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67impalaandwhisky · 4 years ago

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Get Some Rest

Daryl Dixon x Wife

Rating: 18+

Chapter 2.

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Blood, Death, Walker Bites, Smut, Impreg Kink, Pregnancy Sex, Fluff, Angst

Warnings For This Chapter: Soft!Daryl, Morning Sickness, Daddy Kink, Thigh Slapping, Lactation Kink, Milk Drinking, Begging, Praise, Spitting, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Squirting, Pregnant Sex, Shower Sex, Daryl Has A Huge Cock, Overstimulation, Rough Fucking, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie

A/N: I don’t remember when I posted the last chapter so maybe we’ll do every Wednesday???? Enjoy!

When you wake up, it's practically a miracle that your husband's limbs are tangled with yours.

You haven't seen him in the early morning for… well, probably six months or so.

You'd think in an apocalypse people wouldn't have to work so hard with no jobs around and no bosses to keep track of you but it's almost the opposite.

You have to work harder to make sure your lives are going smoothly.

The people in this town seem to really depend on him and it makes sense in all honesty. Daryl is the only person in this entire world that you trust.

He's smart and capable and he has a hell of a life force.

You can't take your husband down, he's a fighter, a survivor.

Gently running your fingers through his now dry hair, he doesn't move an inch.

He must be so exhausted from the run yesterday with Carol. You know he had to go to the pharmacy in the town not too far from your home for some medical supplies.

He'll be hungry when he wakes up even though he won't say anything.

So you slowly slide out of the bed, slipping on a pair of clean underwear and a loose button up shirt that Daryl brought you after a run to the department store just south of town. You can only button the top three buttons now, your belly is just too big to fit inside any of the clothes around this town.

Tiptoeing out of the room, you take in the state of how he left the hallway and living room. It seems like someone was excited for a shower.

You leave the pile of clothes exactly where they are, knowing that your husband will take care of them when he wakes up.

Opening up the front door, you smile at the basket of eggs and a loaf of bread Maggie has left you. That woman is a Godsend, you adore her. You both have been close since the prison days and you can confidently say that she's now the greatest friend you'll ever have.

You make your way to the back door, flipping on the generator and reveling in the gentle hum that begins to echo through the house.

To have a working stove, an oven to bake stuff, hot water… It's still like a dream.

Grabbing one of the empty pans, you crack the fresh eggs into it.

You begin to wonder if your husband killed any animals yesterday, you're really craving some meat at the moment.

Sometimes you crave for things you'll never have again like ice cream or the occasional lollipop -- even potato chips... you're still waiting for someone to find a huge vat of oil somewhere around here.

"Mornin' baby." Daryl yawns, stepping out of the hallway.

You angle your head towards him, giving him a wide grin that he returns happily.

"I get to see ya make eggs? This has gotta be The Twilight Zone." he quips, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips to the junction between your neck and shoulder.

You hum playfully, appreciating the bird song that bleeds through the windows at this early hour.

"Did you kill any deer or anything yesterday?" you inquire, sliding the eggs onto two plates.

"Nah, had to haul ass back here. Walkers were on our asses the second I got to the prenatal vitamins," your husband announces, pulling the plastic bottle out of his backpack. "Why?"

"I've been craving meat for the past few days, something red." you breathe, turning to hand him his plate.

Daryl is already slinging his crossbow over his shoulder by the time you finish your sentence.

You set the plate down, notching an eyebrow and placing your hand on your hip. "Your eggs are gonna get cold."

"My wife and baby want somethin' -- they get it. I don't care 'bout no damn cold eggs. You want squirrel, deer, badger? What?" he asks, kicking his clothes out of the doorway.

Leaning down on the kitchen island, you smile at his eagerness. "I want you to pick up those filthy clothes and burn them."

Daryl smiles widely, remembering last night. He knows exactly what you're going to say hours and days before it even happens and it makes him chuckle.

Opening the door, he kicks them out with his foot. "Yes ma'am."

"Love you," you sing, blowing him a kiss.

He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame as his eyes rake over your body. "I love you too, girl. More than you could imagine."

The door bursts open with the sun high in the sky and Daryl emerges with various animals strapped to his chest.

Slowly closing your book, you can't help the guffaw that slips past your lips.

He's seemingly proud of himself, smiling at the pure joy that radiates through your free laugh.

"Whatchu want, girl? The badger is the freshest."

His hands are covered in blood and the sight unfortunately makes your stomach roll.

You haven't felt morning sickness in ages and it comes thrashing your body like a wave of lava.

"Badger," you confirm, dashing off to the bathroom.

"Aw, hell," he winces, looking down at his bloody arms.

He pulls the badger off of his chest before taking off the multitude of other smaller animals. Leaning his head out the door, he whistles sharply.

Carl turns his head to the noise, jogging over when your husband holds out the other spoils from his hunt.

Both boys peek into the house when they hear your retching.

"What'd you do this time?" Carl jeers, elbowing the redneck in the ribs.

Daryl frowns then. It was careless of him to just come home in this state.

This is almost as bad as the time when you were just three months pregnant and you watched his arrow pierce that buck straight through the eye. Your morning sickness and his killing are not fast friends. That noise you made while out in the forest brought every walker out to play that day and Daryl has never forgotten.

"Somethin' dumb. You ain't never bring blood home to pregnant women, ya got that?" Daryl gripes, pulling the crossbow off his back.

Carl snickers, tossing the dead animals over his shoulder. "Noted."

The young man tips his hat to Daryl before taking off.

Your husband takes the opportunity to shut the door with his foot. He tosses the badger into the kitchen sink after a moment before turning on the tap.

He scrubs at his arms, keeping an ear out for your voice just in case you need something.

He sighs gently when the shower turns on and he curses softly under his breath.

Daryl really detests making you sick, he hates the simple thought of it.

He moves towards the bathroom slowly, hanging his head low with shame.

"I'm sorry, baby girl. I didn't think." he apologizes, peeking his head into the room.

"Don't be silly! I just have a weak stomach," you reply, popping your head out past the shower curtain.

You note his now clean arms and wrinkle your nose sweetly at him.

Taking him in, you notice the clean cuts in the fabric of his baggy jeans. He probably snagged them against some fallen tree branches while he was out.

His arms, although they're dotted with swipes of dirt, seem to call out for you through his sleeveless shirt.

Another thing you can't get over during this pregnancy is the constant sway of your hormones.

Last week you were laughing at a joke that Rick told and just a few minutes later you were crying that Maggie took the eggs away from the chickens.

It's utterly ridiculous at times.

Just a few minutes ago, you were heaving over the toilet making noises only the Devil would enjoy and now as your eyes bore into your husband's you find a fresh wave of horniness shoot through you.

You shove open the shower curtain, leaning back against the chilly tiles.

Daryl takes a deep breath through his nose at the sight of your wet, naked body. His eyes rake over your figure -- your dark puffy nipples from your pregnancy, your swollen taut belly and your pretty thighs scream at him for attention.

He isn't a gentleman about his unabashed stare.

His tongue darts out, licking over his lips.

There's a heavy wave of arousal coursing through your husband's bones and you can tell with how his pupils dilate at a rapid pace covering his cerulean irises.

"You coming in? You're gonna let in the cold," you tease, combing your fingers through your hair.

Daryl smirks, starting to strip himself of his clothes. "Just lookin' at my beautiful wife. Can't blame me for that."

His affections and his sweet words always coat you in this sickly adorable shroud. There's no man in this world who could gift wrap such kind words with such a gruff backbite -- no man but Daryl Dixon.

Your husband keeps his eyes glued to your chest even as he steps out of his baggy jeans. Your nipples begin to pebble and stiffen under his intoxicating stare.

He makes you feel so wanted, so adored, so treasured.

"God, you're gorgeous," he breathes, swinging the bathroom door shut.

Peeling off his briefs, you're not surprised to see his long, thick cock hard begging for attention. The bulbous head is pink with desire and the rose colored veins that pepper his generous length are all but begging to be touched.

He steps into the shower, sighing softly at the warm water that begins to berate his back.

Daryl presses his forehead to yours, threading his hands into the hair at the nape of your neck.

"Whatchu invitin' me in the shower for? You want somethin' from me?" he asks rhetorically, drifting his free hand over your bare side.

"You know what I want, daddy," you preen, coursing your fingertips over the smooth planes of his stomach.

He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

With a gentle hand, his thumb runs circles around your pert nipple. Your back arches and you whimper softly at his touch. Your belly presses against him and he groans gently at the feeling.

"Gotta tell me what ya want, girl. You know that," he quips, kissing over your jaw and down your neck.

He pinches and rolls your nipple expertly, holding you steady when your legs begin to get weaker.

Your mouth drops open when his hot, ragged breath drifts over the valley of your breasts and your mind is already swimming with arousal.

He smacks the inner flesh of your thigh, adoring how you squeal at the sharp sting. "Tell me what ya want," he insists through his teeth.

Daryl has always had this hold over you, there's such a rough, manly, dominating touch he holds above your head like a carrot on a string.

"You, want you," you beg, gripping onto his shoulders.

He hums in agreement, rubbing sensuous circles to your taut stomach.

"You got me, what else ya want?" he inquires playfully, wrapping his pretty pink lips around your nipple.

He suckles softly, holding you steady with stiff hands as you writhe before him. Your moans are soft at first, just small simpers and whines until the tip of his tongue begins to flick at the stiff peaked bud.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you press his face closer to you.

Your empty cunt clenches and squeezes around nothing, begging to be filled with the man you adore.

"Your milk tastes good, baby," he whispers, drifting his lips across your chest until he's enveloping your other untouched nipple into his mouth.

"I want you to fuck me! Please!" you cry out, letting your head loll back to the bathroom tiles behind you.

"Needy lil' pregnant girl," he coos, continuing his descent down your body.

His calloused hands run up your legs, kneading at the soft flesh of thighs. He gets to his knees, not caring how uncomfortable the porcelain is beneath him.

You, his wife, will always get what you want.

His hand is swift, smacking the globe of your ass roughly. Your skin smarts, brandishing his large hand print and he soothes the skin immediately.

"Yes," you whine, tugging at his hair softly.

"Yeah? Ya like it? Want more?" he inquires.

His voice is riddled with lustful intentions, an octave lower than how he normally speaks.

"Please, daddy," you beg, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Good girl," he praises, tapping your inner thighs. "Spread 'em."

You do as told, whimpering with anticipation.

"Fuck, look at ya." he curses, inching his fingers ever so slowly up your skin.

He splays open your lower lips with his fingers, licking his lips at the sight of your glistening core.

God, how he could marvel at your body for days on end.

"P-Please," you squeak, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Mhm," he hums, kissing over the bottom of your belly.

His fingers caress your lower lips and he can't help the groan that leaves him when he feels your slick.

"You're so fucking horny when you're pregnant. Jesus Christ," your husband hisses.

The sound of him spitting on your pussy makes you shiver and your hands grip his hair harder with anticipation.

He lets his tongue breech past his slightly chapped lips and he gives a long flat swipe up your core. Your body sags at the feeling, eyebrows furrowing deeper.

One hand stays on your stomach while the other plays with your clenching, sodden hole.

He suckles earnestly at your clit, adoring the high pitched keens that bubble from you like a fountain.

"Oh daddy, yes! More, please, fuck!" you sob, pulling his face closer.

Daryl scoffs at how arousing the sight is before him, simply floored by how sexy you are even at eight months pregnant.

He thrusts two fingers deep into your pussy, holding you up with his strong arm when your legs threaten to give out at the pleasure.

He fucks his digits so fast into you that you can only scream his pet name high into the air.

He curls his fingers quickly, giving kitten licks to your clit like a man possessed.

"Yes, yes, yes! Fuck! Oh my God!" you moan, rocking your hips down to meet his fingers.

He groans against you, appreciating how easy it is to pull pleasure from the marrow of your bones.

Daryl's never in his whole damn life loved someone as earnestly as he loves you. He needs you to give him your pleasure, there's no greater reward for his devotion.

"Yeah? Ya like that, baby girl?" he teases, flicking faster at your throbbing bud.

Your thighs shake and your mind begins to swim in an ocean of adoration.

You spread your legs wider, toes curling as a bubble within your gut begins to grow.

"Oh shit!" you squeak, pulling at his hair roughly.

He can feel your core already beginning to throb, you're so easy to get off with your pregnancy hormones raging.

"I feel it, baby. Give it to me. I know ya wanna. Wanna feel this sweet cunt let go," he hisses, running circles with his thumb over your clit.

He pulls back just far enough to see your face above your belly. Your cheeks are flushed and your mouth is dropped open leaving moans and curses into the air.

"So fucking beautiful," he growls, kissing over your belly.

Adding a third finger, he focuses back on your pleasure. He fucks his fingers so fast into your core that the oxygen within your chest dissipates.

"Daddy!" you gasp, eyes beginning to brim with blissed out tears.

"That's it, baby girl. Give it to me. I want ya to cum all over my fuckin' hand."

The bubble within you is threatening to burst and you're so far gone that you can't even hear anymore, everything sounds dull around you.

"I love you," you sob, throwing your head back.

He drifts his lips over your belly as he stands, continuously still curling his fingers to the spongy patch inside you. Your body wracks with shivers and your thighs lock in place at the impending explosion that's going to go off.

Daryl kisses you roughly, sliding his tongue over yours. He cups the back of your neck, pulling you as close as he can and when your stomach smacks into his he sighs gratefully against your lips.

"I love you too. Let go," he orders gruffly, pressing his forehead to yours.

At his command, your body sings with euphoria.

He holds you up easily, groaning at the stream of warm wetness that squirts from you coating his hand and wrist. It doesn't seem to stop, it goes on for a while and you can only moan and yelp at the pleasure.

Your eyelids are low as you come down from your high, your hearing is dull and your eyes are spotty.

"That's my good girl," he praises, kissing your temple until you're back in the world with him.

"Leg up," he commands, tapping the porcelain lip of the tub.

"You don't want me to suck you off?" you whimper, lifting your heavy leg.

He grips the base of his long cock, dragging it through your soaked lower lips. He hisses at the heat radiating from you, keeping himself up straight with a hand to the chilly tiles behind you.

"I don't need that mouth, I need this tight, wet little pregnant cunt." he breathes, inching his length inside of you.

You both groan at the feeling, your fingers scrape pretty pink lines over his arms and Daryl feels like he can barely breathe when he bottoms out inside of you.

He waits patiently for your pussy to accommodate his thick girth, kissing you languidly and rubbing your overly sensitive clit.

You whine against his lips, body jolting with each swipe of his thumb over your bud.

"You can take it, I know ya can," he whispers against your lips.

"Daddy," you breathe, looking up into his cerulean irises.

Even with his lids as low with lust as they are, you can see the love and adoration practically yelling at you through them.

"I love you so much. You know that, don't ya? You look so gorgeous with my kid inside ya, so fuckin' perfect," he compliments you, drifting his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

"I love you too, so much." you reply, kissing him gently.

Your husband wraps his large hand under your propped up leg. His fingers clench onto the skin as he pulls out of you slowly.

He ogles how much of your arousal coats his cock and something feral and needy snaps inside of him.

He thrusts back in deeply and roughly, setting a relentless pace that makes your nipples stiffen and your mouth drop open.

"Oh my fucking God!" you moan, grabbing onto any part of him you can.

"Yeah, shit. Take this big cock, girl. Ya look so damn good with my dick up your tight cunt." he seethes through his teeth.

Daryl's head lolls back at the pleasure that echoes through his limbs, his face and hair get soaked with the running water and he's so fucking pleased with how you feel that he couldn't give a bigger shit about how he looks.

His long brown hair sticks to his face and forehead, bottom lip stuck between his perfect teeth.

"Oh fuck!" he practically bellows, snaking his hands behind you to palm at the globes of your backside.

He fucks you deeply, he fucks you with devotion, fondness, love.

Your husband worships you like a goddess of divine power and he'll be damned to Hell if he doesn't let you know it.

"Hold your belly," he instructs, leaning back.

In your blissed out daze, you do as told only for him to pick up the pace.

"Daryl! Jesus Christ!" you cry out, sobbing with pleasure.

"That's it, baby. Take this cock deep." he groans.

With every relentless thrust, you can feel his heavy balls slapping against you.

The sound of your soaked pussy being fucked by your husband is so loud, you're pretty sure the whole town could hear you. The whole fucking world could probably hear you at this point. Every walker in a ten mile radius is probably heading to the town gates.

Daryl grips your asscheeks tighter, leaving the imprints of his fingers behind.

There's a deep throbbing starting to form within you and your husband knows it all too well.

He angles himself higher, hitting that one spot within you that has your body screaming for more.

"Right there! Yes! Daddy, shit!"

Licking at his lips, a proud smirk creeps over his flushed face.

"Yeah? Right fuckin' here? Like that? You better hold on tight, girl," he taunts you, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust to the spongy set of nerves inside of you.

He's breathless now, watching with keen eyes as your nipples begin to bead with droplets of milk.

"You're so fucking amazin'," he curses, leaning forward and suckling at your nipples.

Your nails dig into his skin, practically breaking the top layer.

It's your husband's sworn duty to make you as happy as possible and he knows he's keeping up his end when the throbbing within you gets faster and faster.

Your moans have turned to small gasps and your throat is so dry that you can barely speak.

"That's it, baby. I feel it, I know ya wanna cum on this cock. Let go. I know it's comin'." he coos, spanking your backside.

His words send you spiraling and in a mere instant you're going through your second throe of pleasure for the day.

"That's my girl. Fuck, you're so tight around me. Feels so fuckin' good," he praises.

He hasn't been inside you or around you sexually in weeks and he's sorry to even think it but he's almost at his own end.

The way your pussy clenches and tugs at his cock has him throbbing and begging for release.

"I'ma cum for you, baby. Where do ya want it?" he gasps, lifting your propped up leg higher.

"In me, please! Wanna feel it," you beg, drifting your fingers over his chest.

"Mmm, yeah? Ya wanna drip with me? Want my cum runnin' down these pretty legs?" he groans, rubbing circles to your taut, wet belly.

You nod fervently, whimpering at how thick his cock is getting within you. He's throbbing so hard and so fast that it seems to shut down every sense in your body besides feeling.

You can feel how badly he wants to give it to you, you can see in his eyes how much he needs to release.

"Please, daddy! I want your cum in my pregnant pussy. I wanna push it out," you whine.

His eyebrows knit at your filthy words and he groans so loudly that it rumbles his chest.

"Oh fuck! 'M cummin', baby. 'M cummin'." he seethes.

His thrusts become erratic and slow, still fucking you deeply but with each thrust the mushroom head of his cock buries against your soft cervix.

Your husband stills all at once, his joints lock in place and he curses so softly that it seems to float away with the running water that cascades off his back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hisses gently.

Warm ropes of cum lather your spent cunt and you sigh happily at the feeling.

You lean back against the wall, completely spent.

"I fuckin' love you like ya can't believe." he breathes, pulling out of you slowly.

He kisses you languidly, letting his tongue run over yours in your post coital glow.

You both feel a kick come from within you and Daryl looks down at the distended belly between you.

"I love ya too, kid. You know that." he chuckles, letting his head loll back into the warm water.

There's silence for a while as you hold one another until your stomach rumbles loudly with hunger.

Daryl's eyes light up with humor, pulling back from you. "Jesus Christ, just tell me your hungry instead of shoutin' at me."

You giggle, slapping his chest playfully.

He shuts off the water in an instant, grabbing a clean towel and starting to dry you off.

"Mmm," he hums, crouching down and splaying open your lower lips once more. "Push it out."

You do as told, smiling at the hearty groan he gives.

He slaps your core with the tips of his fingers, smiling at how your body writhes from his ministrations.

"I'll make ya some food, okay? Then I think you need a nap, you look exhausted," he breathes, standing tall and planting a chaste kiss to your lips.

You give a nod, suddenly feeling weary when he speaks his words. "I think you're right."

Kissing your temple, he helps you out of the tub. "Go on now," he coos, patting your bare backside.

Your fork clatters loudly to your empty plate and you sigh happily.

The food was so good you practically cried while eating it.

Cooking is another one of Daryl's secret skills. The way this man could grill a damn squirrel over an open fire is something to marvel at.

Your husband looks up at you over his plate and he snorts at the pleased look on your face. "You'd think the badger gave you the best night of it's damn life with your face lookin' like that."

"It did," you quip, grabbing your plate and going to stand up.

Daryl raises his index finger, slowly wagging it at you and pointing back to your chair as he tears a chunk of meat off the leg bone.

"I can put a plate in the sink," you murmur, sitting back down.

"Just 'cause ya can doesn't mean ya will." he replies, tossing the clean bones into the garbage.

He grabs his plate as well as your own, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

"Go lay down, I'll be right in. I'ma go smoke a cigarette. I had a hell of an afternoon," your husband breathes, smirking at the thought of your earlier romp in the shower.

Placing the plates in the sink he waits for your reply but when none comes he tilts his head to you. Your eyes are staring lewdy at his taut backside and he shakes his head with a chuckle.

"Ya can't be stopped today," Daryl breathes.

Your eyes snap up to his and you give him the most dazzling smile. His heart thuds deep in his chest when he stares at you.

Leaning his elbows down on the kitchen island, his long brown bangs fall into his eyes and he smirks.

"What'd I do to deserve ya?" he whispers, drawing imperfect shapes onto the wood beneath his hand.

You sigh happily, standing up. "Just being you is enough to deserve the world."

He guffaws at your romantic words, chuckling when you wrap your arms around his stomach and pressing your cheek to his back.

"Go lay down, you're exhausted ya don't know what you're sayin' anymore." Daryl teases.

"Fine, I am tired." you concede, pulling away.

Your husband runs his hand over your stomach, grabbing a cigarette from the counter.

He waits until you dip into the bedroom before opening the front door and stepping out.

Lighting his cigarette, he watches people roam to and fro without care. Who knew he'd ever get to live a life like this.

He sits down on the steps of his house, hanging his head between his knees, feeling his muscles begin to relax.

He hears small laughs and sniggers almost like they're aimed at him. His head lifts accordingly seeing Glenn and Rick just across the way.

"What?" your husband gripes, pulling from his cigarette and squinting his eyes at them.

Rick tilts his head, looking at the younger Korean man.

"Glad I took your patrol, it seems like you had a lot of fun this morning." Glenn quips.

Daryl isn't usually one for blushes and embarrassed notions but he can't help the gentle tint of blush that stamps itself onto his cheeks.

"You heard us?" he inquires, shaking his hair out, hoping it'll cover his rose-colored face.

"Who didn't hear you? I've never heard a woman call out for God or Jesus so many times in my life," Rick jests, leaning his hand down on his gun belt.

"Never heard you being called daddy either," the Korean man adds.

Your husband rolls his eyes, watching as they laugh along with one another.

"Idiots. My unborn baby's more mature then y'all," Dixon murmurs.

He can't help the smile that spreads on his lips when Rick winks at him.

"I didn't even know that you could have sex when you're pregnant," Glenn announces.

Daryl and Rick stare at the younger Asian, blinking at the statement.

"Do ya think pregnancy is a STD or somethin'?" your husband chirps, earning a loud cackle from the sheriff.

The tips of the pizza delivery boy's ear burn bright red and he shrugs.

"Feels better than regular sex," Daryl and Rick state at the same time.

The two friends laugh once more, elbowing each other when the redneck stands tall.

"I'll see ya tomorrow," your husband breathes, tossing his cigarette into the street.

Finally making it to your shared bedroom, the redneck chuckles at the state of you.

It seems like you just flopped down on the bed and you were out for the count. You couldn't even pull off your other sock before you fell asleep.

Slowly rounding the foot of the bed, he slips your left sock off. He tosses it into the pile of dirty clothes, looking around the domestic bedroom.

Michonne helped you carry this gigantic statue back from a run six months ago and Daryl still doesn't have the heart to tell you that it's uglier than sin. There's so many limbs or branches or spikes -- whatever the hell they are, it's hideous. But your smile when you triumphantly brought it through the front door made him accept it as a piece to the home almost immediately.

Stripping himself of his baggy jeans, he climbs into bed beside you.

He's not tired, usually he would be running around the woods right now looking for something to snag for the town's dinner menu. But he lays beside you because it's the most comforting thing in the entire world.

Drifting his hand over your stomach, he catches the small imprint of a foot making itself known through your skin.

You whine softly, burying your face into the pillow beside you as you sleep.

"Can't leave your mama alone, huh kid?" Daryl coos, inching down the bed.

He kisses your distended side, getting comfortable beside the baby in your womb.

"Listen to daddy, I'ma continue that story for you," your husband avows, looking up at the ceiling.

"We stayed at the prison for a good while, we was gettin' comfy… too comfy when I think about it now…" he begins.

Next Chapter --->

Get Some Rest Taglist - @howlerwolfmax, @dunixxd, @daryldixonstorm

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #pregnant smut #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl pregnant smut #daryl smut #daryl dixon fic #twd fic #twd fanfiction

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yandere-sins · 3 years ago

Note

I see that ur request is open, u don't have to do mine (I just rly wanna see how this gonna turn out 🤡)

But may i request a yandere farmer x fem reader

(I'm not rly into any fandom so you can just pick any or Rhys is fine too 👀)

My jam, and you know what? I owe everyone named Alex something, so let me create this wonderful buff farmer!yandere named Alex who I don’t kill off this time, I promise. Enjoy!

I uh, did hint at my ideas for yandere farmers with Milo from Pokémon before so yeah. Let’s go over that again, shall we? I’ll give a warning for pet play for those unfamiliar.

Rated Lime

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

It’s still early in the morning when you hear the jarring sound of the barn door opening. For a moment, you hope that all you experienced for the last few days had been a dream, but your body still aches from sleeping on the cold ground, revealing the heavy truth. You can hear the chipper, “Good morning, ladies!” as the cows start to moo in response, the unbearable smell of fecal and urine drifting towards you with the fresh air coming in from outside.

It’s time to get up, scream, do something! But you blink a few times, your swollen eyes barely opening after you cried yourself to sleep last night, and you look at the iron cuffs around your wrists. Why even trying? you ask yourself, immediately discarding the thought and pushing yourself from the floor. No, it’s too early to give up. You can’t let yourself down like this yet.

“And good morning, Sunshine.” The voice next to you makes you flinch as you look up into the chestnut eyes of your captor. He tips his cap, smiling. You’re disgusted by his presence alone, but a sweet smell comes your way. Leaning over the wooden barriers he put up as your ‘pen’, Alex holds a plate in his hands, pancakes stacking up on top of it with blueberries rolling off of them. The food is still warm, steam visibly rising from them in the colder morning air.

He looks at you expectantly when you don’t make a move, only trying to hide the saliva building in your mouth. You haven’t had a homemade breakfast in a long time, much less proper food in the last few days. There is no telling if your body can still stomach something as delicious as pancakes, but you prefer it so much more than the weird grain mix he also feeds to the cows and would shove down your throat. “Thought you might be hungry, Babe,” he smiles as he sees the desire in your eyes, his own gaze never straying from you, taking in every last flinch and move of yours.

In a way, you are like a wild animal to him, that much he told you. He restricted your movements with chains, fed you like cattle, and treated you like a dog, cooing and using the carrot and stick method to handle you. It’s disgusting, but by now, you at least feel as dirty as one. Using the fork he brought along, Alex cuts off a piece from the breakfast, eating from it first, his eyes staring into yours as he does it. Did he do it to show he didn’t poison it? Does he want to claim this plate of pancakes for himself? But why would he bring it to you in the first place if that’s the case?

Still chewing, he puts the fork down, pulling another pancake piece off the plate with his bare fingers, and holds it out to you. He was eager to lessen the distance between you and him from day one, but his dirty methods made you want to spit in his face. Stomach growling, you are at a loss of what to do. If you let him feed you like a dog, there was no way he’d keep it at that, but perhaps this was your only chance on receiving actual, human food he’d give you if you refuse him.

Your chains rattle as you scoot closer, refusing to play the captured animal and crawl on all fours. Every muscle of yours is sore and hurt from the cold, but there is no other way, the chains around your wrists and ankles keeping you down with their weight. Instead, you stretch your neck as far as possible, your back tensing up in response until your mouth is under his fingers and the piece of pancake hanging from them. But Alex doesn’t just let the food go, watching you with an excited grin as you carefully put the piece between your teeth. Only then does he let go, and you are able to claim the sweet sensation on your tongue as yours.

Eager, Alex holds out another piece, and you take it without even swallowing the first one completely. Something in you completely set out as your brain is satisfied with sugary sweet and fluffy pancakes melting in your mouth, their warmth going through your whole body. You are hooked on the rush of food, you don’t notice your tongue lapping up the syrup on his fingers with the next piece of pancake until it’s too late. But Alex notices, his lips immediately turning into a disgusting grin of self-satisfaction, and he reaches for your face, fingers curling under your chin and thumb rubbing over your cheek.

Immediately, you shy away, disgusted by his touch and disappointed in yourself that you didn’t see it coming. In the reflection of his wide-open, maniacally staring eyes, you can see how dirty and disgusting you are after living like a barn animal for days, and that is precisely how Alex sees you. An animal that he just touched for the first time. Who came to him of their own free will. To him, it is progress. To you, despair.

“Come,” he entices, luring you with more pancakes, but you feign disinterest. “Don’t be scared now. I know you like it.”

The pancakes? Yes. Him? Not at all.

“You need to eat to get big and strong, you know?”

“I’m not a baby animal,” you hiss back, putting on the meanest glare you can muster.

“You sure act like one,” Alex reminds you tauntingly, his smile unfading but his expression less amused than it had been before. “Licking at my fingers, coming to me for food. Don’t you think that’s what a good pet does? You’ve been holed up in your corner for too long. You should be more grateful for my efforts, just like the cows.”

Gnawing at your lip, your eyes fall from his to the pancake slowly growing cold. Only now do you realize he has been feeding you with these fingers of his without your knowledge if they were dirty or clean. Being a farmer, you never know where he puts them before approaching you, and you grow more disgusted for having fallen into this trap he had laid out for you.

Suddenly, for the first time, you hear him sigh. Even when he scratched his head and wondered what to do with you before, he never once had sighed. Somehow, it makes you shudder, a bad feeling spreading in your stomach as he hangs his head, shaking it.

“I’m not asking much, you know. Here’s the deal.” His eyes are ice-cold as he looks up again, and Alex roughly throws the piece of pancake to the floor right in front of you. It no longer looks appetizing, but you are more afraid of the man before you than the wasted food. “Eat it,” he orders commandingly, fitting this whole scenario he imagines you two to play in.

“Ew, no--” you want to protest, furrowing your brows when he interrupts you harshly by throwing the whole plate, including the pancakes, to the ground inside your pen. “In less than an hour, your whole fucking pen will be swarmed by ants. But I’ve got something better for you.”

Pointing to the piece of food before you, Alex repeats, “Eat it,” and this time, you don’t dare to respond. “Eat, and you can come inside with me.”

At this, your ears perk up, eyes widening. “I-Inside?” you ask, doubting that he meant what he said. “Yeah. I prepared a nice box for you in the house, warm and cozy. Clean water and a hot shower included, but I need to know that you are willing to listen to me, you understand?”

Body trembling, you sit there like a deer in the headlights. This is too good to be true, and you fear how high the price is that you’d have to pay if agreed. Listening to him can’t possibly be the only thing he’d want once you were inside, but you watch as the first few flies come over from the cows, wanting to get a piece of the delicious breakfast wasted on the ground. You’d have no peace if you stayed here - never.

Your hand reaches out but just as quickly pulls back. “What will we do inside?” you squeak, unable to control your anxious stuttering. Now that Alex’s lips curl back into a smile, you see his sinister side for the first time. He is leaning casually onto the barricade, but his whole demeanor changed into something horrifying, something that gives you the vibes of a sick and twisted person more than ever. “Don’t ask, just decide. Eat and come inside with me, or stay here between cows, piss, and shit. Maybe you can be useful for milk production?”

The pure horror of thinking about what that fate would entail makes you go weak, and in less than a few seconds, you had gobbled up the piece of pancake, stuffing it into your mouth. Immediately you feel the recoil of your body after doing something so disgusting, but you hold back from spitting it out, already having come so far. “Good girl,” he praises you in a belittling tone like you’d use for pets and children. Opening up your pen by unlocking the many locks he had put on for safety, Alex doesn’t mind the food on the ground, neither slipping on it and breaking his neck like you hoped for, nor having shards of the plate go through his boots.

“Give me your hand,” he asks, holding his own out until you slowly lift yours into his. The chains are way too heavy, but the fear keeps you working even though your wrists are open wounds from the chafing cuffs. “Good,” he keeps praising, repeating the progress for your other hand. “You’re learning so quickly, look at you. Attagirl!”

You don’t dare to rub your bleeding wrists as they are finally free, but a giant boulder falls from your heart as you feel relief set in. “Damn, you do need a good bath, though,” Alex mutters as he sits down beside you, proceeding to uncuff your ankles. You feel a sense of shame, not being able to smell yourself anymore but not wanting to imagine it either.

Finally, you are free of all restrains, but before you can try doing anything funny, Alex picks you up in his arms, his broad chest in front of your face and the smell of aftershave and sweat filling your nose. You didn’t know that was how he smelled. After all, he brought you here unconscious, and when you woke up, you were already in this shitty pen, cuffed and gagged for the first two days.

“Feeling good?” he asks you as he notices how quiet you’ve gotten, not much left of your spiteful self that would scream and curse at him before. You nod slowly, not looking up. Looking at him from close-up might cause you to puke after all, and you’ve worked too hard to get to this point. Alex gives you a rough, scolding shake, and you instinctively grip onto his shirt. “Tell me.”

“Yes...” you mumble, hoping that will be enough to satisfy him, and Alex gives you another sigh before shrugging lightly and adjusting you in his arms. “That’s something we can work on,” he promises you for another time, and you keep your head low as he carries you outside.

It’s been way too long that you saw the morning dew on the grass, fog covering the fields in the distance, and the sun only starting to fully rise above you. It makes you look up in awe, unknowingly being observed by a curious pair of eyes from above. Being outside again almost makes the trouble worth it, and you are able to find happiness in this small victory.

But you have yet to grasp the consequences of your decision. Even if it looked great in the image you had in your mind, you aren’t aware of the state of the house inside, what was waiting for you behind the pretty facade of a farmer’s home. The demands he has of you that Alex had yet to reveal and how eager he was to train his adorable little darling. Make you just as dependant and obsessed with him as his animals were, while you’d share their place at the end of the bed for a long time.

And you didn’t even know about the collar yet.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

A/N: Oh god, I haven’t written anything in the present tense for a loooong time. I hope it was readable! Sorry in advance if I messed up occasionally, I tried to get everything sorted out properly... >_< Still, a very enjoyable write and I hope the read as well!

#yandere!farmer #farmer #yandere farmer #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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reveriesofawriter · 2 years ago

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into a million pretty pieces

Luke can think of a hundred ideal ways to spend a Friday night, and none of those would be like this. He's sitting in Calum's passenger seat, one leg clutched to his body like it'll fall off if he lets go and the other on the floor still enveloped in his nemesis: a shiny blue roller skate.

"When you said you didn't know how to skate, I assumed you'd be easy enough to teach," Calum says sort of loudly above the music surrounding them.

"I told you I've never been on skates in my life," Luke says back. He starts to lift the corner of the rolled up t-shirt against his leg to see if it's still bleeding, then quickly decides he'd rather not know. He's not squeamish, he's just also not used to scraping up his knee so bad he has to think about how much blood is too much to be coming out of his leg.

Calum laughs. "I didn't think that meant you'd look like a baby deer on ice."

"You shouldn't have let me go so soon," Luke counters defensively. Calum doesn't need to know the only reason he went along with this in the first place is because he knew it would mean Calum had to have his hands on Luke the whole time. Holding his hands or his waist or his shoulders or wherever else. Calum's only ever around for a couple weeks at a time anymore, and Luke has learned to savor it. He can feel goosebumps just thinking about it.

The song starts to fade out right as Calum hums quietly, like he didn't really mean for Luke to hear, "Yeah, I shouldn't have."

songfic based on a million pretty pieces by nightly & fleurie

#this fic is up for adoption #meg&molly gave me cake brainrot #my first thought for the song was muke actually but clearly it didn't stay that way for long

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goodfish-bowl · 3 years ago

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Ectober Day 5: Fairy Circle

Prequel to Lost in the Wood

AO3 link (will be updated)

Summary: Flynn should’ve known better than to go into the woods by himself.

Words: 1596

Content warnings: child abduction, manipulation

Notes: this is the first, and Lost in the Wood is technically the last, but there will be more in between, the order your read them in is irrelevant.

Flynn’s parents were fighting again. It was his birthday, they could at least wait until the next day. Papa was trying to teach him how to shoot a gun, which Mom had known he had brought. That’s what the argument was about this time. Flynn didn’t think he really needed to know how to shoot a shotgun. He knew how to get away from a bear and make a variety of traps, why would he need a gun?

The yelling escalated and Flynn decided an enclosed tent was not the place to be. He took a deep breath, bitter that his parents would fight on his birthday. He loved the woods, it had a quiet that didn’t exist in their cabin back in Spitoon. He loved his home and his parents, he just wished they’d get along more.

Flynn had an idea, then, and took a glance behind him. He wasn’t allowed to go into the woods alone. It was the chief rule, one of the few things his parents did agree on absolutely. Flynn grabbed his bag, shoved it full of the most basic gear, and took off running.

The woods consumed him in seconds. Another thing he loved. He instantly found the place in the woods where the trees were as thick around as the tool shed, and the light became dim, high canopy preventing it from touching the ground more than just enough to see through green lenses.

Flynn slowed down and took a glance behind him, the deer tail barely visible among the remaining brush. He couldn’t hear his parents anymore, and the forest was much too silent. He felt desperately alone. Flynn took a deep breath and calmed down, trying to keep from crying. He would never get his parents to work together to find him if he couldn’t at least wait for them to notice he was gone. (They’d notice right? They would come for him?) He made himself a comfortable spot and pulled out a protein bar to munch on. Now all he had to do is wait.

Flynn waited, and then waited some more. He was really patient, he knew he was, and he knew he had waited a long time by now. The sun was getting ready to set soon. Something sad and lonely settled in a corner of his mind. Where were Mom and Papa? We’re they looking for him? He knew that he hadn’t wondered to far by himself, he should be able to hear them from camp if they were calling for him.

Flynn held as still and quiet as he physically could, but he heard nothing, not even the sounds of the woods he had grown to love. Suddenly uncomfortable at the lack of sound outside of his own person, Flynn decided to go back to camp. He didn't want to be out here at night. He pulled a flashlight from his bag and clicked the button. The light flickered pathetically for a second before going out, leaving him in the coming darkness.

As fast as he safely could, Flynn went back towards camp. The woods didn’t go back to the familiar sight of the campground, but remained old and silent, judging him for his actions. Tears built up behind his eyes, but Papa said boys didn’t cry, so he shouldn’t. But Flynn couldn’t help it, and the tears flowed freely.

“Mom! Papa!” He called out, fear and desperation saturating his voice. He cried out again and again, but the woods gave him nothing in return.

Finally, the brink of darkness fell, and Flynn lost the ability to see.

“Poor thing. Did your parents leave you?”

Flynn froze and whiled around, yelping in fear as his heart sputtered in his chest. He hadn’t even heard someone approach.

And she was standing far too close, only a couple feet away, a strange green lantern illuminating her and the area around her. Flynn whimpered, scared, silently chiding himself for acting like a baby. He wasn’t scared! She just surprised him. Yeah, that’s all. The dark, silent woods, with surprise ladies had nothing on him. He built up his courage to reply.

“My parents didn’t leave me!” He shouted defensively, “I ran away.”

He couldn’t see her features under the black veil she was wearing, which he thought was weird. It was nowhere near Halloween. Even stranger, she started to sniffle and cry, like she was the one lost.

“Oh, oh, so sad. You must be so brave to run away from your parents! Tell me, little one, why did you run?” She asked, her voice quivering from her tears.

Flynn gulped, this lady gave him the creeps. “I wanted them to make them stop fighting on my birthday,” he answered truthfully.

She stood there for a moment, before wailing in anguish. It echoed in the forest much more than it should, “So brave, so selfless, so, so, so sad,” She cried out, “How old did you turn today?” She asked between another sniffle.

“Twelve.”

She was too close all too fast. He didn’t see her move, but now her face was leaned into his, and he could see her stange, bloodshot and crimson eyes underneath her pitch veil.

“Would you like to play a game with me? When we’re done I can take you back to your parents.” She asked, her voice and tone suddenly different.

When he tried to back up, her hand snapped to his wrist, ice cold and pale fingers digging into his wrist. He began to struggle, pulling desperately on her wrist and hand to release him.

“Stop! You’re hurting me.” Flynn wailed, throwing all his wait into him release. She didn’t as much as budge.

After a heavy second, her fingers cracked off of his wrist like old hinges. He cradled his wrist, aware that he would have bruises by tomorrow.

“Will you play?” She asked, her tone so monotone she could’be been a robot.

“No! I want to go back to my parents!” He demanded. She didn’t react.

“I will take you back to your parents after we play, I promise,” she swore, placing a hand onto her chest.

“No! You’re creepy and you hurt me! I don’t want to lpay with you!”

Apparently, she didn’t like that answer. She reeled back, and clutched and tugged at her veil. He could still see her eyes under her veil, and the green light of the lantern seemed to intensify.

“Then you won’t leave this forest.”

The light of the lantern snuffed out, abandoning him in the dark. He cried out, frightened or the pitch blackness and silence that had engulfed him.

“Please! Don’t leave me! I’ll play! I’ll play! Just don’t leave me here!” Flynn wailed.

The lantern light returned, this time several paces behind him. He could see her smile under the veil.

“Thank you so much. I’ve been so lonely,” she thanked him, and beckoned him closer.

Hesitantly, he took a few steps forward, but easily out of reach still.

“So, what are we playing?” Flynn asked, genuinely curious.

“I love to play castle. I’ll be the Lady, and you can be my lovely little knight!” He exclaimed in glee, before pausing, “I don’t know your name yet, little knight. Tell me so I may knight you as your Lady and Queen.”

Realizing the game had already begun, Flynn went down on one knee, “My name is Flynn Walker, my lady. What is yours?‘

She smiled, kind and cruel. “My name is Misery Vex, but you may call me Lady Widow.”

She suddenly held a blade, as long as his forearm, the metal reflecting the green of her lantern. His eyes widened. She hadn’t had that a second ago. She pointed it at him, then carefully touched his shoulders twice with it.

“Flynn Walker, do you swear to serve me and my will as long as you can, with your heart and life? Until your body no longer bleeds and mind no longer thinks? DO you promise to protect me from all threats and dote upon my every word?” She asked.

Still thinking it part of a game, Flynn swore. “I do, my Lady Widow.”

“Then rise, Ser Flynn.”

Flynn rose to his feet and she handed him the blade. It was stange to hold, and it hummed in his grip, slowly getting lighter and smaller until it suited him perfectly. He watched in awe.

“Come now, Ser Flynn, my little knight, lets go to my castle,” she commanded, and he knew it was a command, he could feel it.

He followed, transfixed by the sway of the lantern and the shadows it cast. The trees parted and the moon shone through a single hole in the canopy, revealing a ring in the middle of the bare clearing. It was made of strange mushrooms Flynn had never seen, growing in a perfect circle.

She stepped inside, and beckoned him to d the same. He obeyed, despite a voice in the back of his head that sounded like his mother, warning him to stay, that something was amiss. It was overwhelmed by the urge to do as Lady Widow said. Flynn stepped inside of the ring, right next to his Lady. She beamed at him in approval and unconditional love. She beat down, so much taller than any person he had ever met, and embraced him.

The lantern crackled, and the mushrooms stole its light. The ground fell away into green beneath him and Lady Widow, and they vanished.

#danny phantom #goodfish writes #Flynn walker #misery vex #aunt Alicia mentioned #unnamed exhusband mentioned #ectober 2021 #fairy circle #I only like the fannon version of Flynn #I have a whole story plotted out for him and Misery #Misey is now Lady Widow because spider theme #and she’s sad so its a pun like widower #goodfish draws #ectoberhaunt 2021

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wordsysayswords · 5 years ago

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After picking Wash up on Sidewinder, it’s going to take everyone a while to get used to the new living arrangements. Especially Wash, who’s a bit directionless now that he’s finally free of the Project. Tucker doesn’t care for Blue Team’s new leader. But he can’t help noticing some of the man’s odd habits and wondering what caused them.

Part 2: Sleeping Habits

It hits Tucker that violently shaking the sleeping Freelancer out of a nightmare might be an exceptionally stupid idea at the exact same time Washington headbutts him in the nose.

Or, Wash wakes up swinging.

Tucker doesn’t know how he manages to fall asleep, but Caboose’s snoring wakes him at about 6 am. He blinks around the room, taking in the crayon drawings and machine blueprints—also drawn in crayon—plastering the walls.

Beside him, Caboose is spread-eagle on the bed, drooling into his pillow. Tucker rolls his shoulders, trying to relieve the stiffness earned from sitting up against the wall all night. His gaze falls to his deactivated energy sword in his lap.

Right.

It isn’t like Tucker forgot what happened during the night. His chest is still tight with the remnants of nightmares that had seen the incident end differently. Bloody.

Somewhere in the base, a floorboard creaks. Tucker jolts, sword flashing to life in his hand. His eyes fly to the door.

The handle doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open. There isn’t even the shadow of feet passing by. The base is eerily silent—save for Caboose’s cartoonishly loud snores. After five minutes, Tucker’s starting to think he imagined it. He almost misses the distant sound of a door clicking shut.

Tucker listens. One minute. Two.

Pushing Caboose’s beefy arm off him, Tucker hops off the bed and tiptoes across the room. Ever so slowly, he reaches up and unlocks the door. He takes a deep breath.

He opens the door.

The kitchen is empty. So is the common area. The base feels cold and gray in the hazy morning light. The coffee pot is off, which is weird considering the unspoken rule that the first person up and about is in charge of prepping it. That’s usually Washington, what with his absolutely fucked sleep schedule.

But Tucker doesn’t want to think about Washington right now. What he wants is an ice pack for his nose because it might not be broken, but it hurts like a bitch. Deactivating his sword, Tucker grabs some ice and heads for the bathroom.

After nudging the door open to make sure a rabid Freelancer isn’t hiding inside, Tucker looks in the mirror to check the damage. Oof. The bleeding has stopped, but his shirt looks like a crime scene. Tucker hadn’t thought to grab tissues or gauze or even a medkit before locking himself and Caboose in the blue soldier’s room for the night. He gingerly inspects the colorful swelling he’s going to be sporting for a while.

He wonders if he gave Washington any bruises to add to his already sizable collection.

Tucker pulls back from the mirror and scoffs. He doesn’t give a shit about how Washington is feeling because it serves him the fuck right after almost murdering Tucker.

Tucker heads back to the common area. There’s a basket of laundry beside the door that the teal soldier hasn’t gotten around to folding. Tucker is fishing out a clean shirt to replace his blood-stained one when he notices the boots lined up neatly in the entryway. The two sets of boots.

There’s supposed to be three.

Wash’s room is empty.

The sun has barely crept above the distant glacier peaks on the horizon. There’s no snow this close to Sidewinder’s equator, but the landscape remains a tundra of frozen earth and hardy brown plants.

Tucker catches up with Washington two miles up the road, slowing the warthog to a crawl beside him.

“You goin’ my way, baby?” Tucker drawls, leaning out of the driver’s side with a wink.

Washington doesn’t stop walking. He glares ahead at the long dirt road stretching into the windswept wasteland, pointedly not looking at Tucker.

Okay, well, fuck. Dead silence wasn’t an option Tucker considered when mapping out this conversation in his head after he realized Wash had up and left. Then again, catcalling the guy hadn’t been on the agenda either, but Tucker’s mouth is always one step ahead. He’s a lot better at this whole banter thing when the other person can dish it out as good as they get. That was one of the nice things about Church. The asshole always had an answer, even if it was just “fuck you.”

“It’s cold as balls,” Tucker says, jumping on the first thing that comes into his head. “Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”

Washington is wearing the poorly fitting fatigue pants and shirt Caboose and Tucker had gifted him (though, Tucker was a lot more begrudging about it than Caboose). The Freelancer must have found the frayed military jacket somewhere in the abandoned base they’d taken over following the fight with the Meta. One of his hands holds it shut against the perpetually icy air. The other grips a sagging duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.

Washington picks up speed.

“You going somewhere?” Tucker prods, the engine of the warthog growling as he gives it just enough gas to keep Washington’s pace.

Tucker watches the man’s jaw clench, mouth set in a grim line.

Tucker sighs dramatically. “Listen, I don’t wanna have to be the one to tell Caboose that his pet ran away, so get your broody ass back t—”

“Take it!” Washington snarls, rounding on Tucker and causing him to slam breaks. Wash hurls the duffel bag to the frozen ground beside the warthog.

“Just fucking take it, okay?” Washington snaps louder, dragging a hand through his hair as he paces the road. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken anything, so just fucking take it, okay?”

Tucker cranes his neck out of the idling car to look down at the contents of the bag now spilled across the dirt. Two MREs and a flashlight.

Tucker doesn’t know what Washington sees in the confusion on the teal soldier’s face, but the man lets loose a harsh laugh. Washington rips off the jacket and flings that to the dirt as well.

“There,” he says, folding his arms firmly across his chest. “You have everything. Now, just fucking go.”

Tucker just sits there for a moment.

“What the—god damn it,” Tucker snarls right back, throwing the warthog in park and clambering out. “I don’t give a fuck about a flashlight and some bags of chicken-fucking-flavored rice!”

Wash has the nerve to look pissed.

“What do you want then?” He yells, throwing out his arms. “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU OUT HERE?!”

“That’s MY LINE, you ABSOLUTE ASSWIPE!” Tucker shouts back. “What are YOU doing out here? Are you actually running away?”

“What do you want? An apology? Like that’s going to fix this?” Wash shouts. “Fine! I’m sorry!”

And the words come pouring out.

“I’m sorry!” Wash yells again. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but I did, and I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry I’m broken, I’m sorry I killed Church, and I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

With that, Wash drops to the dirt, the fight sucked right out of him by the outburst. He sits there, head drooping and silent save for his uneven panting.

For some reason, it hits Tucker at this exact moment that this is the longest conversation he and Washington have ever had.

“There,” Wash says finally, voice subdued. “I said it. You can go. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” He doesn’t make any move to stand up.

Tucker actually laughs. “Seriously, dude? The nearest settlement is like 70 miles away. What are you going to do? Walk?”

“I can handle it,” Wash says dully.

“Dude,” Tucker says, pointing to Wash’s shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

Wash startles, looking down and finally noticing the slowly growing patch of blood at his side.

“Shit,” he curses, lifting the fabric to reveal a soaked square of gauze.

Tucker pulls a face. “Ugh, I thought Doc stitched you up.”

“Tore them,” Wash mumbles, pulling at the bandage to inspect the wound and face pinching at what he finds. “...Last night.”

Wash glances up at the cold, dirt road ahead and then down at the blood seeping out from around his hand pressed to his wound, frowning.

Tucker rolls his eyes and sighs. “Alright, get in.”

Wash narrows his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“To Mars,” Tucker says flatly. “Where the fuck do you think? Back to base to get your sorry ass stitched up again.”

Wash blinks. “What?”

“No, you heard me,” Tucker says, turning heel and climbing back in the car. Last night is still too fresh for him to offer the man a hand. “Get in the car.”

Still looking a little like a deer caught in headlights, Wash shakily climbs to his feet, wincing all the way. He hisses in pain bending down to pick up his things before limping around the warthog to climb in the passenger seat.

Staring straight out the windshield, Tucker grits his teeth and grips the steering wheel like it owes him money. It would be so much easier to hate Wash if he made excuses or pretended last night never happened. It’s a lot harder to hate someone when they’re standing in front of you in the cold, bleeding and apologizing for taking a coat and some meager rations. Goddammit.

“I still hate you,” Tucker blurts out, every word tasting like a lie.

Wash just nods, tired eyes still fixed on the place where the dirt road meets the horizon in the distance. He sags against the seat, pale and with sweat beading at his brow.

“Look,” Tucker says, slumping his shoulders, “I’m not stopping you from leaving. You’re a grown-ass, presumed KIA adult and can do whatever the hell you want. I just…recommend doing it with proper supplies and when you’re not bleeding everywhere.”

Wash looks over at him.

“I can leave later?” he asks quietly.

Tucker shrugs. “It’s up to you. You don’t owe us anything.”

Wash looks like he’s about to argue but seems to think better of it. He’s visibly shivering now. Tucker cranks up the heat before turning the warthog around and heading back towards base.

“Are...are you okay?” Wash asks softly.

Tucker looks over at him, taking in how he’s slumped against the seat even as his hands tightly gripped the wound. Up close, Tucker can see a ghastly bruise peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. Whether it’s from him or the Meta, Tucker can’t be sure.

He turns his eyes back to the road. “I’m fine,” Tucker says, even as his nose pulses in pain at the memory of the previous night.

“I should have warned you not to come near me when I’m sleeping,” Wash all but whispers.

“Is screaming like a...like an opera-singing howler monkey... normal for you?”

Wash shrugs.

“Whatever,” Tucker says. “Just try not to get blood all over the seats. I just had this thing cleaned.”

“What? How?”

“It’s a joke, Wash.” That’s weird. When did Washington become Wash?

“Oh.”

They ride in silence for a few moments before Wash speaks up again. “Tucker?”

“Hm?”

“...Thanks.”

Tucker stares straight ahead as the base comes into view. “Don’t mention it.”

#red vs blue #agent washington #lavernius tucker #rvb #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #wordsywriteswords #wordsy writes words #blue team

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Text

BTHB: Forced to Watch

That’s right, it’s that time again! @muffinworry requested: @badthingshappenbingo: forced to watch with my girl ashley

As always: puppy stickers equals fulfilled, blood stains are requested

Tagging: @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @finder-of-rings, @whumpywhumper @special-spicy-chicken

CW: Stabbing, blood, referenced/implied noncon and abuse

“Ora, if you don’t start paying attention, this story is going to take a really long time to tell.”

When Ora didn’t look up - a flash of the green hair on their head, dirty and clumped together by now, all they gave Ashley to look at - Ashley sighed heavily, wondering why she put up with this. Sure, she didn’t know how to drive and Ora Collins at least appeared to have the car mostly under control (totally under control at the moment, as they were not even in the car, they were tied to a chair), but they were three days in and they should feel bonded by now.

Right? Shouldn’t they?

How long did it take Bram to start getting his boys to bond with him? Oh, but Bram had the eyes, and Ashley was never going to have the eyes. Not unless they met another like themselves and Bram helped her cut that one’s eyes out.

“Ora. Come on, this place is a shithole and I do not have all day to walk you through this.” Ora sniffed, and Ashley paused while licking a bit of red off one fingernail. “What? What’s that noise for?”

Sometimes - if she was truly honest with herself - Ashley envied the other vampires. It would have been nice to live on blood, copper-salt-sweet and sparking with life in it. She could have been a great vampire like that. Instead, here she was, buzzing off the conflicting miseries of relief and hate and - strongest of all - fear that came from the poor little thing she carried along with her.

Well, and nice and full already from the meal currently slumped hard to one side and tied to a chair across the table from Ora.

“Ora, I am talking to you, and you remember the rules-”

“I’m sorry!” Ora jerked their head back up this time, meeting Ashley’s gaze with wide, frightened hazel eyes. Honestly, Ora’s eyes were their best feature, and Ashley never got tired of how they looked ringed in white from fear. “I’m s-sorry, Ashley, it’s just-... it’s just, it’s really h-h-hard to watch, to watch you...”

“What? To watch me cut him up?” Ashley blinked, looked at the man tied to the chair next to where she stood, then back to Ora. She gestured with the large chef’s knife she held in one hand, already smeared with the man’s blood. “He died like two hours ago, Ora, what’s the problem?”

“H-he… I kn, I know he’s d-dead, Ashley, but you k-keep cutting h-h-him…” Ora’s voice hiccupped, finally, into sobs and their head dropped once more as they began to cry, tears wetting little droplets onto the fabric of their jeans. They were still wearing the ones she had met them in, although Ashley had been nice enough to steal a bunch of different shirts and underwear somewhere in Iowa.

She was pretty sure they were in Nebraska now? It was flat and pointless, in any case, and Ashley had vague memories of the center of this stupid baby country being flat and pointless. Harder people lived out here, but fewer of them.

No one like her could live long without a nice big population center to feed on, and Nebraska… Nebraska wasn’t it.

Ashley sighed and raked a hand back through her hair, frowning as she remembered she had a lot of blood on that hand. Oh, well. She’d have to shower before they left anyway. Brammie would take Ora into the shower with him, if he were here, start that whole mess back up, but Ashley valued her private time more than her Brammie ever had.

She missed her baby brother.

Baby by a few minutes, anyway.

But they’d find him soon enough in that prison in California, and then Ashley would set him free. It wasn’t fair to lock up something so beautifully wild as her brother. Do you blame a wolf for eating deer? Do you lock up a raccoon for digging through trash cans?

“Ora. I’m going to get rid of this whole…” She waved the knife around in a lazy circle, gesturing to the man who’d had the bad luck to piss Ashley off. “... mess. But I’m not going to do it until you have finished listening to me, and you have to look or the whole visual aid part of this just isn’t going to work.”

“B-But I don’t want to see the visual aid!” Ora wailed, and the sound of their sweet sad voice echoed off the walls. Ashley shivered, pleasantly, felt electricity light up her nerve endings and flood her veins. Moments like this were why Brammie kept Nate around, weren’t they? That little buzz in your fingertips, behind your eyes, the way Ashley felt like any moment now her hair might stand on end from the pure perfection of Ora Collins and their precious little fear.

“Ora. Darling. Light of my life, love of my heart. My absolute goddamn treasure.” Ashley leaned over, pointing the blade right at Ora’s little face.

She watched their head slowly rise, eyes nearly crossing as they focused with new panic on the point of the knife so close to them. Ashley licked her lips, slowly, and tilted her head to take in more fully the sudden quick rise and fall of Ora’s chest under their baggy shirt.

“Watch. The visual. Aid. Or I will cut your eyelids off so you can’t blink any longer. Am I understood?”

Ora’s throat moved in a sudden a swallow and they nodded quickly, hair falling into their face, and Ashley used the chef’s knife to gently - ever so gently - push it back to the side. She loved watching the wide hazel eyes following every movement.

“So. As I was saying. Brammie’s little boyfriend and I - he’d been living with us for three years by then, give or take - were alone in the house. Brammie still had to hunt, because he wasn’t doing enough to Nate to just, to just really eat him by then. It’s that whole nonsense thing about love, you know? We’ve been around for so, so long, and Brammie’s boys are a dime a dozen for forever and then we run into this pretty little prince of his and bam!” Ashley slammed her free hand down on the table and Ora jumped, letting out a scared little cry.

Ashley felt the reverberation of that cry right down her spine, like the lick of a lover’s tongue.

“Bam,” She repeated but gently this time. “He’s in love. He’s in love, Ora Collins, and you know what my Brammie and I don’t do?” Ora swallowed again - they swallow so much when they’re talking to Ashley, don’t they? - and ventured, in a trembling voice, “You, you don’t… fall in love?”

“Right. Absolutely right, Ora-who-I-adore-ah. We don’t fall in love. Why would we? Everyone dies in the end but us. What’s the goddamn point?” She sighed and rested her free hand on Ora’s shoulder, giving it a little reassuring squeeze, leaning over to look right at them. Ora stared back, their eyes shifting back and forth, as though trying to find some softness or give on Ashley’s.

There was none to find.

Ashley knew her eyes were empty, reflection of light off the ice of a vast, lifeless lake. Bram had all the life in his. Ashley was nothing but walking death.

“So, anyway. Nate came to live with us - and at first we had to lock him in, and my Brammie… oh, the things my Brammie did to him.” Ashley breathed out, the happy memories flooding her system, and moved slowly away, circling the chair Ora was tied to, turning to look at the dead man on the other side of this small, sad little Formica table in some stupid shit town in stupid fucking Nebraska in this absolutely pointless fucking country.

“Wh-what things?” Ora asked, voice still shaky, but a little steadier now. “I r-read a little about the trial…”

“Hmmm, I doubt much of that came into play. Nate liked the things my Brammie did. You don’t talk about the parts you like in court, in my experience.”

“Have you… eh-ever been to court?”

Ashley paused, tapping her chin with the blunt side of the knife. “I guess I haven’t. Well, unimportant to my story so shut your fucking face for five seconds while I set up the visual aid.”

Ora nodded, biting down on their lower lip. Ashley watched them stretch their wrists against the strength of the rope and find just enough give to add a little comfort, not enough to escape. Ashley was being nice to Ora, but she wasn’t going to be that nice… or that stupid.

Brammie had been stupid, once.

Ashley would never be dumb enough to give another body the chance.

“So. In any case, after three years, you know, we were pretty used to each other.” Ashley started walking again, looking down to watch her own toes spread out against the dingy tile floor, yellowed with time. She stopped behind the man’s body, grabbing it by the short black hair on its head and yanking back, lifting the empty horrified green eyes to stare right at Ora. “We had our routine. Nate did all the cooking and cleaning like the good little housewife Brammie kept him to be, they fucked a lot-”

Ora winced.

“Oh, what, you’ve never fucked someone? What about Penny? I mean, it seemed like you did-”

“N-no, it’s just… it’s not that, Ashley, I swear, it’s just-” Ora’s gaze went to the fridge - wide open with only a jug of expired milk and a half-empty box of baking soda inside - and then it danced everywhere but at Ashley. “Can you not make me look at his, um, his eyes?”

“Oh, this is the problem? Yeah, sure.” Ashley dropped the head and it flopped hard back down, chin on its chest. “Sorry about that.”

“Th-thank you, Ashley,” Ora whispered. Oh, they learned the rules fast, and they learned them well. Ashley might actually regret killing Ora once they made it to her destination.

“Anyway. My story. So we had a good thing going, the three of us. Nate was a dartboard, he was a footstool for me one time, I cut the shit out of him, he and Brammie had some weird fucked up sex thing going… it was just a really good life, trust me. Then… then Brammie goes out hunting one day because he couldn’t hurt Nate anymore, he was in love the absolute dumbass, and while he was out…”

Ashley sighed, resting one arm on the shoulder of the corpse, looking down at it a little fondly. “While Brammie was out hunting, Nate picked up a knife. I didn’t expect it anymore. I thought… I was an idiot. He fooled us both, that son of a bitch. He shouldn’t have been able to but he did. He was cooking for me, and I came in to check on the progress, and…” Ashley’s grip tightened on the handle of the chef’s knife.

“And… and what?” Ora looked up slowly, nervously.

Ashley smiled, and there was blood smeared on her teeth. “Then he fucking stabbed me to death, Ora.”

Her arm moved with inhuman speed to jam the blade right through the corpse’s chest, and Ora let out a startled breathy scream, jerking at their restraints. “Like this. And this. And fucking this. Get your fucking eyes back on me!” Ora started to cry, again, tears racing down their face on either side like gorgeous little raindrops, and Ashley laughed, a high-pitched half-shattered sound, at the sight.

Ashley kept stabbing, making new wounds in a dead body over and over and over again, checking to see if Ora was looking, and they were, they were. The horror and disgust, the way Ora’s face went white and then green, it all fed Ashley, settled deep inside her bones and she felt the most ancient parts of her shift in happiness, in every single second being exactly what she was made to be.

She counted up the wounds - she thought maybe 37, it was hard to remember when you were being fucking stabbed to death by your brother’s boyfriend - and when she was done the knife clattered back to the ground, and Ashley stood, breathing hard, a snarl pulling lips back from her pinkish-stained teeth. “He killed me, Ora. Brammie’s little boyfriend killed me. Then he got up, and he left while I was still choking on my own fucking blood, and when I woke up it was five years later and you and your little asshole girlfriend were in my fucking house and my brother’s in fucking prison!”

Ora cringed back into their seat, into the restraints, trying to choke back their sobs and failing, failing miserably, failing beautifully. The sound of their tears bounced off the walls in this dirty little kitchen and everything seemed, in that moment, just a little bit brighter.

Pl-please,” Ora half-whispered, trembling and beautiful. “Please don’t, don’t do th-th-this anymore, please…”

Ashley sighed, nudging the corpse with her foot. Blood leaked from wounds as an afterthought, the motherfucker was too dead to be worth much of a show. Ashley looked down at her own hands, ran them over her chest and torso, reminding herself that her wounds were gone. They had healed, while she waited to come back.

They had healed.

She was healed.

And she had a fucking job to do.

“That was the end of the visual aid, Ora. But my point is, Nate Vandrum is a piece of shit who didn’t know how good he had it, he murdered me, and I would very much like to find his dumb ass and murder him right back. But I have a feeling my brother won’t let me. So you - and I - are going to do the next best thing.”

“We… w-we are?” Ora raised their head one more, and Ashley moved to them swiftly, leaning over to take that softly rounded little chin in her hand. They did not flinch or pull away from her touch - they knew so many rules now, they were such a good little friend. “What’s the next best th-thing, Ashley?”

“Please,” Ashley said gently, lovingly, petting at Ora’s face, leaving little red stripes there that would dry and turn brown and flake away. “Please call me Ash, Ora, we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“R-Right. F-F-Friends, Ash.” Ora nodded quickly, swallowing hard again. “We’re friends, right. Wh, whatever you say, is, is right.”

“That’s my… well. That’s my little Ora. See, this is why you got to be the one that lived. Lucky, lucky little thing.” Ashley kissed them once on each cheek, then petted one hand gently through Ora’s hair. After holding themselves stiffly still, Ashley felt Ora slowly force themselves to relax, and smiled with delight when Ora pushed their head a little harder into the touch of Ashley’s hand.

“Oh, you’re so good,” Ashley murmured, nearly purred the words, and Ora let out a shaking, audible breath of relief. “You’re such a good Oracle. We’re going to find my brother, we’ll let him out, and he will lead us to Nate Vandrum and that redheaded mop he tried to kill him for.”

“And, and then we’ll k-k-kill them?” Ora asked, keeping their voice low, whispering right back to her. “Then they’ll d-d-die?”

“Hm.” Ashley cradled Ora’s head in her hands for a moment longer, then let go and stood, stretching her arms high over her head, until the knobs of her spine cracked, until she felt the stretch of every single muscle in her body.

You should never take those living muscles for granted, after all. They could die any day, and not everyone would die with the coins to pay their debt.

“I d-d-don’t want to help you kill anyone,” Ora said, low and pleading. “I don’t want to be a murderer, Ash.”

“Don’t worry, darling, you won’t.” Ashley smiled.

“B-but… you’re going to kill them?”

Ashley kicked the bloody knife until it banged hard into a wall across the little room. “Probably not.” Ora looked up, hope in their pretty hazel eyes, and Ashley licked her lips against how it was about to feel when she drained all that hope away. “They tried to kill my brother, after all. Killing them is going to be his job. But you and I… well. Have you ever heard about how the people who lived here before the colonists fucked it all up used to trap buffalo?”

Ora blinked, and slowly shook their head. Hair fell back over their eyes, but this time Ashley left it there. “N-No, Ash, I haven’t.”

“They would find the buffalo, and set up a trap. And a few would wave blankets and shout and maybe shoot an arrow or two, but the buffalo would stampede away from what they saw at the threat and run right into the trap. They’d get caught there, milling around, and then they just waited to die. So we’re going to set my brother free. We’re going to find his pretty little buffalo roaming the open range.” Ashley slid her hands into the back pockets of her own jeans, licking a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. “Then you and I are going to wave some blankets and yell.”

“And… and y-y-your brother does the, um, the killing?” Ora’s voice was low, but after a second they nodded, thoughtfully. “I can… I can do that. If I don’t d-d-do the killing, Ash, I can, I can do that.”

“Wonderful. I knew I liked you for a reason. Now stay here and watch over our little buddy while I go take a shower. Once I’m clean, you can have yours and we’ll see if we can’t find you some fucking sweatpants or something in this house.” Ashley paused, then clapped her hands together in sudden delight. “I’m pretty sure I saw a KFC when we came in through town, let’s have fried chicken for dinner!”

Ora stared at the dead man who had once owned this house, and who had made the mistake of catcalling Ashley and calling Ora some kind of slur while they were getting gas. He was a dick to Ashley, and now he was dead.

To Ashley, it all made absolutely perfect sense.

Finally, Ora said softly, “Fried, um, fried chicken sounds pretty g-g-good…”

“And what do we say when someone offers to give us a gift, Oracle Collins?”

Ora smiled up at her - it was watery, and frightened, but it was a smile. “We s-s-say thank you, Ash. Thank you for offering to get me fried chicken for dinner.”

“You’re so welcome, love.” Ashley ruffled Ora’s pretty green hair and then turned to walk away. As she stomped up the stairs, she called out, “I’ll buy you some new hair dye, too, let’s get you all bright and fun again before we head west tomorrow!”

Oracle Collins, wearing week-old dirty jeans and tied down to a chair three feet from a corpse still leaking blood from too many stab wounds to count, let their eyes go slowly unfocused so they wouldn’t have to see anything at all any longer.

Somewhere nearby a police siren started up, but Ora didn’t raise their head.

They knew those sirens weren’t coming to help.

#whump #bad things happen bingo #bthb daniel michaelson's story #Daniel Michaelson's story #violent whumper #intimate whumper #female whumper #whumpee #restrained #captivity #tw: blood #tw: stabbing #Ashley denner is fucking feral #ora collins is always nervous #whump road trip #tw: murder #bthb

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 5 years ago

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In Keeping Secrets || Celeste and Kaden

LOCATION: Dell’s Tavern PARTIES: @celestelavie and @chasseurdeloup TIMING: Before wing-gate SUMMARY: Kaden and Celeste have a lot of questions for each other. They find some answers... and some stripes.

Celeste hadn’t been sure what to make of this Kaden character. It was a relief they were no longer living in the same home and she could allow him to believe they were. Apparently, he had helped Ariana though and didn’t threaten her. That didn’t mean Celeste was keen to trust he wouldn’t try anything. She was still kicking herself that a hedgehound had to be in their yard when she had been unavailable. He was being personable enough in their conversations online, but that meant very little until he could assure her he wouldn’t actively hunt Ariana. She was sure he had questions as well. It wasn’t exactly common practice for werewolf hunters to raise werewolves, not that she was much of a werewolf hunter. Hell, she lived in a house full of them now. It almost amused her how much that would piss her parents off. Perhaps he’d even known a bit of how the bounties in the town worked though she wasn’t sure that was information he’d willingly give up considering he would be able to see the truth behind her motives. Either way, meeting with him was a must. She’d opted to slip one of her knives into her leather jacket and laced up her boots. With there being murderous mimes running around time, one had to be prepared. As she walked into the bar, she found it was quiet enough given it was a weekday and there were reports of murderous mimes. She’d opted for a little table tucked quietly away in the back. When the waitress came by she ordered a Tanquerey with rose tonic and waited for Kaden to arrive.

As he headed out to Dell’s Tavern, keeping one eye out for any striped shirts on his way there, Kaden didn’t know what Celeste could want to talk about with him but he could get an idea. The whole leave my sister alone speech, he was sure of it. Still, he was intrigued to meet her, too. The entire concept of a werewolf hunter living with a werewolf was beyond baffling. He had to know how it worked. How could she ignore the nagging hunter sixth sense every day? The word sister had been thrown around by the two of them enough by now that he had a few theories. One being that her sister didn’t get the hunter gene and fell victim to an unfortunate accident. Anything beyond that? Hard to say. Then again, maybe she didn’t specialize in werewolves but something told him that wasn’t the case. Guess he’d find out. He saw her in the back, where she suggested she’d be. She looked enough like the teenage wolf he’d seen the other day that he figured it was safe to say that was her. “You Celeste?” he asked as he went to take a seat. “Kaden Langley,” he told her, wondering if she’d recognize the family name. It was a toss up, especially on this side of the Atlantic, but always worth checking.

It had been a long time since Celeste met with another hunter. Usually the goal was to avoid them as to not tip them off to Ariana and there was always the off chance another hunter could know her parents. It left her feeling slightly on edge as she twirled the straw around in her drink. The sound of her name brought her attention back to the meeting at hand. She gave a nod and her lips twitched slightly upward as she said, “That’s me.” Mention of his last name piqued her interest. She could swear she had heard her parents mention the Langleys before. Her face lit up a little bit at the recognition of his name, but she regained composure. There was no need to mention that. It wasn’t like she could share her real last name with him. Instead, she greeted, “It’s good to meet you, Kaden. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.” She paused as the waitress came up and took Kaden’s drink order. Surely, this meeting was strange for both of them. Once the waitress was out of earshot, she added, ‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me and I’d love the chance to help you make sense of our situation.”

It was clear enough his name rang a bell, even if she wasn’t going to say it outloud. Kaden ordered a gin from the waitress and gave her a small smile as she walked away. The mood was tense but not unbearable. Thankfully. It looked like he’d have to play ball first. Which worked for him. If he got his questions answered, all the better. Then he could hold his cards as close to his hands as he wanted. “You’re right, I do,” he said, leaning back in the booth and trying to size her up. “How does a hunter end up living with a werewolf? She really your sister? How’d she turn? I mean, you are a werewolf hunter, right? I take it your interest in Romania wasn’t just because of some fun history facts.”

All of his questions were right in line with what Celeste had been expecting. Their situation was far from ordinary. The question was if he could understand the story and why she made the choices she did. There was no use in putting it off, but that didn’t stop her from taking a generous sip of her gin and tonic before answering. “I suppose I may as well tell you the whole story. You already know what we are,” she paused taking in a deep breath, “Ariana is not biologically my sister. She was born a werewolf and I was supposed to kill her about fifteen years ago on a hunt with my parents. Genetically speaking, yes, I’m a werewolf hunter. At this stage I’m more of an argopelter and random creature hunter. But yes, back to how I ended up living with and being a werewolf’s guardian- She was just so small and helpless when I found her, given she was three years old. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill a child. So I took her and ran and now here we are.” She searched his features, searching for indication of what he made of all of this. She felt inclined to add, “She’s never hurt anyone… well, unless you’re a bleeding heart for deer and other small game.” A struggled laugh escaped her lips before her features took a more serious turn, “All jokes aside, I can understand it may seem strange, but have you ever personally been confronted with the reality of killing a child?”

Kaden kept his back pressed firmly into the back of his seat, arms crossed as he listened. Even if every part of him wanted to lean in and pick into the details of this. It was fascinating and strange. Something he could never imagine. Almost like a fairy tale or fable told over the fire. Though he suspected this one didn’t have the twist where the monsters were slayed by the good hunters at the end. He felt a ping, a weird string of fate at the mention of fifteen years ago. The timing was just a coincidence, surly, but it was hard to place saving a baby werewolf at the same point in the past as seeing the dead bodies of his parents mauled by the same kind of monster. He shook it off and tried to focus on what she was saying. It was hard to imagine a wolf as small or helpless. But then she added her age. Three. Just three. Fuck. And he thought seeing a teenage werewolf was complicated. He took a deep breath, trying to take in her last question. In truth, he hadn’t, not really. He shook his head, eyes moving down to his drink. “Uh, no. I tend to only kill wolves when they look like them. Easier. For a lot of reasons.” He hoped she knew. Hell, she’d hunted, she could fill in the blanks. He swirled the glass around, watching the ice clink against the edges. “I don’t think I could. But, uh, I think…” He’d leave her? Fuck. He didn’t know. “Putain, I don’t know.” His mouth pulled into a thin line as he tried to rationalize any of this. “She still can, you know. Hurt someone. That’s…” His eyes hardened as he shot his glance back up to meet hers. “How will you handle it if she does? If she loses control? Turns someone? Or kills them.”

Out of all the ways this conversation could have gone, Celeste knew he was taking this reasonably well. Hell, he was here listening to her in the first place which is more than she ever got from her own parents. Even the thought of the last time she saw her father was enough to give her chills. They wanted her dead as much as they wanted Ariana dead though her father had been very explicit in wanting her to watch her “pet wolf” die. She shook it away. It wasn’t productive, not right now. The matter at hand was trying to put Kaden at ease enough that he wouldn’t come tracking down Ariana to kill her. She’d have plenty of time to worry about her parents later. With another sip of her gin, she looked to him and nodded, “I thought as much. I suppose you never really know what you’ll do in a situation until you’re the one in it.” His questions were reasonable, especially coming from a werewolf hunter. She placed her drink down and kept herself from fidgeting with the straws, instead letting her elbows rest on the table. “I say this from knowing and raising her, not a place of naivety, that those things wouldn’t happen. She’s a good kid. A little hot headed from time to time, but she’s compassionate and always goes out of her way to help people when she can. She’s not left alone during the full moon and god forbid she does lose control of herself, I have measures in place to subdue her until dawn.” She let out another long breath and added, “I don’t expect you to change your entire world view, but all I can ask is you don’t actively seek her out to hunt her. I understand if you find her hurting someone, all bets are off, but I’m confident I won’t need to worry about that. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you seem the type who’s in this more for the greater good than for pure sport.”

Ever since he got to White Crest, everything made less and less sense. Decisions he thought were easy didn’t seem so simple anymore and he found the fast rules he’d set in place becoming more and more flexible. Kaden grit his teeth and wanted to lock up, push all these fucking deep morality questions away, make things simple again. Stick his head in the sand. Instead he took a sip of his drink and then focused back on the very interesting melting ice cubes in his glass once more. He should have known she had a plan for containing her sister when she was forced to transform. Even if she was a bit of a deserter, there’s no way she’d forget what she knew about werewolves. Especially not if she wanted to protect her sister like she claimed she wanted to. “I’m sure she’s--” He recalled his encounter with her. How much she reminded him of Blanche. He shook it away and leaned forward in his seat. “What happens when you’re not around on the full moon? If you get hurt? Or sick? Or any number of things. I don’t doubt you can keep her contained. But there’s a lot of contingencies to that.” He shook his head. He didn’t like it. This whole situation. Saving werewolves? Raising them? Was it really responsible to do that? Shit, he didn't know. He just knew it felt wrong. But so did looking at a three year old and shooting point blank. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of the way and let out a sigh. “Of course it’s not a sport. Anyone who thinks otherwise shouldn’t be allowed to call themselves a hunter. But all the same, exceptions to the rule, they feel… Wrong. Not how things should--” He cut himself off, unsure of what to even say anymore, and took another quick sip of his drink, eyes darting down to the table once more. “I’m not going to target her.” Another sip, and he looked back up at her. “That doesn’t mean I approve of this shit.”

The world they lived in was far from simple. All things considered, Kaden was taking this impressively well. It was a difficult thing coming across something that challenged the way you saw the world. Celeste had no expectations outside of him at least refraining from placing a target on Ariana’s head. Watching him, she could tell this was throwing him for quite the loop. Ice cubes were simply not that interesting and he watched the ones melting away in his drink like they were an Oscar winning film. The fact he was listening to her and perhaps even somewhat understanding her, allowed her to relax just a little bit. The effects of the gin may have also begun to kick in and she knew her cheeks had to be flushed from it. His questions were hard hitting, but she understood. “I’ve managed to make every full moon for the last fifteen years, but even so, she’d surprise you. Born wolves tend to be more in sync with their wolf sides, she remembers all of her full moons. The only thing you have to worry about is White Crest’s deer population if something were to happen to me and I couldn’t be with her.” She chewed her lip nervously knowing if her parents did arrive, there was a good chance neither of them would see another full moon. “I know the idea of a werewolf having balance with both sides probably goes against everything you’ve learned. I’m not asking you to trust her, but perhaps you can trust that I won’t allow anyone to be needlessly hurt on my watch.” She looked at him with a small outline of a smile on her lips, doing her best to keep her features soft and comforting the way she did whenever she could feel Ariana’s temper ready to flare. “That’s fair enough. Exceptions to the rules complicate things. I agree with you, though. It’s not a sport. At the heart of things, our purpose is to protect others. It’s something I still take seriously, I just don’t think it’s as simple as any of us would like it to be.” Her eyes shot down to her own drink before taking another sip. It still felt a little unreal that he agreed to leave Ariana alone. “Thank you,” she said softly with her eyes still cast down on her drink, “That’s more than I could have expected and your kindness in this isn’t something I take lightly.” Now it was time for some questions of her own. He was receptive enough that he may just provide even the smallest amount of help. If she was shot down, she was shot down, but it was worth a shot. She looked back up from her drink and to him, her eyes almost pleading. “I was hoping I could possibly ask for your discretion in regards to this whole situation. Ariana wasn’t the only reason I was eager to run from my parents. They do have a bounty on both of us. I have some protective measures in place, but any insight into how bounties in this town work would be helpful. I’d like to keep my ear to the ground so to speak. Make sure it’s not picked up.”

From the way she talked, there was no denying how much she cared about her sister, biologically related or not. Kaden couldn’t fathom being that attached to a werewolf but weirdly enough, this didn’t feel like his place to judge. And it was hard to believe everything she was saying, it sounded an awful lot like wishful thinking. “As long as you’re around to keep her in check, it’s fine.” It wasn’t good and it still made his skin crawl a little but it’s not like he could argue that she was a danger, not with a hunter marking her. “Buy me another drink and we’ll call it even,” he said with a small smile. It didn’t feel like kindness. It felt like stupidity but he didn’t feel like arguing. Let her figure out later his kindness had limits. He hadn’t much expected her to come with her own set of requests. His forehead creased as he listened to her. Parents with a bounty on their own daughter? Then again, if he pulled a stunt like hers, who was to say his wouldn’t have done the same. You know, if they were alive. “Bounties, huh?” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not always looking for those but you can find most of them at the Bullet.” He downed the rest of his drink and waved the waitress over, when she had a second. “You know the Silver Bullet, right? Hunter bar. Bounties there are like an open secret. There’s a guy, tall, lanky, brown hair. He’s almost always got something, seems to have his nose to the ground.” It was taking the waitress a while to come back. Odd. “You might want to be careful, though. I’d be surprised if your picture wasn’t getting passed around that bar as we speak. You know how the community is. Doesn’t take kindly to hunters who step out of line. Especially against family.” And yet here he was, heart bleeding for a teenage werewolf girl and her deserter hunter sister. Putain. What’d that make him? “On that note I never helped you. I like the bar and I’d like to keep going there. I take it you’re from a long line, the way they’re acting?” Still no waitress. Only, Kaden did catch a flash in the corner of his eyes, sharp, high contrast. No. No fucking way. He turned and saw striped shirts and fucking berets coming straight towards him.

It was plain to see he wasn’t necessarily thrilled with the idea, but he was trusting she could keep an eye on Ariana. This was the best possible outcome, though Celeste did pout slightly at her empty drink. Killing your own mime clone and being hunted down by your own parents definitely warranted a couple of drinks. “Yes, I am and will be around,” she left another ‘thank you’ unspoken. She laughed slightly at his remark about buying him another drink, “Deal, if our waitress ever comes back that is.” She tried to be understanding because she was a waitress herself, but it really wasn’t all that busy in here. It was actually strangely quiet which left her feeling slightly on edge as she listened to Kaden speak of the Silver Bullet. Once those sisters helped her with a glamour spell, she could potentially scope out the scene. See if anyone had picked it up though it sounded like a risky plan that could have the adverse effect of drawing even more attention their way. With a sigh, she looked down at her still very empty glass and back to Kaden, “I’m not sure I’ll ever visit, but if I do, I’ll refrain from mentioning your name. Trust me, I know, I’ve got this lovely little number the last time I saw my father,” she pulled the sleeve up on her shirt showing a jagged scar from a knife wound on her upper left arm, “Not that my father ever showed me any kindness before I became the family disappointment.” She knew her voice was bitter, but it wasn’t something she ever got to speak about it. It’s not something she’d ever wanted to put on Ariana and she doubted anyone who grew up outside of the hunter world could understand the harsh standards they placed on their children from a young age. “Yeah, my family goes way back in the Rocky Mountains area. I haven’t actually used my own na-” her sentence was cut off as she saw stripes racing toward them. “Not again,” she grumbled, the stitches in her side still sore. There were two racing toward them, one looking remarkably like Kaden and the other like their waitress. Instinctively, she threw her glass at what would be the stronger of the two mimes and watched as it shattered against the mime’s forehead. He definitely didn’t seem happy with that move and seemed to have his eyes on her. She grabbed her knife from her jacket pocket and moved further out into the aisle to avoid being cornered.

Something about her scar made him want to avert his eyes. It wasn’t imagining the physical wound or even the disfigured skin, Kaden was used to all that. He had plenty of scars of his own and most of the injuries that caused them he’d patched up himself. No, what hurt to look at was the mark of disappointment. How harsh it was and how much that had to hurt on deeper levels. How much he knew full well he’d get the same treatment, maybe worse, from his own family had he been in her shoes. And, of course, if they were around to administer it. Before they could start swapping the tried and true ‘shitty things my hunter parents did’ stories that usually floated around the Bullet, the mimes were descending. Putain. “Not again is fucking right.” Celeste throwing the glass bought him time to pull out his knife, also from his jacket pocket. If there was still any question they grew up with similar childhoods, that sure alleviated that one. The dickhead that looked like him in a beret was gunning for her. “Oh no, not this time!” he shouted as he reached out and yanked the mime’s head by the hair, pulling him away from her. He was going to be the one to kill this fucker this time, make it the last time he had to do this. Kaden raised his knife but before he could thrust it down, he felt pain shoot through his foot. The fucking stabbed one. He cried out in pain and let go of the mime long enough to lose the upper hand. At the same time, he felt something jump onto his fucking back. The waitress. Only with grease paint and a striped uniform. Putain de merde. Kaden rolled his eyes and ran backwards, slamming her body, hard, into the corner of the wall.

There was nothing to ruin a nice-ish evening quite like a mime attack. Celeste grumbled as the waitress mime jumped on him. He looked like he had that handled. Meanwhile his hunter powered mime was focused on her. She dodged as he ran toward her and had her knife at the ready. With a sinister smile, it seemed he had his own knife. Oh fucking hell. She went on the offensive. A left hook to his jaw. A knee hitting her side as he grabbed her other wrist. A groan escaped her lips as she took a knee up to his groin causing him to back away, but also resulted in the stitch job she did on her leg bursting open. “Fuck,” she grumbled, but now the mime seemed ready to target Kaden again. “Watch out,” she shouted, and lunged for the other mime with another pained moan, plunging her knife into its stomach.

Kaden had managed to knock the waitress mime off of him but that left the door wide open for the beret’d version of himself to take a swipe at him. This fucking connard again, huh? Alright, it was weird saying that about himself or something that looked like him, but so was fighting it. Hand to hand was never his strong suit, it was always fight to win, make sure you had a weapon on you. The greasepaint version of himself seemed to come from the same school of thought. He went to stamp on Kaden’s foot again, but this time he dodged, anticipating it. What he didn’t anticipate was the knife aimed right at his guts. He managed to twist his body away to avoid anything major but, putain, that was close to being the second time a mime nearly gutted him. This month. “Fuck.” he started as he reached out and grabbed the mime’s wrist and jerked it around, twisting his arm and yanking him out of balance. “This.” Kaden took his knife and stabbed his mime self in the back, straight through to the heart. Again. And again. Black tar oozing from the body as it started to bubble into a puddle of goo. “Stay dead this time,” he spat as the whole thing went up in a cloud of striped smoke. Fucking mimes. “You alright?” he turned to her and asked.

Celeste focused on the other mime as Kaden fought with himself… or at least the thing that looked like him. She didn’t fucking know. The waitress mime was a much easier target. Her moves weren’t nearly as quick and she didn’t look like she was taking the pain of being slammed back too well. Even though it hurt like hell, she lunged toward the other mime and put her knife in its chest, causing it to fall into another puddle of black ooze that smelled oddly like croissants. She let herself relax a bit when she saw Kaden’s mime doing the same thing. She pressed her hand against her thigh to try and stop the bleeding. “Just popped my stitches, but I’m okay. You weren’t lying though. You really do fight like an asshole,” she smirked through the pain, “I’ve got some first aid and suture stuff in my purse though. As much as I need another drink after that, we should probably get patched up first, you’re not looking so hot yourself.”

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #in keeping secrets #celestelavie #celeste

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royalcordelia · 6 years ago

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shy daydreams & stardust (2/3)

Summary: He can’t help how he makes her magic spiral out of control whenever he’s around, but maybe she can help him when his own abilities bloom out of nowhere like a lily pad in a teacup. Shirbert Magic!AU.

Especially dedicated to the kind anon who delivered me back my muse. Sweetie, this one's for you! ♥

• 4.7k words • Read Part 1 • Read on ao3 •

She told him everything.

“So the ice on the pond, the flowers randomly growing out of my floor, and the lily pad in my tea...That was all you?” Gilbert asked carefully. Anne nodded as she handed him a new cup of tea, hoping that the hot liquid would cool down his restlessness. He’d been clutching his fingers the same way you hold back a barking dog begging to unleashed, and she knew the feeling. Suddenly having a power you didn’t want and couldn’t control at first seemed like a curse, but Anne knew that with time, he would accept it as a part of him.

Not to mention, he had Life magic. Magic that could restore and revitalize. It could take things that never had an ounce of spirit and fill them so completely with life that they’d rise and chase him around the room. Surely there was no true curse in that.

“The candles must have been you,” Anne added. “Fire has never been within my control.”

“That’s ironic,” he muttered, taking a sip of tea. Something humorous in his mind was making him chuckle, causing her to look at him suspiciously. “What with your hair and all.” Anne rolled her eyes, settling on the couch beside him. Some of the color had returned to his face, but he still kept looking up at her forehead where she’d been bleeding as if he expected the wound to open right back up. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Of course, Gil. It’s my own fault I got hurt, anyways. I should have been able to control it better.”

“Can you control it now?” he asked, and for a moment, Anne wondered if he was afraid of her. Then, she met the light in his eyes with her own and saw no fear. He was intrigued, dipping his toes into unfamiliar water with a burst of bravery that came from trusting her.

“Yes, I think so.” The unwanted tingling of her magic behind her skin had stopped after the explosion of the window. It now simmered in the background, just tangible enough that she knew it was there, but subdued enough behind her rigid control that she wasn’t concerned about breaking any more windows. “Would you like me to show you?”

He replied in one captivated, breathy, “Yes.”

If mother nature existed, she was walking before Gilbert, bare toes getting caught between wildgrass as they made their way to the desolate garden. With each step Anne took, the grass around them grew taller, the leafy trees grew ever more verdant, and little toadstools sprouted to mark the way.

The earth wanted to consume her, wrap around her legs, and turn her into another tigerlily, returning her from whence she came.

“Don’t mind all of that,” Anne murmured sheepishly, kicking some of the spare grass from between her toes. “I want to start your garden completely unrestrained. This is what it looks like when I’m not holding back any of my magic. Bits of it trickle over, like a boiling pot.”

To prove her point, she caught a handful of daisy petals that had been floating around her like an aura. She opened her palm, and the petals blew in his direction, carried on the soft touch of the breeze.

“Is this too much?” she asked. “You look a bit pale.”

Truthfully, maybe it was too much. Too much admiration for her loving touch as she plucked the petals from mid air, and the graceful strength in her stride that made the earth grow up from nothing to touch her. If he had adored her before, now it was a tornado unleashed on himself, wreaking destruction on everything he thought he knew.

But one thought stayed the same, an irrefutable fact that that remained true since the first day.

He loved her - the same romantic love that made his magic turn into flames and consume him alive with unavoidable sensation. It was Anne. How could he not love the girl whose words and smile were forged with gold?

“It isn’t too much,” he answered finally, small smile lifting his lips. “Show me.”

Anne crept forward, lifting the skirts of her dress as to not sully the pale colors as she dug her toes into the loose soil.

“You raked everything already?” she asked, focused as she pressed some of the dirt between her fingers.

“More like the rake did the work for me,” he replied a bit sheepishly. This broke Anne out of her focus and she met Gilbert’s eyes with her own storm cloud ones. In the daylight sun, she read him like a book. Each wrinkle around his eye, each hidden message in his expression - they were all words that she comprehended.

“This whole time, you’ve been going through it alone,” she murmured, the words floating from her heart like feathers in water. “You lost your father, traveled the world, made a new family, and had to weather the strangeness of developing magic all at once?”

Gilbert looked at her funny as the muscles in his face constricted, the raw exhaustion of the past year from making itself visible to her. A gust of wind swept past him, wisping bits of Anne’s floral fragrance along with it. Of course she saw right through him. Her soul had known his intimately before they even met.

When he didn’t respond, Anne smoothed her hands down the skirts of her dress and nodded.

“Alright, Gilbert. Your abilities might seem scary now, but I assure you as your trusted confidant…” She knelt down in the dirt, digging her fingertips into the soil. “Magic is nothing to fear. It’s love and grace at its warmest and kindest. And those are all things that you are. You can make great things happen, you just have to trust yourself.”

The rows of the barren garden suddenly sprouted to life. Tiny blossoms of green stems and leaves popped up as if several days of time had passed in a mere few seconds. Gilbert knelt down, struck with amazement as he watched the new buds flourish into a thick patch of what he recognized as carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. Sunflowers, roses, peonies - an entire array of greenery that she’d brought to life with just the feelings in her heart and the thoughts in her head.

Anne had done it all. Heaven above , she was exquisite.

His shaky fingers reached out and took hers, soft skin tangling in the soil and roots. Their magic sparked when they touched, but neither let go.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” she asked quietly.

His grasp tightened in hers and he bit contained a grin into a small smile before saying, “Not even a little.”

* * *

Gilbert spent the next several weeks practicing. He practiced and practiced and practiced, until his nerves were raw with streaming magic and his muscles were achy from the strain. He worked alone in his barn when Bash was out, extending his hand to rain magic down on watering jugs, wrenches, stray wagon wheels. The inanimate objects careened into his touch, renewed with life and vigor. This time, they didn’t chase after him or attack him. They simply bustled about quietly and awaited instructions.

He did have Life magic, it seemed, because his powers worked wonders on a sick apple tree suffering from blight. The dark disease that had consumed the long branches and fruit dissipated with Gilbert’s careful touch, and the leaves suddenly shone with bright, new verdance. As where Anne’s magic was radiant, Gilbert’s was calm, like a soothing balm on a burn.

Whenever he felt like he was losing control, he thought of Anne. And if she was with him, he’d reach back for her hand, feeling the relief of her support almost immediately when she took it.

A strange, lonely part of him worried about what would become of him and his abilities if she ever left him. He voiced this to her one day, trying to leave out any hints of his longing for her.

“That would never happen,” answered Anne firmly. “But I agree. It’s nice to have a small handful of people supporting you. Even I have Marilla.”

“You told Marilla?” Gilbert asked, astonished. Fuschia settled over Anne’s cheeks, and she shrugged.

“It was an accident, really. She caught me practicing with deer behind the barn.”

“What were you doing?”

“Giving them flower wreaths,” she answered honestly. “Oh, they were the most majestic creatures I ever saw, auburn beauties with their white spots. I thought they were much like me in that way, so I wanted to speak with them. When Marilla found me, I was laying against the mother deer, adorning her baby with the most beautiful queen anne’s lace on the island - quite out of thin air. I had to explain myself.”

“I can’t even imagine what that must have been like,” Gilbert replied. “How did she react?” A content smile flitted across Anne’s face and she turned her face up the blowing breeze.

“Love makes people accept the things they don’t understand, Gil. Marilla loves me, magic and all. She calls it my gift from the Almighty, and I say it is the best thing he ever gave me.” Anne threw him a side glance. “That and my family and friends. And you, of course.”

They stopped walking at the gate of Green Gables, and Gilbert leaned an arm against the wooden post. Anne waited, knowing there was something weighing on his mind.

“Do you think I should tell Bash and Mary?”

Anne considered this for a few moments, kicking a small pebble underneath the toes of her shoes.

“I think if there’s anyone that understands what it feels like to be different and misunderstood, it’s Bash and Mary. Whether or not you decide to tell them is completely up to you. Only you can predict how they’ll truly react.”

Gilbert knew Sebastian. There was nothing he could say, or do, to make Bash leave him for good. They were family - a bit messy, a bit unconventional, but a family nonetheless.

He would tell him tomorrow.

* * *

Except Gilbert did not tell Bash the next day, nor the day after, nor the day after that. But the delay wasn’t out of fear. In fact, Gilbert was anxious to voice his news to someone who wasn’t Anne.

“I just want it to be right when I tell them,” he explained to Anne one day in the meadow. “I thought maybe I could offer them some sort of peace offering. Like proof that it’s real that doesn’t involve bringing any of our cutlery to life.”

The grass had grown tall around Anne, and she allowed it to. If anyone looked down into the valley at them, they’d only see Gilbert whispering his secrets into a thicket of wild grass high enough to hide the elusive Anne. She looped her fingers through the verdant strands and bit her lip. This was one of the pleasures of discovering his new skill, Gilbert reflected. Getting to know the graceful quirks of her personality up close and intimately.

He even dared to say that they were kindred spirits now. Perhaps they always had been.

“You know, I might know just the thing to help you,” she said to herself, eyes locked on the Avonlea hilltops. Snapping out of her reverie, she jutted a finger into Gilbert’s face and glared at him with serious daggers in her eyes. “But you cannot tell anyone about what you see. I mean it, Gilbert Blythe, not a soul!”

“I believe I can handle one more secret.” She wasn’t convinced until he matched her solemn expression and said, “On my honor, Anne. Wild horses couldn't drag the secret from me.”

And it was settled. Gilbert was to meet Anne the next day at that same hour at the predetermined destination - “The edge of the woods, right by Green Gables. You know the path, don’t you?” He knew exactly the spot of land she meant, for it was the beginning of the path Anne traversed to school on. The same path where they met. With a heart of anticipation, he counted the hours until their meeting.

The sun was stooping lower and lower when he found her there, sitting on a fallen log beside a wild raspberry bush. She was focused on the bush, arms folded comfortably in her lap. As he drew nearer, Gilbert realized that the blossoms and berry fruits were changing color - first to a startling fuschia, then a snow white, followed by a sunrise yellow, settling on the rosy red that the fruits began as.

“Oh, there you are!” Anne exclaimed once she caught sight of him. She shot to her feet, scurrying over beside him. She tugged on his wrist, then linked their elbows together, leading him down the trodden path. “I’m so terribly excited to show you this. It’s something that only Diana, Cole, Ruby, and I know about. There is something thrilling about having a secret like this. It isn’t like the secret of having magic. That one is heavy, because if you tell it to the wrong person, you know it could cost you your life. But this one...Knowing this secret and sharing it with those you lov-” she paused, glancing nervously up at Gilbert. “Your dear friends doesn’t have any consequences. But it’s all yours just the same. And now I’ll share it with you, Gil.”

“I wish I had something to share with you in return,” he admitted, reaching up with his free hand to hold hers locked in his elbow.

“Oh, you already did share something with me, you goose!” she laughed. “The day you asked me if I believed in magic.”

“I guess you’re right. That’s something for just you and me, Anne-girl.”

“I do like the sound of that,” she admitted quietly. “But I hope you’re willing to allow one more person into the mix.”

And then it came into sight, a hut amidst the browns and the greens of the forest. It was built of scrap wood, adorned with Anne’s trademark flowers and greenery. Gilbert could easily see why she would want to keep this a secret. The tiny fortress was only big enough to fit a handful of people inside, but was big enough to offer respite away from the real world and its difficulties.

“Watch where you step,” Anne instructed sharply. Gilbert looked under him and found a small clay person held up by a twig. They were all around the hut, in fact, fairy sized sculptures of figures frozen in movement. Then it clicked.

“Cole did these, didn’t he? After his accide-”

“Anne? Is that you out there?” a voice called out from inside the hut. Her grin was toothy.

“Yes! Although, I didn’t come alone. I brought-”

“Gilbert!” Cole finished for her, sticking his head out from around the small entrance, feathery pieces of auburnish blonde hair falling in his eyes. At first, he eyed Gilbert with slight distrust, but then he noticed Anne’s arm sweetly against Gilbert’s and raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Oh, don’t go getting any of your silly ideas,” Anne sneered, tearing herself away from Gilbert and stomping into the tiny cottage. “Come on, Gilbert. Cole started a fire.”

Suddenly feeling like an outsider, Gilbert followed her instructions and ducked into the small hideout. It was everything and nothing as he expected to find. Humankind and nature seemed to live together in harmony within the crooked walls - the ground revealing earthy soil and trodden leaves, the walls decorated with more wreaths that Anne had probably made with her magic. He settled on a chopped stump that had been placed there as a makeshift stool.

“I tried to light a fire,” Cole explained, fog coming out of his mouth in big huffs. He rubbed his hands together, then gestured down at the charless pile of wood in the middle of the ground. “As you can see, my efforts were fruitless.”

“Oh well that’s not a problem. Gilbert can just -”

She paused when Gilbert’s head spun at her, but he said nothing. His eyes held all the meaning, unspoken words that she understood immediately. What are you doing? A smile crossed her lips and she placed her hand on his. “Cole is one of us” she explained in a gentle voice, the same way she might speak to a startled deer. “He has magic, too.”

Magic - the word was sweet to taste and held so much power over him just to hear. Just by speaking it one time, Anne could alter his path, change his fate. He was painfully aware of all of this as he waited for Cole to say something, but the artist’s eyes were only filled with joy and pride.

“Welcome to our mystical little club!” Cole said finally, reaching out his hand for Gilbert to shake. Sure enough, he felt the same spark of magic that he felt whenever he touched Anne. It wasn’t as warm or potent as it was with her, and he wondered if it had anything to do with how he felt for the strong redhead beside him.

“It’s a pleasure,” Gilbert responded politely. “Truly. For weeks I had thought someone had cursed me, but Anne...Well, she helped me see there’s nothing wrong with me at all.” Cole glanced between the pair before him and tried, to no avail, to bite back an amused smile.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he assured. Gilbert could already see why Anne felt so safe around Cole.

“May I ask… What is it your magic, uh, does exactly?” he asked.

Amusement danced across Cole’s face. Sketch papers at his toes began to flutter as subtle as a hummingbird’s flight, and with the same sweep of his hand that Anne always used to guide her magic, the papers lifted into the air. Gilbert watched in amazement as the parchment folded upon itself, crinkling and contorting into complex shapes of birds, horses, and flowers. Color exploded onto them from out of nowhere, and suddenly Gilbert could hardly believe they had come from plain, white paper just moments ago.

“Art. My magic makes art,” Cole said in a loving voice. “I think it’s always been there, but I didn’t discover it completely until after my accident. My magic does what my hands can’t, bringing to life all the beauty I see in my mind. Look at this one.”

He reached out and grabbed one of the origami birds, unfolding it to reveal a sketch of Anne. It was every bit as beautiful as the real thing, drawn in mystical, soft charcoal. With a tug in his chest, Gilbert realized that it was so breathtaking because it made literal the way he saw her - every starry freckle, the wideness of her eyes, the joy in her smile.

There must’ve been a strange, reverent expression on his face, because Cole whispered - “Like that one, don’t you?”

“It’s very lovely,” Gilbert openly admitted, smiling in adoration over at Anne, who blushed at the compliment. “I suppose it’s only fair to show you mine, though I don’t believe it’ll be quite as impressive.” “Gilbert Blythe, that is a lie and you know it,” Anne scolded. She crossed her over her chest and leaned her arms on folded knees, nodding for him to continue.

Her encouragement was all it took for the magic in his bones to spur to life. With her gentle spirit at his side supporting him, he reigned the wonderful current into his control. In the way she’d taught him, he held his fingers over the fire, and snapped.

Immediately, a flame burst from the heart of the wood pile into a comfortable blaze that warmed the hut nearly instantaneously.

“Fire magic?” Cole asked in amazement.

“Close. Gilbert has Life magic. He can breathe life into just about anything. Lifeless objects, bloody wounds,” Anne supplied.

“Sitting room furniture,” Gilbert added bitterly. “Garden rakes…”

“Fire seems to be one of the odd additions, and I’m willing to bet there’s more.” Anne concluded, ignoring his utterances. “Maybe he adds life to a spark, and that’s how the fires are lit?”

Cole turned back to the piece he’d been working on a few moments ago, using the strength in his hand to mold a small figure out of auburn clay. Gilbert warmed his hands by the fire as he watched Cole work, noticing how some of the creation came from the artist’s hands, and other parts seemed to happen completely on their own.

“That must be an interesting story - you know, about how you two spilled secrets?”

Anne turned her sunny warms eyes over to Gilbert and smiled when his embarrassed cheeks turned to the ground.

“It was mostly my fault,” she admitted. “For some reason, I couldn’t get ahold of my magic and it put Gilbert’s own powers in a state of distress. I think both of us were relieved to discover the truth.”

Cole nodded in understanding, his gentle eyes gazing down at his sculpture, but seeing something entirely different. What, Gilbert didn’t know. With a friendly smile, Cole placed the figure in front of Gilbert and nodded a head down toward it.

“Why don’t you practice on this? See, it even looks like you.”

Sure enough, the creation Cole had pressed in his tender figures was a small, clay Gilbert, complete with curly hair and big eyes.

“That’s incredible, Cole,” Gilbert admitted, stunned by the amount of detail possible in such a small sculpture. It reminded him of the ancient greek statues he’d read about in his history books.

“It’ll be even more incredible when you get him up and walking,” Cole prodded gently.

Gilbert’s breath hitched in his breath as the magic started to boil in his veins as hot as the fire. With each tense second that passed as Cole and Anne waited for Gilbert to make his move, he felt the tingling grow hotter and hotter, until it was agony to keep it restrained. Opening his palm over the figure, he released the building magic into the earthy clay.

The figure sat right up, looking around and blinking his eyes. Anne laughed when he rubbed his sleepy eyes and peered curiously at Gilbert. He rose onto his shaky clay feet, moving closer to the startled magician and placed a hand on his knee. Then, with a comforting smile, he patted Gilbert’s knee, to which the boy could only offer an awkward smile back.

It was then that the small Gilbert heard the music of Anne’s laughter and turned to her. It froze solid, stunned by something that Gilbert felt in his heart. The figure approached Anne, and she reached down a hand so he could climb on top of it. A tender smile fell on her lips when she let lifted her hand to her face.

Gilbert could feel what the figurine was going to do before he did it, but was unable to stop smaller Gilbert from reaching out a clay hand to caress Anne’s cheek. The expression in its eyes was the exact same one she saw when Gilbert looked at her, but she wasn’t expecting the figurine to lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek. Tiny fireworks lit under her skin where the magic transferred to her, turning her cheeks a pale pink color.

Cole let out a jolting guffaw and Gilbert reached forward and swatted the clay figure out of her hands, in turn knocking all the magic out of it. Unable to look Gilbert in the eye, Anne waved a flustered hand over the clay figure, and it turned back into malleable clump of earth. Eyes darting back between the two blushing friends, Cole took the ball in his hand and began pressing into it the outlines of a different shape.

“I think you’ll have the hang of it in no time,” Cole said with a smile. “It takes practice and patience, sure, but you have to know who you’re learning magic for, why you’re learning it. Do you know why you’re learning magic, Gilbert?”

Before he could catch himself, Gilbert’s eyes fell on Anne. Her focus was fixed to vibrant emerald vines bursting from the soil. She had begun braiding them into a crown, rubbing the soft leaves between her fingers to adorn the wreath with flowers, clover, and even a butterfly. When she realized Gilbert hadn’t answered - and instead was looking at her - she turned her face up to him and gave him an embarrassed expression of confusion. Gilbert only smiled at her, fighting back the urge to reach out and smooth the hair away from her face.

“I think I do,” he answered finally.

A few hours later, Anne and Gilbert walked shoulder-to-shoulder towards Green Gables in complete silence. Anne was content in the soundlessness, closing her eyes to listen to songs on the wind that Gilbert wasn’t privy to. She’d let her magic loose, the usual telltale signs sprouting at their feets and growing from the forest tree roots.

“So, Mr. Blythe, you’ve had magic for quite some time now. Do you intend to keep it?”

Gilbert glanced down at the auburn clay figure in his hands. He’d taken one of the more simple ones from the hut in hopes of using it to show Bash and Mary the extent of his abilities. There was time to change his mind, yet. All he had to do was crush the figure into a clump and throw it into the stream. None would be any the wiser for it. But if he kept the tiny figure, used it to tell the LaCroix’s the truth, there’d be no going back.

“Could I even abandon it?”

Anne took a breath of the cool air.

“It’s not likely. You could certainly avoid and ignore it if you truly wanted to.”

“I don’t think I do. It’s a part of me,” he admitted. And he meant it, too. There was a certain thrill that came with letting loose the power that built to a peak underneath his touch, releasing the surge for the sake of doing good. Besides, certainly his magic could aid him somehow in his pursuit to be a doctor. With a touch of pain relief and restoration, it was no wonder he aspired so passionately to be a doctor. “You know, though, Anne...My magic ended the days of scorn between us. We could have been friendly enemies for easily another four years.”

“‘The days of scorn’ as you so call them were over as soon as they began,” Anne said, rolling her eyes at her own past foolishness. Gilbert’s pace lessened to a slow amble and tilted his head toward her shyly.

“So then what does that make us now? Kindred spirits?”

Anne gave him another cheerful grin, grabbing his head and squeezing it between her freckled fingers.

“The kindred-est, Gilbert Blythe! Whether you like it or not!”

When they had made it back to the Green Gables homestead, Anne stood looking down at Gilbert with his one foot on the ground, the other on the second step. Strands of her hair grazed across her cheeks, and she handed him a gray, wool flat cap.

“You left this a few days ago,” she murmured, suddenly shy.

Gilbert took the proffered hat, a speck of green catching his eyes.

“Looks like I’ll be having some good luck soon,” he joked, pointing at a four-leaf clover that had grown near the brim. Anne blushed, shrugging.

“I didn’t think you’d want a daisy or rose blossom. Besides, everyone can always use a little good luck in their lives.”

He swung the cap upon his head, barely noticing the slight upturn of her lips when he did before her face was neutral again. Glancing down at the old wooden steps of the porch, Gilbert saw a small patch of dying red clover. The delicate weeds had been hidden from the sun, browning at the stem and in some of the long purple petals. With a small wave of his hand over them, they straightened back to life with a sparkling saturation, even when Gilbert plucked them from the ground and held them out to her.

“Today was nice,” was all he said.

“It was,” she agreed. “Would you like to practice some more soon?”

A chance to see Anne again? Laughing, speaking, using her magic? Gilbert bit his lip.

“Of course. How’s tomorrow?” And the day after, and the day after, and the day after? - his mind asked. Anne merely turned a wine color and nodded.

"That'll be nice," she replied, a few red rose petals somehow getting stuck between the strands of her hair. Gilbert plucked one out and handed it to her, making her turn even brighter.

"Be seeing you, then, Anne."

As he walked up the lane, he could feel her eyes burning into his back and his magic singeing the tips of the grass along the side of the road. They smoked like blown candles, thousands of little smoke puffs billowing into fairy sized clouds as he walked. But Gilbert did not notice. He only clasped his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes, and listened to the songs that she heard on the wind.

Oh, how Anne made him burn, but he'd be damned if she didn't make him live either.

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert ff #shirbert au #tessa writes

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ask-puppojiminnie · 6 years ago

Note

tae + bambi caretaker prompt 7

Anonymous asked : hobi + bambi caretaker prompt 5

Hoseok hadn’t been surprisedwhen he saw Bambi going out to the forest earlier in the morning. Daejung washaving a bath and normally Bambi would take that time to go visit his mothersgrave. It was a normal thing for them to see.

What Hoseok hadn’t beenexpecting was to see Bambi limping back into the house, a hand covering hischeek and his lips pushed out in a pout. In an instant, Hoseok’s heart startedpounding and he rushed from his seat over to Bambi. The Hybrid stepped back, pressinghis back against the wall, shoulders lifting up to his ears.

Hoseok knew very well thatBambi wasn’t overly fond of him. Taehyung had explained that it was probablybecause he was Human and ever since his mothers passing, Bambi had a strong hatredfor Humans. But in this moment, Hoseok knew that he couldn’t just leave Bambihurt like this.

“Bambi, what happened?” Heasked, kneeling down to the younger’s height. Bambi’s defences were up and hebared his teeth, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t have to tell you,” hesnapped, slipping away from Hoseok, making his way toward the stairs. “Where’sTaehyung?”

“He’s with Daejung right now,”Hoseok stated, cutting off the path to the stairs, looking at Bambi pleadingly.“Please, I can help you, Bambi…”

Hoseok had been desperate tobuild some sort of bond with Bambi, even super great. He wanted Bambi to knowthat he wasn’t like the people who had hurt him before. Bambi huffed andstepped back from the stairs, going to the living room. Hoseok hesitated beforefollowing after him, finding Bambi sitting on the sofa, the pout back on hislips.

Slowly, Hoseok moved to kneelin front of Bambi, his hand gently touching the Hybrid’s knee. He gave a smallsmile as he looked up at Bambi, trying to seem as inviting as possible.

“Please let me see, Bambi…I’ll at least check how bad it is before Taehyung gets here.” Bambi didn’tanswer for a moment, only meeting Hoseok’s eyes for a moment before he sighedand dropped his hand.

There was a cut on Bambi’scheek but it seemed that the bleeding had stopped and it was mostly dried overnow. It didn’t look too bad, just a small cut on his cheek, but it looked likeit bled a lot.

“What happened?” Hoseok askedas he shifted back to look at Bambi’s leg. It was a bit harder to tell what waswrong when he wasn’t exactly sure what to look for.

“My hoof got caught on a treeroot…” Bambi mumbled, eyes burning into the wall. “And I fell into a tree…” Hoseokcould tell Bambi was a bit embarrassed from the slight pink on his cheeks. Heheld back a smile as to not upset the Hybrid.

“Can you tell me where yourleg hurts? Then we can get some ice on it and wait for Taehyung to help withthe cut.” Bambi nodded slowly and touched his hand to his leg, pointing towardhis hoof.

“Your… ankle…?” Hoseok saidslowly, touching the joint above Bambi’s hoof. The Hybrid hissed, leg jerking abit as he nodded.

“Yes, there… But I don’t thinkit’s called an ankle.”

“I don’t know deer legs! Giveme a break!” Hoseok pouted, standing up from the floor. He saw a slight smilepull at the Hybrid’s lips before he went to go get the ice pack for Bambi’sleg.

Taehyung slipped Daejung’sshirt on and smiled down at him, pressing a kiss to the Kitten’s forehead.

“There, do you feel betternow?” Taehyung asked with a smile, running his fingers through Daejung’s damphair. The younger had dropped his cup while he was drinking juice and hadgotten it all over himself.

“Yeah… Thank you, daddy,”Daejung murmured, his tail swaying lazily behind him. After a moment, his nosebegan twitching and a small frown pulled at his lips. “I smell Bambi and hesmells funny.”

Taehyung frowned and sniffedthe air as well. It took him a bit longer, but after a moment, he could smellBambi and it did seem a bit off.

He could smell blood.

Even though it didn’t smelllike a lot, Taehyung still panicked, standing quickly.

“Stay here for now, Daejung.I’m going to go check on him,” Taehyung said quickly, kissing his son’sforehead before he rushed out of the room and down the stairs. His ears perkedwhen he walked into the living room, taking in the scene of Hoseok securing asmall ice pack to Bambi’s leg. He lifted his eyes to see the blood on theDeer’s cheek, his lips parting.

“What happened?” Taehyungasked as he rushed over to the two, sitting down next to Bambi. The Hybridpushed his lips into a pout and looked up at Taehyung.

“I tripped in the forest…” Hemurmured, seeming unhappy with the whole situation. Taehyung let out a softsigh of relief before he nodded, gently lifting his hand to touch Bambi’scheek.

“Okay, it doesn’t look bad,but there might be some dirt and stuff in there, so I’m going to clean it out,okay?” He whispered, waiting for Bambi to nod before he went to the kitchen toget the small first aid kit. He paused beside the stairs on his way back andlooking up to see Daejung sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting forTaehyung to say he can come down.

“It’s okay, baby. You can comesee him. He just has a little cut,” Taehyung smiled as he watched Daejungquickly make his way down the stairs, still being careful not to trip. Hesniffed the air and followed his nose to where Bambi was sitting on the couch.He settled himself next to the Deer, Taehyung following behind him and kneelingnext to Hoseok in front of the Deer.

“What happened, Bambi?”Daejung asked quickly, squeezing the Hybrid’s hand. Bambi huffed and turned hishead away.

“Why does everyone keep askingme that?” Bambi grumbled, his little ears flicking in annoyance. Taehyung sawDaejung’s ears droop a but and he gently rubbed his son’s leg.

“He just had a little accidentis all, it’s nothing serious,” he reassured before turning his gaze back toBambi. “I’m gonna just wipe off the blood and then I’ll use a disinfectant,okay?” Bambi gave a small nod and shifted to make it a bit easier for Taehyung.

He was careful in wiping offthe wound, trying to make it as easy as possible for Bambi. He could still seethe younger twitching a bit, but he was handling it very well. When he set downthe damp cloth, he pulled out an alcohol swab, tearing it open.

“Alright, now I won’t lie toyou. This is gonna hurt,” Taehyung murmured, pulling out the small wipe. “It’llbe like a little sting.”

Bambi frowned, squeezingDaejung’s hand before he nodded slowly. Taehyung took that as his sign to goand began to clean the cut, biting his lip when Bambi hissed, squeezingDaejung’s hand tightly. He pulled away the swab and smile, meeting Bambi’sgaze.

“There, it’s done. It wasn’tso bad, hey?” Taehyung reached into the first aid kit and grabbed a bandaid.“Alright, now I’ll just cover it up and it should be okay in a few days.”

He put the bandaid on Bambi’scheek, watching the younger frown when it was on, touching it gently.

“Why did you give me a blueone? Couldn’t you just give me a normal one?” Bambi seemed a bit unhappy as helowered his hands, his eyebrows pulled together.

“I didn’t think about it,”Taehyung murmured, looking at the pale blue colouring Bambi’s tanned cheek. “Atleast it matches Daejung’s eyes.”

Bambi didn’t respond to his comment, but if Taehyung saw his face softena bit, he didn’t say anything.

#hoseok #taehyung #vhope #daejung #bambi #bts ask blog #bts hybrid au #my story

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the-fiction-witch · 6 years ago

Text

Vampire Love P1

REAL LIFE: X VAMPIRES COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: SMUTTY-ISH

Y/N POV:

I yawned sitting up in my big bed I pushed the covers off rubbing my eyes as I spun my legs across to the other side of the bed letting my feet touch the ice cold stone floor I relaxed my feet a moment before pushing myself up but pain rushed though my bones and I almost fell having to grab the corner of the bed to stop my fall I yawned again taking tiny little painful steps “Ow...Ow....Owch!” I complain making my way to the living room I suddenly remembered where I was deep in the forest, in our little cabin the rain pouring on the huge windows I went to the little kitchen making myself a cup of coffee I leaned against the table sipping my coffee when I noticed my reflection my hair a mess my little nightie ripped and hanging off my body wrong, my body covered with....uhh buries? love bites? I’m not to sure which my legs felt numb, my whole body still not awake or aware how much pain it was in I put a brush though my hair and tie it up spotting alot of marks on my neck making me giggle one lightly bleeding “Vicious boy” I smirk with a giggle

“You love it” he smirks from the bedroom door “Your up early” He says coming though and getting making his coffee

“No this is a normal hour, its just you thomas” I smirk giving him a little kiss

“I’m surprised you can walk” He smirks sitting with his coffee

“Yeah well...I’m tougher then you think” i smirk

“Umm I know you are” He smirks kissing my neck and I felt his fangs

“Hey! I carry a shit tone around for you tommy get off me” I tell him pushing him away “In the fridge if your that hungry” I tell him

“Uhh! fine” he complains going to the fridge getting one of the little flasks I often carry around for him and pouring it in his coffee “Did you enjoy last night my love?” he asks me giving me a little cuddle

“Well... it hurt, no denying that” I laugh “But I liked it” I smirk

“Good, I was worried” he smiles “Worried i might have hurt you”

“Why does it hurt so much?” I ask

“Exploding passion darling” He tells me cuddling me tightly “imagine how frustrated you’d be not having had sex for three thousand years” He smirks

“True” i smile “thought you might have gone a little easier on me” I smirk

“I did” He smirks

“Ohh! okay” I giggle “When do I get the real stuff?” I smirk

“Soon” He smirks “Providing you can actually walk?” He asks

“I can” I laugh he just moved away standing away from me

“Go on then” he smirks crossing his arms over his bare chest so I try my best taking little unsteady steps almost falling into his chest “awww your like a little baby deer” He laughs

“Shut up” I tell him

“Come on Back to bed with you” He laughs picking me up and taking me back to bed “When you can actually survive it unscathed, you get the rough stuff” he smirks kissing my head

“How will I ever get out of it unscathed when you rip my clothes and bit my neck and shoulder so hard you draw blood?” I ask

“Eventually, you’ll get used to it, and it wont hurt” He smirks “When it doesn't hurt then you can get the rough stuff darling” He smirked tucking me into bed

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eggsyunwinftw · 7 years ago

Text

Missing (Eggsy Unwin Imagine)

A/N: Hey pals! Sorry, I’ve been away for so long - mock exams are getting crazy! I should be writing more soon, and I hope you enjoy this one! It’s my longest one yet - sorry it's taken so long!

ALSO - if you're not following @flippingeggsy then what are you doing?

Warnings: kidnapping, swearing, violence, angst (it’s a jolly one...)

The gun in Eggsy’s hands shook imperceptibly next to the man’s head.

Blood trickled from a wound on his temple, trailing down his cheek and running over his lips. Eggsy didn’t seem to notice; he pressed the barrel harder into the man’s face.

“Where is she?” He hissed. A crackle sounded through his earpiece and he flinched.

“I don’t know - I swear - I don’t know!” Eggsy’s smirk was almost frightening, his eyes brimming with anger and desperation.

“Wrong answer, bruv,” His voice was barely a murmur. A tense silence settled over the room.

“Eggsy! Stop -” Cried a female voice down his earpiece. Roxy. “You can’t kill him! Eggsy, please!” The man curled into himself, moving away from the agent.

“Roxy, please - I need to know,” The line went silent. Nothing

Eggsy turned to face the man, crumpled on the ground, and pressed his foot against his neck.

“You ready to talk?” He shook his head. Footsteps could be heard, pounding towards the tiny cell.

Freezing in position, Eggsy hardened his face to a glare. Removing his foot from the man’s neck, he crouched next to him and grasped his collar, pulling him to eye level.

“Where is she, you fuck?” The man radiated tension and fear but shrugged in Eggsy’s hold.

“I don’t know. My boss took her - she’s probably dead -” Eggsy pulled his fist back, shaking with white-hot anger.

As his fist knocked out the man, he felt a sharp pain, like a bee sting, in his neck.

The world went dark. Good fucking riddance.

***

“Merlin…” Distance voices crept into Eggsy’s consciousness, familiar but barely there.

“He could have killed him, Lancelot. It’s been a year, and we’ve found sod all. I don’t know where to look,” He heard Roxy’s sigh, and could vaguely feel someone holding his hand.

“He’s desperate, Merlin. We have to keep trying.” Eggsy felt a hand brush against his cheek. The touch was gentle and familiar; he moved a little, a monumental effort to press his face further into Roxy’s palm.

“Eggsy?” He blinked his eyes open, sleep making his lids heavy. Roxy, Harry and Merlin sat around the bed, and he realised he was in the hospital. Harry patted his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

“Hey…” He murmured, avoiding eye contact when Merlin stared down at him.

“Good to see you awake, Galahad,” Roxy gripped his hand, as Merlin placed a clipboard on Eggsy’s lap.

The clipboard reacted when Merlin pressed his hand to it, the screen lighting up and showing a video. It was the man Eggsy had attacked.

“If you won’t talk to Galahad, you can talk to me. Tell us what you know.” The man was strapped to a chair, nose bleeding and eyes crazed. Harry stood in front of him, leaning against a wall with a look of dismissal on his face.

“Fuck you,” He hissed, spitting on the floor at Harry’s feet.

Tutting, Harry placed a photo on the table in front of him.

“This girl,” He said, voice sombre, “Was kidnapped some time ago. We know your organisation was involved. Tell me how, and we’ll let you go,” The man just glared at him.

Harry pulled a small knife from his pocket and twirled it through his fingers.

Still in his seat, the man flinched away, but Harry moved closer.

“Are you ready to talk, Mr Hesketh?”

Fucking Charlie. Harry stood in front of him and let the knife fall on the table.

“It’s now or never, Charlie. Tell me where she is, or I’ll kill you.”

Charlie’s eyes turned dark and fearful. If there was one person he knew not to underestimate, it was Harry Hart.

“Fine. They took her somewhere in Denmark, I think. They were going to use her to get to Galahad… But she made trouble.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but his shaking hands were easy to see.

“And then?”

Charlie wouldn't meet Harry’s eyes, “They got rid of her. She tried to escape, one too many times, and they killed her.”

The video cut out. Eggsy leant his head back onto the pillows, feeling drained.

She was gone. They killed her. They fucking killed her.

“Eggs…” Murmured Roxy, but he shook his head and faced away.

“I just wanna go home. Please?”

The three agents nodded, all appearing shellshocked. Merlin called up a cab to take Eggsy back home - to the last place he ever saw you.

***

Eggsy had no idea how long the journey to his house was. His eyes watered as he stared out of the window, only seeing blurred lights and people passing by. It felt like hours - the minutes dragged on and Eggsy felt nothing.

Since your disappearance, he’d worked non stop to get you home. He researched, spied, followed up on leads, barely ate and slept if it wasn’t necessary to keep him working. Whenever Roxy tried to suggest that he took a break, he brushed it off. When Merlin informed his that he’d used every available Kingsman resource, Eggsy pushed harder.

But when Charlie said you were dead? He was crushed.

The reality hit him like a train; all along, he’d been convinced that he could find you, sitting in a warehouse somewhere looking ruffled and annoyed and desperate for a coffee. You were never supposed to be caught up in Kingsman business. Never supposed to get hurt.

Not once had he let himself doubt that you would come home.

He trudged into the house, noticing JB at his feet, picking up the little dog and nuzzling his fur. Setting out some food for him, and a few treats, he tried to keep moving, but the grief coated his limbs like ice. Slumping down onto the sofa, he curled into himself, pulling out his phone and seeing an old picture of the two of you. His fingers curled around the band of his signet ring, where a stone emblazoned with the Kingsman logo should reside. Eyes squeezed shut, he remembered your face when he’d gifted it to you on a necklace. Pure, unadulterated love. Fuck.

Eggsy Unwin’s sobs shook the house to its foundations.

***

It was six months later, when Eggsy sat in a meeting with Harry, Merlin and Percival, that Roy burst unceremoniously through the door, slamming her laptop down on the table and breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry! But Eggsy, you have to see this. I tried tracking Y/N’s phone like we did last time, and nothing came up,” Eggsy looked at her, confused.

She shook her head at him, letting her hair fall into her eyes.

“No, that’s not it - look, right there. I was looking at some old tech and our old trackers - they were in our glasses, right? But sometimes we put them in our weapons too. Like grenades, or shoes, or signet rings-” Eggsy jumped, yanking the ring off his finger and throwing it to Roxy. She caught it and pointed at the screen.

“Look! There’s a signal, somewhere in Kolding! From an old signet ring, like the one you gave-”

Eggsy was sprinting to the armoury before Roxy could finish speaking. Merlin shrugged and jumped up to follow.

“Percival - we’ll continue this later. Very sorry for the disruption,” Said Harry, following the trio out of the door.

***

Kolding was just as Eggsy had expected - cold, snowy and looking like a Christmas card.

Swathed in protective, insulated clothing, he made his way across the fields, following Merlin’s directions through his earpiece. In the distance, he could make out a small building.

“There!” Merlin cried, and Eggsy turned his pace into a run, stumbling on his shaking limbs like a baby deer learning to walk. The shack was tiny, rundown, and made entirely of stone. Pulling his gun out, he pressed his back into the wall, barely hearing Merlin over his pounding heartbeat.

Pushing the door open, he rushed in. His eyes darted across the shack frantically - stone walls, cracked concrete floor, a single chair leaning against the back wall.

“No,” He whispered, breath turning to fog in front of his smarting eyes. “Fuck!” Crying out, he turned and faced the wall, smashing it with his fist until he drew blood.

Under the chair was a signet ring - small, battered and belonging to you.

“Merlin…” He whispered as the sound of the aeroplane grew louder, making him flinch.

When he boarded the plane, he pressed his face against the window and closed his eyes.

***

“Morning, Galahad,” Merlin said, patting Eggsy on the shoulder and dropping a mission dossier on the table in front of him. Eggsy smiled tiredly, pulling the paper towards him. Printed on the front were a location and a name, which Eggsy typed into his glasses and scanned through the results.

His phone buzzed in his pocket - a text from his mum, thanking him for looking after Daisy the night before.

“No worries xx” he replied; the house was far too quiet nowadays, and Daisy was a welcome break from the silence.

“You look tired,” Roxy noted as she placed her things on the table and took a seat beside Eggsy.

“Thanks, Rox,” He snarked, rolling his eyes at her as she shoved his shoulder.

(He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t tired - he was exhausted).

“You know what I mean. Ready for the mission today?” He nodded at her, smiling and ignoring the jumping feeling in his chest. It had been a year since his encounter with Charlie, but every time they went on a mission, he almost convinced himself that you would be there. Twelve months after losing you and he still couldn’t quite quell the hope that you would appear.

Roxy left the room and Eggsy followed suit, making his way to the helicopter and slipping into the armoury along the way. He grabbed a gun from the shelf next to him, a lighter shaped hand grenade and slipped a signet ring onto his finger.

“Eggsy!” Called Roxy, exasperation creeping into her voice. Dashing out of the room, he rushed up the steps and slumped down next to her in his seat. Merlin raised his eyebrows, but Eggsy grinned back at him. The rush of a mission always made him feel alive; adrenaline pumped through his veins and made his heart pound. He was sharp, awake and alert.

Roxy tucked her legs up on the chair, swivelling to look at Eggsy.

“You’ve perked up,” She noted, pulling out a pack of cards and passing half to Eggsy. He took them and dealt a few out, ready to pass the time in their usual style.

“What can I say? I ain’t missing out on a mission like this,” Roxy nodded, looking a little concerned. He was used to that expression on her - she’d been very protective of him since you had disappeared.

“Landing in five minutes, agents,” Called Merlin from the cockpit.

Eggsy settled down into his seat, squeezing Roxy’s hand.

Thank you, he seemed to say.

***

The mission was over in a hail of bullets, with Eggsy pressed against a wall, gun in hand and heart beating like a horse on a race track.

Roxy had run off to find the computers and Eggsy could hear the sound of her breathing, distant and faint in his earpiece. He rounded the corner, gun held out as he glanced down the corridor but saw no more attackers. Just before he turned to to head to the evacuation point, he heard Roxy gasp through his earpiece.

“Lancelot?” He said, but there was no response. “Lancelot?” A knot of anxiety formed in his chest as his lungs filled with cement. Not again, he thought. I can’t lose anyone else.

“Galahad…” Roxy’s shaking voice slipped into his ear. At first, he didn’t acknowledge it, but when his brain caught up, he felt his legs moving down Roxy’s path.

“You alright?” He murmured and heard an affirmative noise from his friend.

“I’m okay, but Galahad - hurry, please,” He ran faster, feet pounding against the concrete until he rounded a corner and saw Roxy’s shadow in the doorway.

“Roxy -” He called out as he entered the room - and promptly dropped his gun as his legs gave out.

Crouched in the corner of the tiny cell was Roxy, holding the hand of a small, frightened figure leaning against a wall.

And it was you.

Eggsy felt his heart in his throat and his eyes looked you up and down, drinking in every inch of your skin.

“What?” He murmured, voice hoarse. Your head rose and you locked eyes with him, yours surrounded by dark circles and bruises, his shining with tears. Neither of you moved, staring at each other until you opened your mouth.

“Eggsy…” He stumbled forwards as Roxy moved out of the way, and he slumped onto his knees before you. Tentatively he reached out taking your cold, shaking hand in his and squeezing as gently as possible. You looked at him and saw the way his jaw clenched to suppress his sobs.

He could barely speak as he stuttered out a question, “How are you here? I thought -” You shook your head and your muscles ached at the movement.

“I didn’t think you were gonna come,” You whispered, and Eggsy let his tears fall. He moved forwards, monitoring your reactions and trying to keep you comfortable.

He was shocked when you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and burrowing your face into his shoulder. Clinging to you, he pulled you closer and pressed kisses into your hair between sobs.

“I love you,” He whispered, “I‘m so sorry.” You shook your head and pulled back slightly, pressing your forehead against his as tears streaked through the grime on your skin.

“How long’s it been?” You whispered and watched him flinch away, his breaths coming in dogged pants.

“A year,” He whispered, “An’ it feels like it’s been a hundred and I fucking love you,” You rested a hand on his cheek, shaking like a leaf and running your thumb over his cheekbone.

“I didn’t - they said you weren’t - I thought they’d kill me, but they just moved me around, every few days,” He gripped you tightly and cringed when he felt the dried blood on your clothes.

Holding your waist, he furrowed his brow and stared into your eyes, “How long have you been here?” You closed your eyes, leaning against him.

“About a month. They said you - you stopped looking after a few months, but I left the signet ring-” He gasped and shook his head frantically.

“No, love, I never stopped! I found the ring but you were gone an’ I lost it, babe,” Burrowing your face into his neck, you kissed his shoulder and cried harder.

“- I was out of my mind without ya’, sweetheart.”

His strong arms encircled you tightly, holding your weakened frame close to his chest. When you moved your heart to look at him, he grabbed your face and kissed you hard. Your lips were chapped and cold, and your tears mingled with his as you kept kissing him.

He pulled you closer and pressed his lips to your head, before he pulled away and shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders and lifting you into his arms.

“Let’s go home, babe.” You curled into his arms and for the first time in a year, you felt safe.

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angryzilla · 7 years ago

Photo

We'll find how to make it with the rain; this rage will lead us through the burning plains | | Thesivaldence asked by @archadianskies

“Thes?”

A soft voice.

My heart broken by the blight.

“Theseus?”

Silver seeds tearing the soil.

It murmurs a little for a while.

A kiss on his forehead; different hands at once on his cheeks (rough and calloused; thinner and irregular with welt bumps).

“I know you’re awake.”

Theseus opens his eyes and settles his emerald gaze upon the face peering down at him— lanky fingers curling in the deepening sheets, shadows blue with the cloudy, purplish day in London; and the windows grow thick with fog.

Having them here and disobeying the trace of his injuries; remembering home and soft lights and candles crackling in the night. Rain is falling (spilling) and memories keep flooding but they’re not unkind, for once— almost gentle with shades of affectionate kisses and murmured I love you’s spreading through the spicy air (pumpkin butter and star anise).

“Feeling any better today?” Credence asks quietly as he moves back down and buries his face in the crook of Theseus’ neck, hot and welcoming; almost molded to receive Percival and him there.

“Hmm,” Theseus mumbles with his nose in his lover’s dark curls (he loves the faint scent of pine and lemon he can find) while Percival’s hand works the knots in his stomach by tracing soft arabesques and golden letters all over his flesh. “Think so.” Credence’s head perks up suddenly, giving him a worried look, his magic creating little spikes of aurum-coloured greens. “Baby, I’m definitely feeling better than yesterday evening, don’t you worry.”

A smile so hesitant at first (is he happy enough? Am I doing it right?) but making edelweisses bloom on the spot once it gets there.

The rain-filled darkness of the day before— the interrogation room; the blood of his Aurors and the severed hand sent as a proof; and the horror, really—

He shakes his head.

Slight quirk of the lips, slight tilt of the head.

The curtains seem to breathe through the copper rain and slowly— slowly, the smiles of ivory-white skulls grow bearable in the low morning light.

How out of the darkness leapt a pale hand that ended up curling in his red curls and caressed his forehead; how love gave him back to himself, not unremembering of the horrors painted in large gasoline and crimson strokes; how the disorderly parts of himself went back to something near a state of equalization, of balance returned.

Don’t sever me from reality, take me back, take me back, take me back to the start.

“You know that you are allowed to ask for help,” Credence sighs softly, his breath a gentle summer breeze brushing upon green-veined flesh and stitched up arteries.

“He won’t ever ask for help,” Percival butts in, sarcasm heavy on his tongue and rolling off in, electrically charged with thoughts of another time. “You know that, sweetheart.”

Our hands tied and bombs falling like snow and blue roses all over while things tear away at us, at us, at us; tiny opalescent gems of hatred.

It’s a moment fused into crystalline rocks and frozen grass— ice spreading upon a pond, licking at old wounds; colour of sand and sea and sky merged as the tide comes in and washes over his fingers buried in the sand.

A needle pushing in a vein— it pulses green and blue and scarlet bleeds out and drips—

Drips—

A few skips, an ellipse, the wind and pined wrists.

“Shh, Director, shhhh. Calm down, let us take care of you.”

Theseus tries to rise and wipe the crusted blood off his nose, off the corner of his lips; apprehends the rough bumps of it, of these valleys; his cheek burning with a blossoming purple.

“Where’s that little— lit— little shit, Septima?” and he grunts, feral. “You g—gave me a bloody d—do—dose, you— you bunch of corny id—diots.”

“It’s for your own good, for fuck’s sake,” Septima Bragge says, staring into the blood pits of his eyes made wild in the flesh and stench of himself.

That voice, smooth, a rougher whisper. She tightens her hold on his arm particularly harshly, and Theseus does not yelp— he’s too gone for that with the drug injected.

“You’re bloody fucking lu—lucky you’re— you’re my Head Auror and that—” breathe, breathe, fucking breathe, fucking breathe Scamander “—that I trust y—you with my bl—oody fucking life, Bragge.”

Oh, he looks like some creature torn to shreds, harsh and snarling, sinking deep beneath her veins. And it’s not about her, it isn’t, he’s a nebula of anger and distorted anxiety.

“Don’t fight it, Director, please. Have a nice trip to Wonderland.”

And air hits that patch of irregular lips, flattens down—

Until it all goes quiet, just rumbles hitting against the Director’s lungs.

Everyone else just stands there, waiting.

“What— what happened to Mr. Scamander?” one of the junior Aurors asks in a concerned voice as she watches him fall into deep slumber.

Theseus’ head member of his Auror team settles her smooth, silver-polished steel of a stare on the junior Auror. “An asshole happened to our team and he took charge.”

She trembles a little as realisation blooms on her face.

“Yeah,” Septima mumbles, “you don’t want Theseus Scamander coming after you when you’ve injured someone he cares about.”

That cruel breathing that forces him to fold back his arms on his stomach.

“Escaping Scamander is your best chance at still being alive in the evening,” she tells her— the way his long throat moves, the flutter that passes through as magic sizzles on his fingers.

How scary he is to other people, even his own team, when rage fills him up and chokes his throat.

”You are basically fleeing the fury of a hurricane. Would you stand in front of one and think, ”I can take it down myself?””

She shakes her head, left to right, a stretch of skin.

”There you go. Don’t ever piss him off if you value your life.”

“I don’t need help, my darlings, I need kisses.”

Credence snorts at that, feeling some of the tension leave his body since he knows there’s a playful air to his partner; and the tightness in his wrists loosens; he still sends him a pointed look.

“From you, very obviously, baby,” Theseus is quick to add, smirking intently; Credence pinches his side, making him squeak.

“Thes,” the younger man groans.

His clear eyebrows shoot up. “What did I do again? Don’t you believe me? You’re the only two people I want to kiss, I swear to Merlin and all higher magical deities—” Theseus asks, ignoring his baby’s scowl.

“Theseus,” Percival cuts in, stern and sharp. “Don’t play that game.”

He’s on his way to saying, a game? What game? But there’s no use in hiding anything to his other halves who know him as well as the back of their hands; he can feel his head start to pound. Theseus doesn’t know if he flinches or if Percival has scanned his magic, but he figures he shouldn’t bury his emotions under too-familiar hills of blurry smoke and liquid humour.

“Fine,” he sighs heavily, the leaves of his ribcage arching above his heart in curling blades of frost. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Another pointed look. The red-haired man sighs in defeat. With trembling fingers, he picks up Credence’s hand, traces the splatter of brown freckles hiding between and behind his fingers— his heart that stumbles against his muscles.

“... I’m okay. It’ll— get better, once I know Wilhelmina is out of danger.”

True, this time, this quiet onslaught of light where all pretenses dissolve and Theseus shows himself; hurt and vulnerable, lingering, crumbling, thoughts soaring.

“Let us take care of you, okay?”

Theseus gulps, then nods, steeling himself, the curve creased around his face in his pillow littered with strands of his reddish-gold hair; Credence brings up his hand and pushes back his curls, tucking them behind an ear and brushing his cheek in the process.

“Damn it, Thes, you look like a fucking scared deer. It’s just us, hey.”

A romance like his tea— warm and proper; steady and strong; spice racks and sweaters after work, hands curling around one another, lips brushing and touching and tasting. Getting ready for summer nights with the slight apprehension of never being good enough.

“Hmm. You’re a scary bear with your growing beard,” Theseus mutters, blood rushing in his ears.

“It’s fucking stubble, Theseus,” and Percival rolls his eyes; reaches a hand up to touch his cheek. “Tell us,” he murmurs very carefully, “whatever feels right under our fingers and lips.”

Credence runs the tips of his fingers over his neck and chin and Theseus tips his head back again, closing his eyes in anticipation.

Tense, so tense, always, ever so tense.

The smell is spicy and comforting— gingerbread cookies and gentle, crackling fire; the flash of his lovers’ combined magic in the darkness that surrounds as it spills across his closed eyelids like honey.

And—

Percival sucks a particularly fervent kiss into Theseus’ throat while Credence is nipping softly at the tendon, his bright, sorrel gaze never wavering as he licks, bites, presses sunsets into Theseus’ skin; grasping his wrist, encircling it, and Theseus feels the known-weight of old welts, these bumps, their meaning lost to loving touches, idle gold, idle silver. How could these pinched and narrow fingers have known violence when they’re nothing but light?

They slip into the delirious coils of moans and whimpers as their bodies press Theseus into the mattress, heavy and hot and his legs pumping his heart out—

Steadying.

Like wind in the leaves of autumn trees, reddening, flushing, blushing, rushing, and Credence and the conquering of his tongue— the moans that escape his lips and fall into the world, into the open air. They’re unlatched stars.

“Oh, you like that,” Percival chuckles; Credence continues to murmur encouraging, soft words of praise in the crook of Theseus’ neck where ginger constellations spread like ink; scrape of sharp teeth against the sensitive flesh and hands that hold him down with a bruising grip. “Well, let us show you more, my darling.”

Thighs rub together, lightning bolts fluorescent— and they’re bent forward and heaving, and arms fold him against a broad, warm chest.

Theseus, Theseus, Theseus;

A litany.

The waves come up to them, restless— ripples of light that Theseus passes his fingers through.

The echoes of love sigh.

| | Notes

Short and sweet? What? Did you mean: hurt/comfort? With a dash of smut?

No?

Oops.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #thesidence #thesivaldence #percival graves #theseus scamander #credence barebone #ot3 #fanfic #prompt #my stuff #archadianskies #i hope you enjoy this! <3 #let me vanish back to the batcave #mine

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imagining-supernatural · 8 years ago

Text

As It Seem: Chapter 13

Table of Contents

Según Parece: Lista De Contenidos

Summary: The reader reacts to Dean's bombshell from the end of last chapter

Word Count: 3103

Warnings: Depression, slight suicidal thoughts

Beta’d by: @kclaire1 te quiero!!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

~Reader’s POV~

I was going to ask you to marry me.

I don’t know if Dean could see the way his words completely knocked the air out of me, but he kept nervously talking and my brain was scrambling to keep up with his words while it processed that confession.

Marriage?

“I know, it’s crazy. Especially over there. I mean, we’re both technically legally dead. We’re both hunters. It’s not like we would be married long before one of us died, probably. Stupid idea. But I just… every time I saw you, I knew that I wanted something more. I just—”

He cut himself off and took a deep breath which gave me a second to prepare myself, but I had no idea how to prepare myself at all. He had completely thrown me off balance with his declaration. And when his eyes opened again and bore into my very soul, I saw a conviction there that scared me.

“Y/N, I want to marry you.” The change from past tense to present tense wasn’t lost on me. “I get that things are different now. And I’m not saying that I want to run out and elope right this second. We’ve got a shit storm of stuff to work through, and I’m okay with that. We can work through it. But please don’t keep pushing me away. It’s not going to work. I love you too much to let you go.”

I love you. Those three words were the ones that completely demolished the defenses I’d so carefully built up. I knew how Dean felt about me in the other timeline. It was evident in every single thing he did for me. But he’d never said the words aloud.

If he had, I probably would have run like a spooked deer.

“Dean, you shouldn’t,” I whispered. “You shouldn’t love me. I just—fuck.”

This was so hard. There was a reason there was the saying about celebrating with other people and suffering alone. Letting someone in to see the mess of your soul was bone-crunchingly terrifying. Ruining the image they had of you in their head was the absolute worst. But Sam wasn’t letting us out until we told the truth, and I found that I didn’t have the strength to run away anymore.

“Talk to me, baby.”

Oh, God, when he called me baby it just melted me. Dean Winchester calling you sweetheart was one thing, but he reserved baby for the things he loved the most. It was an exclusive club of two.

His precious car.

And me.

“I just can’t—I don’t think that—You can’t…” Now it was my turn to take a deep breath and figure out how the hell to put into words that deep, dark emotion that was rooted to every blood vessel and nerve ending in my body. “I don’t think there’s ever been a point in my life that I’ve been deserving of your love.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off. “Dean, let her get it out.”

I kept going as if that never happened, but I was grateful to Sam. This was hard enough without interruptions. “Dean, I’m not the person you thought I was over there. I told you that after I killed Addy, I cleaned up and got better. That was a lie. I did clean up. But I didn’t get better. I started hunting because I wanted to die. I wanted to get in so far over my head that there was no escape and I thought I could just hunt until something killed me.

“Then I met you and, God, you were so infuriating. You were such an asshole. But that was the first time I felt anything since she died. You hated me, and it made me feel a little better. I deserved your hate. Then we started to tolerate each other and you guys invited me to come along on hunts with you and I—I don’t know. I didn’t want to seem damaged. I wanted to feel normal again. I wanted you to think that I was this badass woman. So I pretended to be her. And I got so good at pretending that somewhere along the line, I started to believe it too. But the truth is that I’m still the person who got so high and killed my own daughter.”

I stared down at my hands in my lap and prepared the half-truth I was about to say. “I was just putting on an act the entire time I was with you guys. I wasn’t real with you.”

The only sound in the room was the soft whooshing of the giant fan overhead. Finally, someone broke the silence, but it wasn’t the brother I was expecting to talk.

“I’m calling bullshit,” Sam said.

Dean and I both threw him startled looks, and he sat down on the ground in front of us so we were level.

“Y/N, you might have felt like you were acting, but you weren’t. I know that you were my friend. There is not a doubt in my mind that you liked me, and that we had fun pranking Dean, and you and I bonded over trying to get Dean to eat healthier, and that you didn’t actually help me with research, but you still stayed out and pretended so that I wouldn’t be alone. That’s all stuff that friends do for their friends.”

“Sam, I—”

But he bulldozed right over me. He was in a bossy mood today which bugged me, but something in the corner of my mind whispered that maybe we needed him to take charge and get us to face our shit.

“You can think of it as acting all you want, but there comes point when you stop acting because that is who you are now. Isn’t that how we get past things? We act like we’re okay and eventually we are?” Sam reached over and took my hand. I was too overwhelmed with everything to protest. “Look, Y/N. I loved you over there—as a friend, Dean, don’t hit me—and I know that you did too. I’ve only known you a few days here, but even when you were yelling at me about Dean bleeding out on your couch, I knew that we had potential. I’m a good judge of character.”

“We act like we’re okay and eventually we are,” I repeated in a mumble. “That belongs in a fortune cookie somewhere.”

Did that happen? I tried so hard to be normal for the Winchesters that eventually I not only started believing it, but I actually became normal? Whole?

I lifted my distressed eyes to Sam’s, and the small, supportive smile he replied with broke down those last few bricks in my walls. I slid my hand out of his, only to close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his shoulders. His strong arms came around my back, and he hugged me tightly to his body. My face was buried in his neck, and I could feel him and Dean doing that silent Winchester communication over my shoulder, but I didn’t mind it like I had last night with Crowley.

“You know,” Sam whispered in my ear, “If I’m so certain that you’re a good person and we’re only friends, think about how sure Dean is.”

Extracting my face from his neck, I kissed Sam on the cheek and pressed my forehead to his. “Thank you, Sam.”

I didn’t believe him. Not all the way, at least. But I felt like maybe I’d just taken the first step towards reconciling how I viewed myself to the person I’d actually become between the two timelines. Sam had handed me the tools I needed.

But facing Dean right now seemed like climbing Mount Everest. I’d been a bitch to him today. We both said hurtful things.

But he still wants to marry you, a timid voice whispered in my head. And that was enough for me to climb off of Sam’s lap and sit back against the wall by Dean.

“Hey, Y/N?” Dean said softly, getting me to twist my head around to him. He offered a half smile. “We’ve both got a lot of shit to work through. But I still love you too.”

There it was again. I Love You.

I scooted over until I was right next to him and my arms were wrapped around his waist. That didn’t seem to be enough for him because next thing I knew, his hands were gripping my hips and he’d lifted me onto his lap so we were chest to chest. The thin ice we’d been skating on all day suddenly felt stronger underfoot when he wrapped his arms around me and held me so close that I could feel his heartbeats.

Behind me, I heard Sam let out a deep breath that matched the way all of my tension seemed to seep out of every cell in my body. It had been exhausting to put up my guard for so long. To push Dean away when all I wanted was to pull him closer, just like this. But I had been wrong, and admitting that let my lungs stop constricting so much.

Admitting how I felt about Dean was different than accepting it. Just like knowing about the other timeline was different than experiencing it. I wasn’t completely convinced that I was wrong to try and stop Sam and Dean from taking the drug. But I couldn’t keep pretending that I had the high ground. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t. But now that they knew, I had to admit that it wasn’t all bad. Having these shared memories that didn’t belong in this timeline wasn’t all bad.

So maybe admitting my feelings for Dean wouldn’t be all bad either.

“I love you too, Dean,” I mumbled into his shoulder, finally saying the words that I’d kept in for so long. He tightened his hold on me for a moment before easing his face out of my neck and curling his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, holding me in place so I couldn’t escape his eyes.

Not that I wanted to.

“We’re good, right? No more pushing me away?”

As scary as it was, I shook my head. “Only when it’s too hot in the summer and the AC is broken.”

He cracked a smile at the memory of the time he and I went on a hunt without Sam. We’d been excited to have a few days where we didn’t have to sneak around. Of course that would be the one hotel room that didn’t have AC. I’d ended up pushing Dean off the bed in the middle of the night because he couldn’t stay on his side and it was way too hot to share body heat.

“Deal,” he said, sealing the deal with that cliché kiss.

It took Sam a few times clearing his throat to get us to break the kiss. “We’ve still got some other things to talk about.”

Right.

Crowley.

Timelines.

I slid off of Dean’s lap, but he kept me firmly anchored to his side with an arm around my shoulder. He sure was taking this not letting me go thing seriously.

“What’s there to talk about? We’re staying here. End of discussion.”

“I think we need to look a little deeper,” Sam said carefully, knowing that Dean and I would not like that. “Not necessarily to change your minds, but so that we have better arguments when Crowley calls than end of discussion.”

It made sense, but I couldn’t let the way he said ‘change your minds’ go.

“Sam… Don’t you think we should stay here?”

He pursed his lips and clasped his hands in front of him. “I want to say yes. Staying here would be easier. But the easiest way isn’t always the best way.”

“Sam.” Dean’s tone told me that he thought Sam was out of his mind. “Mom and dad are alive over here. What more is there to think about?”

“How about the Titans, for one?”

And that’s what I was scared of. That the Winchesters would remember what we were fighting in the other timeline and want to go back and save the day.

It turns out that the Titans from Greek mythology decided that now was a good time to come out of hiding and battle each other for, how did they put it? Something about gaining control of the heavens over the Earth, the air in the sea breeze, and the currents moving the ocean water.

Whatever. Family drama. Let them sort it out.

“It’s not actually the Titans,” I tried to argue, but I knew that Sam wouldn’t hear of it.

“It’s their kids. Practically the same thing. Look, apparently you told Dean that you can’t pick and choose what you consider when making decisions, right? Well, you can’t forget this.”

“I’m not for—” Dammit. That was exactly what I was doing. “Sam, what can we possibly do over there? It’s the goddamn Titans. You handled Lucifer. You handled the Darkness. Yeah. But that was only one deity at a time, really. And for Amara, you needed Chuck’s help. These… these kids of the Titans… There’re over a dozen and they’re all fighting each other for the world in that timeline. It’s like their parents died and left them a will, but all of them want everything. It’s just family drama.”

Sam sat forward with his elbows on his thighs and eyes directed at me. “So you want to just give up?”

“I want to be happy! Don’t we deserve that? After all we’ve been through? After all you’ve been through, don’t you deserve family dinners with your whole family? Don’t you like seeing Dean so relaxed and carefree? So successful? And you get to stay in one place. You have a house, right? You’re a professor. You’re shaping the minds of young adults who are just so excited to change the world.”

“We can change the world over there, too,” he pointed out.

This time Dean piped up. “Mom and dad are alive here. They can help us. We have Bobby and Ash and Charlie and Kevin—”

“And they can handle this timeline,” Sam cut him off. “Guys, this timeline has people who can save the world. And they’re all upstairs. But the other timeline? It’s just Jody, Donna, and Cas waiting for us.”

“This is why I didn’t want you to take the drug,” I said in a flat voice.

“Because you wanted to make the decision for all three of us?” Dean asked quietly. “You didn’t want us to have any say in our lives?”

I know I just promised not to push him away, but the anger and annoyance I’d been feeling towards him for so long came right back with his words. He said that he wanted to stay here too. What was the big deal?

“Because… Because I wanted to be the one to protect you two for a change. You’ve always looked after me, even when I was a bitch to you. But you guys are so skilled at everything that you don’t need me to look after you. I wanted to be the hero for once.”

I refused to look at either of them. Admitting weakness was horrible, but people’s reactions? Even worse. I just kept my eyes on my knees and figured that it was a good sign that Dean hadn’t hugged me closer in sympathy or pushed me away in disgust at my admission.

“Y/N, you have to know that we aren’t heroes—“

“Now it’s my turn to call bullshit, Sam. You two are heroes. You’re the best damn heroes that any timeline could ever ask for. Wanna know why? Because you’re the freaking Winchesters. You can kill anything. You got God and his sister to talk things out. You’ve saved so many people and you’re sacrificed yourselves so many times. And I know that if you went back to the other timeline, you would find some way to kick those Titan’s asses. So yeah, you guys are heroes whether you feel like it or not. And that’s what I didn’t want.”

“You… didn’t want us to feel like heroes?” Sam asked slowly.

Yeah, yeah. I didn’t want them to feel powerful and confident and that probably made me a horrible friend. But I. Just. Couldn’t. Take. It.

“I don’t want you guys to go all hero and jump right into that other timeline.”

“Because you won’t come with us,” Dean finished my thought, obviously remembering my argument from… yesterday? Was it really less than twenty-four hours that I’d had that discussion with them, begging to not take the drug?

“Yeah,” I mumbled, realizing that I had been wrong. This wasn’t me being a hero. This wasn’t me shielding them from these memories like a good friend. This was me being selfish.

I wanted Addy and the Winchesters. I wanted it all.

Didn’t I deserve that?

“Well, I don’t know if we’ll have a choice,” Dean said. Sam and I both turned to look at him. “After I woke up, Crowley said something about how there’s something special about you. He’d met with me dozens of times and never got his memory back. But when he met you in the office, it was like you opened the floodgates.”

“So maybe Y/N is the only way back?” Sam thought out loud, not seeming to like the way the words fit on his tongue any more than I did.

Were they saying that I held their futures in my hand? I had the power to veto their decisions? If they made the final decision to go back, did that mean that I could force them to stay here with me?

But what kind of person would that make me?

“It’s just a thought. Maybe Crowley knows more,” Dean rushed to say as if he sensed where my thoughts went.

“Then I guess we talk to Crowley,” I forced out around the cobwebs in my throat.

“I hate that,” Dean growled, but Sam just nodded. A few minutes later, Sam agreed that we were all good and he called Bobby to get us out of the panic room. I walked upstairs in a daze, wondering if they were right.

Was I special? Could I control if they stayed or went back to the other timeline?

And if I could, would I?

NEXT CHAPTER

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rememberstilinski · 8 years ago

Text

rings of fire || stiles stilinski

word count: 4876

warnings: mentions of cheating, angst

request: hiiii i'm such a big fan you're such an inspiration to me! could i get a request where the reader and stiles are married and have a son and stiles doesn't really help her and is constantly helping the pack and at work and what not and shows her and her son no attention? the reader confronts him one night when he comes home late and finds out he was cheating, so she leaves and sleeps at lydia's so then stiles goes and tries to win her and his son back? sorry i it's complicating i love you so much

author’s note: happy easter (to those who celebrate)! i hope you guys all like this, thank you to @ninja-stiles for helping me with a couple things!

masterlist

coming soon

Being a parent wasn't easy in any sense of the word.

Parents told their children their whole lives raising a child is not easy. It was quite possibly the hardest task a human being could be faced with. But when the opportunity came along, it was an amazing experience. You have an unconditional, unwavering, undeniable love for your child. And the experience is even more amazing and magical when you're sharing that life with your soulmate. Your one true love.

Stiles and Y/N we're spending theirs together. They were raising their son together. Just like they did everything. Those two had a perfect, modern life. Stiles went to work at the sheriff's station every day, working as a deputy until his father retired and handed the job down to his son. Y/N, by choice, spent the day caring for their three month old son, John. John Scott Stilinski.

Y/N was perfectly happy content with spending every single day with one of the people she treasured most in the world. Granted, she missed the life she had before. Being able to go shopping or spend the day with Lydia, Malia, Kira, and Allison; having a clean house, going to work everyday. But spending her days with John and spending the nights with him and Stiles were the highlights of her busy life.

Stiles was great with John. Even when she was pregnant, he focused on her and their baby completely. He skipped pack meetings and was sometimes late to work because she was craving a burger from In-N-Out or some cookie dough ice cream. Whatever she needed, Stiles was there to provide her with it. His love for their child only intensified by hundreds when he was born. When he saw John for the first time, Stiles could've sworn he fell in love. He'd never known of a love that strong, other than the love he felt for his wife. Every night, Stiles woke up with Y/N to help take care of John. Many of their mornings started waking up together in the surprisingly comfortable rocking chair next to the crib. It was all perfect.

But then things started changing. Stiles suddenly seemed less interested in being at home every night. He would come home late from work almost every night. It would've been fine if it was just half an hour late, but Stiles would be gone for over an hour. Y/N noticed that Stiles was going to more pack meetings than ever. Sure, he cared about Beacon Hills with his whole heart, that's one of the reasons he wanted to be a cop, but something about all these pack meetings were weird. There was no way that there were that many problems in Beacon Hills.

Y/N couldn't pin down what had changed Stiles, even after nearly ten years of being together. In all honesty, she was scared to learn the truth. Terrified would probably be a better adjective to use.

It was another night of being up with John, waiting for Stiles to come home after work. It was nearly midnight and Stiles gets off of work at ten thirty. She was in the nursery, John’s head in the crook of her shoulder, small whimpers coming from his mouth and traveling to her ears. Her hand patted his clothed back softly, the cries dying down slowly but surely.

“I wish Daddy was here. He's so good at putting you to sleep, John.” Y/N mumbled, pacing around the dimly lit room. She figured something that Stiles did when trying to put the baby to sleep would work. Singing his song.

“Cold bones. Yeah, that's my love.” Her voice lowly sang in perfect harmony. “He glides away, like a ghost. Does he know that we bleed the same? Don't wanna cry, but I break that way.”

“Cold sheets. Oh, where's my love? I'm searching high, I'm searching low in the night. Does he know that we bleed the same? Don't wanna cry, but I break that way. Did he run away, did he run away? I don't know. If he ran away, If he ran away, come back home. Just come home.” Her voice broke at the very last lyric. She really did miss Stiles and she was singing about him. Her love.

However, the singing did work. John was finally asleep, cute little baby snores coming out of his small, pink lips. Relieved, she gently laid his body on the mattress, pulling the thin blanket Ms. McCall had made for him over his small body. She smiled when she saw him finally at rest. He looked a lot like Stiles did when he slept. They both slept with their lips slightly parted, long eyelashes against their defined cheekbones.

The day had been long and exhausting, and Y/N was more than ready to get some sleep. She exited the nursery after putting on a lullaby that would keep him asleep for at least a couple hours. She flicked off the lights and left the door cracked open. As she stepped into the hallway, she almost missed the sound of the front door opening. “It's about time.” She mumbled, eyes drooping tiredly.

Instead of walking downstairs to greet her husband, she walked down the hall and to their shared bedroom. She was already in pajamas, some yoga pants and a thin cardigan over her camisole tank top, so all she had to do was brush her teeth. Stiles had walked into the room just as she wetted her toothbrush after putting on toothpaste and began brushing. He was alarmed to hear movement and his eyes were widened when he saw her.

“I thought you would be asleep by now.” He mumbled, his inner dad coming out so he wouldn't wake the baby.

Y/N continued brushing. “I just put down John.”

“Why was he up at this time?” Stiles asked obviously concerned. Y/N spit out the toothpaste, rinsing out her mouth with water and patting her lips dry.

“He can't sleep if you're not here. And frankly, neither can I.” She told him as she walked past him.

“Y/N, I had a-”

“A pack meeting. I get it. I just wish you were here with us like you used to be.” Y/N sighed, sitting on her side of the bed and pulling her legs up to her chest, arms wrapping around them.

Stiles’ face fell. “I'm sorry, baby. I really am. Tell you what, tomorrow night I will get home on time and you, me, and John will spend the whole night together. I promise.” He sent her a reassuring smile. Y/N nodded with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He unbuttoned his deputy shirt and shrugged it off before pulling off his white undershirt. Y/N noticed something strange. Her head tilted, eyes squinting to get a closer look. There were dark marks on his chest and they looked like bruises. “Stiles, what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have bruises on your chest. What happened?”

Suddenly, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “I, uh. Um, Parrish and I had a hard work out the other day. No biggie.” He lied right through his teeth. Y/N noticed this. She had spent enough time with him to know exactly when he was lying to her. She stood up and walked over to him.

Y/N quirked an eyebrow. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I-I'm not.” Stiles rushed out. He hurried to cover his chest with the white t-shirt that was still in his hands.

“Show me your chest.” Y/N mumbled, but he didn't. “Show me your chest, Stiles.” Her voice more stern this time. Defeated, he slowly lowered the covering and looked down. Her fingers ran over the marks and she immediately noticed what they were. She'd left many on his body before.

But these; these weren't her markings.

Tears immediately took their place in her eyes. An uncomfortable gulp in her stomach as she tried to speak. “Please tell me these aren't what I think they are.” Stiles didn't answer and she knew she had her answer. Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to keep a loud sob from escaping.

Her tiny voice broke as her worst fears were being realized. She shook her head slowly in disbelief. But before she knew it, everything was making sense. “No.”

“Before you say anything-”

His wife cut off his sentence. “How long has this been going on?”

“Y/N, listen to me.” He panicked. His gut seemed to twist with guilt and self hatred. What had he done?

She backed away from him, tears clouding her vision. “This is what you've been doing? The late nights. The pack meetings? This is what you've been doing?”

Stiles didn't know what to say, so she continued speaking. “I feel sick right now.” He stepped towards her, extending his hand to grab her. “Do not touch me.”

“Baby, please let me talk.”

Y/N ignored his statement. She crossed her arms over her chest. He'd never seen her so upset or angry and he hated himself for doing this to her. “Do I know her?”

“No, she's just some girl from work.” Everything Stiles said was piercing her heart. Each word felt like an actual stab in the back.

“Well I hope she was a good enough fuck to waste all of this on!” And with that, she stormed out of the bedroom.

Stiles hurried and followed her out. “W-where are you going?” He asked, tearing beginning to roll down his cheekbones.

Y/N didn't answer, but instead walked into John’s room to see him stirring, a sign that he was on his way to waking up. Even through everything that had just happened, she hoped they weren't what had woken him up.

“Please, talk to me. We can work this out. I'm begging you, just talk to me.” Stiles pleaded. Y/N grabbed John from the crib and held him to her chest.

“I'm not staying here.” She whispered, the pit that was in her stomach seeming to deepen. She tried her best not to sob, but there was no energy in her to attempt to not cry.

He immediately began shaking. And suddenly he felt like his lungs were collapsing in his chest. His heartbeat started beating faster, as if it was going to start imprinting its image into his ribcage. “N-no. Please, don't leave. I'm sorry.” He followed her down the staircase. “Just stay, I'm begging you. Please, stay and we can talk.”

She grabbed the keys and diaper bag off the console table next to the garage door, still holding John in her arms. He was awake, but thankfully not crying. “I can't even look at you right now, Stiles. If I do, it'll just break my heart.” She sobbed. They entered the garage and Y/N opened the car door, putting John in his car seat.

“Where are you going to go? I want to make sure you two will be safe.” He was losing the two most important people in his life. Stiles had royally messed up and he couldn't even remember why he's starting having sex with that woman in the first place. He loved his wife. He loved her in middle school, high school, all through college and he still loves her.

“I don't know. Lydia's maybe. Anywhere is better than here.” She shut the door softly. Her eyes didn't look up at him because she was hurting enough as it was, looking at him made everything worse.

“When can I see you guys?” Stiles looked at her.

“I don't know, Stiles. I really don't know if I want to see you again.” She admitted, her own heart breaking at her words. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and let the rest of his tears roll down his face.

Stiles sighed and opened his eyes back up, hand running through his hair. “I'm sorry. I-I love you, Y/N.”

Instead of replying, she got in the car and put on her seatbelt, opening the garage. The car started and with one last look at her broken-hearted husband, she left not knowing if she was ever coming back. On the drive to Lydia’s, all she could do was cry. Her heart was broken. Broken beyond repair. Suddenly, she realized she just left her whole life. The father of her child. She left her husband. The man she'd loved her whole life. What was going to become of her and Stiles?

She'd finally arrived at Lydia’s apartment and she grabbed the diaper bag and John, asleep in his car seat. The night was silent, except for the crickets. Y/N hurried to the front door, knocking three times. A few moments later, the door swung open to reveal the strawberry blonde in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and messed up hair looking exhausted.

“Y/N? It's late, what are you doing here?” She asked, leaning against the door frame with squinted eyes.

“I'm sorry, Lyds, I didn't realize I was interrupting anything.” Y/N sighed. Lydia looked at her best friend’s state and she realized something terrible had happened.

“What happened? Why are you here?” Lydia questioned, concerned to see her with swollen eyes and her child at twelve in the morning.

Y/N choked on a sob. “I didn't have anywhere else to go.” She said, sounding completely and utterly weak and broken. After the words left her mouth, she let out a cry and Lydia could've sworn her heart broke. This was her best friend and it hurt to see her in such a way. Lydia pulled her inside the apartment. Y/N set the car seat on the ground and wrapped her arms around her best friend, crying into her shoulder.

A guy came into the living room, shirtless. “Babe, what's going on?”

Y/N pulled away and let Lydia handle the situation. “It's a girl emergency. I'm going to have to rain check tonight. Sorry.”

The guy looked between Y/N and Lydia, realizing this wasn't a situation he should be bothering. “I understand. I'll see you tomorrow, Lydia. And I hope what ever happened gets resolved in the best way.” He said, putting on his sweatshirt and placing a kiss on Lydia’s cheek before leaving for the night.

“What happened?” Lydia asked, sitting on the couch as Y/N grabbed John.

She walked to the couch with her sleeping son in arms and sat down next to Lydia. John’s ear was pressed against her chest, arms underneath his tiny body. “Stiles. H-he, um. He… he's been cheating.” Y/N whimpered.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Lydia exclaimed, the tiredness she had completely gone and replaced with anger.

Y/N nodded slowly, not believing those words came out of her mouth. The whole situation didn't seem real. It was as if she was dreaming. And she wanted it all to be a dream. She wanted to wake up and see Stiles laying next to her living in the perfect, happy life they have-used to have. But she knew it wasn't a dream. She counted her fingers in the car, in dreams you have more fingers, she had exactly ten fingers.

Lydia rubbed her best friend’s hand reassuringly. “Well, you are more than welcome to stay here, you know that.” Y/N looked up to see a gentle smile resting on Lydia’s plump lips. “I can put his playpen in the guest room and you can stay for as long as you need. I'm here for you, Y/N.”

Y/N’s voice shook, salty tears still pouring from her irritated eyes. “Thank you, Lydia.” She looked down at her son to see him still sleeping. In all honesty, it was hard to look at him. He looked exactly liked Stiles and it sent a pang in her heart to think of him.

Later that night, she laid in bed, John sleeping next to her in the playpen she'd brought over here for when her and Lydia spent time together. It was impossible to sleep that night. The bed was uncomfortably cold, her heart was in pieces, and she felt as if she suddenly didn't know how to breathe. All she could think of was Stiles. The way he pulled her into his chest with his face nuzzles into her neck and the scruff on his face tickled her skin. Or how he would trail kisses on her shoulder and neck, but the thing was he didn't do it in a lustful way, he did it all with of love and adoration.

Even though they'd been going through a rough patch the past few weeks, it was nice for him to come home and show her attention and care. Sometimes she'd even hold him in her arms, Stiles being the little spoon. He'd hold her hands up to his mouth and kiss her knuckles gently. He would sing her to sleep or tell her stories. He was an amazing husband and an even better father.

When John was born, Stiles was the first person to hold him. He held him before the doctor did. Stiles didn't stay up with her when she was pushing, he was down there ready to hold John and do whatever he could to help, the doctor even consented to it. Stiles told her of when he first laid eyes on John. He looked past all the gross stuff on him and only saw the beauty. He fell in love with the baby boy instantaneously. Y/N could remember Stiles telling her that when he saw John, he had never felt a love as strong as he did with him. Of course, Stiles loved his wife, with all his heart, but there's something about having a child that makes you rethink just how much you can have love one little person.

Every night, Stiles would stand in the nursery and cradle John in his arms. He traced every detail gently on his face with his slender fingers. He'd run the tip of his finger over the small lips on John’s face, he'd kiss the moles, and he'd lean his head against his son’s very gently. Stiles couldn't get enough of the baby. He always told Y/N that he hated leaving John just as much as he hated leaving her. He couldn't stand being away from either of them longer than he had to.

But was that still true? I mean, he was willing to cheat, did that mean that he still loved her? She had no doubt him loving John, but what about her? What about their vows? Did those sacred words even mean anything anymore? He was so willing to throw away their love on some meaningless sex with some stranger and that hurt more than she could even explain. There was only one question running through her mind.

Why?

Why did he cheat? Was she no longer enough to satisfy him? Sure, they haven't had sex since before John was born, but they were both so busy and there was no time to even fit in a quickie. Stiles had never had sex with anyone else but Y/N, maybe he got bored. Or perhaps he just doesn't love her anymore. It was a complete mystery to her and she didn't know what to think.

Everything just felt like the world was ending. Did this mean she was leaving Stiles? Could they even get through this? They got through a shitty high school career but was it even possible for them to get over this and move on with their lives? It hurt to think of what he looked like, to remember how his pillow had his smell, or how his little snores were far from annoying.

Sighing, Y/N turned over looking at the wall to her left. Her hands held each other underneath the pillow she was laying on. She buried her nose into the pillow case before she remembered that there would be no trace of Stiles there. No little drool marks, no warm, inviting smells, and no Stiles. She closed her eyes and for the first time that night let out a painful sob. One that shook her soul in an excruciating way. Her head turned into the pillow, the fluffy object quieting down the sobs she was letting out because she didn't want to wake the baby next to her.

The door opened slowly, dim light peeking into the pitch black room. Y/N looked to see Lydia Martin in the doorway, her expression painful and sympathetic. Lydia left the door cracked and crawled into bed with Y/N. She laid her head on the white pillow next to her best friend's. The strawberry blonde nodded, signaling her friend that it was more than okay to cry.

Y/N face broke. Her eyes swollen and red. Lydia pulled her friend into her arms, the Y/H/C girl laying her head on Lydia’s chest, arms wrapping around her torso. “It’s okay. It'll all be okay.” Eventually, she grew tired of crying and tears just stopped coming out. Lydia didn't leave. She stayed with her best friend the whole night, not once thinking about leaving.

The next couple weeks were filled of nothing but hurt. Y/N couldn't go back to that house. She couldn't see Stiles. She needed time and she didn't know how long it would take for her to go back. It seemed that she never would at this point. Lydia gave her clothes to borrow since she only had some pajamas. Stiles has been blowing up her phone, making every effort to come and see Y/N and John, but she ignored every call and every text. The voicemails were left unlistened to because it would only bring more pain.

But today was the day, she needed to go home. It felt terrible to invade Lydia's space like she had been even though she constantly reassured Y/N that all was fine and she could stay there until she thought it was okay to go back home. Lydia had gone to work and Y/N was still at the apartment. She'd began folding John’s clothes and putting them in the diaper bag as he laid in his car seat, playing with his fingers like they were the most interesting thing in the world. These days, he was the only one that made her smile in even the slightest way. Y/N folded the clothes Lydia had given her to borrow and placed them in a basket that would be in Lydia's bedroom. The apartment was clean because that was all Y/N had to entertain her.

She packed up her things and drove home with John in the backseat, cooing. Finally, she pulled into the garage and saw Stiles’ jeep. She was hoping to not run into him, maybe he was out with a friend. Y/N grabbed John and left the diaper bag in the car. John was still cooing and it was the cutest thing ever. She walked in and examined the kitchen. It was still spotless, just as she left it. A few bills sat on the counter along with a basket of clothes. However, walking into the living room was a completely different story. There was a pillow and a blanket scattered on the couch. Beer bottles clattered around on the coffee table, a couple picture frames next to the glass.

Y/N sighed, fighting back tears that she was so desperately trying to keep from falling. She tiptoed up the wooden stairs, creaks sounding every now and then. John’s door finally came into sight and Y/N continued walking towards it. Pushing open the door, there was someone in the room. Stiles was sitting in the rocking chair, holding a stuffed teddy bear wearing a Met’s jersey. He looked just as bad as Y/N did. His face was stained with tears, his hair a bigger mess than usual, and he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. His head popped up when he saw his wife and child. He stood up, still holding the toy in his shaky hands.

“Hey.” Stiles rasped out and attempted to wipe away the tears.

“Hey.” Y/N patted John’s back softly as his eyes started drooping in a sleepy way.

Stiles kept his distance from her, not wanting her to leave again. “Um, w-what are you doing here?”

Y/N sighed and walked closer to the crib, which just so happened to be next to where Stiles was standing. “I just felt like I needed to come back. I didn't like bothering Lydia anymore.” She told him as she laid the baby down in the bed. Once he was settled comfortably, she turned to Stiles and crossed her arms over her chest. “I also felt like we needed to talk.”

“Y-yeah. Let's go downstairs?” He offered to which Y/N accepted. They both took one last look at John before exiting the room. The two of them walked downstairs and sat on the couch, keeping their distance from one another. The silence between the couple was nearly deafening. A thick, itchy coat laid over the both of them and it was the most uncomfortable feeling. Neither of them knew what to say. What does one say in a situation like this? How do you approach this kind of thing?

Thankfully, Stiles was the one to break the silence. “How have you been doing?” He asked. Y/N looked at him in a way as if she was asking him if he was serious. “Sorry, bad question.”

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked. Stiles nodded in approvement. “Why did you do what you did? Do you not love me anymore?”

“What?! No, of course not. That's not at all why I did what I did.” His eyes widened. He turned towards her quickly. “I love you. I will always love you.”

“Then why? Stiles, give me an answer.” She whimpered, eyes watering.

“Honestly, I don't know why I did it. I can't give you answer because I don't know why, Y/N. I did it because I was selfish.” His noticeably glossy whiskey eyes pierced into her Y/E/C ones.

“Did you get bored of me?”

Stiles shook his head. He brought his left hand to hers, rubbing her knuckles. “No. I didn't get bored of you. I'll never be bored of you.”

Before Y/N could reply, a cry was heard over the baby monitor and they both knew that it was John. She went to get up and get him, but Stiles stopped her from doing so. “I've got him.” He said, Y/N nodded and relaxed where she was sitting as Stiles stood up and went to grab their child. He came back down less than a minute later with John laying against his chest, a blue pacifier in his mouth. Stiles took his spot next to Y/N once again. John began huffing as if he was going to cry again, but his father started talking to him.

“Shh, it's okay. Don't cry, daddy's here.” Stiles whispered, placing a kiss on the infant’s head.

Y/N loved seeing this side of Stiles. She loved seeing him as a father, seeing him act like this and take on such a responsible role. “He missed you, you know. He hasn't slept well without you.” She mumbled, bringing her fingers to smooth down the baby’s soft hair. “I haven't gotten much sleep either.”

“I don't sleep well without either of you, you know that.” Stiles looked at her. His free hand grabbed hers, intertwining their fingers. “Are you leaving again?”

“A part of me wants to leave and never see you again. You broke my heart and I never thought you would hurt me in such a way.” Y/N said. Stiles’ face fell. “But a bigger part of me wants to stay and work this out because I love you, Stiles. And I love our family and everything we've built together. I made a vow, for better or for worse. I took those to heart and I keep my promises.”

“I'm sorry for everything I've done. I hate myself for hurting you and I know you hate me for it, too. Don't even try to deny it. I won't blame you if you leave because what I did was unforgettable. I love you, Y/N. You need to know that.”

“Do you remember what I said to you when John was born? We go through this together. Rings of fire. We do it together, Stiles. No matter what.”

Stiles sighed. His eyes roamed over her face as hers did the same. “I love you and I don’t deserve to have you.” Y/N laid her head on his shoulder, keeping their hands intertwined.

“I love you, too, Stiles.” She mumbled, not knowing what their future held. Things were different now, but that didn't change the love they had for each other. They walked the line as they did everything, together.

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