he couldn’t stop himself.

every time he was allowed to wander off in a store alone he’d slip something into his pocket. a tube of lip gloss. a compact full of shiny powders. he wasn’t even sure what some of it was, he just liked the colours. liked the pictures they hung alongside the displays. he wanted to look like that. beautiful.

and in his heart of hearts, he wanted the boy who was out there waiting for him to know he existed. whether they’d be able to find each other or not.

he’s more careful with this than he was with the nail polish. his father works saturday nights, and his mother always visits their neighbour while he’s at work. despite having the house to himself he locks his bedroom door.

the first thing he tries is the watermelon lip gloss. it’s sticky, and the wand doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably, but once he’s smeared it on he feels...good. he likes the way it catches the light. likes the way it smells. he looks at himself in the mirror and likes seeing something different.

the high doesn’t last long, it inevitably gives way to paranoia, anxiety that has him glancing at the locked door every thirty seconds, heart pounding, wondering if just maybe his father will get home from work early, and he jumps at every sound, hearing boots thudding on the porch and car doors slamming and anything that could be neil coming through the door.

cleaning himself up is hard. panic makes his hands shake, his eyes well up. he drops everything on the floor when he tries to tuck the bag away. and he has to spend twenty minutes with his back to his bedroom door getting his breathing under control when he’s finished.

but he does it again the following saturday. and the one after that.

for five months he does this. locks himself away with his stolen treasures and lets himself live a little. it gets easier as time goes on. and his mind wanders sometimes. to a future where he gets to share this with someone. the boy out there who’s supposed to love him one day.

it’s a small bubble of a dream. one he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on. not when there’s neil’s voice in his head, telling him that no one could love a fucking freak, ‘cause fags don’t get real soulmates anyways.

he wants and he wishes, but the more he thinks about it the more he doubts. he’s never gotten a mark from his soulmate, and even if he did some day, what if his father’s right, and his “soulmate” doesn’t want him or makes him miserable or...worse.

so he does his makeup for himself.

until, like all good things in his life, his father ruins it.

he never found out what set neil off initially, something going wrong at work maybe, or the martial strife of the week getting to him. whatever it was that started it, neil eventually decided billy should bear the brunt of the fallout.

so he went through his things. said billy’d been acting cagey lately, and he was going to find out why.

and then found the makeup bag stuffed into an old sweater in his closet.

it was ugly. the things neil said that day would play on repeat in billy’s head for years afterwards. the scars his belt left on billy’s back were nothing in comparison.

the next saturday came and went. billy spent the evening curled up under a blanket not bothering to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.

by morning he’s resolved to forget the whole thing. to put it behind him. because it was stupid, and risky and childish and maybe his father was right. he’s almost convinced himself. and then he notices ink on his arm, as he reaches up to rub his eyes. messy scrawl, i bet you looked pretty crookedly written up his forearm.

he didn’t think he was able to cry any more, but he manages it.

for the first time his soulmate isn’t just a concept, or a what-if, he’s...a person. he’s a real person out there somewhere. someone who doesn’t even know billy and still wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. it’s more than he’s gotten from anyone else. even his mother. who he knows loves him, and she does her best to protect him, but when she found out about his makeup stash she just looked sad, and she’s said nothing to him about it.

but his soulmate…

can never, ever meet neil.

the thought hits him right in the chest.

whoever he is, he cares, he’s good. and neil breaks good things.

billy falls asleep that night tracing the empty space where his soulmate’s message used to be, wrapped up in worries and dreams, and terrified for someone he’s never met.

the doodles that come and go over the years are terrifying and exhilarating and billy manages to hide every single one from his father. they only ever show up during the day, and they don’t linger. something billy is both grateful for and resentful of.

sometimes he’ll watch other boys’ hands in class. check them for drawings. he thinks he’s being careful, but a girl in his chem class, becca, catches him. she says it’s only because she knew what to look for. they share a cigarette under the bleachers and she tells him about a girl who likes green eyeshadow and writes homework reminders on her wrists using stars instead of bullet points.

it takes billy six months and a couple shots of tequila to tell her about watermelon lip gloss and bet you’re pretty and they both cry when he starts to wonder if his soulmate will be disappointed that he isn’t a girl.

on a rainy april afternoon she asks him to go to a gay bar with her. he tells his father he’s going on a date. she tells her’s that she had to reschedule a tutoring session and it’ll run pretty late.

they wait til it’s dark and get ready in a dingy gas station bathroom. when she’s smearing on her eyeliner she catches sight of his face in the cloudy mirror. he wasn’t going to ask her for anything. he wouldn’t have brought it up. the twinge in his heart and a hollow feeling of longing aren’t anything new, he can deal.

he feels and empty kind of rage every time old, well-meaning relatives give max girly lip gloss kits and eyeshadow pallets and shit normal preteen girls who care about finding their soulmates actually appreciate. she always rolls her eyes and throws them away. susan will fish them out of the trash sometimes, and leave them under the bathroom sink, like if max just sees them there she’ll suddenly give a shit and start using them. like them being there does anything but taunt billy with what he can’t have.

neil watches him like a fucking hawk every time that shit comes into the house. and max doesn’t fucking care. doesn’t notice.

but becca offers.

and.

he’s not about to say no.

he should’ve said no.

it feels good at first, like it used to, it feels like freedom and he likes what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and he kisses a boy for the first time and it isn’t fireworks but it’s something, and he thinks maybe it’s going to be a good night, but then…

neil is waiting on the curb outside becca’s house. they were heading there first, because her parents wouldn’t notice, she said it would be fine, she has makeup remover he can use, he can clean up and head home and everything was supposed to be okay, except. it wasn’t.

it’s the last time he sees becca. neil tells her parents what was actually going on, and she isn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital.

and then six months of rehab, one rushed wedding and a big ugly sold sign later, neil carts them off to hawkins, indi-fucking-ana. as a “family.”

billy was certain this town would be nothing but a prison. it’d be somewhere he’d never find a place to be himself, neil would make sure of that. there wasn’t a single thing to like about this place and its bullshit small town sensibilities. for all the open space it might as well have been stone walls and steel bars.

except.

except...here was a boy with soft eyes and nimble fingers, who gets a little wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates, and is always moving, fidgeting, fiddling with zippers and touching his elbows and looking at him makes billy itch. to touch, to soothe, to take, and…

things get complicated when aimless blue waves scrawl up billy’s arm. when steve follows him out into the parking lot. calls him pretty to his face. and suddenly billy’s eight years old and realizing this shit is real. terrified of what that could mean. spinning fragile dreams like spider’s silk, hard to shake but easy to destroy.

even entertaining the idea of putting on makeup while he’s still in hawkins is stupid and dangerous, but goddamn if he hasn’t risked more for less.

he’s sure he’ll regret it. like he’s regretted every other desperate bid for freedom. but when faced with steve harrington’s smile, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

(edit: pt3 here)

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #soulmate au #a raven's writing desk #another part is coming #cuuuz #this was getting way too long kdfljgk #i had to split it up cuz the other stuff i wanted to write is. definitely just gonna be a whole nother post to itself lol

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untilmynextstory · 2 years

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LINKS: MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 3 | FANFICTION | WATTPAD | AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Real nervous about this one as it's all in Thomas' point of view.

1912

Thomas knew his sleeping habits were going to change once the baby was born. However, he didn't expect it to change much before the baby.

He was old enough to remember his mom being pregnant with both Ada and Finn. He remembers the mood swings and increased appetite. Hell, he even remembers the frequent trips to the bathroom.

What he doesn't remember is insomnia if his mother even had it.

With Evelyn's due date nearing, he finds his wife tossing and turning all night keeping them both awake. He had to be really tired if he didn't feel her crawling out of the bed considering the expanse of her belly.

Evelyn is all belly.

He is scared someday that she will fall over due to how big her stomach is. His wife is a tiny thing and even he is worried about how she is going to push out their son.

He opens his eyes and finds her pacing in front of the window. There is a chill in the room. He assumes she is having a hot flash.

He eyes Evelyn silently. He finds it often he would just take her in. If someone would have told him a year ago he would be married with a kid he would have laughed.

He knew marriage was a prospect that would happen someday. He just didn't think it would be this soon, or with Evelyn Maxwell.

He is relieved she has blended in with the family with ease. It helps that they were all familiar with each other. He knows her from her brother, Silas, being friends with Arthur. Besides, both being of gypsy descent they had a kinship with each other.

He had expected his life to take a drastic change with a wife.

Yet, the changes that are happening were gradual and soft. Soft like the woman before him. He always admired the softness that women carried in themselves. It was hard to see in his household considering his father beat it away with his mother. Aunt Pol was more of a drill sergeant.

Yet with Evelyn, he is able to admire that softness unreserved from the way she would place her layers of clothes on, how she moves so freely around the house, or when it was just the two of them in their room and her hands would trace his scars. Her hands are not withered from harsh work. He knows the one splurge she indulges in is some fancy cream to maintain the integrity of her skin.

"What's got you worried now?"

Evelyn jumps startled. She stops her pacing. "I'm sorry did I wake you?"

Thomas shakes his head as he gets out of bed. "You gonna tell me what's wrong with me girl?"

Evelyn sighs. Her hand caresses her belly as she turns to look out the window. She doesn't answer.

He stands behind her. He wraps his arms around her and his hands rest on her belly. He is rewarded with a kick to his palm. It still weirds him out how her stomach contorts with the movement. He rubs a soothing circle on the area where their son is playing football. "The babe keeping you up?"

"No more than usual."

"But not tonight?"

Evelyn blows a raspberry. She seems reluctant to answer.

"C'mon, tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours."

"So you think I'm pretty?"

"Beautiful," he tells her honestly.

"Even when I look like a cow."

"I don't think I could describe how beautiful you look swollen with my seed."

He thinks there are no words. When he looks at her, he thinks of the statue of Mother Mary at church, and how the light retracts around her from the stained glass windows when the sun is at its peak. She looks ethereal as if she didn't belong on this earth. His hands are too poor, too dirty, to even touch her skin.

"Will you be mad if it's not a boy?"

He shakes his head. "All I want is a healthy babe and for me wife to be healthy and safe."

"If something were to happen -"

Thomas makes a noise in his throat interrupting her. "Don't speak like that."

"Thomas-"

"I won't hear of it, Evelyn."

Evelyn closes her lips. Christ, he doesn't even want her to speak it into existence. He couldn't bear the thought of something happening during the birth.

He sighs and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I can't bear the thought. The thought of it...it rips my soul that I wouldn't be able to do anything. It would be out of my control," he admits. "I love ya. So you're going to be here with me celebrating all the holidays and birthdays and changing shitty nappies."

He is startled when she turns in his arms. Her belly presses against his. "Do you realize what you just said?"

He looks at her blankly.

"Oh, you men!"

He is alarmed to see anger in her eyes.

"What did I say?"

She slaps his chest.

"Eh, what was that for?"

"You just said you loved me for the first time and don't even remember even saying it!"

Thomas fights the urge to laugh and shake common sense in his wife. "You silly woman. You thought all these months that I didn't love you. I practically tell you every day!"

"Not with words you don’t!"

Thomas snorts and pulls her into him as much as he can as he presses his forehead against hers. "I love you, yeah."

He presses a kiss to her lips. "By the way, I have yet to hear it out of your pretty lips."

"You know I love you."

"Let me hear you say it."

"I love you, Thomas Michael Shelby."

Thomas smiles and gives her another kiss.

He looks down and notices her nipples peeking through the fabric. "You know the cold probably isn't good for you and the babe."

He looks into her hooded eyes. The grey reminds him of molten silver.

He pulls her away from the window without resistance.

James Alexander Shelby is born 16 hours later.

1919

Being away for four years, Thomas is ashamed to admit he didn't feel much like a father or even a husband. He barely felt like a man some days.

In the war, the tunnels, he kept the picture Evelyn had sent of her and Jamie close. He stared at it constantly to remember what he had to go home to. To not forget the love he had for his family. The dreams he had for them.

He held the picture as it became withered and torn at the edges. He held it to remember the feeling of Evelyn's silky hair. The sound of her laughter and her small hushed moans. The way she smelled of vanilla and honey. He tried to remember the feel of Jamie's small whispers of hairs against his lips. The sound of his giggles when you tickled his feet.

Most importantly, he tried to remember the weight of them in his arms. How Jamie loved to be laid out across his chest and Evelyn loved to bury her face in his neck. He fought to remember how her breath would tickle his neck.

It was the smaller threads in his life he struggled to remember. How Evelyn always ran her fingers through his hair and the way her thumb would rub across his pulse on his neck. The way Jamie would cling to his legs and mimic him when he was working at his desk.

So when seeing them as he stepped off the train and onto that platform, he wasn't going back home to a photo with old memories. He was going home to a wife and son that he didn't know anymore. His son was taller and spoke in full sentences. His wife was thinner and her grey eyes were dim.

He didn't know what to do with that.

Although it seemed whatever memories Jamie had of him was enough for the boy to want to be near him and spend time with him.

It is a Saturday and with him just buying a horse, he decides to head to Charlie's Yard. Evelyn had lightly suggested that Jamie would love to tag along. He watched as his boy's eyes lit up. It does warm his heart that his son seems to share his love of horses.

Evelyn has sent them with sandwiches, enough to feed a stable and more, some juice, and a kiss to both their cheeks blessing them for a good day.

He has to admit his son is well-behaved for the most part. He doesn't forget how he and Finn had wandered to the Cut by themselves. He knows this is only a prelude to the trouble a teenage Finn and Jamie will find themselves in.

When it comes to the horses, his son takes it very seriously. He remembers Evelyn mentioning in one of her letters that Curly and Charlie were teaching him how to care for horses. Charlie would take Jamie for the day and come back smelling as if he was rolling around in the horse shit. He smiles remembering those letters and the small sloppy tidbits that Jamie would draw and write.

However, it is nice seeing his son work diligently between him and Curly. His little hands carry the buckets, rake the hay, and brush the manes for the horses. He even braids one to match his Mama he tells him.

He is even taken back by Jamie’s soft orders in Shelta as he speaks gently to the horses.

Thomas makes them take a break for lunch and moves them over to where Charlie keeps some tables and benches.

"Your mom take you here a lot when I was away?" He asks his son.

Jamie nods his head. "Or sometimes Uncle Charlie would take me especially when Mama was sad."

"When she was sad?"

"She would cry in her room and none of my hugs or kisses would work. So Uncle Charlie would take me and when I came back Mama was happy again."

Tommy doesn't like the feeling swirling in his gut. It reminds him of his mother at the end. Uncle Charlie always knew when to come in and distract them as kids and lift his mother's spirit.

"You want a horse of your own?

"Mama says I'm too little," he tells petulantly. His nose scrunches up as Evelyn does when she is annoyed, or in a very righteous mood. It’s a look that he has been seeing a lot these days. "Says I can get a pony. But I don't want a pony those are for girls."

Tommy fights the snorts as he lights his cigarette. "I'll talk to your mom about it."

Jamie smiles and his bright blue eyes shine through the smog of Birmingham. The boy is the spitting image of his mother except for those eyes. He remembers Evelyn telling him Jamie would have his eyes. Thomas never thought about the minuscule details of what their child would look like. He always maintained that he just wanted the child to be safe - healthy. He isn’t ignorant that childbirth is one of the most dangerous things exclusive to women.

As he looks at his son, Jamie has his eyes from before the war. Untainted.

Even then, he knew Evelyn wasn't referring to their color. Jamie would see the world from the lens that he does.

He doesn't want that for his son.

. . . . . .

Thomas makes Jamie do a quick wash of his hands and face before going home.

It is getting close to dinner time. He didn't expect to spend his whole day in Charlie's Yard, but he knew the trip was needed to bond with his son.

Jamie tugs on his hand. "Can we get fish and chips with Mama?"

"No Finn?"

Jamie gets a sheepish look on his face. "Sometimes I don't like sharing Mama."

Christ, even his boy is possessive like him. He wonders how Jamie would take it if they were blessed with more kids. He has been surprised Evelyn hasn't brought him the news they were expecting. He would be happy, but he is relieved as he wants them to be in a bigger place before expanding their family.

Tommy pats his son's head. "I know it's hard having to share yer mom, but me and your uncles are back so it'll give you some more time with her, alright."

Jamie nods his head.

He lets out a grunt when someone slams into him. He is instantly annoyed that the person was even in their way, to begin with.

"Are you alright, Daddy?"

Tommy swipes a hand down his suit. "I'm alright, son."

Tommy looks up and eyes the dark hair fellow before him. He knows who this man is and also what is being whispered behind his back about this man.

"Hi, Mr. Hayes," Jamie greets cheerily.

Tommy stares blankly as the man crouches down and greets his son. He doesn't miss the man passing him some candy.

"Mr. Hayes, this is me daddy. He is home now!" Jamie exclaims with his childlike excitement.

Duncan stands tall and extends his hand. "I've heard about ye."

Tommy debates not shaking the man's hand, but he does since his son is in front of him. Tommy accepts the handshake. At least the man has a strong grip before he pulls away.

"Funny, never heard of you," Tommy retorts as he goes in his pockets for cigarettes and lights one.

He holds the man's stare.

"Daddy is going to take Mama and me to get fish and chips!" Jamie tells the man.

"Well, I guess I won't keep ya then." Duncan gives Jamie a smile, but his face goes blank as he looks at him. "Nice to meet you, Thomas."

"I thought only Mama called you Thomas, Daddy," Jamie asks confused.

"She is, but it seems I'm going to have to teach him a listen, ey?"

When they enter the house, he finds Evelyn in the living room with Ada. There is fabric, needles, and yarns scattered about. Ada makes a big production of swiping the fabric Evelyn had in her hands out of his view. From the quick glance he got, it seems like some sort of fancy silk slip. Now he knows for sure there is some type of man in his sister's life.

Before he can question anything, Evelyn ropes in Jamie to deflect.

"Did you have fun today with Daddy?"

Jamie beams as he runs into his mother's arms. "Daddy said I can get a horse. Not a pony," he tells her sternly in a perfect imitation of him.

Evelyn raises her eyebrows as she looks at him. "Oh did he?"

"I said we'll talk about it," he tells her as he eyes the living room. "And what was going on in here?"

"Thomas -" Evelyn begins.

"Let me see it, Ada," he orders.

Ada throws him an annoyed look, but she doesn't fight him. It just makes him all the more suspicious. It's a silk pink slip and there is a lace trimming pinned to it. He furrows his brows.

"If you didn't know your wife is good at needlework. I wanted her to embellish this for me by adding the lace," Ada informs him and he watches as Evelyn looks embarrassed. "I'm pretty sure you probably don't take long enough to admire the small designs she added to hers."

Tommy is a bit embarrassed he doesn't know about his wife's talent. He knows she tries to hide her interest in all the high fashions. They are too poor to own many fancy things. There are splurges here and there. They are doing better now after the war than before since he is drumming up new business as much as he can. He even has plans to turn their betting shop legitimate. He knows his wife likes the delicate lacy things, he is privy to that knowledge. He just didn't know her hands are the ones making them.

"And why would you need them, Ada? Last time I checked there wasn't any husband needing the knowledge of your lacy trims."

Ada snatches the fabric out of his hands. "Why do you wear your suits, Tommy?"

Tommy doesn't answer as Jamie exclaims he is hungry. "Can I trust you to feed yourself and Finn?" He says instead.

"We'll head over to Aunt Polly's," Ada tells him as she heads upstairs.

"And where are we going?" Evelyn asks him.

"Jamie wants fish and chips for dinner."

Evelyn looks at their son and tickles his belly. "Aren't you being spoiled today?"

It's strange going out together as a family. Since he's been home, they all haven't been out together since their outing at church and to her parents.

He knows everyone is aware of who the Shelbys are. He and his brother own the streets and offer these people protection. Yet, it's different having people lower their heads in respect than offering murmurs of how they are a beautiful family.

He knows he is one of the lucky ones. He was able to come home with his brothers and his wife and son. But at what cost?

People greet his wife freely and he wonders if it’s because he is by her side. People respect him out of fear. He knows all about how his peers view him with their gypsy blood. He knows Evelyn and her brother, Silas, had it worse. They lived the traveling ways before being plucked into civilization.

He knows how people whisper behind her back. He knows they gossip about her being some gypsy witch who can curse someone with the look of an eye. He can laugh about it some days, but he knows deep down that she can speak something into existence as his own grandmother did.

Dinner itself is quiet and calm. He prefers his cigarette to the food. His son causes a mess with his greasy hands and the crumbs that fall all over his chest. His cigarette hides his smile as Evelyn scolds the boy softly for being so messy.

Jamie only giggles before he stands up in his seat and plants a greasy kiss on her cheek.

He doesn't have it in him to scold the boy. He is clearly excited about having his parents together and Tommy could give a fuck about what the other customers may be thinking.

Besides, he dares any one of them to say a dirty remark. He would cut out their tongues without a second thought.

. . . . .

When they arrived home, the house is quiet. He assumes Ada and Finn are still at Polly's.

Jamie had fallen asleep in his arms as soon as they left the shop. He passes the boy into Evelyn's arms as she takes him to lay in bed.

He opts to stay downstairs. He grabs a whiskey and smokes another cigarette.

He does a walk-through of the betting shop before he trudges his way up the stairs.

As he enters the room, Evelyn is already in her nightgown. She is at her small dressing table as she lets her hair out of her updo. He watches as her black hair falls down in waves across her shoulder. He relishes in the sigh it emits from her lips.

He begins emptying his pockets when she stands before him.

Her hands replace his as she begins to assist him.

"Thank you for dinner," she tells him softly.

He nods his head as she helps him remove his jacket. She begins removing his waistcoat next.

It's a routine that he missed, and he doesn't know why he has been avoiding it.

It's quiet as she removes his various items of clothing. He eyes the slip she is wearing and the intricate lace trimming.

It's moments like these that he knows he is lucky. He knows there are men out there that don't appreciate their wives or their wives don't appreciate them.

He hears stories of the pretty wives that look good on their arms, but lack in other areas, and their looks fade as they age.

Evelyn is as beautiful as he remembered. Even as they were young, she had stood out with her striking grey eyes and long dark hair. As she ages, her beauty only gets more refined.

As much as the city would whisper about her wicked grey eyes, he knows men would have no problem taking the chance of being cursed. He is sure if she was the wife of any other man there would be plenty of men willing to break their vows with her.

His wife could have anyone and it still baffles she chose him. She spoiled herself with him and gave him his child.

Her question interrupts his musings. "Do you want to shave?"

"In the morning."

She gives him a soft smile as she grabs his discarded things and begins folding them.

He grabs another cigarette and stands by the window.

"I met Duncan Hayes today," he tells her. He watches in the reflection and she doesn't seem bothered by the mention of his name.

"He owns the sweet shop," she tells him.

"Jamie seems comfortable around him."

That has her pausing in her actions. She folds his pants and stands straighter. "What are you really asking me?"

"I don't want you going to his shop."

She scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous."

Tommy turns to stare at her fully. "I fucking mean it, Evelyn."

"Why? What's the reason you're forbidding me from going to the sweet shop?"

"You fucking know why. Do you think I like going to the Garrison or around town and hearing how this fucking Duncan Hayes is sweet on me wife? How she makes weekly visits with me son to visit him."

"And you believe those drunken bastards that call me a witch and can't even look me in the eye. But when your back is turn would be tempted to pull at my skirt if they didn't fear you would cut their hands off?"

"The fucking point is that Duncan Hayes is too familiar with me son and me wife."

"Familiar?" Evelyn releases a bitter laugh. Her eyes narrow into slits. "If you didn't know by now you're the only man I have ever let in between my thighs and look where that fucking got me."

Evelyn gets under the covers and turns so her back is facing him.

Thomas sighs and finishes his cigarette. He runs his hands through his hair and he realizes his hands are shaking. He slides back on his pants and grabs his coat and his wooden box of his medicine.

He heads to Charlie's yard and smokes his Opium. He dreams of Evelyn being trapped down in those fucking tunnels and he can’t save her.

TAG LIST: @datewithgianni @literishdegree99 @blairwittchproject

#peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #untilmynextstory #eots!verse

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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The Surrogate - Chapter 3

The Surrogate: A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 2213

Rating: E

Warnings: Blood and Injures, smut (FF, oral sex, shower sex, vaginal fingering)

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people. When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want. Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 3

Your induction into the Avengers had been long and not always the most pleasant. The people were great, the training was excruciating. It started with legal clearance. Then they ran tests on you. Those tests gave you a better understanding of your powers, but it still left them pretty useless to anyone other than you. A blood transfusion with someone of the same blood type as you could heal them of anything minor, but it didn’t work on old injuries or scar tissue, and they couldn’t regrow missing limbs or organs. It worked on illnesses too, but in the case of cancer, there would almost be a battle between your powers and the mutated cells, and the more cancer there was, the less likely your powers could help unless you kept donating blood.

With that understanding, you were asked if you wanted to train to be an agent. You could potentially get into places that others couldn’t. After all, poison couldn’t kill you. Nor could bullets or knives. You could also help others with minor injuries if they needed it. You took a little while to decide but in the end, agreed. That’s when the intensive training began.

Every day you woke up at four and went for a run. The run was followed by boot camp where you’d do circuits or run obstacle courses. That was followed by weapons training. Then computer hacking, or field medicine, or behavioral profiling, or any of the other myriad of things you needed to learn to become a spy.

During the eighteen months you trained, you also formed bonds. You dated a couple of other new recruits. One of them for several months and when you ended up breaking up, it was messy and you both got in trouble for creating drama. You made friends throughout the facility. Most were people at your level but there were people in the medbay that you got close with too, along with receptionists and a couple of the avengers. There was even an incident where you got drunk and made out with Sam Wilson at a Christmas party.

None of the relationships you formed were anywhere near as close as the ones you developed with Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. To begin with it seemed to just come out of Clint feeling responsible for you. He was the one that dragged you into this life, he didn’t want you to feel alone while you were adjusting.

Clint was an easy person to like and it wasn’t long until you were both as thick as thieves. Being around Clint meant you were around Natasha too. While she took a little longer to warm up to new people, she was cool and protective once it happened and long before she had accepted you as one of her people, you had developed a kind of crush on her. Once she decided you were one of hers, they both felt like family.

It was Natasha that you had your first mission with. She took you another two newbies and Sharon Carter to break down some HYDRA bases. It involved several raids of different warehouses, office buildings, and underground installations and your group and been going from country to country for over a week.

“How many more of these are there?” Sharon asked, cracking her back as she walked through the door. You, Mendez, Sharma, and Natasha all followed after her.

“Too many,” Natasha complained, heading right to the bathroom. She was holding her side like she was in pain and you were worried she was trying to make her injury seem less dire than it was.

“Alright. I’m ordering food,” Sharon said as Mendez flopped onto the couch and Sharma went straight to the minibar. “Can you go check on, Nat? Help her with the stitches if she needs some.”

You nodded and knocked on the bathroom door before letting yourself in. Natasha had stripped her catsuit down so it was hanging at her hips. The black of her sports bra contrasted against the pale cream of her skin, and as your eyes traveled down her body, looking for injuries they were drawn to the large gash on her side oozing dark red blood.

“Let me see,” you said, coming over to her.

“It’s not too bad. Already started healing,” she explained, uncovering the part she was holding a washcloth against that was slowly turning from white to red. “Stings though. I could use some butterfly bandages at least.”

You looked it over. “I can help with that,” you said. “I bet I could kiss it better though. Given you heal faster than normal anyway.”

Natasha smirked at you and raised her eyebrow. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You chuckled. “Fine, butterfly bandages it is.”

“No, no, no,” she said. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” you said. “I kissed Clint after all.”

She laughed and winced at the pain in her side. “It would be a vast improvement.”

You laughed and moved in, licking your lips. Her hand went to your jaw and guided you in, bringing your lips to hers. The spark between you happened instantly, seemingly starting in your core. A moan escaped you, but was smothered by her lips, her hand pushed back into your hair, holding you in place as your lips caressed hers. You darted your tongue out running it over the corner of her mouth and she brought her tongue out to meet yours, circling them together.

She pulled back, tugging on your bottom lips with her teeth. “Bozhe moy…” Natashas sighed, she put her hand on your hip and dragged you flush against her. “Now I know why Clint likes kissing you so much.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, he’s always injured.”

She started laughing too and kissed the corner of your mouth, her tongue flicking out as she did. “How many times have the two of you been together now?”

“Like work kissing or actual sex?” You asked.

Natasha laughed louder. “Work kissing...”

“What?” You said, breaking down into laughter with her. “That’s what it is.”

She got control of herself and her fingers flexed on your hip. “Actual sex.”

“Four,” you breathed as you ghosted your lips over the shell of her ear.

“Then we have some catching up to do.”

She captured your lips and kissed you greedily. You submitted to her, snaking your arms around her waist and pulling her closer to you. You felt like you were in some kind of dream. You’d imagined doing this with Natasha and while you knew she and Clint were in an open relationship, you were too chicken to suggest it to her.

She pushed her thigh between your legs and you began to grind on it. The way the spandex of your catsuit rubbed against your pussy as you rocked on her thigh creating a delicious burn through you. Natasha’s hands slid up your sides and over your breasts. Her touch almost making your skin vibrate under them. When she reached your throat she held them there, her thumbs caressing the zipper, making you purr into the kiss.

She pulled back and unzipped your catsuit, taking her time so she could really appreciate the way your skin came into view. “We should get into the shower so I can wash this blood off me.”

“How is it?” You asked, taking another look at her wound. It had scabbed over but still looked painful. You knew after what you were both going to do it would be fully healed.

“Nearly there,” Natasha answered as she pushed the arms of your catsuit off. She dragged the skin-tight fabric down your skin, crouching in front of you as she pulled the suit all the way off.

You started up the water as she stripped the rest of her catsuit off and began stripping you of your underwear. You hummed and ghosted your lips up her neck as you removed hers as well. When you were both naked, you took a moment just to admire her. The enticing curve of her hips, and the soft swell of her breasts. The way her nipples stood out, dark pink against cream. You leaned down and flicked your tongue over one before pulling it into your mouth. It drew a moan from her and she guided you back under the water.

The warm water washed down over both of you and as you suckled on her breast the warm water filled your mouth. You moved further down her body, licking and sucking the water from her skin. When you were kneeling in front of her she leaned back against the tiles and put her leg up on your shoulder.

You hummed as you came face to face with the thatch of red pubic hair, the smell of sex wafting from her, heady and inviting. You licked your lips and nosed up her folds. Your tongue darted our flicking over them, getting the first taste of her salty musk. There was a small spark, like you’d touched your tongue to a battery. She hummed and her hands went to your hair pushing you in tighter to her cunt.

“Don’t be a tease,” she purred, her hips rocking against your mouth. You groaned and began to lap at her cunt. Your tongue swept wide over her folds, exploring every part of her sex. It dipped inside and there was a strong jolt between you. Shy gasped and her cunt flooded, dripping onto your tongue. “That is quite the side effect,” Natasha groaned. Her hands tightened in your hair, making your scalp prickle.

You moaned and sucked hungrily. Your head was swimming like you were getting drunk on her. Nat tugged on your locks and you looked up, your eyes meeting hers. “Focus now,” she growled.

Her demand sent a shiver through you and you began to suck on her clit. You were rewarded with a low moan and more of her arousal dripped from her. It began to run down the insides of her thighs, and was carried away by the shower. You pushed first one finger and then another into her, and slowly began to fuck her with them.

“Deeper,” she moaned as you thrust them in and out and sucked on her clit.

You complied quickly, pushing your fingers deep inside her, and scissoring them. The soft muscles of her cunt, squeezed around your digits and she moaned loudly letting her head fall back. Her red hair was soaked and fell down her back, sticking to her skin.

“Deeper, dorogaya,” Natasha groaned. When you complied, she moaned louder still and her hands tightened in her hair. “Curl them.”

You did as you were told, and your fingertips touched on a spongy spot inside her. She cried out and her toes curled. Her fluids began to run down your wrist and you lapped them up before going back to sucking on her clit. “Right there,” she praised. “Harder now.”

You stroked over that sweet spot inside her and she began to fall apart. She got louder and louder, her cunt beginning to flutter around her digits. With a loud cry she came, her hips bucking against your face.

You moaned and kept going but she put her hand on your jaw and guided you back. “Your turn,” she purred. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

She dropped to her knees in front of you and you braced yourself against the cool tiles lifting your leg and resting your foot against the wall. Natasha slowly lapped up your folds. The spark of your powers happened immediately and intensely like she was drawing them out with her tongue. You both groaned loudly and you tangled your fingers in her hair and let your head fall back. With the current already running through you, you knew you weren’t going to last long.

She teased it out, flicking her tongue over your clit and dipping it inside you. She used her lips to ruffle the folds of your labia and nipped gently at your clit. It was hard to keep your focus with that alone, but as she began to focus on your clit you lost control completely.

You moaned and bucked against her face. You grabbed hold of the showerhead to keep yourself up as she thrust her fingers inside you and immediately began working them over your g-spot. You had trouble holding yourself up as electricity coursed through your veins. She hit your g-spot hard again and again. Your legs trembled and your toes curled and with a loud cry, you came, gushing onto her.

She moaned and drank up what she could before getting to her feet. She wrapped her arm around your waist and supported you as you came down from your orgasm high. “Holy, hell,” she said. “I love your powers.”

You started laughing and kissed her cheek. “They’re pretty great.”

You ran your hand down along the spot where her cut had been. It was now just clean, fresh skin with no trace of an injury happening in the first place. Natasha grabbed the shampoo and started washing her hair. “Come on,” she said. “Better hurry up. There’s no way they didn’t hear what we were doing in here.”

// NEXT

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #clintasha #clintasha x reader #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #pregnancy #the surrogate

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highqueenjude · 3 years

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1k follower appreciation fic!!

i just want to say how thankful i am to each and every one of you. it honestly amazes me that you all?? enjoy my content?? so in thanks, i whipped up a mini one-shot to show my appreciation :)

~takes place directly after htkoelths ends~

Cardan and Jude make their way back to Vivi’s apartment as the sun makes its ascent in the sky. They have just finished sending word to their retainers requesting Aslog to be moved, and Cardan is not sure if he’s relieved or upset by the turn of events. He and Aslog had never truly been friends, but it still feels wrong to imprison her after . . . everything.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jude raises a brow.

“I think so.” Cardan glances aside at her. “What are we to do now?”

Jude is thoughtful for a moment, and then, almost shyly, she says, “I was thinking we could visit my father. Before we return to Elfhame.”

This comes as a surprise to Cardan for two reasons: Jude has never once been shy—she is blunt and bold and the word shy isn’t even in his vocabulary to describe her. As for the other, he is surprised because she had said we. Realistically, he knows that they are married, and that they have been for some time now, but he is still so unused to this feeling of being wanted, especially by Jude.

“You want me to come with you?” he affirms, slightly uncertain.

She gives him an odd look before glancing off to the side. “I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

And since it is not in her nature to admit that she is scared or frightened or unsure, Cardan knows that she does not want to go alone because she’s hesitant to see her foster-father after so long. Cardan is to be the buffer between them.

“I would be delighted,” is what he ends up saying because reminding her that he is her loyal servant who would kiss the tips of her boots if she asked might be a tad redundant; he does remind her often, after all. “When do you wish to leave?”

Jude sets down her sword, which he had grudgingly handed back to her.

What did you think you would accomplish with this? she had snickered.

All heroes have swords, he had responded, not minding one bit that she was laughing at his expense, so long as she was laughing.

“In a little while, but for now we should dress your wound.”

“Oh, this? It’s nothing for a hero.”

“I think I preferred you as a snake, when you couldn’t talk.” She leads him to the bathroom and commands him to sit on the closed seat of what the mortals call a “toilet.” She digs through the cabinets of the vanity for a moment, and resurfaces with a roll of white bandages, a cloth, a pair of scissors, and a small bottle with clear liquid inside. “Take off your shirt.”

Cardan simply raises a brow. “In here? Wouldn’t you prefer somewhere more . . . cozy?”

Jude lightly smacks his uninjured shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Just do it.”

He complies without fuss, as he is apt to do when she asks something of him. His hoodie goes first, and then his shirt, and then it is just him sitting awkwardly while Jude inspects his wound with a frown.

“There are still a few iron fragments lodged in the cut. I’ll have to get those out first.” She goes back to the vanity and opens one of the drawers, withdrawing a pair of tweezers. Turning back to him, she says, “This might sting.”

“It could be no worse than your withering glare—” Cardan is abruptly cut off when she pokes him with the tweezers.

“Oops,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Silence descends around them, and Jude continues to work, gaze focused and hand precise. Through the discomfort, Cardan studies her. So much has led up to this point, to this very moment. He is not sure if he deserves it, but he knows that he would do everything all over again—including fulfilling his prophecy and becoming a snake—if it meant that this would be the outcome.

“What’s that look for?” she asks him, and he realizes he has been staring. Refusing to look away or laugh off his nerves, Cardan says instead, “Is it wrong to admire my wife?”

Jude snorts. “I wouldn’t say my appearance garners admiration right now.”

Her hair is unkempt and her clothes are torn—the aftermath of running through briars to get to her foolish husband. But it makes no difference; her presence is captivating, thrilling, debilitating. It is odd to be reminded yet again that she does not see herself as everyone else does: a queen.

“Is it so hard to believe that you are beautiful, all of the time?” A light pink dusts her cheeks, and it is such a lovely sight that he finds he must be the cause of more of it. “You, Jude Duarte, the High Queen of Elfhame and love of my immortal life, are indeed a sight of admiration. It is a wonder you bestowed your favor on me when you could have had anyone else.”

He will admit that he still cannot quite believe his good fortune, and wonders daily how such luck befell him. He is rewarded with the desired effect; her blush deepens. Jude turns away, having finished removing all of the iron pieces from his shoulder, and busies herself by wetting the cloth with the clear, bottled liquid. When she turns back to him she huffs and says, “I am not sure if I’ll ever get used to you saying those things.”

Their eyes meet, and Cardan says, “I hope that one day you will.”

Jude bites her lip and he traces the movement with his eyes. “Now I kind of feel bad for what I’m about to do.”

“What—”

He is cut off by a hiss as she presses the wet cloth to his wound. It is true that his Jude does not have the best bedside manner, but sometimes he forgets and must be reminded in the worst ways.

“Sorry,” she laments, this time sounding genuine in her apology. She brushes the cloth over his wound, wiping away the dried blood and disinfecting the area. “Once we get back to Elfhame, we will have someone do this properly,” she promises.

Cardan does not tell her that he would be loath to have anyone else this close to him, anyone who is not her. After the area is cleaned to her satisfaction, she trades the cloth for the bandages and begins wrapping them around his shoulder, a feat that requires her to lean in close to him. Her breath buffets against his ear and her cold hands brush against his skin.

“Jude,” he whispers.

She does not look at him, only raises a brow as she focuses on wrapping the bandage. “Hm?”

“Jude,” he repeats, this time lower.

She relents, and glances at him—only to quickly refocus on her work. “What?” she asks, even though she already knows what he is going to say. So he does not say it, and instead, elects to lean forward to press a kiss to her right shoulder. “Cardan.” She sounds a little exasperated. “If you keep distracting me, this will never get done.”

It takes a great deal of willpower for Cardan to lean back once more. “As you wish.”

Jude frowns, but her gaze softens and she says, “I’m not saying no, but I am saying not right at this moment.”

“I do wish this moment would go faster, then.”

Jude rolls her eyes in a loving manner and wraps the bandage around twice more before snipping the excess with the scissors. Something glints in her eyes as she glances back at him, and, setting down the bandage roll, she moves to stand between his legs and tilts his jaw up with the scissor blades. “I have a sense of deja vu.” She grins mischievously.

Cardan’s smile matches her own, and he leans forward, the dull blade pushing against his throat. “Funny how we find ourselves in these situations.” A beat. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Jude leans down, their lips inches away. Cardan waits for her to close the distance, as she had the first time they found themselves in a similar position. Just as she is about to press their lips together, the door bursts open.

“I knew it,” a self-satisfied voice says from the doorway.

Jude whips the scissors from under Cardan’s chin and points them menacingly at the intruder, and Cardan is not so sure she won’t use them. When Jude realizes who it is, she releases a frustrated groan. “Vivi, we’re busy.”

“I can see that.”

“No, not like—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Vivi gives her a knowing look. “Just finish up; Heather is almost done making breakfast.” With that, Vivi leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Jude sighs through her nose and none-too-gently sets the scissors back on the vanity counter.

Cardan would have laughed if he hadn’t thought doing so would make matters worse. “Come, my darling Jude, let us indulge them with our presence.”

“But—”

Cardan stands and slips back into his shirt. “I promise that I will not forget where we left off,” he placates, “but the sooner we return to Elfhame, the sooner we can resume. In private.”

Jude seems mollified with this and relents, following him out of the bathroom. Oak is on the couch when they return, and Vivi is helping Heather carry paper plates over to the living area.

“How did the hunt go?” Heather asks them when they are all seated around the coffee table with plates in hand.

Cardan inspects the thin, floppy bread covered in amber liquid and takes a hesitant bite. He is getting more used to mortal food as the days go on, and finds each new food more interesting than the last.

“Cardan decided he was going to get himself killed today,” Jude says wryly, throwing a smug look in Cardan’s direction.

“So that’s what took you so long; you were patching him up,” Heather realizes.

Vivi snorts. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

Jude kicks her sister’s leg with her own—a difficult feat, considering they are both sitting on the ground.

“What?” Vivi laughs, though she quickly sobers. “But other than that, you two are okay, right?”

“Okay as one can be when a witch vows revenge on you for one of your father’s misdeeds,” Cardan responds with a flourish of his coffee mug, and takes a long draught of the dark and bitter liquid.

Oak has already finished eating and is watching a cartoon play out on the television. Two characters—a boy and a girl—stand in what looks to be a cave. The boy has a scar on the side of his face, and the girl reaches up to cup it with her hand. The scene reminds Cardan of the stories Aslog had told him, of the one he had given her in return. And just when it looks like something might happen between the two, they are interrupted, and Cardan finds he relates to this mortal show more than he could have thought.

“Jude and I are going to pay a visit to Madoc before we depart for Elfhame,” he says, focusing back on the present conversation.

Oak’s gaze snaps to his. “You’re going to see mom and dad?”

Cardan nods, and Oak turns his attention to Vivi. “Can I go? Please, Vivi?” And then, in a small voice, “I miss mom.”

“No.” Vivi’s tone leaves no room for discussion, but once she sees Oak’s pleading face, her gaze softens a fraction. “I would feel better if you did not see them quite yet.”

“But—”

“Oak,” Vivi says. “This trip is for Jude. You can see them some other time.”

Cardan suspects that Vivi simply is not yet ready to give up Oak’s relative safety. He knows that she still harbors a deep hatred for her father, and is reluctant to let her younger brother out of her sight. He doesn’t blame her; he does not trust Madoc, either.

“We will take you with us next time, okay?” Jude placates.

Oak frowns, but nods nonetheless. The conversation quickly turns to a new coffee shop that had opened up the week prior, much to Heather’s excitement. She talks about how they should all try it out, but Cardan cannot help but frown down at his pancakes, or so they are called. He remembers keenly what it is like to miss one’s parents, and he does not wish that feeling on Oak.

But Vivi is right—this is for Jude. Even so, he must remind himself that Oak is the center of attention in Vivi’s household; he is loved and cared for, more than Cardan ever was. Surely, Oak will be fine if he does not see his parents for another week or two. The thought mullifies him enough to refocus on the present.

. . .

It is not until later, when Cardan and Jude are walking to Madoc’s mansion in lieu of ragwort steeds—a necessity, Jude says, because they would attract unwanted attention—that he asks her why she wants to visit her foster-father. Jude takes a moment to piece her thoughts together.

“I suppose I want to know if he hates me,” she says finally.

He is not sure what to say to that, so he takes her hand instead. She glances up at him, and in her eyes he sees so many things, so many impossible yet wonderful things. He sees their time at the palace academy together, sees how they hated each other. He sees the moment that she began to hate him less, and the ones that followed, the ones that made them grow closer and closer and closer until they are here. He sees himself in her eyes, and he wonders what she sees in his.

He knows that they will get through his together, and she seems to realize it, too. She squeezes his hand, and faces the path ahead as they walk up the drive to the estate.

Madoc’s abode is a symbol of the High Queen’s generosity. It resembles his estate in Faerie, with expansive grounds that lead into the forest. There is a thin veil of magic surrounding the place, glamoured to hide every inhuman aspect. However, not even magic can hide the otherworldly nature in the grounds.

Jude hesitates before the front door. Her eyes dart to Cardan’s, then to the side, then back the way they had come as if she is deliberating leaving. Cardan frowns, and takes her hand in his. She jumps at the contact, having been lost in her own thoughts, as startled eyes find his own once more.

“You will be fine,” Cardan says softly, making sure that she holds his gaze. “He can’t hurt you.”

Jude leans forward, until her forehead is pressed against his chest. “Yes,” she says, “he can.”

He realizes then, that even now, when Jude has risen above Madoc in rank and power, she still seeks Madoc’s approval. She still wishes that he would bestow a kind word on her, wishes he would tell her how proud he is. And try as Cardan might to provide that for her, the only person she wants adulation from is the one man she believes will never forgive her.

As Cardan is about to speak, the door to Madoc’s estate opens to reveal a faerie servant without either of them having knocked. It is no shock to him that Madoc would have known they were there already; though he may never wield another weapon, he still has a legion of spies at his disposal.

Cardan looks to Jude, whose eyes are still on his face, and conveys everything he wants to say.

We can go back, he offers silently. It is your choice. It is always your choice.

Jude seems to understand his unspoken words, for she simply nods her head once, twice. Rolls her shoulders back, straightens her spine. She will not break nor will she bend, not in front of her foster-father. And then, without preamble, she walks through the threshold and into Madoc’s abode.

Cardan dutifully follows his wife as the servant—a faerie with iridescent wings and beady black eyes—leads the way through the long and narrow entrance hall to the back of the house, where they exit through a side door and out into the gardens. Rose bushes line the estate, while different types of flowers are interspersed throughout. It is nowhere near the grandiose gardens of the palace, but it is charming in its own right.

The servant doesn’t spare them a glance, and heads back the way they had come, leaving Jude and Cardan alone in the gardens, surrounded by bushes of honeysuckle and hydrangeas. The sweet aroma of the flowers fills the air as Cardan peers through the towering arches of vines and walls of flowers in search of Madoc.

However, instead of the former Grand General, he spies his wife, first. Not a ways off, Oriana instructs servants on which flowers to cut from a bush of pink roses. Her countenance, while usually grim, is content. Though Cardan would never make the mistake of assuming that Oriana is happy in the mortal world—and away from Oak, for that matter—he does believe that the distance from the political intrigue of the Court has done her good. She appears enlivened, and more at ease than he has ever known her to be.

Madoc, however, is a different situation entirely. The former general stands beyond the gardens toward the edge of his lands, facing the deep wood with his back to them. Perhaps he is picturing his escape or return to Faerie, perhaps he misses his home so much it hurts. But Cardan cannot find it in himself to care, not when this man waged war against him and his wife and his people.

This is for Jude, he reminds himself. This visit is supposed to give her closure.

Jude turns to him, mouth in a determined line. Cardan reaches up and smoothes out a crease on her brow with a finger. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

She deliberates for a moment, but finally replies, “No. I will see him alone first.”

Cardan nods and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. He will support her no matter what. Though he cannot say he isn’t relieved she wants her space with Madoc; if Cardan had indeed gone with her to confront the man, then he is sure that it would not be a pleasant scenario. Despite the fact that Madoc came into his home and challenged his rule in front of his people, Cardan is more upset by the former general’s treatment of Jude.

Despite Madoc challenging Cardan’s rule—and therefore her rule—his wife had spent weeks following her foster-father’s banishment as a bundle of nerves. Though she made a valiant attempt to hide it, Cardan had seen right through her façade. Though he might be a traitor, Jude still cares for the man more than she would ever admit aloud.

With a parting glance, Jude picks her way through the winding gardens, steering clear of Oriana. Cardan has no doubt that both Madoc and Oriana know of their arrival, but neither make the first move. It is only when Jude has reached her foster father, does he turn around.

Madoc dips his head slightly to his daughter, the only acknowledgement he will give to her authority. Cardan can sense Jude’s nerves from here, and watches as she opens her mouth to speak. When nothing comes out, she closes it, and turns her face away. Madoc hesitates, his body tensing up, before slowly and painfully reaching up to brush his knuckles along her cheek.

Cardan suddenly feels as if he is looking in on a private moment between a daughter and her father, and instead, makes his way over to Oriana. The woman looks up at him as he approaches, and sweeps into a deep bow. The servants follow suit before quickly flitting away.

“What brings you to the mortal realm?” Oriana asks, albeit with a small amount of distaste.

Cardan merely shrugs. “Business.” It is one way to put it, anyway. But he can tell that is not what Oriana is asking. He sighs. Squints at the pair in the distance. Says, “Closure.”

Oriana nods in understanding. “I see.” She shifts her stance and, after a moment, asks, “How is he?”

He knows who she is referring to. “Oak seems to be adapting to this realm quite well. He says he has many friends from school.”

Which was more than Cardan ever had while he was attending the palace academy. The closest thing he had had to friends was a pack of gentry children who partook in violence to amuse themselves. They had cared more about power and Cardan’s access to it than they cared about him. Not one person had ever preferred him over his title, but Jude had been the first to look past that and truly see him. And while she might have hated him at first, she had become his wife and queen despite it.

Cardan glances at the pair standing out in the field again. At one time, he had been envious of Jude; after all, she had a father who loved her and her sisters, while Cardan had been forced to sleep in the stables and grovel for attention. Now, however, he is only thankful that Jude had grown up with a life that was better than his had been.

Oriana gives a noncommittal hum. “Does he miss me?”

“Yes,” Cardan says, thinking of how Oak had pleaded to come with them. “He misses you very much.”

A sad smile breaks out over her face, and she turns to watch Madoc and Jude in the distance. They are silent for another moment, until she speaks once more.

“May I speak freely?” she asks tentatively.

Cardan nods, once.

Oriana purses her lips before saying, “I did not believe you would be good for her, at first.”

Cardan gives an undignified snort. Not even he believes he is good enough for his Jude, so it comes as no surprise to him to find out he is not the only one.

“But now . . .” Oriana trials off, searching for words. Madoc and Jude are conversing in the distance, and Jude does not seem as tense as she was a few moments ago. “Now, however, I believe that you two are a perfect match. A balance.”

Cardan meets Oriana’s eyes and blinks at the sincerity in them. “You do?”

She nods. “I see the way she looks at you.” A small smile graces her lips. “Once upon a time, I did not think she would ever find a love match. She is much too. . . .”

“Exhilarating, ferocious, terrifying?” Cardan fills in, his eyes on Jude as she begins to walk with Madoc toward them. He can feel Oriana assessing him, but he does not turn.

“Yes,” she replies after a moment, giving him an odd look. “But it seems I was mistaken. It seems as though you two balance each other out.”

“Yes, it would appear so.”

Cardan is about to make his way toward Jude to meet her halfway, when Oriana stops him.

“Your majesty,” she starts, and only continues when Cardan turns to face her. “I have a request.”

He nods for her to go on, though she hesitates. She swallows, glances off to the side. When she returns her gaze to him, she says very softly, “Could you request Vivienne to give some thought into letting me see Oak?”

Cardan frowns. “I am not sure if Vivi is ready for that.” At Oriana’s downcast expression, he adds, “But I will see what can be done.”

She glances back up at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she says, bowing low. When she rises, her gaze goes past him.

Cardan turns and comes face to face with Madoc. The former Grand General is wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and if this visit was not so important to Jude, Cardan would have laughed out of the sheer absurdity of it. Madoc’s green countenance is focused on him, and Cardan has just enough sense to feel slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps Madoc is willing to die in order to get his revenge, if it means he can kill Cardan.

Just when Cardan opens his mouth to diffuse the tension, Jude says, “Madoc has invited us to stay for dinner.”

Cardan blinks. Surely the former general’s pride is wounded by their sheer presence?

But it appears that Madoc wants to make amends. At least, that is what Jude whispers to him as they stroll the gardens together. Madoc and Oriana are preparing for the meal inside, giving Jude and Cardan time to talk things over.

“I thought he would be angry,” Jude says, brows furrowed in confusion, “but he told me that he could not fault me for my bravery.” She smiles, then, remembering their conversation. “He told me that he should have expected this—I am his daughter, after all.”

Cardan matches her grin and reaches down to hold her hand. “I assume your conversation went well?”

“Better than I could have imagined, actually.” She sighs in relief. “I am glad that he does not hate me.”

“He loves you.”

“Yes, but I also betrayed him and stole his chance at becoming king.” She frowns.

Cardan stops, to which Jude follows suit. “If anything, he most likely respects you more now than he ever has. You have shown him that you were meant for this.”

Jude snorts. “You don’t think he wishes now that he had agreed to let me become a knight back before I get involved with Dain’s spies?”

“You would have made a good knight,” Cardan admits, “but you make an even better queen. I think Madoc can see that.”

“Maybe,” she relents. “Still. It is not like him to be this forgiving. Inviting us to dine with him?” She shakes her head. “I do not know what to think.”

Cardan tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her chin up so that she meets his eyes. “Then stop. Stop thinking.” Her brow furrows, and she opens her mouth to respond, but he does not let her. “Just enjoy this, my darling Jude. Not everything is a revenge scheme. Sometimes, people just do things because they want to.”

Jude nods, and they continue their walk. “If this backfires and he challenges either of us to a duel, it is on you.”

“Hopefully I will not turn into a snake this time,” Cardan says, grinning. Jude shoves him halfheartedly, which only makes his smile widen.

#high queen jude writes #my fic #my fanfic #1k follower celebration #thank you all so much #seriously I can't believe you all like this blog that much??#I'm honored #truly #hopefully you enjoyed my humble offering :)#jurdan #Jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #Jude Duarte x cardan greenbriar #Jude x cardan #madoc #vivi x heather #oak greenbriar

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falcqns · 3 years

Text

an apostles redemption

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Grace Walker)

Warnings: fluff, swearing, family angst, mention of nuclear weapons and firearms, facial injury, mention of anxiety disorder and anxiety attacks, implied smut

A/N: hope you enjoy!

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three |

Ragged Night

When Grace awoke the next morning, August was not laying next to her, as she had hoped. When she sat up, shed noticed Kal wasn't in his bed either. She put on some socks, and headed down the stairs to find her husband and dog.

He wasn't in the kitchen or living room, but the door to the basement was open, and Grace immediately knew where he was. He was in the gym.

She ventured down the stairs, and into the large home gym. August was wearing a grey muscle tank and red gym shorts, with his Adidas running shoes on his feet. He had his red boxing gloves that were monogrammed with the words 'The Hammer', a Christmas gift from Erica Sloane. He was aggressively punching the punching bag hanging from the ceiling, his AirPods blaring some type of heavy metal.

Kal was laid by the mirrors opposite August, watching his dad take out his energy on the bag. Kal's ears perked up when Grace walked into the room, and stood up to go and get pets from his mom, which alerted August that he wasn't alone anymore.

He turned his head and smiled when he noticed Grace. He took out his AirPods and placed them back in the charging case, before walking over to give his wife a kiss.

"Good morning, love," Grace said, as she wrapped her arms around her husbands sweaty midriff.

"Good morning," August responded, as he took off his punching gloves.

"I'm going to make breakfast, so why don't you go and shower and we'll eat together?" Grace offered. August smiled. It had been weeks since he had had his wonderful wife amazing cooking.

"Sounds good to me, angel." He pressed another kiss to his wife's lips, before Grace led Kal upstairs with the promise of food. August cleaned up the gym from his morning workout, and headed up to their shared bathroom. He had wished Grace would join him, but he knew she didn't trust him enough for that amount of affection. August understood, and was going to do anything to earn that trust back.

He had a quick shower, and put on a t shirt that had Geralt of Rivia on it, from his favourite video game, The Witcher. He also pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants, and made his way down stairs, following the smell of bacon.

He walked into the kitchen but stopped in the doorway. Grace was stood at the stove, tending to their food. Harry Styles was playing from her phone, the sounds of 'She' echoing through their large kitchen. Two plates were sitting on the island, and there was a stack of books sitting on the same stool where he sat last night while Grace stitched him up. He walked over, and picked up the books, looking through them.

'What We Owe To Each Other , T.M. Scanlon,

A Treatise Of Human Nature, David Hume,

Groundwork in the Metaphysics of Morals, Immanuel Kant,

No Exit, Jean Paul Satre,

Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkegaard,

Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle.'

Ethics books. He knew these books were in the house, as he gave them to Grace for her birthday. She loved The Good Place, and wanted to know more about ethics, so August bought her all the books mentioned in the show, and she had read them all. He knew he would have to read ethics books when he came home, but he didn't expect it to start so soon.

Before he could think about anything else, Grace turned around, and emptied eggs on both of their plates, and smiled at him.

"You look much better," She said, as she turned back to the stove to grab the pan with the bacon.

"I feel better, other than I'm hungry, and my face stings a little still." He said.

Grace placed the bacon on their plates, and walked over to the medicine cabinet. She grabbed the creme she had put on his face last night, and handed it to him.

"My hands are dirty from food, so just put this over the whole scar tissue area. It'll help it heal and help with the pain." He nodded, and did as he was told.

A few minutes later, his face didn't sting anymore, only a cooling sensation, which felt amazing.

They were sat at the breakfast booth, with Kal laying underneath, on their feet.

"August, I have to tell you something," Grace said nervously.

"What is it?" August replied, slightly afraid of her response.

"Sloane is coming over today, with Hunt and his team."

He immediately dropped his fork. "What? Why?"

Grace immediately recognized he was starting to panic, and she reached over and grabbed his hand.

"I'm doing it to help you. I'm going to sit them down, and I'm going to explain to them that you want to redeem yourself and that you will do anything to win back their trust."

August stood up to pace, which scared Kal, who nuzzled his head into Grace's lap.

"What if they shoot me?" He asked.

"You know that I don't allow weapons in the house, other than our shot gun. They are aware of that rule too, and will not be bringing any weapons. It's going to be fine, Auggie."

August felt his anger bubbling up. "How can you be so sure Grace? How?"

Grace stood up, got in his space, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She decided to ignore the face that he called her by her actual name. "Because, you're going to go into the basement and stay there. I am going to tell them that you are alive and willing to do anything to earn back their trust. I will tell them that they are allowed to be mad at him, but to at least allow you to try and prove yourself. I know that Ethan is going to be the first one to trust you. You need to be his friend."

August rolled his eyes, sighed, and then placed his bandaged forehead on to hers. "Okay," He agreed. "When do they get here?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to her cheeks, which make Grace blush.

Grace glanced down at her Fitbit. "It's only 8:30, they're not coming until noon, so we have a few hours. During that time I want you to start reading," She said, unraveled herself from August, and walked over to where the books laid.

"We'll start off with Scanlon. You don't have to read this whole thing today, but I want you to read as much as you can while I go and get groceries." She said, handed him 'What We Owe To Each Other', and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she headed to the door to the backyard to let Kal out for a pee.

He nodded at her and took the book into the living room to begin to read, clearly not hungry anymore.

'We all believe that some actions are morally wrong. But when we claim that an action is wrong, what kind of judgement are we making? Judgements about right and wrong cannot be straightforwardly understood as factual claims about the empirical world or about our own psychology. Yet they do seem to make claims about some subject matter, claims which are capable of being true or false. Moreover...'

'God this is going to be a long few hours,' August thought to himself, as he began to read.

Grace finished eating, peeked into the living room where she saw her husband reading the book, and she smiled to herself. She grabbed her keys, and left the house. She made sure to lock the door behind her, so no one who wasn't invited could get in.

She religiously checked her security app on her phone to ensure Augusts safety, and to her surprise, he continued to read the book. She knew he didn't want to read moral philosophy and ethics books, but she also knew that he realized he had to if he had a chance to gain back not only her trust, but his country's as well.

She grabbed all the essential groceries she would need, as well as a few treats for August. She decided to reward him for his good behaviour, much like a child, but she knew that would work.

August did not have a good childhood. He was an only child, but his parents barely paid attention to him. His dad also worked in the CIA, and was killed when August was 8, just a day before his 9th birthday. His mother became distant and cold almost instantly, and told her little 8 year old that 'she had nothing, and no one left,' after her husband died. August tried to please her the best he could, but nothing he ever did was good enough for her. On his 18th birthday, he had had enough. He told her that he didn't appreciate that she was not a good mother to him. That nothing he ever did was good enough. That he always had to do hard physical labour, and wasn't able to enjoy his teenage years. His mother, on that same day, told him that she wished he had died instead of his father, as she could replace him, but not her husband.

August didn't forgive her for many years, and he still fully hadn't. He talked to her on her birthday, and only to wish her a happy birthday. The only time she was proud of him was when he joined the CIA. He had joined to figure out who killed his father, and subjected him to so many years of abuse and neglect.

Once he found out his father had gone rogue and was killed by the IMF, he became angry, and shut himself off from everyone in his life. He became what the world see's today. The Hammer. The guy who gunned down every single Syndicate agent he came across. The man who almost wiped out India, Pakistan and China, with two nuclear bombs.

Sometimes Grace couldn't believe how different their lives were before they met. Grace grew up in a loving and nurturing household. Grace was the youngest of four, her older sisters Melissa and Julia, and her big brother Rick. Melissa had moved out before she was born, but Julia and Rick were still in school, and both living at home. The only trauma that she had experienced in her life was when Julia was kidnapped, and she moved in with her sister Melissa so her mom could focus on finding Julia, and she was only 6 years old. Her sister was found soon after and everything went back to normal.

She had noticed August had severe childhood trauma just 5 weeks into dating. It was the first time she had spent the full night with him, and he woke up in a cold sweat, and screaming. He was inconsolable for multiple minutes, and only when Grace got him water and rubbed his back, did he calm down. He told her a little bit about it, but only his fathers side, not about his mothers abuse. His mothers abuse came out when they were planning their wedding, and Grace kept bugging him to invite his mother.

'"She's your mother August! She has a right to come and see her son get married!'"

"That doesn't change the fact that her and I don't get along, and I don't want her ruining our day."

"Why? Why don't you get along? She's your mother, she loves you."

"NO SHE FUCKING DOESN'T! I HAVE NEVER, IN MY ENTIRE TIME OF BEING ALIVE, HEARD HER TELL ME SHE LOVES ME! THE LAST CLOSE TO 'I LOVE YOU' WAS 'IM GLAD YOU JOINED THE CIA TO MAKE YOUR FATHERS MEMORY PROUD'! SHE NEVER WANTED ME, BUT WAS FUCKING STUCK WITH ME AND SHE MADE SURE I KNEW THAT!"

Grace immediately stood up and enveloped him in her arms. She felt his head hit her shoulder, and his sobs began to spill out.

"It's okay my lovely. I love you. I'm sorry you went through that, but the beauty of being an adult is you can make your own family. It's going to be okay."'

He had never expressed himself like that before, and Grace knew that marrying him would have its challenges, and the challenge she was currently facing was the biggest of them all.

She wrapped up at the store, and headed home. While she drove, she attempted to figure out how she was going to explain to Sloane and the IMF that August deserved a second chance, when she didn't fully trust him again yet. Although, he had begun to prove himself worthy of her help, even in less than 24 hours.

Just before pulling into the driveway, she remembered she needed to check the mail. She drove to the mail box, and checked their slot. There were a few bills, other junk mail, a package from Amazon for Grace, and package from Julia, which was also for Grace.

Her and Julia had stopped talking after she got engaged to August, who Julia didn't trust. Every once in a while, though, she would get letters and packages from Julia on holidays, and sometimes it would be something to give to Ethan. She put the mail in the passenger seat of her car, and headed back to the house.

She arrived home, and August took a break from reading to help her with putting away the groceries. She managed to hide his treats from him, and locking them up in a a secret compartment she had installed in the pantry while he was in Kashmir. She felt that if he knew she bought those for him, he wouldn't earn it.

She gave August a hug and kiss, told him she was proud of him, and went to her office to work on a binder to help Auggie, the package from Julia in tow.

She made a book tracker, and even made assignments based on the books he'd be reading, and what he'd be learning. She would add more when and if Sloane told him what he needed to do. He had a long few months, or possibly years ahead of him, and he would need all the structure, support and love he could get. She thought about reaching out to his mother to let her know that her son was not dead, but decided to wait and ask August, although she knew what his answer will be.

Her gaze drifted to the package, and decided to open it. She ripped the tape off, and the folds popped open. On top was a letter, labeled with Grace's name. She opened the letter and read the contents.

'My angel Gracie,

I heard about August, and I'm sorry. I know I never trusted him, but that's not why I'm writing.

I've been in your place. Maybe not exactly, but I've lost a husband too. It sucks. I can't imagine the pain and heart break you are feeling right now, and I wish I could be there with you.

I was in Kashmir at the time, and he looked very determined. I know that's not what you want to hear, honey, but I thought it was important to tell you. He also gave me a letter to give to you, which I've included. I don't know what it says, I didn't read it. I want you to know I'm back in the States, at Mom's house. If you want to visit, or if you want us to come to you, we can. Just let Mom know, okay?

I love you sweet girl,

Julia'

Grace felt tears fall onto her cheeks. She didn't know what to think. Finding out her sister knew what August was planning should have made her angry, but it made her sad. She placed the letter down on the desk, and picked up the other letter, which was labeled 'Baby girl" which was August's name for her.

She opened it, and began to read.

'My sweet angel.

I love you, baby. I'm so sorry for what I'm doing, and I know it means I may never see you again, especially after you find out I did it. I don't want you living in a world that is this cruel. You have so much of your life ahead of you, and you deserve the best.

I won't be coming home. You will get everything. The house is paid off, the cars are paid off and there is several million dollars in our bank account, provided to me by the Syndicate and Lane.

They will not hurt you. They will not touch you. Sloane and I had an agreement that if I was to be disavowed or killed, you would be protected no matter what. Both you and I know that if anything were to happen, Ethan will do anything to make sure you stay safe.

I never wanted to hurt you, and I know I promised not to, but I have to do this. I love you with my whole heart. I wish I could have given you a family like you wanted, but I couldn't bring a child into such a world.

You will never forgive me, but let me tell you this.

Julia is here, and I will make sure she is safe. I will try to get her to come with me, but there's no promises. I understand she could never trust me, and never will. I never wanted to hurt you or your family. I'm so sorry my love.

I hope you have an amazing life, and find someone who can love you like I couldn't, and gives you what I couldn't. I love you with all I am baby, and you'll be the best mama ever, when your time comes. Give Kal all the treats for me, and tell him that his Daddy loved him.

Auggie.'

Grace had tears pouring down her face now. All he was trying to do was protect her, but he was doing it in the wrong way. She wished he could see the good in himself, but he just wasn't there yet. He would be one day though.

There was also a picture of Julia and her on the day she was born. On the back, in Julia's handwriting, said:

' You and me on the day you were born. You were so innocent. I prayed you would stay that way. The moment I held you I told myself I would never let anything harm you. You're so special to me, and I love you angel. You're my favourite sibling, but don't tell Rick, he doesn't know ;)'

Grace giggled, and placed the picture on Julia's letter. It was pretty obvious to everyone that being the youngest, Grace was the favourite to all her siblings.

Julia had also included some other pictures throughout her life, like Julia's grad from med school, Grace's high school graduation, and their trips to Disney that they took. Julia had included some Kashmirian snacks and a bracelet that was hand stitch-monogrammed with her name. She smiled at everything she had been given by her big sister. She didn't talk to her, so she treasured everything Julia gave her.

There was another letter. Grace opened it to find similar bracelets with Ethan and Ilsa's name on them, as well as a Virginia post card. On the back of the post card read:

' Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.'

Grace put that envelope to the side, knowing it was meant for Ethan and Ilsa.

Her phone buzzed beside her to let her know that Sloane, Ethan, Ilsa, Benji, and Luther would be arriving soon, and Auggie needed to get to the basement.

She rushed down the stairs, and headed straight to the living room.

"They're gonna be here soon, come with me, bring the book." She said. She grabbed the gun off of the coffee table where she had dropped it the night before, and she headed to the basement, with August tagging along behind her.

They went to the basement, and headed through the gym, to a false door, which led to their emergency bunker. August had this installed incase of a threat of a terrorist attack. Being they lived in Washington, they knew a large enough terrorist attack could and would put them at risk as well.

He sat down, and took the gun from her hands.

"I will open the door when it is time for you to come up. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR UNTIL I SAY SO. Okay?" She said, her voice shaking with nerves. August noticed this, and put the book down.

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her body, and rested his head on hers.

"It's going to be okay, baby, alright? I'll be fine, you'll be fine, and if it all goes to shit I can get us out. You know that." He felt her nod, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, before she pulled away from him.

"I love you," She said.

"I love you too." He whispered, and watched her walk out of the bunker. He returned to his seat, and continued reading. He actually managed to admit to himself that he was liking Scanlon's book.

Upstairs, Sloane and the IMF team had just arrived and were sitting in her kitchen.

"Why are we here?" Hunt asked.

Grace took a deep breath and began.

"Before I begin, I need all of you to promise you will listen and not act without thinking about what I am going to propose greatly."

They all nodded in agreement.

She took another deep breath. "Okay. August is alive." All of their eyes widened, and Ilsa gasped but no one said anything.

"He is alive, and safe, and him and I would like to know if there's anything he can do to earn all of your guys's trust back. He is willing to do anything."

Everyone looked as Sloane, as her opinion was most important.

Sloane got very serious. "Yes there is. We do have a protocol to follow for rogue agents wanting to gain trust back again, but they have to request it in person, with proof that they are truly serious about it. Where is he currently?" She asked calmly.

"He is here." Grace said. "He came home last night. I would have called you but he had a large burn on his face, and a badly stitched forehead wound so I was more preoccupied with making sure he got fixed up."

Everyone nodded. They may not like or trust August, but as agents, they understood how important physical health was.

"Understandable. Bring him in, and we'll discuss it." Sloane said, and gave Grace a comforting smile, which let Grace know she wasn't going to pull any stunts.

Grace rushed down and got August, and headed back up. Grace saw Ethan's eyes darken in anger almost immediately upon August entering the kitchen.

August took a deep breath, ad began to speak. "I understand that you all probably hate me, and are angry at me, but I need your guys's help. I will do anything and everything to gain your trust back." He said, in a quiet tone of voice August had never used before.

Sloane was the first one to speak to him. "Walker, we are willing to help you, but you must do everything you are told. It's going to be a long few months."

August nodded. "I know. I'm already working to gain back Grace's trust, and she's helping me to be a better person, and as I said before, I am willing to do anything to gain that trust."

Ethan, Ilsa, Benji and Luther looked at each other, before they turned to August. "We'll help you too. I believe that everyone's capable of change, so we'll give you a chance," Ethan said. "But only one."

August nodded. "I understand." He looked up into Ethan's eyes. "Thank you." Ethan gave him a small smile.

They began to talk about what needed to be done, and how Grace was helping him. A few hours later, Ethan and Ilsa were getting ready to leave. Just before the headed to the door, Grace stopped them.

"I received a package from Julia this morning, and this was in it. She's back here, and she's safe." She said in a low voice to him.

Ethan smiled, and gave her a hug. "Thank you, Grace. If you happen to talk to her, let her know that I hope she's doing okay, and to stay safe. I appreciate you being able to make sure that she is always safe."

Grace smiled, and nodded. "She's my sister, and you're still my brother, wether or not you and Julia are together. It's my job," She said.

Ethan smiled, and gave her another hug, before Ilsa walked in from using the bathroom, and the trio said their goodbyes, before the door closed behind Ethan and Ilsa.

Grace ran up the stairs into her office and grabbed the letter. She headed back down to the living room, where she found Auggie reading. She took a seat next to him, making August look up.

"What's that?" August asked, and pointed to the paper in her hand.

"It's the letter that you gave to Julia to give to me, I got it in the mail this morning."

He put the book down, and turned towards her, his features portraying anxiety.

"And, um, what did you think?" He asked, nervously.

Grace smiled and looked at him.

"It made me cry. I know now all you care about was making the world a better place, but you were going about it the wrong way. You knew Julia would be there, but you wanted to make sure she was safe, all because she was my sister. It made me fall more in love with you," She said, tears coming to her eyes as she maintained eye contact with August.

August smiled, and reached a hand out for hers. Grace let him take it, and she ran her thumb on the back of his hand.

"All I ever want to do for you is to make sure you are safe, and you are happy." August whispered, and looked down to his lap, where Scanlon's book was laying.

"Auggie, I know. But I don't need you being taken away from me for the world to change. I read that manifesto, and yes, in certain situations, you must struggle before you succeed. But not the way you and Lane wanted to do it, honey." Grace said, quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry," August whispered, as tears started to fall from his eyes. Grace immediately looked up at the tone of his voice. Noticing his tears falling, she let the letter fall to the ground, and wrapped her arms around August, who sobbed into her shoulder.

"Auggie, shhhh, calm down," She said, as August's tears became louder and closer together. She ran her hands up and down his back, and whispered in his ear how much she loved him. a few minutes later, his tears started to subside.

Grace looked down, and saw his tired eyes begin to flutter closed. She sat up and lifted his head.

"Hey, hey, hey, you can't sleep yet," She began, brushing a few curls off of his forehead bandage. He groaned slightly, but opened his eyes. "I have to change your bandage on your head, and we need to put some more creme on your burn," She said, and helped August up.

He grumpily walked to the kitchen, and sat on a stool. Grace watched him as she gathered her tools, and laughed to herself about how child like he can become when he is tired.

She quickly took off the bandage, and looked at his stitches,

"They're healing, just slowly. They shouldn't leave too big of a scar, if a scar at all," She said. August nodded, too tired from todays events to talk.

She replaced the bandage and moved on to his burn. It was still noticeable what had happened, but it was healing. She gently lathered on the burn creme, and took a photo of his burn with her phone, in order to track it.

"Okay, baby, all done." She whispered to him. "You head up and go to bed, I'm going to put this away and let Kal out for a pee, and then I'll join you, okay?"

August smiled at her, and stood up. He wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Thank you, my love. I love you so much." He whispered into her ear.

Grace giggled and gave him a kiss on his lips. "I love you too, Snuffles," She replied, and used his nickname.

He gave her one last hug and kiss, and walked over to the stairs.

Grace began to clean up her medical supplies, and let Kal out for a pee. She walked into the living room, and saw the letter laying on the ground. She picked it up, placed it on the table. She then pulled out her phone and made a reminder to call her mom to talk to Julia and let her know what was happening and why she hasn't answered her lately.

She let the Akita back in the house, who went to his water bowl for a drink before heading up to the bedroom, where his dad was.

Grace made sure all the doors and windows were locked, and the alarm was armed, before she followed her boys.

"Kal! Leave Daddy alone!" Grace whisper yelled upon entering the bedroom, and seeing Kal nudging August with his nose for pets. Kal huffed at her, but then stalked over to his bed, immediately settling down.

Grace changed into her pyjamas, which consisted of one of August's shirts, and a pair of spandex shorts, before snuggling into bed with August.

She quickly fell asleep, and stayed that way until she was awoken at 5:30am by August shooting up from where he was laying. She rolled over and saw his shoulders shaking, his large hands covering his face. She shot up, and crawled so she was kneeling in front of him in the bed. She pulled his head from his hands, which forced him to reveal that he was crying and hyperventilating.

"What's wrong?" Grace said. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before running to the bathroom to get him a cup of water. She returned to his side, and placed the water down. He had a hand on his chest, and was hyperventilating to the point where Grace knew he couldn't breathe. She reached into his bedside drawer and grabber his 'bcalm' inhaler.

She bought him this inhaler after a particularly rough day at work, a few months previous.

He had come inside the house, and immediately walked up to where Grace was in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her, and began to breathe quickly. Grace, thinking he was just tired, gave him a hug, and continued to work on dinner when he released her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and followed Kal into the living room.

A few minutes later, as Grace was chopping up vegetables, Kal came running into the kitchen and began to bark and jerk his head towards the living room, before he ran back to August. Grace knew something was wrong, and followed him. She found August bent over on the couch, shaking, and his head in between his knees. Kal was nudging him, and attempting to get his face up unsuccessfully. Grace dropped to her knees in front of him, and lifted his head.

He looked up at her with pure fear in his eyes. His hands were on his chest, crumpled in his shirt. Grace immediately recognized what was wrong, and tried to calm him down.

'Baby, I need you to listen to me. You're okay, you're safe. Breathe with me." She said, and began to breathe calming breaths with him. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

They did that for a few moments, but his breathing barely calmed. She held her finger up in front of his mouth. "Pretend you're blowing out a candle, small, deep breaths."

August did as he was told, and his breath quickly slowed, and returned to normal.

Grace knew then that he had an anxiety disorder, but he had never gone to a doctor for it, and likely never would. She opted to educate herself on ways to help him, instead of forcing him into a situation where he wouldn't be comfortable.

She placed the inhaler up to his lips, and instructed him to breathe in. She removed the inhaler to allow him to exhale, before returning it to his lips. After 6-7 breaths, he was calm, and rested his head into Grace's neck.

"Here," Grace said. August lifted his head at her voice, and opened his mouth to drink from the cup that was presented at his mouth. He drank half the glass, before he wrapped his arms around his wife's waist.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Grace said in a quiet voice.

August took a few breaths, but began to explain. "I-I dreamed that Ethan didn't stop me in Kashmir, and Julia died. I was sent to prison. You visited me and told me how much you hated me, and wished you never married me. It scared me so much," He said, shakily.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here, I love you and you're going to be okay. You're safe." Grace said. She felt Kal's wet nose poking at her leg, and she looked at the dog. He had anxiety written all over his face, and knew he was scared for his dad.

Grace moved out of the way, and allowed Kal to climb up and put his large body where Graces once was. He rested his head on August's shoulder, and Grace put her hand on the back of his neck. August wrapped his arms around Kal a few moments later.

"Hey, buddy, daddy's okay." August whispered to the dog. Kal made a little whimper, but didn't move. After Kal was satisfied his dad was okay, he moved off, and settled his large body at the end of the bed. Grace laid down, and motioned for August to do the same. She wrapped her small body around his larger one, and they drifted off the sleep not long after.

Grace woke up before August the next morning, and allowed him to stay asleep. She walked into the bathroom and began to run him a bath. He was usually very clingy after an attack that bad, and she wanted him to feel calm, the way he calms her down.

She put a few drops of Lavender essential oil into the water, and Lavender scented bubble bath as well. Once it was full, she turned off the tap. She placed some fluffy towels on her vanity, and made her way to the closet. She grabbed sweats and a t shirt, as well as his superman boxers that he loved. Those were placed on top of his towels. She grabbed her laptop, so he could watch Netflix while he was in there.

Once everything was ready, she made her way back to her sleeping husband in the bed.

She knelt down beside him and began to run her fingers through his hair, gently coaxing him awake. "Auggie baby, wake up," She whispered. He groaned, but opened his eyes. Once his eyes landed on hers, his mouth molded into a smile.

"Good morning," He said, groggily. He reached out a hand and placed it on the side of her face, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth.

Grace leaned into his touch. "I ran a bath for you, follow me." She said. August smiled and got out of bed to follow his wife into the bathroom.

"It smells lovely, baby girl, thank you." He said, as soon as he entered the bathroom. Grace smiled, and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

"I have Netflix queued up on my laptop. I'll make us breakfast, and then I'll join you, okay?" She whispered in his ear. August nuzzled into her neck, and pressed a few kisses there, which made Grace smile. She missed his touch so much.

"Mmmm, sounds good." He whispered into her neck, which caused a shiver to run up and down her back.

She left him to get in the tub, and ventured down stairs. She made a quick breakfast of Eggo waffles, syrup and cold water bottles for the both of them. She made her way back up stairs, and found August settling into the tub.

Grace peeled off her clothes, knowing full well August was admiring her, which she loved. She got into the tub, settling herself in between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. She lifted the plank of wood she used to watch Netflix in the tub, and placed her laptop, and their food on it.

"What do you wanna watch?" She asked him, as she signed into Netflix.

"Mm, New Girl," He said quietly, and he ran a hand up and down her side, admiring his beautiful wife.

She put New Girl on, and settled back against August. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and began to pepper kisses on her neck. Grace moaned, and leaned back into his touch. Her hands ran up and down his thighs that had her body encased in his. August hit a particular spot that he knew would drive Grace crazy. She arched her back, and moaned out loudly. August felt himself begin to lose control, and removed his mouth from her.

"Why'd you stop?" Grace groaned out. "I was liking that,"

He chuckled. "I want you to trust me fully before we're intimate again. I don't want to make you feel like I'm being selfish."

Grace turned her head to look at him. "You won't baby. I love you, and miss you." She whispered.

August began to move his hands to her stomach. He immediately felt her body react to his, and that encouraged him to keep going. He removed his hands for a moment, in order to move the wood that had their food and laptop on it, to the ground where it couldn't be harmed.

Grace turned around in his arms, and swung her right and then her left over his legs, so she was straddling him. She pressed their foreheads together, and moaned at the feeling of Augusts hands exploring her body. It had only been a week since the last time they made love, but somehow it felt like it had been a lifetime. Grace brushed her lips against his, and felt his hand slow to a stop. He reached up and enveloped her lips in a loving kiss. Her hands moved from his chest to his jaw.

His tongue swiped on her bottom lip, and she immediately allowed him to deepen the kiss. His right hand moved from her lower back, over her hip, her thigh, and then in between her legs, and Grace allowed her self to be lost in the pleasure.

For many minutes, time seemed to stop for the couple. Inside their little bubble, no one could harm them. No ethics reading needed to be done, no trust needed to be gained, and Kashmir never happened. All they felt was love, and passion.

As Grace rested her head on August's chest, she felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal. August had his right hand rubbing her back, and his left playing with her hair. She sighed in content, and tilted her head up at August. He smiled town at her, and gave her a kiss.

"That was amazing," August said. He noticed pure happiness on his wife's face. "I love you so much, I can't even believe it," He said, a stray tear falling from his welled up eyes. Grace lifted a hand and gently wiped it, being careful not to hit his burn area.

"I love you too. You've amazed me with how far you've come, even in just two days. I'm so proud of you, baby." She whispered to him. She noticed the tears escaping his eyes, and she knew that he was happy to hear her say that. That she was proud of him, that she loved him. Words he never heard from his parents.

She sat up and wrapped him up in her arms. "I'm proud of you. You make me proud to be your wife as every day goes by. You're so worthy of all my love. You're doing amazing," She whispered, tears came to her eyes, and she praised him over and over, meaning every word.

"I make you proud?" He whispered, clearly not believing her.

"Everyday angel. Marrying you was the best decision of my life." She said. Instantly, his sobs intensified, and his arms squeezed her closer.

She knew he needed to hear every word of praise she could give him, that he needed every kiss, hug, touch, and he needed her.

He may not be the perfect citizen, but Grace would be damned if she couldn't admit that he was on his way. And she would protect him, and guide him, until he didn't need it anymore. When that time came, she would stick by him, and love him.

#august walker #mission impossible #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #tom cruise

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thefallencrestfamily · 3 years

Text

"The Fallen Crest Family"

Chapter 5: Mela Ami, The Mysterious 14th Misfit Student (3)

Kalego: "You've been quite for a few minutes since we walked."

Melody: "..."

Kalego: "Hey! That's a-!"

Melody accidentally bumps into a tree and she finally wakes up from her daydreaming. Kalego sighs as he helps her up a bit. It's one thing to weirdly prefer to walk over flying home but to not look where you're going. He should have just left and yet here he is, enduring all of this for the sake of confirmation.

Kalego: "Okay something's up, unless it's studying spells, I don't see you as a type of person who spaces out in public. Is there something your not telling me about your home life?"

Of there was, she did have a home Lord Sullivan gave her a house, and thanks to Opera her home was furnished, neat and tidy by her preferences in the span of a day. Lord Sullivan even gave books and bookshelves as a extra bonus. It's just that she didn't want Kalego to judge her tastes. Again. Kalego never liked her tastes during their class days. Most specifically her cute tastes. She knew Kalego doesn't like Akudols, plushies or all things childish. Which is what she requested in her preferences for her bedroom to Opera.

Melody: "I just... I don't think you'll like my home."

Kalego: "If you mean it's messy then-."

Melody: "No no, not that."

Kalego: "Look whatever it is, I promise I will not say anything to judge it rudely."

Melody looked at Kalego and pouted.

Melody: "You'll still rudely judge it mentally though."

Kalego: "Would you rather have me judge you verbally about your home?"

Melody: "Fine..."

Melody got to the house and opened the door to see it as a simple living room with a TV attached to a few video games added with a dinning room at the side.

Melody: "Welcome to my home, I'll make some Hell Grey Tea and food. You can look around for a bit. Remember, no verbal judging me!"

Kalego was a little confused, so far everything was tame. He looked in one room to find her study room, where she looks up all her books to help with her spells. Then he saw her little training room where there was a lot of gym equipment and a punching bag. He saw the guests rooms and they all looked simple yet different to keep hospitality. Even the bathrooms, the kitchen Melody was in and the laundry room looked clean and nice.

Kalego: "This girl is overthinking too much..."

Then he looked in her room and immediately closed it. It was too much to process, what people call "fluff"? Yeah fluff.

Kalego: "So... she's that kind of person. That's why she was nervous about bringing me here."

Of course, Kalego was still mentally judging her, but not too much. He was warned beforehand going to her home, and he still went anyway. Plus, she did live alone and was forced to mature at an early age, so he'd give her some slack. He came back and the food and tea was on the table. It looked like somewhere out of a fancy cafe which surprised him.

Kalego: "Spellcasting, Music and Culinary. Is there anything else I should know about you?"

Melody: "My culinary skills came from part time job I use to work in."

Kalego: "About that. What jobs did you do? Because being your age a minor taking jobs should be illegal."

Melody: "Let's see... I already said my part time job. I also did commissions for artworks and charms, entered many contests for prize money or rewards, let people live in my home as rent and when I saved enough to buy my own internet box, I did online freelance voice acting and music. When my freelancing was booming, I decided to quit my part time job and stop my commissioning to focus fully on that, as I finally started school."

Kalego: "How did you get this house let alone pay with freelance money?"

Melody: "Luck. Pure luck on a contest. Also I have full ownership of this house as per my win, so it's all in my name so I don't have to pay for rent."

Her luck is just all over the place, and her determination was incredible. It's a miracle for her to have survived this long without doing something illegal.

Kalego: "I see. Well this was all I needed from you, let's talk about the song you'll pick."

Melody: "Um..."

Kalego: "You still haven't decided, have you?"

Melody: "I'm sorry, I just feel kinda pressured."

Kalego: "Then go for a song that you feel the most comfortable doing."

Melody sees a small flashback to Kalego's student days back in his first year where the classes were deciding on what performance her class should do, where he found Melody was playing piano while singing songs alone.

Young Kalego: "It's not a solo performance, you know."

Melody: "I know but I do this to calm down- Wait... AH GEEZ! Kalego! Knock before you enter!"

Young Kalego: "Delayed reaction much? What would have happened if it was a assassin who came in this room, you would be dead instantly."

Melody: "Sorry..."

Young Kalego: "Anyways, what's this about calming yourself?

Melody: "I just feel a little pressured is all. Everyone in my class expects me to lead them because of my musical talent, but I don't know what to do. I need to figure out the song but there is too many to choose. Not to mention the themes, the performers, the stage need to be checked and I-."

Young Kalego: "Then go for a song that you feel the most comfortable doing."

Melody: "What?"

Young Kalego: "If you're stressed about picking a song, then pick the one that gives you the least amount of stress."

Melody: "I guess that helps... thanks Kalego."

Young Kalego: "Don't get it wrong, I didn't help you out of a whim."

Melody: "...You want me to teach you the piano, don't you~?"

Young Kalego: "No!"

Melody: "You didn't want to turn to your teacher for help or your classmates, so you turned to me because I wouldn't make fun of the 'Prideful Kalego' while he learns the piano for the first time to help his class's music performance. Am I right?"

Young Kalego: "Tch..."

Melody: "Alright, lock the door and I'll help. This room is a private soundproof room after all."

Young Kalego: "And yet you leave it open for people to sneak in."

Melody: "Oh hush!"

Young Kalego: "Remember, no telling anyone you did this."

Melody: "I know."

The flashback ends as Melody smiles from the memories. He's always been the same after all these years.

Melody: "Thank you Mr. Naberius, though you don't look to be the type to help without compensation."

Kalego: "Of course. You can pay back with keeping our little time here at your home a secret. The last thing I want is an inconvenience."

Melody: "Of course. So I'll see you at the exam tomorrow?"

Kalego: "Naturally."

---------

The next day Melody got to the school early to walk with a lot of props and decorations. She sees Dali there, looking like he's waiting for someone. She knew Dali in the past too, he was a student teacher of Babylus at the time, very surprised that his face or height really hasn't changed over the years. But she respected him, and was the only teacher back then who knew of her rough family life and became her mentor, like the father she wished she had.

Melody: "Good morning, you must be Mr. Dandalion. What are you doing up so early?"

Dali: "Your Mela, correct? I'm just waiting for the other judging teachers, though I do admit I might have been too excited for your performance that I came earlier than I thought. What about you?"

Melody: "I wanted to come early to prepare the stage for my Talent Exam. Do you by chance have the keys to the stage?"

Dali: "Okay, but I would need to supervise you."

Melody: "That's fine."

Dali took Melody to the stage as she began to decorate the stage. When she had to reach the top parts of the stage she looked down being unable to reach, which confused Dali.

Melody: "Fractal."

She jumps and she is light as a feather, being able to change the gravity of her body. This however, surprised Dali as she finished all her decorations. Any normal demon would have just flew, and looking back, she didn't fly when the other teachers spied on Kalego going to her home or even flew when she came back to the school today. And then a thought hit him, something he hope isn't the case. He walked to her, as she deactivated the spell.

Dali: "This might be insensitive of me, but... if you don't mind Mela, may I see your wing roots?"

Melody hesitates for a moment. She knew Dali was just being concerned and she could just say no then he wouldn't press it further. But she thought again that at some point, someone else would bring it up, and it would keep going until the situation got worse. She might as well show it to her former mentor, it's better than being exposed forcefully. She lifts her shirt to expose her back to see scars, scratches and burn marks. The wing roots were burned and ripped right off, revealing she has no wings also known as "being grounded".

Dali: "...I'm so sorry."

Melody: "No no, don't be sorry for my faults. I was at a wrong place at the wrong time... I plan to make artificial wings one day when I can create a spell for it, but..."

Dali: "...Can you at least tell me who did this to you? You don't have to tell me, but... those marks look recent..."

Right, they were fresh like she lost her wings several days ago.

Melody: "I don't know... I was blindfolded at the time...and after blacking out from the pain I was found by the Principal's Grandson."

Which she wasn't wrong. At the time of the incident they tried to blindfold her and she couldn't know who grounded her. A lot of her memories of that time were blurry and painful to begin with. And she did meet Iruma right after that.

Dali: "Well whatever happens in this exam or the next one, even if you don't pass for the Royal One with the Misfit Class, I'd be happy to assist you to enter in my homeroom class."

Melody: "...But why? Wouldn't problems stir if I'm put in any normal class? You know, spellcasting shenanigans."

Dali: "Well you are interesting, talented and you did say you wanted to enter Babylus. Any teacher would be proud to have a student like you and be a fool to let that talent go to waste. And besides, you'd make homeroom much more exciting, so your shenanigans would be worth the trouble."

Melody: "Thank you Mr. Dandalion."

---------

The other teachers came in and was ready seated in the audience. The only other teachers she recognized were Raim and Suzy. Raim was Mrs. Asmodeus' mentee back then, and would see her often when she asked for tips from Mrs. Asmodeus on trying verbal spell seduction. Suzy was also a student teacher with Bali, but would help with tips on verbal plant spells. Even Lord Sullivan, Opera and Balam joined in with Iruma and the rest of the Misfit Class to join in the audience. Of course, Kalego complained to the Principal about the students being there, but he gave in as long as the Misfits were quiet.

Melody: "Multiza Clonius Dera."

Immediately multiple versions of Melody were made as they got the instruments ready. Melody along with the other clones used magic to change their clothes, as the music of the instuments began to play. Iruma immediately knew what she was planning to play the moment he heard the first music bar.

Iruma: ("Black Vow...")

Melody sang, with many stage effects, beautiful voice and music and amazing acting. The story of a angel who gave up their wings with a few lyric changes, stating that it was a demon instead of a human, which did get Iruma a little confused, but probably was trying to cover the fact about humans.

Robin: "6 for me! That was absolutely beautiful, Mela!"

Raim: "Such elegance and talent, 6 as well."

Dali & Suzy: "I also say 6."

The something inside his sparked a familiar moment as Dali's smile faded once he stared back again at "Mela" who he now saw as Melody in a flashback to her Music Festival performance. He whispered Melody's name and realized it rather quickly how similar their face shape and body size was, with her current rank to add along with the the story of her "being pushed down to a delinquent class because of experimental spells" and her connection with the Ami Family. "Mela" and Melody were the same person, and that Melody Crest is alive. Of course, he wants to ask her so many questions, like how she survived or why she is still the same size and age before she disappeared. But it was clear she was hiding it, and Lord Sullivan was a part of it, so he would have to ask "Mela" and the Principal after the exam. He turned his head to Kalego, as he was the only one who didn't vote yet.

Dali: "Kalego, what's your vote?"

Kalego: "..."

Kalego looked to Melody and finally he sighed like he couldn't find a excuse and gave her the unexpected 6. It was magnificent, and he couldn't describe the feeling any further. With a perfect 66666 the whole Misfit Class cheered for Melody as they all approached her.

Iruma: "That was amazing, Mela!"

Clara: "La La even made Eggy Teach vote a 6 too!"

Melody: "Eggy Teach?"

Shax: "Oh, you'll learn that later on."

Kalego: "Silence! Mela, since you were able to pass the second exam, you are eligible for the last exam, the physical. And it will be separated into 3 parts. The first being an obstacle course race, the second being a power measurement, and lastly you will be doing the ultimate case of fighting the Misfit Class in Execution Cannonball."

Misfit Class: "EHHHH!!!"

Dali: "Kalego, even I know that's too much. She-."

Kalego: "-Can handle it. Dismissed."

Dali knew this won't end well. Melody has extreme magical power yes, but there is only so much she can handle. She already used magic to practice her performance and used magic for her final performance. She needs to recharge, she can't tackle this much by herself. By the time she would make it to the Misfit Battle of Execution Cannonball, she'd pass out from magic overuse.

Dali: "Kalego wait-."

Melody: "It's okay, Mr. Dandalion, I'll be fine for tomorrow."

Dali: "But your magic-."

Melody: "-Is fine, so don't worry. I'll take responsibility for what happens to me tomorrow."

Dali: "...Hey, can I speak with you in the Principal's Office?"

Melody knew. By the time she performed, Dali would see through her right away. Didn't know how he can tell and why he would care, but always appreciated a keen eye to finding out what's up with her, even though somehow he couldn't see through Iruma being human. She nods as he goes to meet with Lord Sullivan and Opera in the Principal's Office.

Melody: "I take a guess you're here to ask about me. You were always good at seeing through me, Dali."

Dali: "So you are her... Your Melody Crest."

Lord Sullivan: "Yes, we found her recently in a Crest Magical Item that was kept away in the Magical Apparatus Battler. According to her, she was in the middle of the incident before being sealed away."

Dali: "So that's how you were grounded..."

Lord Sullivan & Opera: "Grounded?!"

Dali: "She-... She didn't tell you two?"

Melody: "No I'm sorry... especially to Opera... It really was a bad topic to bring up... The only reason I told you Dali was because I was left in a situation where I really couldn't avoid the topic you asked. Again, I plan to make replacement wings with a spell I've been trying to perfect, so it won't be forever."

Opera: "Melody..."

Lord Sullivan: "For the sake of Melody's protection, can you keep her identity a secret. The people who harmed her family are still out there and if she were to announce her return she would likely be targeted again. Can we trust you?"

Dali: "Even to Kalego and Balam? Don't they deserve to know you're alive more than anyone else?"

Melody: "It's better this way. I don't want them to involve themselves with me as Melody. I want to protect them from my involvement... Though I realized too late you were very unavoidable so..."

Dali: "Fair enough, you have my word that I won't expose your identity. Or do you need the Crest Secret thing to-."

Melody: "No no, I already did that with Opera a long time ago and regretted it, so I'll just take your word for it."

Dali: "Are you sure?"

Melody: "Yeah."

Dali: "Now that I said what I wanted to say, I suggest you take a early leave and rest. You need your magic for tomorrow."

---------

Time skip to after school, the teachers were discussing how to organize each part. Dali along with a few other teachers however, tried their best to not make it too extreme. As they agreed with Dali that Kalego might be expecting too high of her. So in a final agreement, the only thing she needed to do was the Execution Cannonball along with two choices. The first choice is picking only two of the Misfits Students Ranked Daleth to assist her, but it would involve Kalego if she picks. The second choice was the original choice of just facing the Misfit Class alone. Sullivan nodded to Opera and they called Melody.

Opera: "Good news, you won't be doing the obstacle race or power measurement, but they do ask you one thing. Would you rather face the Misfits alone or would you like to have 2 allies with you but you'd be facing Kalego too."

If Melody fought Kalego, she'd be screwed as well as endanger her allies to a Cheth Rank. She'd rather endure it on her own than hurt her soon to be classmates with that kind of struggle. Especially since she knows for a fact that Kalego is a no mercy man.

Melody: "...Let me face the Misfit Class alone."

Kalego then took the phone from Opera as he smirked.

Kalego: "Then it's decided. You will face the Misfit Class in Execution Cannonball alone."

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

#marimashita iruma kun #iruma kun #suzuki iruma #melody crest #naberius kalego #valac clara #the misfit class #balam sicirue #stolas suzy #bars robin #raim #dandelion dali #opera #lord sullivan #the fallen crest family au #shax lied

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malethirsty · 4 years

Text

Male Crow Eater - Chibs Telford

Summary: Fucking powerful men has taken you far in SAMCRO, but it takes a Scotsman to show you life as a Crow Eater doesn’t have to be sour and sweaty, it can be sweet and sugary as well.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!), Daddy Kink

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1201782075163996160?s=21

You had settled into your position of Crow Eater very well, having fucked SAMCRO’s President, his best friend & his Sergent At Arms also following up, now all that was left was the Vice President. As luck would have it, you had a thing for accents, so the Scotsman made you very hot under the collar, so when he set you in a motel area for an evening, excitement practically overwhelmed you, especially when you were told you’d be free of charge for the night “How on Earth did he get that for me?” You asked out loud in the clubhouse as Chibs got ready at home “Figure it as your payment for our mattinee for SAMCRO Cinema.” Tig said, which caused the room to burst out laughing, it seemed so chaotic what had been going down with you and SAMCRO but sex with Jax, Opie, Tig & Clay had flowed so perfectly, you hoped you had the same connection with Chibs.

You readied yourself as well, taking your iPhone and speakers along with you, planning a rather sensual night in at first. You made sure to text the group when you left so that Chibs could have a few extra minutes to brush up, it wasn’t that often he donned fancy hair stuff and dressed up. After travelling for a while, you came across Charming Motel, and parking, made your way up to reception “Hello I’m Y/N, I believe Mr. Telford checked me in for a room with him.” The lady at the desk poured over her books “Room #9 is the one, you’re in until Monday morning.” She said crisply, holding out one key, the other reserved for Chibs “Thank you very much.” You responded, taking it and making your way down the walkway, finding Room #9 and letting yourself in. It was a neutral sort of room, bed tucked in one corner, a luggage area, a cooking area and a bathroom tucked round the side. You unpacked, setting the iPhone audio up on the bedside table, you sat on the bed dressed up in a Dressing Gown and waited for your Leather Clad Biker to swoop in.

Less than half an hour trailed by when you heard the door open, you turned your head to see Chibs walking through it, leather kutte and all “Hey darlin’” he greeted you “Well hello Chibs, I thought you were doing fancy dress tonight?” He shrugged “Couldn’t work out how the fucking suit went, so I tossed it in the bag.” he gestured to his luggage which he parked with yours “Maybe you could help me get it on so we can go out for the evening or something.” You nodded “That should be fine. Speaking of which, are you sure about paying for everything I’m buying? Isn’t that gonna cause a dip in the club?” Chibs sat across from you “Not at all sweet thing, we’re happy to spend it on you, you’ve taken such good care of us, and in turn, we look out for you, make love to you, make you cum for us, and taking our load all you have to do to make us happy, make me happy.” He finished the last part of his declaration with a lustful tone in his voice, he must have been preparing himself weeks on end for this.

“Well then, I have one request.” You said, steadying yourself up, Chibs cocked his head “Remember the whole Erotica era Madonna put out?” “Aye” Chibs acknoledged “I stumbled across it this week and thought Erotica would be good to put on while we do foreplay.” “Not the entire fucking album, I won’t do foreplay for over a fucking hour, my cock will fucking explode!” Hearing Chibs swear in his delectable accent was hot as you began to laugh “No Chibs, only the title track, it’s five minutes at best and gives you time to warm me up, stoke the beast before you unleash yourself onto me.” “Goddamn, you want me to fuck you like an animal eh?” “I don’t want you to do anything, I only want you to cum in me, anyway you like.” You sent back to him “Fucking hell I’m rock solid, Y/N get that damn song on before I tear your gown off and go to town on ye.” Grinning, you activated your phone, quickly connecting the speakers whilst seeking out the song at the same time, as much as you wanted to tempt Chibs, you also wanted him deep inside you. Finding it quickly, you made sure everything was on and connected, you switched on the song and as the synth began you crossed back over to the bed and spread yourself down, releasing the robe and letting it fall beneath you “Claim me Fillip, I’m yours.” Was all you had to say for the biker to make his way over to you, marvelling at your form as he took your lips into a deep kiss. Whisky was the one defining taste you experiences as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, entangling you both together, hands trailing over your sides, stimulating you, he started to make his way down, his beard trailing over you roughly.

He moved to your neck, leaving nips and bites along with his kisses “Gonna leave hickeys on ye, so everyone can see. Fuck Y/N, you are intoxicating!” Once he was done there, he moved to your nipples, sinking his teeth into one & stimulating the other with his right hand, causing moans to fall from your mouth as Chibs had his way “Oh f-fuck Chibs, Yes! Keep going!” He swapped position, attending to your right nipple with his teeth, your left with his hand, causing your head to fall back, breathless as Chibs continued his trip down. He soon reached your cock and balls “Spread your legs.” He commanded and you obeyed, streching them over Chibs head, before gripping them around his head and flipping over so you were now on top, Chibs moved swiftly up the bed so you both locked eyes “If you’re going to finger me, at least let me give you something in return.” You told him as you descended upon his cock, a moan falling from Chibs mouth “That’s it Y/N, suck my cock deep, wrap your lips round it, slobber all around it, get it wet.” Like a good Crow Eater, you obeyed the instructions, your ass sticking out in Chibs face “Beautiful arse.” He growled before slapping it, causing you to moan round his cock “Oh that’s nice, so good. Keep doing that Y/N. Oh Fuck yeah baby boy, worship daddy” He moaned out as he spat into his hand, spreading it to his fingers, slowly working one in. The vibrations that went through his cock at your moaning reaction was enough to make him buck desperately, he worked a second finger in and began to stretch you “Fuck your walls are tight round my fingers, you’re gonna love it when I shove my cock into ye, you’ll clench around it, plead for more and I’ll give it, all I can give and more, anything to make you cry out as I fuck you so damn hard.” You pulled off his cock, drawing in a massive breath before you descended to suck his balls, making Chibs groan even louder “Fuck, that’s fuckin fantastic! My ol lady never did that for me, Oh! Oh God, I need more Y/N, keep going!” Chibs head fell back as he got a better view as he worked your ass open, moving his fingers around desperately attempting to find your prostate, as you moved onto his other ball. Eventually your hole clenched around Chibs’s fingers as you let out a moan “I’ve found it now, and if that’s how you react to my fingers, then when I hit you with my dick, you’ll be begging for more, in fact we may never leave this room again.” Chibs’s dirty intent made you blush as the song finally finished “At fucking last.” He growled pulling his fingers from you and dragged you to where he was “Now it’s my turn.” He growled, pure lustful passion in his eyes as he spread your legs wide and thrusted his cock deep into your ass your cries mingling with Chibs gasp as your walls tightened around his sensitive cock “Oh this is gonna be good” he said, a gleam in his eyes.

He began to buck into you, setting a rough yet smooth pace. You gripped your hands in his hair as you kissed passionately, eventually drawing your mouth away to lick at his moustache and up his cheek “Fuck, you’re so hot Y/N.” “There’s more where that came from” you told him as you now started to lick his Glasgow Smile scars aligned on the side of his mouth, he rewarded you with an extra sharp pound, sending ripples of ecstasy through you “Oh Chibs! More, Fuck me sir! Fuck me so damn hard!” You cried out, Chibs doing exactly as you asked “Yeah you like daddy fucking you don’t you slut?, love your daddy all horny and dicking you down like you deserve after a long day?” “Yes.” You gasped out, Chibs’s piston hips robbing you of breath “Louder” he growled, slamming in balls deep that the sound of Chibs’s balls slapping against your ass reverberated around the room “YES! FUCK ME CHIBS, FUCK ME SO FUCKING HARD!” Chibs laughed down at you and increased his pace his groans and moans mixing with yours to create quite an erotic sound.

Suddenly he again twisted you around so now you were on top of him “Ride me” he growled out, his sexy accent only adding to the bubbling lustful tension. “Ride me so fucking hard so that when you fuck all the other bikers, you’ll remember how big my cock was in your arse.” Your intent perfectly clear, you resumed Chibs’s previous pace, being stretched out ever further as Chibs’s cock sunk deeper, hitting your prostate now with sharper precision. All that arose from you for a good solid while were wanton moans as Chibs assisted you in riding him, starting up at you with such desire and wonder in his eyes “Oh fuck Y/N, you’re taking it so damn well! You love how my dick fucks your arse?” “Yes Fillip, your cock is perfect, fucking amazing!” “F-Fuck. Go faster, you deserve this dick fucking you so hard.” He growled out in response to your praises and once again, you obeyed without question, the headboard now slamming into the wall as Chibs took you deep.

He took your head in his hands and licked over where you had mapped out his scars. “Now you have a Glasgow Smile as well Y/N, we’re bound by my scar.” You grinned at Chibs “I think I can map out where you’ve been pierced other than your face.” As you trailed down Chibs looked confused “What the hell do you-Oh fuck!” Chibs’s question was stopped with a breathy groan as you licked all over his chest tattoo of a money note, while your hands trailed up and down his arm tatts “Fuck yeah! You like my tattoos Y/N?” “Yes Chibs, I love how dark they are, like I’m safe whenever I’m with you.” “Damn right you are, if anyone ever tried to hurt ya, I’d kill em in cold blood, then I’d fuck ya, with their blood all over us, and you’d moan and cry like a whimpering whore, cause thats how you are in bed, so needy for my cock to fuck you so damn good. You want it, ya got it.”

The end was fast approaching for the both of you, you were both able to tell from the fact his toes were curling and you were shaking “You gonna cum Y/N?” You nodded “Aye, I’m in the same boat with ya.” He grabbed your cock & began to stroke it, causing you to moan even louder “Shoot your load all over me Y/N, do it!” With one final moan of satisfaction, you shot all over Chibs “Fuck, you’re eager as shite.” He groaned out before flipping you over again “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in ya, shoot my load in ya tight fucking arse, and you’re gonna fucking love it!” “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You returned, causing Chibs to growl out “Good. Fuck Y/N, this is the best sex I’ve ever had, TAKE MY CUM!” He bellowed the last part as he shot deep into your ass, with a string of cursewords falling from his mouth as he collapsed onto the bed.

You looked over at Chibs, grinning as you did so, “I don’t think we’re leaving the room this weekend” Chibs grinned back, responding in a lustful tone “No Darlin, I don’t think we will”

#Chibs Telford #Male Reader #Chibs Telford x Male Reader #Chibs Telford Smut #Sons Of Anarchy #Sons Of Anarchy Smut #Male Crow Eater

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

164 - The Faceless Old Woman (Live)

[applause]

Jeffrey Cranor: I’m really excited, we wrote this script recently coming up in this last performance for tonight. And I got real excited for writing it, cause we haven’t written like a, to do a live show full length in a new voice. And it was a lot of fun to do.

Joseph Fink: Yeah so tonight we are presenting the first Welcome to Night Vale show that is entirely from the point of view of someone who is not Cecil, this is the time when the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home gets to step out from her secret.. place in your home. [laughter] And tell you a little bit about herself.

Jeffrey: One of my favorite things about writing the Faceless Old Woman stuff is cause the way Joseph and I work is that we’ll write episodes or write parts of episodes and pass it to the other and that person will, sometimes have questions but oftentimes just maybe like add something to it. So a lot of times it’s either, when I get stuff back from Joseph and I dunno if he feels the same way getting stuff back form me, with the Faceless Old Woman script it was always either something really hilarious for something really upsetting. [laughter] And I really love that a lot.

Joseph: This is maybe the most upsetting thing we’ve ever written, I hope you guys enjoy it. [laughter]

Jeffrey: Have fun, good night! [applause]

Joseph: I guess we should start that show we talked about.

Jeffrey: Let’s do it. You guys, let’s welcome to the stage your friend and ours, Mara Wilson!

[applause] [long silence]

Mara Wilson: I am the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. Hello. You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you very well. I’ve been going through your medicine cabinet. You take too much Advil. Do you realize how hard that is on your digestion? I know a couple gelcaps and a glass of water before bed can alleviate a morning hangover, but it also puts you in a bad mood, because you don’t get good sleep with all that extra stress you put on your guts. You know what’s a better hangover cure? Not drinking like it’s the last day of community college. I replaced your vodka with clear Windex, and your Advil with Ipecac. This won’t help your hangovers, but it certainly will be more entertaining for me. I don’t sleep, so I need better late night entertainment than Netflix. I’ve already watched every episode of “Money Heist” and “Criminal Man” and “Planet documentary”, I have to spice it up a little bit.

Which reminds me, sorry about the tarantula incident last week. And here I’m speaking specifically to you, Tony. Yes you, in the shirt. The one hoping I’m not talking about you. I’m not sorry you woke up with a tarantula covering your face, nor that it bit you, causing your eyelids to swell up like Kinder eggs filled with purulent discharge instead of toys. I am sorry that I forgot to turn the flash off of my camera, which alarmed both you and the spider, and I never got a good photo. I’ve been building up my portfolio for an art exhibit I call “Gross Things on a Sleeping Tony”. It’s going up June 1, exclusively in your living room. I’ve already gotten “Open-mouthed Centipede Bouquet” framed. You’re gonna find this show absolutely terrific. Wait no, not terrific, what’s the word? Terrifying.

Tony, you’re one of my favorites in Night Vale. I know you hate your direct marketing job selling high interest credit cards to twenty-somethings, but the benefits are great. You have health care, a 401k, and you get to take advantage of people less fortunate than you. Everything is its own reward. But I’ve read your poetry, you love poetry. To be fair, there isn’t a big job market for poets, but you need to explore what makes you happy. I tattooed one of my favorite lines of poetry on you last month. It’s by Mary Oliver. “Instructions for living a life. Close your eyes. Be scared. Good luck.” And then I drew a little butterfly next to the words. I’m not the best artists, though, so it kind of looks like a radish or a sarcoma. Doesn’t matter, you still haven’t noticed. It’s just right below your right shoulder blade, don’t try to find it now, it’s still healing and given that I used the metal rod from that fondue set in your closet as the needle, it’s possible it’s infected. Better to leave it alone.

Tony, look at me. Imagine where my eyes would be. You have a lot to work through. I’m here to help you, I really am. I’ll prove it by giving you some advice. If a venomous arthropod is on your face, don’t scream.

Anyway, it’s not you Tony who’s bothering me, it’s the new people. They are elderly, like me, and they just moved into a house in the center of Night Vale. Or maybe this is decades from now, time is a little hazy for me. I’ve never been in this house nor noticed it before they moved in. it’s a one bedroom and there are three of them. I thought polyamory, but they have three separate beds and they never speak to each other, rarely look at each other, and never leave the home. The first night I secretly lived in their home, I realized they never slept either. They brushed their teeth, put on pajamas and get into bed. But they all lie there, eyes open, through silent hours of darkness.

I tried whispering to them but got no response. Usually when I reveal myself in the dark, I get the thrill of witnessing horror dawn across a person’s distorted mouth and bulging eyes as they see my faceless face pressed up against their own. One of the best parts of visiting new residents. But not these three. For once, I’m the frightened one.

Speaking of frightening, did you get your taxes (-) [0:08:20] on time Alex? You, you’re Alex. You with the shoes. I had to file for an extension. I don’t owe any money because I have no income, but I’m over 200 years old, never got a social security number, have no permanent address and I wasn’t born in this country, it’s a lot of paperwork. And Alex, you know your Wi-Fi is terrible and I was having a hard time downloading the forms I needed, so I just wrote my name on some yellowish-black Boston lettuce you’ve left in the crisper for the last three weeks. But the leaves kept falling apart, I think more like melting. After about 20 minutes, I got frustrated and just made myself a salad. Also, I used the last of your parmesan cheese, but don’t worry, I replaced it with dried skin I’ve been collecting from your bed sheets. Don’t be grossed out, Alex. Same texture and nutritional value, you won’t know the difference. I got the idea from a Food Network’s “Beat Bobby Flay”, where this one winner tied up Bobby and ran a (micro-) [0:09:17] across his forehead to make a chimichurri sauce.

I love that show, but I’m a bigger fan of HGTV’s “House Hunters”, the desert dystopian version. That’s where I met you, Addie. Yes you, with the face. You were shopping for a new home here in Night Vale. You told the realtor - who was inside of a living deer, its belly horrifically distended and quivering with every one of the agent’s words and gesticulation – that you wanted three bedrooms, a back yard, and something close to an outdoor community space. The first home, the yard was not in good shape, lots of (- remains) [0:09:55] and the lawn was glowing, perhaps from underground radiation testing. It was well under your budget, but you would have had to spend your savings on fixing it up. Also, in the bathroom mirror you saw, crawling across the ceiling, a faceless old woman devouring what looked like a rat. You didn’t need to worry about a rat infestation, Addie. It was a chipmunk. The second home was a condo right in the heart of the arts district. You loved the design: a simple large black cube, no doors, no windows, no interior. A true closed floor plan, so popular these days. But you weren’t sure there was enough room for entertaining, or anything else at all. The house you selected was perfect. Three bedrooms, a Jacuzzi en suite, and a large patio backyard. Plus it was right in the middle of town next to a community dog park. Although you would be disappointed later to learn that your dog had been arrested for domestic espionage after peeing inside the park’s forbidden walls. I think you made the right choice, Addie, but I can’t help wondering every time I watch “House Hunters”, who is this person running away from? You left Queens to move to Night Vale. Queens is where your family lives, where your best friend lives, and your girlfriend of two years. Are you afraid of stasis, Addie? Of being loved, of commitment? You might be afraid of that pinkish ooze coming out of your ear, might wanna see an ENT about that. Or if not an ENT, an entomologist.

Speaking of putting woodboring beetles inside orifices, I tried a similar thing with the elderly room mates who recently moved to town, or will move to town many years from now, again time is strange to me. But these room mates are also so strange. When I went to put a beetle into one of their ears, I noticed a lot of scar tissue there, making the hole too small. In my haste, the beetle scurried away and I got kind of desperate and just made a bunch of spooky moans and hisses like this: [moans, hisses] but not one of the three responded to me. They continued their meaningless pantomime of sleeping, and in the morning they got up and each went quietly about their days. One of them made coffee, but did not drink it. They then went to the window and waved at their neighbor, Susan Willman, who was on her porch stretching before her morning run. Susan looked at the figure in the window next to her and froze. She stared in terror, then darted back into her home and locked the door. Susan has always been unfriendly. I ran her bed sheets through her office shredder as a reminder to be more open and loving toward the world.

The other two room mates climbed into the shower at the same time. I’m not one to get off on others’ sexual activities, I just thought I might see something new, something human here. But no, they stood side by side, cleaning their cold gravity-defeated bodies, not once looking at each other let alone speaking. A squelch and a squish and grey water falling around yellow toenails. They toweled off, but when they hung the towels up, those towels were completely dry.

I’m used to being the one who does inexplicable and disturbing things. Last year during the community players’ production of “Romeo and Juliet”, I decided it would be more fun if they used actual poison. But it was a last minute idea, so the only poison I could find was Borax. Which just gave the two kids playing the leads several unhappy hours in the bathroom on the night after the show ended, so I don’t know. I could have made a stronger directorial choice. But so could the actual director, I get that Shakespeare plays are long, but he cut out all the best parts like the train robbery, and also Tybalt winning his bowling league. Although I did appreciate that they left in Juliet’s famous line: “Good night, good night, your blood and guts and marrow, which worms shall eat inside your grave so narrow.” It’s a classic story. Kids these days just don’t try to fake their own deaths anymore.

Oh. And Morgan. Yes Morgan, I’m talking to you, you with the fingernail sand the teeth. I need to explain something to you. You tip 20 per cent. You can afford it, stop using it as a measure of how much you approve of the restaurant service. A 20 per cent tip is not bonus, it’s a fee. Restaurant owners don’t pay their staffs, instead they make the diners pay their employees through this idiotic notion of capitalist meritocracy. I don’t care how bad the service, tip them. You have money, Morgan. I would also tell you to stop asking to speak to a manager every time your Long Island Ice Tea is a bit like, but I got out your tongue last month, so they wouldn’t understand you anymore anyway. Do you know what a cut human tongue tastes like, Morgan? Yes you do. You just don’t know that you do. Remember Applebee’s last week? You ordered soup. It was a beef base with little onions and little perfectly sautéed flecks of your own tongue that you had used to lash out at a manager the last time you ate there. You could blame them for poorly expediting your orders, but really the onus is on you for going to Applebee’s. Which serves neither of the items its name promises. It’s false advertising. It’s like an egg cream soda, or Taco Bell.

Speaking of eating, the elderly room mates made lunch together, but not for each other. They were all in the kitchen at the same time making separate meals in silence. They sat around the dining room table together and ate. They carved and stabbed and pushed foods quickly into their mouths, but their eyes were empty. One of them began to spit out their food. No one seemed to care or notice. They all began to vomit, but not with muscular heaves of shoulders and necks, the vomit spurted out like water from a hand pump, their torsos and heads perfectly still. After each bodily rejection of food, they would start shoveling it back to their mouths, repeating the same process. Eventually one of them stood up and threw their plate into the kitchen window, glass bursting everywhere. That person leaned into the hole and began punching the jagged shards out with their clenched fists as blood poured out of their forearms and wrists. They screamed mournfully into the suburban street. Neighbors and passers-by passed only briefly, as if they had barely heard the sad howls spreading across the valley. Susan’s lemon tree next door died instantly and all the lemons fell with wet plops to the ground. The fruit pealed open and inside of each was a fleshy crimson pulp, like meat that has been ground for too long. The other two room mates kept eating and vomiting, not even noticing the shattered glass being subsumed by the growing pool of blood on the floor.

You know, I wasn’t always like this, faceless or old. Secretly living anywhere. Once I was born upon warm water. The smell I remember is sharp citrus and the peppery sting of grass. The salt funk of ocean. I was once a child. I grieved once. I smelled blood. Once I was a thief. I lived among thieves, I saw empires rise and fall, centuries cast themselves upon infinity as fruitlessly as waves upon cliffs. Once I was a recluse. I lived amongst bandits and farmers, I spoke a different language then. I’ve spoken many languages.

Once I was under the sea. That was a quiet time. I lived amongst the coral and dead-eyed fish. Once I was a wanderer. I’ve seen the (head) [0:18:14] waters of the Mississippi and I’ve seen the cobbled streets of Paris and I’ve seen the empty arches of Franchia. But I’ve never seen anything like those three room mates. Of all the things I've been – child, thief, recluse, wandered, faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, I’ll tell you this: I’ve never been more scared.

Fear is in the unknowing and the mystery. Fear is seeing everything about an old woman except her face. Fear is the uncertainty of her secretly living in your home. Fear is not the spider you see on the wall. It’s the spider you no longer see on the wall when you look back again.

In the unnerving din of shattered glass and mournful howls of that house, I found the loose thread that unraveled this mystery. The room mate who screamed had no tongue. And one of the others had an ear swollen shut from a previous surgery. And the other had a red mark, like a radish or sarcoma adorned with poetry drawn upon their shoulder blade. I realized I knew these three strange room mates. They are you, Tony, the special tattoo I gave you. And they are you, Addie, with your oral scar tissue from the beetle I jammed in there. And you, Morgan, with your tongue removed and digested. The three of you do not exactly live together in that home, not at the same time. You are living three different lifetimes in that same space. You do not speak or respond, because you are dead. Each of you alone in that house together, or you will be, time is confusing for me. Decades from now after you die, your souls will be trapped in the house, because something in this world is unresolved for you. You know this, paranormal neuroscience is required for all high school freshmen. But what they don’t teach you is how to resolve it. I know how and when each one of you die. I wrote it down on the back pages of your journals. Iv’e done this for everybody, but nobody ever reads it, because while people always think they’ll write every day, after a few pages they fall off the wagon and never see the lsat pages of their journals. Except Jonathan Franzen. He didn’t seem bothered by what he read. But he did cross out all my adverbs and added some Oxford commas. In case you’re wondering how Jonathan Franzen dies, here’s the answer: he doesn’t.

I am the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home. You might find this ambiguous, after all the word “home” is singular. So whose home is it that I secretly live in? Listen, some things in this tangled world are simple. I live in your home, and your home, and your home, I live in all of your homes simultaneously. I am many. [echo] I am many. I am one. [echo] I am one. You all live such different lives, teeming, that’s what you are: teeming. And I am there watching you.

You, Tony, you dream of being a poet. Resolve the unresolved. The worst that can happen is crushing disappointment and public mockery, and eviction when you can’t pay your rent. Many more awful things after that, get to it!

And you, Addie, you fled your previous city to escape a murder charge. Strangely, you didn’t commit the murder you were charged with, but you have committed murder. Weird choice to go on “House Hunters” as a wanted fugitive, but maybe it was a good first step to healing your soul.

And you, Morgan. You have an idea that could save us all, an epic defining idea, one of the greats, but you don’t know which one. You have so many ideas. I can tell you this: most of them are not important. One of them is vitally important. Good luck. Also, tip 20 per cent.

And you, I forgot your name, you tweet too much. We all tweet too much, but that doesn’t let you off the hook. That’s why I ate your phone. You can thank me later. You can all thank me later. Because you all will be seeing me soon. I think that tonight is the night to let slip my secret. You’ll soon see me fumbling wet and gray from out of the bathroom mirror, or folded up strangely loose skin and mashed bones in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Or you will see me scuttle on your walls, the hair hanging down from my faceless face. Or you will look out your kitchen window and there will be someone standing in your driveway, and it will be me, and there will be no one in the driveway and instead, I will be next to you in the kitchen. Faceless and so very very old. Won’t that be nice?

I’m the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. And your home. And your home. And every home. And I will be seeing you very, very soon.

[music, applause]

Today’s proverb: Never judge a book by its cover. Judge it by the title page instead.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcripts #episode 164 #the faceless old woman #the faceless old woman live #finally #thanks for your patience #there might be more mistakes bc there were many big words

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a-perfectly-screwed-up-heart · 4 years

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three years clean.

Today officially marks 3 years since I've touched a razor blade to my skin; a feat most people never have to think about, because that very idea is foreign to them. For me, however, it was a lived reality that I dealt with. Some people have asked me if talking about this part of my past is triggering, because talking about it means thinking about it. In all honesty, there are days when dwelling on it for too long is triggering, but I believe talking about it is important because if something can be talked about, that means it can come out of its usually dark space and be understood. If it can be understood, it's less scary to think about. If it’s less scary to think about, that makes it easier to help someone who is also going through it.

So, no… thinking about my past today isn't triggering. Some days, if I dwell on the feeling of cutting myself for too long, it can be triggering, but today isn't one of those days. Besides, today doesn't remind me that I used to cut myself—like that's something I can even forget; it reminds me of the fact that I no longer depend on it. I no longer crave something that is so unhealthy for me, but I do respect the period of life I was in when I felt like I didn't deserve any better. Today is not about sighing in relief because I've made it another year without a slip-up; it's about celebrating because, this year, it was so much easier to say no. Today isn't about remembering pain and suffering; it's about the joy that follows, in the recovery.

I won't lie, this is something that sticks with you. The hard days can be really debilitating, and the urges can sweep you off your feet and set up camp underneath your skin, if you’re not prepared… but it’s also something you grow comfortable with. I still have my razor blade and I don’t plan on getting rid of it any time soon; it's been with me for longer than most of my other friends have been. For the longest time, it was setting inside of a locket, hiding in the bottom of my makeup box. Now, it's setting in a coffee mug on my shelf, that says, in bold letters, "Love Yourself."

It's funny, I didn't even realize what I was doing when I swapped its location. I needed the locket (for a Halloween costume, of all things) and needed a place to put it, where I wouldn't lose it—because, again, it’s been with me for too long for me to go misplacing it now. How fitting, to realize this today, on my 3rd anniversary, because this past year has been about the journey I've taken to a place where I could Love Myself.

I won’t lie; on bad days, I do still think about it, and the idea of it is tempting… but what's even better than giving in is the power I now possess by being able to say no. Being in a frame of mind where I can acknowledge why the feeling is there and consciously decide to do better is a new kind of power, one that came with this new territory. For so long, I wouldn't give in to the temptations because I thought, “It’s already been so long… my friends know how well I’m doing. What would happen if I slipped? What would I tell them?” The shame in and of itself kept me on this path, for far too long. This year, though, it became something bigger than shame. This year, I realized that I loved myself too much to listen to the voice in the back of my head, whispering that tempting idea, like a siren call. I didn't fully realize it until recently, but it's true; I do love myself too much to drag a razor blade across my skin. Besides, I'm a different person than I was, and I know it wouldn't serve me in the same way it used to. When I came to that realization, it was bittersweet. I know that sounds odd, but it was. It was like losing an old friend or finding out your favorite ice cream has been discontinued—or that the owner of your favorite ice cream shop is racist, so you can no longer eat there (and if that sounds a little too specific to be hypothetical you’re right, and it sucks and I miss my monkey bread ice cream). Anyway, my crutch was gone.

This year has been all about losing my crutches and comfort zones. Over the last year, I left a church I had basically been born into because it was no longer serving me in a healthy way. I had to find security outside of the approval of my family and close friends. I dealt with tough situations with a classmate at school. I had my first big girl job with a boss who made me cry in the bathroom on my lunch breaks (which wasn’t entirely on her--I am pretty sensitive and find it difficult to communicate with authority figures without crying after or during the conversation). I had my first car wreck and concussion, all in the same day (somehow, unrelated). My great grandfather died the week before school started in the fall, and his funeral was the day before classes started. I pushed myself in school and I made the president's list every semester. I got into the university I wanted to get into, and then I found out I had to postpone going to that school. I finally made it to a place where I could stop taking my antidepressants, and, later that month, I found myself at a Lizzo concert with three of my best friends. I faced a guy who shattered my heart and shared a few laughs with him, and it didn't break me. I became an aunt but, instead of waiting in a hospital waiting room, I had to wait to meet my niece until she was two months old, because of the pandemic. I've had financial struggles, mental health struggles, familial struggles, and multiple clumsy accidents, and I’m still here, showing up for all of it. As I'm writing this, I've been pretty much totally quarantined for about three months.

This year has been a kaleidoscope of messes and triumphs and failures and fear-facing and hope and community and love. This year has been a year of clarity and sacrifice and grief and acceptance.

Some people might read this and judge me and wonder how in the world someone can be so stupid and reckless and wonder how someone could possibly rely on something so obviously harmful… and that's okay. Think whatever you want, because today's not about you. Today is about the past 3 years and the journey I've taken to become the woman I am. Today is about finding the freedom to take a different path—in more than one area of my life—one that might hurt and be scary and lonely, but is, ultimately, more rewarding. Today is about joyful moments and faded scars and beautiful friends who have become family. Today is about God giving me the strength and resilience to get here, to a place of clarity.

Today, I'm proud because I'm here and I'm living and I'm choosing to choose better for myself, in all areas of my life. I'm choosing to keep my razorblade in the mug on my shelf. I'm choosing to keep hope in the heart that's beating inside my chest and to keep my feet moving down this path, towards even more hardships and blessings.

Here's to today.

Here's to my journey.

Here's to yours, whatever it may be.

#self harm #mental health #self love #self care #growth #depression #fear #razorblade #healing

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Text

we’re the fortunate ones

season five: enough of this terror, we deserve to know light. ♥️

Jake’s hand trails slowly up and down Amy’s back as they stand and talk to Terry, his movements ranging from palm-sized sweeps to finger tipped circles as the conversation wears on. One of his most favourite things in life is to listen to Amy flip into Nerd Mode, and right now her voice is bright and full of passion as she explains the origin of Auld Lang Syne to her audience.

“So really, it’s about acknowledging days gone by and raising a glass to all the moments - good and bad - that have passed,” she concludes, glancing at Jake out of the corner of her eye as she raises her own glass in example. Moving his free hand back up towards the base of her neck Jake takes the cue, finishing his own drink and resisting the urge to curl a strand of Amy’s hair around his fingers as Terry bids farewell a moment later, leading Sharon over to the bar for refills.

Once they are alone Amy shifts her weight to her right, leaning into Jake’s touch as his hand moves to her shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to her temple. Emptying her glass and abandoning it on the table next to Jake’s, Amy glances around quickly before looking up at him with those gorgeous brown eyes that never fail to pull him in deep. “If you keep touching my back like that, Peralta, there is no way we’re making it to midnight.”

Jake laughs, dropping his hand to just the right spot on Amy’s lower back and pulling her closer. “We didn’t make it to midnight, Ames. If I’m remembering correctly, we didn’t even make it to eight.” Her responding blush makes him grin, and he throws her a wink knowing full well that Amy’s reliving the same memory.

They’d both arrived home from work late (it’s almost as though the criminals of New York have no respect for their plans), and in an attempt to save time Amy had squeezed herself in on Jake’s shower. And perhaps they’ve both been a little loved up lately - and maybe Amy just looked a little too sexy all soaped up like that - because showering quickly turned into other stuff and it hadn’t been long before Jake was being dragged out of the bathroom and into their bedroom (the rule was no sex in the shower after The Incident last June: fair, when he remembered the bruises they’d had in .. places). What happened next had been as awesome as ever, and if there hadn’t been a party they’d already said yes to, Jake would have found it far easier to convince Amy to stay right there in their bedroom for the rest of the evening.

“You’re still not off the hook for that one, babe.” Amy mumbles, reaching up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt and bringing his attention back to the present. “We were so late to the party, and I’m totally blaming that on you.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve, Ames. As long as we’re here before midnight, it’s totally fine.” He smiles at her, dropping his hand an inch lower as he rests his forehead briefly against hers. “And I think you’re forgetting who initiated what before, thank you very much.”

“Can a girl help it if her fiancée was particularly sweet at work today and she wanted to show her appreciation?” Tipping her head upwards, she bridges the gap between them with a kiss. “And besides, it was round two that made us late, and that one’s definitely on you.”

Jake’s heart skips a beat at the sound of fiancée, part of his mind still in disbelief that such a title could belong to him - even if he was the one on bended knee in the first place. Grinning, he shrugs in surrender, gliding his palm over her lower back again. “Right right, fair call ... I guess the sight of my fiancée in that setup you’ve got going on under there was just too much for me.” Amy laughs, her cheeks turning that soft pink that he loves to see, and he leans back in for another chaste kiss.

“Oh god, we’re totally that couple at the party that are all over each other, aren’t we?” she mumbles, tucking her head into Jake’s shoulder in faux shame. His smile is bright in response, sighing happily when Amy’s arms circle around his waist, telling him with her gentle grip that she has no intention of moving anytime soon.

“We so are babe. But you know what? I am totally okay with it.”

As Amy hums her assent, Jake’s eyes flicker around the room, taking in the black and gold decorations that covered a very good portion of the venue Boyle had rented for the night. He and Genevieve had gone all out this year, and once everyone learned to avoid the truly strange options on the menu, it was turning out to be a genuinely enjoyable evening.

He finds Rosa in one corner, the grip on her glass of whiskey tight as she stands listening to Gina, who is undoubtedly discussing the other party guests. Her stance is comfortable, and about as relaxed as Rosa gets, but still Jake waits until their eyes meet from across the room before he can be sure that she’s okay.

Their casual nights of drinking in silence had increased since they’d gotten out of prison, only now they weren’t so silent. Memories of the darker moments behind bars would often stay collectively pooled at the bottom of their glasses, jumbling into a heap along the edge of their table before disappearing with the barman. As the weeks and months passed by there were little reminders that would strike unexpected, stinging like a starving animal gnawing at unhealed wounds. Other times they simmered slowly below the surface, waiting for the perfectly inopportune moment to strike. The scars were fading, but they were there, and her family's reaction to her coming out had not helped things at all. Surviving this year had brought them closer together, and with everyone around them happily celebrating the year that was, Jake wouldn’t have blamed Rosa for a second if she’d had the sudden urge to be Anywhere But Here.

Gina turns her head to see where Rosa’s half smile is directed, and she gives Jake her best I got this face when his eyes flicker over to her. The bright pink 2018 crown that she had worked into her hairstyle was doing it’s very best to attract just enough attention, glitter catching the light as the redhead gives he and Amy a once-over, shaking her head in mock disgust. He brushes off his oldest friend’s glare, rolling his eyes in a completely mature response before returning his attention to Amy, tightening his grip around her in defiance. Gina didn’t understand what this evening meant to them, and in all honesty he didn’t need her to.

It had only been a few months ago that Jake had genuinely begun to believe that a life with Amy was only ever going to be a dream. The thing about prison was that it worked relentlessly at making sure that all inmates were aware that they’d become just another number - that the cement blocks that now made up your world would not acknowledge or mourn your disappearance when or if it occurred. Unsurprisingly, the nights had turned out to be the hardest, and his overactive mind would spiral around him as his deepest fears began to infiltrate - all with one undeniable theme: you’re never going to make it out of here.

But by the grace of all that is good - and a perhaps not-so-legal acquisition of information - Hawkins’ reign of terror had been brought crashing down, and both Jake and Rosa’s sentences had been overturned. Now; the air felt fresher, the sun looked brighter, and after a (slightly) hitch-less Halloween Heist, there was a sparkling diamond on Amy’s ring finger. This was going to be their only New Year’s Eve as an engaged couple, and wild horses couldn’t drag them away from each other tonight.

Amy’s hands sweep along his waist as though she can sense what he’s thinking about (let’s face it: she probably can), and she raises up slightly, dropping a feather-light kiss to Jake’s neck before whispering “We should probably go and at least pretend to socialise with the other guests, right?”

Shaking his head, Jake uses his free hand to curl the edges of her hair around his finger, the other maintaining it’s steady grip along her back, comfortable in the familiarity of her curves. She had been so much thinner when he’d gotten back from prison, his arms wrapping around her more than they’d used to. HIs observation of such on their first night back together had been shrugged off, added with the quiet admittance that their phone calls had fed her more than food, and it had cut him to the quick. He’d counted far too many hours in scratchy orange jumpsuits, desperate in his need to clear his name from this wrongful persecution, but through it all his fight for a future with Amy had been paramount. To see the physical proof that all of this had affected her as well somehow hurt greater than anything else he’d had to endure.

From that night on, their healing had been slow - but it was always together.

Mimicking Jake’s shake of his head with her own, Amy rests her chin against his chest, looking up at Jake with such an abundance of love that he truly wonders what good deeds he’s done in his life to be rewarded with her heart. Amy Santiago was undoubtedly the love of his life - he’d known it long before he’d ever felt confident enough to say it out loud - and next year they were going to be make it official.

“You know what?” Jake asked, cocking his head to the side slightly, grinning when Amy raises her eyebrows in a silent question. “In just 135 days, I’m gonna marry your butt so hard.”

“Oh yeah?” He nods his head enthusiastically, and Amy’s eyes begin to crinkle as she mirrors his grin. “That’s good to know, because in 136 days, I’ve got some pretty serious honeymoon sex planned for us. It would have been a shame for that to go to waste.”

“Not gonna lie, that sounds kinda amazing.”

“The binder I’m making is going to blow. your. mind. babe.”

Leaning down to kiss her, Jake whispers, “God I can’t wait to be your husband.”

It was true. Their wedding was going to be amazing (he’s been secretly compiling a list of Jock Jams to surprise Amy with, and its only halfway done yet already awesome), but truly Jake was beyond ready to be married. To wear a band on his finger that told the whole world that he loves one person above all others, and that person was Amy Santiago. To be able to refer to her as his wife, and to smile proudly when she called him her husband. They were the tiniest of things, but when it all came together it was a life he couldn’t wait to start.

Amy smiles up at him, craning up on her toes to steal another kiss and Jake sighs happily against her mouth. Wiping off a smudge of lipstick from his lips as she pulls away, Amy shakes her head slowly. “You know, it really is ridiculous how corny we’re being tonight.”

Digging his teeth into his lower lip briefly, Jake glances around the room again before shrugging. “This is just our engage-moon period,” he states, and when Amy stares blankly he continues. “I mean … there’s always a honeymoon period after you get married, right? Then … by that logic there should be an engage-moon period, when you’re freshly engaged and everything just seems freakin’ awesome.”

Amy’s mouth turns down slightly as she studies him, that cute concentration face taking over her features, and if he didn’t love her enough already he might just love her a little bit more as she nods in agreement. “You know what, you’re absolutely right.”

“And besides,” Jake continues, unable to contain his smile, “this year is going to be amazing. We’re going to get married, you’re going to become a sergeant -”

“We don’t know that, Jake …”

“You’re going to be a sergeant,” giving her a pointed look he carries on - “the nine-nine will continue to kick crime to the curb and you and I are going to have super-hot married sex in every single room in our apartment.”

Her laughter is loud, the carefree giggles bouncing onto Jake’s chest as her body shakes, and Jake can’t help but join in. This is what he wanted - all day, every day, for as long as they both shall live.

A steady voice breaks through their little bubble, interrupting their laughter with the statement - “If you two are about done with the lovey-dovey stuff, we can start counting down to the new year.”

Pulling away slightly, Amy wraps her right arm around Jake’s waist and clears her throat. “Oh, hey Gina.” With a smile, she accepts the glass of champagne that Rosa offers, taking a sip to distract herself from the embarrassment Jake can tell she’s feeling.

Reaching for the glass that Gina is holding out for him, Jake once again ignores her judgemental stare, choosing instead to secure his left arm around Amy’s shoulder in both comfort and solidarity. Let the world cringe at how ridiculously sappy they were being. If there was anything that the past year had taught him, it was that time was never guaranteed. And now that a happy future was finally in their grasp, he wasn’t going to give it up for anything.

The passing minutes are filled with casual conversation, ranging from stories about Gina’s newborn to the group comparing horror stories over what they’d discovered on the buffet, and as the hosts come over to join them, they begin to countdown to the end of 2017.

When he looks back on photos from the evening, Jake can tell there was a cacophony of party poppers, blowers and calls of celebration, adding to the showers of confetti surrounding them all as the countdown falls to zero, but in all honesty the only thing that he can remember from that moment is Amy. Her hand, curled around a glass of champagne and pressed to his chest as he pulls her in for a kiss that he definitely intended to be sweet but suddenly turned into so much more. The feel of her lips, soft and bewitching as their tongues begin to tangle; her feet pressed in up against his own and her free hand touching his cheek, thumb stroking softly in the way that has always, always made his heart pound like crazy.

They weren’t often ones for such public displays of affection. But the past few years had tested them more than either could have expected, and it felt so good to show that FINALLY, love was going to win.

Jake’s smile is wider than he can help by the time they pull away, and when Amy chases his lips for another quick press, he’s only too happy to oblige.

“Happy New Year, Jake.” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are so bright and full of elation that Jake can’t help but lean in for another kiss.

“Happy New Year, Ames.”

Still holding the champagne, Amy wraps her arms carefully around Jake’s neck and grins. “We’re getting married this year!”

“It’s gonna be the best year ever.”

The roll of Gina’s eyes is almost audible. “You guys are so gross. But you also look really happy, so I’m just going to let it slide for tonight.” With a shake of her head, she tips her glass upside down, shaking the last few drops into her mouth. “Damn, being a mother really changes a gal.”

Rosa chimes in, her tone as factual as ever as she nods her head in Charles’ direction “Also, you should probably know Boyle just took like twenty photos of the two of you kissing.”

“They’re for my scrapbook!”

“Dammit, Boyle!”

#my fic #b99 2020 vision challenge #okay so this was probably a little sappy #but ehhhh #they're engaged and in love #so lets just go with it #title from Joanna Newsom #because SHE #peraltiago fic #jake x amy fanfic #b99 fanfic #b99 fandom events #my writing

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juniebjoneswrites · 3 years

Text

Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

This is War (2)

What does running do for me? Other than being a gateway drug to mindlessness, it shows me places I didn’t know existed. It also gives an incredible high that puts some meat on my bones. Like seriously. I could write love letters to my endorphins. I would ask how they’re doing and if they missed me while I was gone. I would ask how they felt in the dark and when it came time to play, I would dream of their favorite games. They have answers to questions I can’t ask, and know when to turn a blind eye to the darkness in my mind. I am thankful for their wilful ignorance.

There’s a street I run that has a name I’ve never cared to remember but I know the way there like I know my way up the cliff. It’s been an ongoing venture. I see the lives there in the mornings as they wake up, innocent to the day that reaches beyond their grasp. I know if they stretched a little further they could touch it. Would they hand it to me if they could? They’ve seen me running for so long now they think I’m just a girl from down the street. I belong, so I must be safe. Right?

I see them in the night when they stumble home after a day when their outstretched hand just wasn’t quite good enough. They have all the makings of myself. I revel in their sorrow, but offer help. “Ah, one of the runners,” they say. They ask how I am and if I’m liking the neighborhood. I smile politely, “It’s beautiful, I’m just around the corner,” I always motion behind us regardless of where we face. “It’s the brick one with a balcony,” usually they’re too wrapped up in their day to realize they’re all bricks with blaconies, or too polite to press further. Maybe they just think I’m being clever and safe.

“Let me help you inside,” I call out to a man as he stumbles from his car. He gives me a look of recognition as he hands me his keys. I smile in return. We’ve spoken before.

“Thank you,” he licks his lips. I smile wider, fighting back bile in the back of my throat. “Would you like to join me?” It would be a lie to say that all our conversations were innocent.

“I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like that,” I respond coyly.

“No wife,” he holds up his bare ring finger. ‘Bare’ being a generous word. There’s a tan line where his band would be, he's taken it off for the night. Maybe wants me to think he’s newly divorced.

His wife is on a work trip for the night. I know this because she told me the day before as I helped her put a big, fancy carseat in the back of her car as the child herself was throwing a fit. “Of course it delivers the day before my trip and I have to rush before work to get it in,” she laughed and wiped her brown hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. Her wedding ring glistened in the morning sun. “Husbands are useless, but I’m sure you’ll learn that eventually.” I laughed with her and commented that he must be okay if he’s going to be watching the child while she’s gone. She tells me her daughter will be with her grandparents.

His words tumble out together and I hear them fall around me like a castle under attack. “But seem like someone who wouldn’t care,” A flattery king. Knights may be able to stop the soldiers but they can’t fight catapults. My anger bubbles. I steal my smile. I move up the stairs and grab his keys. This is a war.

Leaning against the frame I put the key in the door and swing it open wide. He smiles, I whistle a tune, he stumbles through. I lead him to the couch and he pulls me on top. He tastes like a deep bourbon and nachos with extra onions. I let him take my running jacket off. The knife I have in a hidden pocket clatters to the floor and I worry he’ll question the sound. He doesn’t, and it’s clear he doesn’t care that I have, in fact, been running. I tell him I need to use the restroom and that I'll be right back. He gestures vaguely so I find my own way, but not to the bathroom. How easy to trick with a promise of reward. I line up my men.

Their family photos are on the walls telling stories of vacations and holidays. Just the three of them, the prettiest lie of them all. I stare as if I could learn some secret as to how a mother could do what she did and move on. I see theirs play out like a book and I’m filled with an anger that blinds me. They’re ready for orders.

I think of my knife so I stock back to the man on the couch only to be met with snores. Sometimes it just works out. I pity him, in his suit and tie, his loafers haphazardly in the entryway. I fantasize my life in this home. I walk their rooms and lay in their beds, I drink their juice and eat their snacks. My fingers trace the walls for fault lines and I wonder if there had been a boy here how different it would look. She wouldn’t have needed the child’s seat, he was already grown. The crayons of the walls in his room would look different here. The dolls and gowns, replaced with his stones and telescope. I am angry. A life he never knew and will never see. He would have liked a sister. Fill it with rocks.

I pull his picture from the pocket of my running pants and look for a marker. “1993-2016” I write. “You killed him.” I am not the only one to blame. ‘He found you!’ I wanted to scream at her, ‘You left and he still found you,” but that wasn’t entirely true. I had found her. I brought her name into his home and changed things, so now I will bring his name into this home and change these things. “Elijah Perry” I write near the bottom, “Taken three months before his death.” I clip the photo to the fridge and walk out. Release.

When does the sheep become the wolf? Or was I a wolf in sheep's clothing this whole time? I am growing claws and my teeth cut my mouth as I speak. It fills with salt and blood. Maybe I’ll become like cured meat with all this salt and my decay will be slow. Agonzing. My fur will matt and my family will become afraid. I will age slowly and watch them leave, seeing their funerals from the woods edge. And when the wolf finally leaves to possess someone else, the only one who will see me to my grave will be a ghost.

I don’t run again. I walk the veins of the city and let them guide me through it’s ebb and flow. It feels like I’ve thrown the daughter of a cliff into a stampede of wildebeests and I wonder what she’ll think when she’s older. When do I get that scar over my eye? I think I deserve the mark. If Cain did then so do I.

“Hey sweetie,” a voice calls from the shadow of a rundown bar. Unfortunate luck for him if he tries anything further. I flip him off and keep walking. I recognize my surroundings. There’s a pizza place up the corner. A long night of treachery will leave you hungry.

The warmth of the pizza fills the coldness in my body. I didn’t realize I started shaking until I reached for my water. I quickly fist my hand and push my pizza away, my breaths becoming fast and impatient. Resting my head on the table I let the solid coolness rush my mind and steady my thoughts. I focus on my breathing and count backwards from one hundred.

100, 99, 98, 97, 96, I can see his face. 95, 94, 93, 92, I watch him at a New Year's Eve countdown grinning and blowing his whistle. 91, 90, I squeeze my eyes tighter. Press my head harder to the table 89, 88, 87, I might be sick. 86, 85, 84, 83, 82, 81, 80,79,78,77,7767574737271

I see him on the cliff.

I’m telling him to stop.

He doesn’t.

I throw my head back and open my eyes. 48, 47, 46, 45, 44, the warped window reflects a distorted version of myself with no discernable features, just a shadow ready to disappear at the first sign of light. A fly crawling on the window stops on my face and I’m wondering if it’s an omen.

The door opens with a jingle from the bells and a figure stands behind me. I don’t care to look at the reflection. “Fuck off,” I let out through a cry. I am very intimidating.

They don’t say anything and walk away. I drop my head, tears sliding off my face. A moment later they return and hand me some napkins. I glance at them and then at my greasy, sauce stained pile of my own. Reluctantly I take them, “Thanks. Now please leave.”

I wipe my face as they shuffle in place and hesitantly clear their throat. I’m instantly annoyed. I spin around to face them, “What?” I say in more of a defeated, angry tone.

Well kids, I guess we get to answer that question here and now. I let my head fall to my arm that rests on the seat’s back. “Of course,” I mumble. “Why not?” Turning around I pull the pizza back to me and take a bite. He still doesn’t move.

“Well if you’re going to,” I motion to the seat next to me. He takes it and looks even more uncomfortable which makes me laugh slightly. “You’re being really weird, you know,” I say through a bite of pizza. “If I didn’t know you you would have a bloody nose already.”

He sits up straighter, “Sorry,” he picks at the paint on his nails. “I, uh, just saw you and recognized you from running and the gas station. Just wanted ask if you’re okay,”

“Why?” I ask harshly then, closing my eyes, wince at my stupidity.

He looks confused, “You don’t remember?” “I remember the gas station just fine,”

“No, uh, we’ve been waving at each other... while we run,” it sounded more like a question than a fact. His eyes dart around. “For, like, a few months before the gas station and then I stopped seeing you,” he trails off.

I started running after Elijah went missing. I wasn’t a runner before then so what sparked this new interest, I couldn’t tell you. I ran night and day after realizing it was the one thing that stopped my thinking and focused my breathing. There is a lot I don’t remember from the past year, this being one of them.

“You don’t remember?” he asks. I don’t say anything. He nods understanding, “I just thought you recognized me but didn’t want to…. Interrupt… or something,”

“I have no problem interrupting,” I reply. He slightly laughs, “but what’s wrong you can’t fix, so,” I take another bite of pizza. “And I wave at all the runners I pass. Good to have people remember you if you go missing,” I give a slight wave of my hand and shrug.

He nods. “Well I hope I see you running again,” he gets up, unsure of his movements, I guess not wanting to push any further.

“June,” I say, as he rights the chair, “That’s my name. Fair since I know yours.”

“Nice to meet you, June.”

My smile lasts until he’s past the shop's window and I'm back to staring at my face. I think of Mulan crossing her bridge and wiping half her makeup off in her reflection. I think of Harry and what in the actual Wattpad hell just happened. I close my eyes and rest my chin in my hand while I finish the second pizza. Harry’s face turns into Elijah’s and the waves start crashing. My body tells me to run.

(1)/ 2 / (3) / (4) / (5) / (6)

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spideyfic · 4 years

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Red and Blue

Peter reached out and moved the projection back and forth. “Did you change the color scheme? This looks red and black.”

“Thought it might be time for an image over-haul. Tone down the primary colors, make things a bit sleeker, a little more grown-up.”

Peter bit his lip, trying to say what he was feeling without sounding ungrateful. “And it looks great Mr. Stark, it really does, but I like the red and blue. Could we change the color back?”

When Peter is invited up to the compound to work on his suit with Tony, he's surprised to find that red and blue is now red and black, and Tony wants to know why he's so attached to his original color scheme.

Read on AO3

Peter was pulled abruptly from his dream by the sound of Back in Black blasting from his phone, which was weird on two levels – one, he usually had nightmares, not dreams, and two, his ringtone was a yodel.

He fumbled for his phone, pulling it towards him by its charging cable, and nearly dropped it when he registered the caller ID. Why the hell was Tony Stark calling him at 8am on a Saturday morning?

Hitting decline, he dropped the phone face down in the blankets, turning over to face the wall and wrapping his pillow around his head.

“Did you just send me to voice mail, kid? Why can I only see darkness? It’s like looking into the depths of my soul.”

Peter let the pillow spring away from his head and reached back behind him to grab the phone, dragging it over his body until he could see the screen. Tony’s face looked smugly back at him, entirely too cheerful for someone who had just woken Peter up from the best dream he’d had in months.

“’s 8am Tony,” he muttered, squinting at him with one eye closed. “I was sleepin’.”

“Yikes, rough night? You should get more sleep, you’re a growing spider-baby and all that. I was in bed by ten last night, and I feel great this morning. Hey, how come you’ll call me Tony when you’re half-unconscious but not when you’re actually awake?”

Peter suspected that Tony was mostly feeling great because of a massive amount of caffeine, if his run-on sentences were anything to go by. He felt a moment of jealousy - he was six weeks into a total caffeine ban after May caught him downing five cans of Red Bull following a patrol that had ended an hour before he was due to sit an AP exam. “Was there a point to you forcing your call through to my phone? Because I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Stark, I like talking to you and everything, but I only got home from patrol at three and I’m tired.” Oops. And there was his early morning lack of filter.

“May still got you on that caffeine ban, huh? You’re very direct when you’re tired, did you know that?” Tony took a sip from his mug of coffee, and Peter caught a flash of the Spider-Man symbol printed on the side. That was almost enough to make him forgive Tony for his blatant caffeine consumption. “I was calling to see if you wanted to come up to the compound today and mess around with a few concepts for upgrading your suit, but if it’s not a good time - ”

Peter sat up so fast he nearly brained himself on the slats of the top bunk. “Yes! I mean, I gotta ask May, but yeah, that’d be great, thanks Mr. Stark.”

“Already talked to May, she said yes to you coming over and staying the night. Get moving kid, Happy will be at your place in fifteen. See you in a couple hours.” Tony ended the call on a wink.

Peter flung himself out of bed, standing in the middle of his room and looking wildly about as he planned what he needed to take, before pulling open his closet and looking for the overnight bag Tony and Pepper had given him for his sixteenth birthday. With the exception of the suit, it was the most expensive thing he’d ever owned - it probably cost more than the entire contents of his closet, and he lived in constant fear of somehow losing or damaging it.

“May!” he called, panicking when the bag was nowhere to be found. “Have you seen my bag? The one Mr. Stark and Pepper gave me?”

His bedroom door swung open and May stood in the doorway, his bag in her outstretched hand. “All packed and ready to go, baby.” At his confused look, she smiled. “Tony called last night when you were on patrol, so I packed for you and told him to call you this morning.”

“You’re the best, May,” he said, kissing her on the cheek as he slipped past her to head for the bathroom.

“And don’t you forget it,” she called after him. “I’ll have breakfast to go waiting for you.”

Exactly ten minutes later, Peter was sitting in the back of the Audi Happy always picked him up in, clutching a breakfast burrito in one hand and a blessed travel mug of coffee in the other, feeling slightly dazed.

“You OK there, kid? You look a little flustered.”

He met Happy’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Fifteen minutes ago I was asleep and dreaming about M - uh, I was dreaming, and now I’m in a car heading up to the Avengers compound to work with Tony Stark.” He shrugged, taking a bite out of the burrito. “And Mr. Stark woke me up by forcing a video call through to my phone.”

Happy chuckled, turning his attention back to the road and pulling out into traffic. “Yeah, Tony’s done that to me a buncha times. He stopped when he caught me – well, you don’t need to know what he caught me doing, but he doesn’t do it anymore.”

It took everything Peter had to stop him screwing his face up in instinctive disgust at the idea of Happy doing whatever he’d been doing and covered it by taking a sip of coffee. His timing was bad, because Happy spoke again. “Maybe he could catch you with MJ.”

Peter gulped his coffee down and breathed in at the same time and coughed so hard he thought he was going to hack up a lung. “Happy!” he rasped, when he was able to breathe again. “Me and MJ – we’re not – you know. We’re not even dating.”

“Only in your dreams, right kid?” Happy said, with a knowing tone. “You should ask her out. You talk about her all the time.”

“I talk about Ned all the time but you’re not telling me to ask him out,” Peter mumbled around a mouthful of burrito.

“That’s because you don’t look like a lovesick baby deer when you talk about Ned. All I hear from you is ‘MJ said this’, ‘MJ is so great’, ‘MJ is terrifying’. It’s like it’s 2011 again and I’m listening to Tony talk about Pepper.” Happy signaled to merge onto I-295, flipping off a car that tried to cut in. “What I’m saying is just ask her to be your little nerd girlfriend, and then you can mentally scar Tony for life and he’ll stop forcing video calls through to your phone.”

“Happy, stop,” Peter moaned. “MJ doesn’t even like me like that. We’re just friends.” He wasn’t about to tell Happy he thought MJ kinda liked him liked him, and that he was going to ask MJ out during the trip to Europe at the end of Junior year. OK, that was almost a year away, but he was a planner, and that plan involved – well, he wasn’t quite sure what, but it would be meaningful and heartfelt and away from New York and Spider-Man. It would just be Peter Parker and Michelle Jones in some romantic European city, and if he was lucky it’d play out like his dream.

“Sure, Parker, whatever you say,” Happy said, apparently deciding to humor him. “Finish your breakfast and go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re five minutes out.”

Never one to pass up the opportunity for a nap, Peter did as he was told. He spent the rest of the journey curled up against the window and lulled into a light doze, only stirring as they passed the Esopus fire department.

“We’re almost there, kid,” Happy said as the car turned on to the narrow, tree lined road that wound its way down to the compound. “Hey, you know this road is called Parker Avenue, right?”

He said it so casually, like he didn’t know that Peter had obsessively Google Street viewed as much of the area as possible. “Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Why?”

“Nothing really. I just thought it was a nice coincidence, Tony owning this place since before you were born, and the main road in being called Parker.” Happy pulled up at the security stop, flashing his ID at the bored looking guard stationed there, who waved them through. “You know you’re good for Tony, right?”

Startled by the question, Peter almost dropped his travel mug, his stickiness activating just in time to stop coffee spilling all over the expensive upholstery. “Uh – I – what?”

“You’re good for him. He’s really settled down with Pepper, the company is in better shape than ever, he’s sleeping properly for the first time in years, and he seems to get a kick out of spending time with you.” Happy parked up in front of the compound and then turned in his seat to look at Peter. “You’re a good kid. All I’m trying to say is I’m glad Tony found you.”

“Oh.” Unused to Happy showing him anything other than bemusement, Peter grabbed his bag and fumbled with the door handle, desperate to get out and break the awkward mood. “Uh, me too. Thanks for the ride, Happy.”

“You’re welcome, kid. I’ll be back tomorrow evening to take you home.” Happy, apparently feeling as awkward as Peter, made a show of busying himself looking through the glove compartment until Peter closed the door, then drove off.

Peter watched him drive away, then climbed the stairs up to the foyer, heading straight for the elevators up to Tony’s lab. “Hey FRIDAY! Could you take me up to Mr. Stark, please?”

“Good morning, Peter. Boss is waiting for you in lab two.” The elevator doors slid closed and the cab began to move smoothly up. “Are you enjoying your summer break from school?”

“It’s been great! May is letting me patrol every night until one, and Ned got the LEGO Saturn V as a reward for the results of his AP exams so we’re gonna build that next week,” Peter responded enthusiastically, long over the strangeness of making conversation with artificial intelligence. “Oh, and I keep seeing this dog when I’m out on patrol - he’s a husky and he’s such a good boy. His owner is this really sweet old lady, she’s like sixty, and I walk with her when she takes him out in the evening, because her husband died last year and she doesn’t like being on her own that time of night.”

The elevator doors opened, and Peter stepped out into the labs entrance hub. “Thanks, FRIDAY!” He dropped his bag outside the doors to lab two, then pushed them open to find Tony huddled over something on a lab bench. “Hey, Mr. Stark! Thanks for having me over.”

Tony swiveled around on his chair, grinning widely. “Hey kid. Did you manage to sleep on the ride over? I told Happy you were running on about five hours of shuteye and to let you rest.” He crossed the lab and pulled Peter into his side in a brief, one-armed hug as they walked back to the bench.

“Yeah, I zoned out for most of it. I’m good, May made me some coffee for the trip.”

Tony deposited him on a chair and then sat next to him, making a sweeping gesture that saved and cleared the hologrammatic schematics of the Iron Man suit he’d been working on, and bringing up the selection carousel for the Spider-Man suits.

“So, I ran with your suggestion of using your webbing as an underlying protective layer for the suit, and the initial tests are looking really promising for friction and fire resistance,” Tony said, expanding the schematics of a suit design Peter hadn’t seen before. “Even if the outer layer gets damaged, the webbing should hold up long enough to get yourself out of whatever dumbass situation you managed to get into.”

“Hey,” Peter grumbled, mildly offended. “The dumbass situations find me, not the other way around.”

Tony gave him The Look™ and even though he wasn’t a dad, he’d obviously been taking parenting lessons from May, because it made Peter confess every stupid thing he’d done recently.

“OK, so I guess accidentally knocking myself out with my own taser web was my fault. And that time I thought the mayor was breaking into her own office and I webbed her up was probably my fault too. But you have to admit my ass being set on fire wasn’t on me. And that did make me think about using my webs as fabric.” Tony raised an eyebrow and Peter sagged dejectedly. “I’m a dumbass, aren’t I?”

“The smartest dumbass I ever met, other than myself,” Tony confirmed. “When you’re old enough I’ll tell you about what happened in Vegas. It involves superglue, a massive amount of alcohol, and a poker chip, and you can’t hear about it until you’re twenty-one because I think telling you now would count as corrupting a minor.”

“Can you wait until I’m like, forty? I don’t think I’m ever going to be old enough to hear that story, Mr. Stark. The trauma of future me is so strong that it’s radiating back through time to current me.”

Tony snorted. “Trauma builds character, just like having your ass catch fire inspires innovation.” He tapped some codes into the system, and a half-scale, three-dimensional full color projection of the new suit formed in the air in front of them. “Take a look, see what you think. If you like it, I’ll start the building process and you can take it for a spin this afternoon.”

Peter reached out and moved the projection back and forth. “Did you change the color scheme? This looks red and black.”

“Thought it might be time for an image over-haul. Tone down the primary colors, make things a bit sleeker, a little more grown-up.”

Peter bit his lip, trying to say what he was feeling without sounding ungrateful. “And it looks great Mr. Stark, it really does, but I like the red and blue. Could we change the color back?” His voice wobbled and he swallowed in an effort to cover it up. “You know what, never mind, the red and black is fine.” He turned his seat back to face the lab bench, ducking his head and pretending to concentrate on the coding displayed on the StarkPad set into the surface.

Tony spun Peter back to face him, turning him with a hand against his knee. “Kid, you can have red and blue, it’s not a problem. Why are you so attached to that color scheme, anyway?”

Peter twitched a shoulder up in a one-sided shrug. “I just like it, is all.”

“Pete,” Tony said quietly. “C’mon, I can see you’re upset, and I’m not that great at comforting people, so why don’t you just talk to me?”

“I chose red and blue because they’re the colors of the NASA logo,” Peter said, twisting his fingers together. Tony didn’t say anything, just looked at him with a soft, sad expression on his face, like he knew there was more to it. “Ben – my uncle – he loved NASA, like full-on fanboy. He was a cop, but when he was a kid, he wanted to work in mission control. He was born in 1961, so he grew up during the space race, watched all the moon landings, and he had all these binders full of newspapers and magazines.”

“I wish I’d been around for the moon landings,” Tony said, and Peter believed it – he had a look of childlike wonder, the same look Ben used to have whenever he talked about it. “’We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.’ How can you not be inspired by that?” He gave a little chuckle. “Sorry kid, my futurist is showing.”

“No, it’s fine, that speech was Ben’s favorite, he had it pretty much memorized. He used to tell me all about the NASA missions at bedtime, and I when I started really getting into geometry, he got me copies of Katherine Johnson’s calculations. NASA was our thing, you know? He was going to pull me out of school to go watch an Atlas V launch, we had a whole road trip planned. But he died the night before. He knew about my powers, did I tell you that?”

Tony shook his head, and Peter carried on. “The night he died, we went for a walk, and he got the story out of me about the spider bite, what I could do, and he told me that I had power, and that meant I had a responsibility to do good with it. All I wanted to do was make a stupid YouTube channel and post videos of me doing pointless shit, and we argued. And then we walked right into the middle of a bodega robbery and he was shot.

“May came and got me from the hospital they took me and Ben to, and when we got home, she made me take a shower because I – because I was covered in blood. She grabbed me some pajama pants and this shirt.” He gestured at the NASA t-shirt he was wearing. “This was his, but it was mixed up with my laundry and she didn’t realize. We just sat on the couch together and cried for most of the night until May fell asleep. I couldn’t switch my brain off though, couldn’t stop thinking about how if I’d – “ he trailed off, his voice thickening with impending tears. “How if I’d stepped in front of him, he’d still be alive.”

“And you might be dead,” Tony said softly. “And I can guarantee that out of the two, he’d choose you living over himself.” He placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “He’d be so damn proud of you, Pete.”

Peter sniffed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes to stem the tears, but they kept coming, and so did the words. “The next morning, I decided I’d use my powers to do good like he wanted me to, and I looked down at his t-shirt and that’s when I chose red and blue for Spider-Man’s colors. Because it’s like having Ben with me when I’m out on patrol, reminding me why I’m doing it, who I’m doing it for.”

“Jesus Pete, I don’t know what to say.” Tony slipped off his chair, then pulled Peter off his own chair wrapped him in a tight hug.

Surprised, Peter momentarily tensed up before relaxing into it, bringing his arms up to make the hug a mutual one. “Oh,” he said, his face pressed against Tony’s shoulder. “Are we there?”

“We’re there,” Tony confirmed, slapping his back and then stepping out of the hug. “Kid, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have changed the design without talking to you first.” He made a move to delete the schematics, and Peter reached out to push his hand down, before closing the projection with a pinching motion.

“No, keep it,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t like it, I do, I’m just – not ready.”

“That’s fine, we can use the old external design and lay it over the new internal structure.” Tony paused, the moment still and quiet and loaded with emotion. “And it’s also fine if you’re never ready, too.” He cleared his throat and picked up his phone, rapidly tapping out a message to someone. “Give me a minute, and I’ll show you how to isolate design elements and combine them into one suit.”

Peter felt a wave of relief that Tony had understood. It had to seem like something so small and insignificant, but the idea of being Spider-Man without his own, private tribute to his uncle felt wrong. He knew that feeling might change in the future, but for now, the red and blue was like a comfort blanket he drew around himself every time he pulled on the suit. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony looked up from typing something into his phone, and the smile that lit up his face made Peter’s internal struggle to say ‘Tony’ rather than ‘Mr. Stark’ totally worth the effort. “See, that wasn’t hard, was it? I knew you could do it.”

“I can only do it under a really specific set of circumstances, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, struggling to keep the smirk off his face.

Tony put his phone down, obviously not feeling the need to keep his own smirk in check. “Do those specific set of circumstances include us flying down to Florida next month to watch the Falcon 9 launch from Kennedy, followed by a private tour of the center?”

“Are you joking?” Peter gasped. “Please tell me you’re not joking, Tony. Because if you’re joking there’s a chance I might die of disappointment and you said if anything happens to me, it’s on you, and that’d definitely be on you. Really? You’re actually taking me to the Kennedy Space Center?”

“Glad to see that warrants a ‘Tony’. And yup. Got a buddy from MIT who works in Launch Control, he’s always inviting me down there for a tour. I’ve already squared it away with May.”

Impulsively, Peter flung his arms around Tony in a brief hug. “You’re the best Mr. Stark – “ he faltered at the look that got him – “Tony. Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing, kid.” Tony waved it off, like his statement was actually true. “You work hard, it’s about time you had a little R&R to make up for it. And talking of hard work, come on, we’ve got a suit to build.”

It was an awkward segue, but Peter eagerly got to work, glad to move on from the unexpected emotion of their morning. Tony coached him step by step through how to use the system, and Peter clumsily mirrored his smooth, practiced gestures again and again until they were in perfect synch, hands moving gracefully through the air as they uploaded the finalized plan to the construction capsule.

Tony wasn’t a replacement for Ben. He had his own distinct role and place in Peter’s life, a mentor and a friend and a father figure all wrapped up in one, and Peter was pretty sure that Tony cared for him in the same mixed up way, the lines starting to blur in their relationship.

“Tony?” The name was starting to have emotional weight in his mind and on his lips, like saying May,or Ben, a whole lot of meaning and emotion caught up in two small syllables.

“Hmm?” Tony looked up from watching the webbing under-suit forming in the construction capsule, his usually coiffed hair curling loosely over his forehead, and his eyes bright and unguarded without his glasses. He looked relaxed and happy, nothing like the carefully controlled Tony Stark image he presented to the world every time he left the sanctuary of the compound or Tower.

“I’m really glad I met you.”

Tony looked surprised, and tried to hide it with a sniff, but he gave Peter a soft smile. “Yeah? Same, kid.”

Peter wasn’t ready to leave behind the red and blue, but he felt like one day, red would mean Ben and black would mean Tony, and it would just feel right to wear their colors together.

***

Seven years later, but only one year older, Peter, weary, battle worn and determined, stands in a jet as it hovers above a field of tulips and decides that he’s finally ready to use the red and black suit.

When he glides down towards Tower Bridge and the biggest solo fight of his life, it feels like Ben and Tony are there keeping him safe, their colors wrapped around his body like a talisman. Proof that they existed. That they loved him. That he’s got this.

They’ve returned to stardust, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone.

#My writing #irondad #spider-man #Peter Parker and Tony Stark

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feathersandpaintbrushes · 4 years

Text

Entye

ENTYE, “Debt”

— Chapter 2: Sparks

Chapter 1 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4,

Summary: The Mandalorian and Kas land on a desert planet in search of a new ship, but find trouble waiting for them.

Warnings: blood, injuries, language

Characters: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), the child, original character

A/N: If you want tagged, just let me know:) Find me on AO3! Heading art belongs to me (Feathersandpaintbrushes and night-feather-designs)

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

It was too fucking hot.

Three frostbitten years on Hoth had forced her body to acclimate to icy winds, and the dry heat of this new planet sucked the moisture from her eyes and mouth and dried the sweat as it beaded on her forehead.

She was miserable.

She shot a baleful glare at the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet. Getting her out of Hoth and onto a new planet – one with an actual town and spaceports – had been their only deal. She regretted not specifying which planet; it seemed he’d taken her from one extreme to the other.

A gust of hot wind blew sand in her face and she screwed her eyes shut, an explosive sneeze slipping out before she could help it.

The Mandalorian – curse him – glanced back at her and she could swear she heard a chuckle behind his mask.

“How much further to the town?” She gasped out, hating that she sounded like an impatient child, wishing her voice sounded like steel, but she was thirsty, and she’d already drained her canteen after a measly fifteen minutes of walking.

The Mandalorian stopped and she caught up to him, forcing her breathing to sound even despite the stuttering of her heart. He stared quietly for a moment as she swallowed, doing her best to keep her face blank. She wished she could be wearing her mask too, but she needed her mouth free to catch every baking mouthful of air this planet had to offer.

“Not long,” he replied eventually, and with only the faintest of sighs, handed her his own full canteen. Pride warred with thirst, and she clenched her fists, willing herself not to grab for it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, pushing the canteen at her chest. “You aren’t used to the heat, I am. Just take it.”

She did, hands shaking slightly as she uncapped it and took a sip of the still cool water.

“Thank you,” she reminded herself to murmur, looking at the horizon to avoid looking at his mask.

He began walking again after she’d taken a second sparing sip of water, and she did her best to keep up with his long stride.

When they finally got to the town, she was torn between the sheer relief of being in something that passed as civilization again and a sudden panic at the noise and press of bodies around her. Clenching her fists at her own cowardice, she slipped into the Mandalorian’s shadow, letting him clear a way for her while she acclimated herself to what living in a society entailed.

There were humans. Lots of them. And dozens of different species she didn’t have names for. There was laughter and the smell of cooking and a child ran past her chasing some small lizard creature. She stopped and stared at a stall filled with spices, her mouth suddenly watering as she remembered all the flavors she’d missed out on when trapped on Hoth.

Someone large bumped into her, making her fingers fly to her blaster.

“Watch it,” they snarled in a deep, garbled Basic. Gripping her blaster tightly, she spun to catch sight of the Mandalorian only to hit a different alien, who’s damp skin stuck unpleasantly to her arm. They hissed at her in a language she didn’t recognize. A hand grabbed her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin, shoving her blaster against the chest of the Mandalorian who had appeared from thin air.

“Come on,” he said roughly, yanking on her arm and dragging her behind him into a dimly lit building. The darkness and the sound of loud music threatened to overwhelm her still further until the bitter tank of spirits hit her nose.

A cantina. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar stenches wash over her and ground her. It had been years since she’d been in a joint like this. Years since she’d had anything stronger than the watery meat soup she made in the cave at Hoth. But one cantina is much like another, and the sights and smells here were more familiar than anything she’d seen so far on this sun baked planet.

“Stay.”

The Mandalorian pushed his gloved hand down hard on her shoulder, forcing her to sit at one of the sticky booths while he disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

She took a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the familiar beat of her heart. A metallic clang made her open her eyes to see the Mandalorian set a cup of something in front of her. She raised her eyes to him and smiled tightly. “Thanks,” she said, taking a gulp of the bitter alcohol. “It’s just –“ “Been a while. I figured.” The smile she gave him at these gruff words was more genuine.

“I haven’t had a decent drink in three years,” she added, taking another gulp. “Okay,” she said coughing, as the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side in what she imagined to be his equivalent to a raised eyebrow, “I haven’t had any drink in three years. So maybe I’m a little biased.” He definitely snorted this time, and she hid a smirk in another deep gulp. She still felt jerky and droid-like with her expressions. Three years was a long time with only Tuantuans and herself for company. She’d talked, of course, to keep herself from going insane. But smiling – well she’d gone without a genuine smile for nearly as long as she’d gone without a drink.

“So,” she said, setting the empty glass down with a decisive clank. “Where can I go to find a ship of my own?”

-----

It was a hunk of junk. Its hull was badly scarred, and the inside smelled like the rotten insides of a dead tuantuan. The pilot’s seat was vaguely sticky, and she was afraid to look in the bathroom. But it was cheap. Cheap enough that she could buy it with the few credits she had left over from before Hoth. And it could, in theory, fly her far enough to get her to a nice mild weathered planet where she could start work doing who knows what. It didn’t matter. Anything to keep her fed and clothed.

“I’ll take it,” she said firmly. She could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes boring into her back, even through his helmet. She ignored his judgement and set her jaw. Not everyone could have a ship with an actual bedroom in it thank you. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was grateful to find something that she could fly away on today. She couldn’t stand another moment of the heat. Her nose was already red, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get the sand out of her hair.

“Are you sure?”

Kas turned and blinked up at the Mandalorian’s helmeted face as he appeared suddenly by her side. “It can fly me off this desert. That’s good enough for me,” she pointed out.

“There’s got to be something less,” he gestured with a gloved hand, annoyance coming off him in waves.

“Less what?” she demanded, stepping closer to hiss under her breath so the seller couldn’t hear. “Less cheap? Less available?”

“Less trashy.” The Mandalorian snapped, even his modulator failing to keep the contempt out of his voice. “The guy’s ripping you off. He should be paying you to take it off his hands.”

This was undeniably true; the seller’s eyes had gleamed when she’d offered her meager credits. Still, she wanted to be free again. It left a foul taste in her mouth to be in debt to anyone, especially a Mandalorian.

“Well what do you suggest I do?” she snapped, unable to resist curling her hands into fists.

To her surprise the Mandalorian’s voice was calm again when he answered.

“Wait a day. Maybe two. Either he’ll come down in price or someone else will have something for sale.”

his carefully controlled tone did nothing to convince her; if anything, it set Kas’s teeth on edge and strengthened her resolve. She took a step back and frowned up at the Mandalorian.

“I’m taking it. Thank you for getting me here,” she added. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Turning decisively, she walked up the seller and pressed her credits into his hand with a murmur, aware the whole time of the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian piercing into her back.

------

Night had fallen by the time she’d finished stocking her new ship, and weariness dragged at her eyelids. One more night here wouldn’t hurt her; she’d gotten her ship, and while it didn’t have a bedroom, she’d scrubbed the pilot’s seat into a semblance of cleanliness, and it was comfortable enough with her heavy coat draped over it.

She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw flashing lights through her eyelids. Biting back a curse she opened her eyes to see blaster fires lighting up the desert night. Curious, she grabbed a pair of binoculars and aimed them at the flashing lights. For a moment the night was dark, then another red flash illuminated a ship in the distance. Zooming in, she felt her stomach drop when the light flashed again, revealing the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Fuck.”

She put down the binoculars and rubbed her forehead. She did not owe him anything. She saved his life from the sapphire worm, he got her to this planet. They were even. More than even.

But.

But her hand still lifted the binoculars to her face again and her heart still pounded when she saw the silhouettes of stormtroopers illuminated in the red of blaster fire.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong is how she got dumped on Hoth with no ship and no radio. Sticking her nose out where it didn’t belong had earned her scar after scar. She owed this guy nothing. He was a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter. The second someone who knew her put a reward on her head, it would be someone like him who brought her in.

But.

But there was that child with him. That weird, tiny little green thing that had curled in the Mandalorian’s cloak while he’d been passed out in front of her fire.

Before she could think about it any longer, she turned, grabbed her weapons, and ran out the door to the Mandalorian’s ship.

The desert night was not much cooler, even without the heat of the sun. Dry air pushed Kas’s hair off her face as she ran towards the Mandalorian’s ship.

As she neared, the battle slowly came into sight. Troopers were standing on the ramp leading into the ship, weapons firing at the Mandalorian as he tried to get inside. Kas slowed and hid behind a small rocky outcropping, some ten meters from the fight. Settling onto her stomach she pulled her a long, rifle like object off her back. She’d modified a normal flame thrower to project balls of flames that she found went further than the normal stream of fire from a normal flamethrower. It was one of her most prized weapons, and the modification had helped her against many sapphire worms on Hoth.

Taking a breath she leveled the weapon, aiming for the troopers closer to her. It admittedly wasn’t the most accurate weapon. It didn’t always fire, and couldn’t send out more than a dozen bursts in one fight. But, it was a decent distraction.

She fired, a fierce surge of joy flashing through her as the fireball ripped through the air, hitting a stormtrooper in the chest. She had maybe one more shot before she became too obvious of a target.

The second shot went left, hitting the feet of one trooper but skimming the Mandalorian’s cape, which promptly caught fire.

Cursing, she shoved the flame thrower back onto the holster on her back and grabbed her staff off her back. It was her own version of an electrostaff that had been used by the empire. Hers was much smaller, built for close combat and easy storage. It folded in the middle when not in use. Between the flamethrower that strapped to her back, the blaster hanging from her right hip, and the small dagger she kept sheathed on her belt, she didn’t have room for a long swinging pole. While not as strong, the electrified end hurt like hell, and the other end sported a blade, strong enough to pierce most armor if she gave it a solid thrust.

Kas ran quickly towards the fight and pressed the electrified end of her staff against the side of the trooper who was approaching the Mandalorian, who was busy beating the flames off his cape.

“Sorry about that,” she gasped to him as she spun to block a blow from a different trooper. The Mandalorian recovered quickly, shooting a grappling hook out from his bracer and tripping a trooper before shooting it unceremoniously in the head.

“I had it covered,” he shouted as she grappled with a trooper, grunting as their fist punched into her stomach.

“Duck,” a familiar voice growled next to her ear, and she dropped quickly, watching as the Mandalorian’s arm lunged above her and buried a knife into the trooper’s neck.

The fight was a blur. There had to be at least a dozen troopers, but there were two of them at least. And the Mandalorian was a good fighter.

So was she.

She reveled in it, a savage grin stretching her lips as she parried a blow from a trooper and then followed through with a stab of the bladed side of her staff.

They were both quick in their movements, and they slid past each other and watched each others backs like they'd been at this deadly dance together for years.

Pain sliced through Kas’s arm and she snarled, throwing herself at the trooper whose blaster fire had carved a shallow groove into her flesh.

The only problem, she thought grimly as she pushed the electric staff against the troopers neck, was that she didn’t have armor, while the Mandalorian did. He could take hits and even some blaster fire, protected by the shiny beskar that covered his body. Her only protection lay with how fast she could move.

A flash of movement flickered in the corner of her eye, and Kas turned to see the Mandalorian, flinching slightly as his gloved hand grabbed her injured arm.

“The child,” he gasped before turning, distracted as a trooper fired at him from a distance.

Kas felt a lurch deep within her stomach as she turned, catching a glimpse of a trooper through the front window of the ship.

She turned and ran up the ramp, hearing shots and realizing the Mandalorian was covering her with fire.

Inside the ship was dark, and she holstered her staff, grabbing the blaster off her hip instead.

“Stop right there.”

Kas froze and turned around with her blaster raised to see a trooper step out of the shadows, a bundle in their arms.

“Drop your weapon.”

The blaster fell to the ground with a metallic clang that echoed in the dark ship.

The bundle in the trooper’s arms moved, a small hand pushing its way out of the cloth. The sight of it, so small and fragile, filled Kas’s heart with a black rage. She didn’t know what the troopers wanted with it. Didn’t know why the Mandalorian was fighting with them. But she knew deep within her that they should not have the child.

The anger was hot within her, flames twisting in her stomach and up her throat, choking her with the desire to kill whoever stood against the child. Her hand grasped the dagger sheathed in her belt.

She was fast. The blade left her hand in the space between heart beats and landed in the troopers neck. The trooper fell, the child with them, and Kas lunged forward to grab it, heart beating too loud to hear the blaster shot, fire inside too hot to feel the burn of the hole that sizzled in her flesh above her heart.

But the sound of heavy boots walking up the ramp had her moving, gripping the precious bundle to her chest as she snarled, blaster she’d snatched from the ground pointing out at the Mandalorian as he approached her.

Her ears were buzzing, and she stared blankly at him for a long moment.

“…over, we need to go….. to me”

She blinked and swayed slightly, not lowering her blaster as the Mandalorian kneeled beside her, taking the child from her unresisting hands.

“It’s over,” he repeated gently. “We need to go.”

---

She looked horrible.

Din had helped the girl up to the cockpit, brows furrowing with concern behind his mask as she slumped in the copilot’s seat. She was bleeding heavily from her shoulder and was pale in the dim light, but he wouldn’t be able to offer her help until they got into hyperspace.

The ship came to life with a soft whir as he began moving switches and pulling levers one handed – he was still too keyed up from the fighting to put the child down.

Once safely in the air he pulled the med pack down from where it was stored and walked slowly over to Kas. She stirred as if waking from a slumber, and when she met his eyes he was startled by the sadness there.

“So much for getting my own ship, huh?” She said with a weak smile.

Guilt settled into the bottom of his stomach, and Din kneeled beside her, placing the child on her lap.

“Thank you for helping back there,” he murmured, and the smile settled more firmly on her lips.

“I couldn’t let them hurt this little guy,” she explained, uninjured hand lightly touching the tip of the child’s ear.

“We need to stop the bleeding. Is it okay if I help?”

Her eyes were hazel, he noticed, and looked wary as she nodded her permission.

The blaster shot had hit the fleshy spot of her shoulder, below the collar bone. Another shot has carved a shallow groove into her bicep. He did his best to be gentle as he cleaned the wounds, but she went even paler and hissed loudly when the antiseptic touched her skin. The cauterizing pen was even worse; both of them were sweating by the time he’d finished sealing the deeper wound, and Kas’s nails had left grooves in the leather of the seat, a low growl sliding between her clenched teeth all the while.

The difference between the pale, pained woman in front of him and the ferocious fighter from an hour ago was startling to Din. Before her eyes had snapped and gleamed; he’d even caught sight of her smiling savagely as she killed the troopers attacking them. Now she was just… human. Weariness showed in the purple shadows under her eyes and the tightness of her lips. She smelled like blood and sweat and blaster smoke. Yet under it all he still saw the woman who had been hunched in the shadows, cradling the child in her arms like the most precious jewel in the world even as blood dripped down her arm.

He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust her.

But she’d fought with him, fought for the child.

She could have left them; she had her own ship, her freedom. But she’d turned back to help them.

He couldn’t trust her.

But he did respect her. And she was a fucking good fighter.

He could use a good fighter.

“We can find a way to get you back to your ship,” Din offered, standing.

“Or?”

Kas turned her head, keeping her eyes on him as he put the med pack away and sat back at the captain’s seat.

“Or,” he said evenly, feeling as his her eyes were locked directly on him, despite the helmet separating them.

“Or you could come with us. You’re good in a fight. And the kid likes you. I can’t offer you anything, and I can’t promise that it’d be safe. But I can offer my help when there’s trouble, and a place to stay.”

Kas’s face was still pale and clammy, but a look of peace washed over her features. Her eyes were blazing as they met his, and he was startled by the hope he saw in them.

“Where to next, partner?”

tags: @knockbeforeyouspeak

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fan fic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #star wars fan fic #my writing #entye #baby yoda #the child #my art

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strongsassysexysloane · 4 years

Text

You and Me - Cont. Such a Tease

"It's completely not fair that you get the day off." Jack shouts from the bathroom, she's blow drying her hair, getting ready for the day while you're sprawled out in bed with a huge grin on your face.

"It's not fair that I should be enjoying a sleep in while you're being VERY loud getting ready." You try and pull off a whine in your voice but it isn't very convincing when Jack leans against the door frame in only her bra and panties.

"I can leave?" She raises an eyebrow and you can't help raking your eye from top to toe. She saunters towards you and you try and swallow. "Speechless? That's a first."

You just wait, wait until - you leap out of bed, catching Jack off guard and flip her onto the bed under you, she shrieks and giggles. "You aren't going anywhere." You drop a kiss to her lips.

Jack moans into the kiss, running her hands up yours sides and into your hair. She tugs you slightly so you give up your assault on her mouth. "I really need to get ready, Vance needs me in the office in an hour."

You groan and lean down to give her a quick kiss before rolling off her so she can get up and continue her morning routine. "Fine." You mumble and sulk back into bed. The only reason you have the day off is because the team worked over time this past week on a case and you missed your weekend so team Gibbs has two days off to make up for.

"Don't sulk. I'd kill to have the day off with you and make up for all those lost nights last week but someone has a slightly less unpredictable job to do."

You watch from the bed as Jack waltzes between the bedroom and bathroom getting ready for her day. It's been almost a year of being together and you couldn't be happier. It's been one of the most emotional years of your life but its been the most rewarding to. She moved in a few months ago and the cohabitation has been working out well.

"Would you mind doing a load of washing today baby? Got a few skirts I would like to wear later this week."

You look at the hamper in the corner of your room and see the dark maroon pencil skirt she was wearing last Friday and you groan. The memory of unzipping it and pulling down her toned legs floods your mind.

"Yeah that skirt." Jack chuckles from the bathroom door, seeing you cover your face with your hands.

"Sure thing, wanted that blue hoodie back anyways." You wink at her smirk. She'd managed to steal almost half your hoodies since moving in. The only reason you still have half is because you bought more and hid them from her.

Knowing theres no way you're going back to sleep now, you hop up, chuck on your oversized Army hoodie and peck Jack on the cheek before wandering down the hall to the kitchen.

"Is it no pants Tuesday again?" Jack shouts from the bedroom and you shrug.

"It's my day off, I can wear what I like." You flick the switch so the coffee machine roars to life and potter around the kitchen cleaning up from the night before. Jack made dinner and there's always double the amount of things to clean when she creates her meals. "I'm going to enforce a clean as you go rule when you cook, woman. You used half our cooking utensils and pans." You start doing the dishes and banging around so you don't hear her walk, well sneak, into the kitchen behind you.

"You love my cooking." She snakes her arms around your middle and pulls you back into her chest, dropping a kiss behind your ear.

You close your eyes and feel her surround you. "I love you." You murmur as she drops an opened mouthed trail of kisses from behind your ear, tugging your hoodie to one shoulder and continuing her mouth assault down to your collarbone.

"I know." She squeezes you tight, pecks your cheek and disappears like you aren't on the edge and fully turned on.

"Hey!" You hear her laugh as she walks back down the hall and into the bedroom. "Sexy shit."

"What did you just call me?" She shouts.

"You heard me." You smirk and continue the dishes. You hear her this time and pretend not to notice. So when she is almost about to jump you from behind you swiftly turn and try to attack her with your soapy hands but shes too quick and runs out of the kitchen but you're hot on her tail.

"Hey! This is the last skirt I have, don't you dare wet it!" She shrieks and attempts to run in the bathroom and close the door behind her but your foot catches the door.

"Hand me a towel." She passes you the hand towel through the gap in the door. Once you hand her the towel back she opens the door. You walk in, making her back up until you have her pinned between you and the sink.

"Well you have me right where you want me... now what?" She in heels so there's a bit of height difference between you and she looks down at you with dark brown, chocolate eyes and you're lost.

"Kiss me." You whisper against her lips and she does as she's told.

You rest your hands either side of her on the basin and she tugs you in by the hips, causing the friction that was building from earlier.

"Jacqueline.." You breath as she kisses down your jaw and finds the spot right at the base of your neck.

"Don't you dare touch yourself before I get home this evening. I'll know and you will be punished but trust me the reward will far out weigh your punishment." You groan as she sucks hard one last time at the spot just below your ear and you press hard into the basin for stability. "I have to go to work now."

"You look beautiful." You tear your eyes up from her tones calves, tight dark blue skirt and loose cream coloured blouse and see that she's just as turned on as you are.

"See you tonight." She quickly kisses you on the lips because any second longer and you know she'll be late for work.

The day is long, you clean up around the house. The house that has been neglected for a long time. You put a load of washing on like instructed and your phone buzzes just as you're putting new sheets on the bed.

'Want to be my lunch date? It's ok if you'd rather not come in to work. <3 J' She'd only started signing off her texts with the love heart and J a couple weeks ago and you absolutely love it. You slip the last pillow into its new case and grab your phone back.

'I'll be by your office in an hour xx' You look at your wardrobe and down at your hoodie and shrug. It's your day off, no one should care what you wear to the office when you aren't working. You slip into Jack's favourite black skinny jeans, tie up your hair and quickly dial to order lunch before leaving the house.

Jack's busy looking at a file when you walk up to her door. You don't knock just stand there watching her mind work. She is the most beautiful and cute woman you've ever seen. She sticks the pen she's holding into her mouth qand you see her tongue dart out to twist it around and you can't help but let slip a low moan.

"Hey! I thought I smelt something yummy." Jack winks and you roll your eyes knowing she's not talking about the takeout you have in your hand.

"Thought we could eat on the couch, unless you want to have a picnic in the park?" You place the bag of food onto the coffee table and watch as Jack hops up from behind her desk and walks over to you, giving you a thank you kiss.

"Jackson's team just caught a case so I just got a whole lot of names to sort through, so it'll have to be here."

You shrug and kiss her again. "Perfect." You move around and sit on her couch, unpacking all the food you bought with you onto the coffee table while Jack closes her office door and joins you on the couch.

"Thank you for coming." She wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you in tight.

"Was getting bored at home and wanted to see you. Was actually thinking about bringing you lunch." You turn and smile, Jack pecks you on the lips and then you both dig into your feast.

"My favourite." She moans, taking a bite of the (insert favourite meal here).

You try not to let her moan get to you but flashes of this morning and her tongue twirling around the pen flood your brain and you can't help but squeeze your thighs together.

Jack of course notices and rests one hand on your thigh, moving it around and up to your inner thigh and you clamp your legs tight so she can't go any further.

"No." You growl and she drops a kiss to your cheek while you take a bite of your lunch.

"You haven't given in yet, have you?" You see she's some what suprised and you laugh.

"Why the fuck would I? When you promised so much more later." She smiles at you adorably and you go back to eating lunch. You slowly release her hand when you're sure she is going to remove it instead of tease you some more.

Later happened. It happened in glorious fashion. Jack crawled back up your body, dropping a slow, wet and tantalising kiss on your lips. "Mmm, we taste good." You moan as she rolls off you and curls back into your side.

"Yes we do." She kisses your shoulder and rests her head in the crook of your neck. You trail your fingers up and down her back, tracing her scars like a feather and she relaxes into you more. There was once a time when she would freeze and take several minutes to relax back under your touch but now, now it was like nothing. She even enjoyed it which made your heart smile. Jack could be such a private, independent woman but with you she was open.

"I should tease you more often."

"Think I may die if you tease more babe." You feel her laugh against you and your body shivers under her.

"I wouldn't want that.." She trails off, running her fingers over your abdomen and up your arm. "Love that my touch still sets your body on fire." She kisses the crook of your neck, feeling the goosebumps under her touch.

"Won't ever change." You drop a kiss to her hair and relax back into the pillow. A perfect end to an almost uneventful day and that's just how you liked your days off.

. . . . .

My muse has been slowly dwindling lately, not in the best mental state so if you want this to keep going, send me ideas... or if you have an idea for another story let me know...

#NCIS #jack sloane x reader #jack sloane

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