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mint-moon25 · 11 months ago

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Things I Hate To See As An Interior Designer #Interiordesigner #designha...

TUMBLR - LOUSY - NEED

T-MOBILE - PREMIUM - PLAN

$80 - MONTHLY - 5 G - EVERY

MINUTE - 2 - ACCESS - SANAZ

VIDEO - I'VE - CHOSEN - 4 THE

DEMOCRAT - CHEERLEADERS

AND - FAMILY

UPGRADE - DEMOCRAT PARTY

DEMOCRATS

ACROBATIC - CHEERLEADERS

INSTEAD - OF - $25,000 HOURLY

BIBLE - 'DANGEROUS - AND YES

PERILOUS - TIMES'

IN - USA - AND - WORLDWIDE

NEW - HOURLY - WILL - BE

$500 BILLION - X 2 - HOURLY

TAX - PAID - 25 HRS - LOCAL

EACH - WEEK - I - COULDN'T

FIND - WITH - SMARTPHONE

SANAZ - VIDEO - HAVE - 2 YES

SEARCH - BUT - IN - LIBRARY

WAS - ABLE - 2 - FIND - WITH

SMARTPHONE - WI FI

BOOST MOBILE - MAIN

LIBRARY - BUT - LAPTOP

USES - MY - MOBILE HOTSPOT

AND - TETHERING - AND - ITS

NOT - GREAT

BOOST - MOBILE

ADD - MORE - GIGABYTES

$10 - MORE - 2 - $25 - FRM

AMAZON - PRIME - WHILE

EVERYONE - IDENTITY

THEFT - GETTING - YOUR

ADDRESS - BIRTHDAYS IN

FUTURE - THEY - WILL NEED

SOCIAL - SECURITY

DEAR - DEMOCRATS,

US - BUSINESSES - KOREAN

JAPANES - AS - GOVERNMENT

THEY - KNOW - HOW - 2 STEAL

KILL - AND - DESTROY

DEMOCRAT - PARTY

4 - ASSASSINATED IN OFFICE

4 - PRESIDENTS - DIED IN OFC

OFFICE - THEIR - US - HISTORY

OUR - SYSTEMS - WILL PROVIDE

DEMOCRATS

DE - MEANS - 2 - DESTROY

EVERYTHING - WHAT IS NEEDED

2 - DESTROY - DE - MEANS - 2

DESTROY - WHAT's - OUT THERE

BARBIE - WORLD

ITZY - HELLO KITTY - WORLD

AESPA - CHARLIE BROWN MALL

ALL - 3 - LOCATIONS

WORLDWIDE - ASIA - EUROPE

QATAR - ARAB - NATIONS

DEAR - KOREAN - GIRLS,

OUR - VIRGINITY - PROTECTION

PROGRAM

YOUR - LOUIS VUITTON

FIREPROOF - WATERPROOF

DON'T - CLEAN - WITH WATER

VENEZUELAN - MIAMI - POLICE

FORMER - FIRST - BILLIONAIRE

PRESIDENT - IN - US - HISTORY

COMPLETED - FOLLOWING

COUNTRIES - DENIED ENTRY

VIOLENCE - VIOLENCE

1) CUBA

2) HAITI

3) VENEZUELA

4) COLUMBIA

AND - MORE - NO - LONGER

ALLOWED - UNITED STATES

2 - HAITI - BLK - MALE

POLICE - OFFICERS WANTED

2 - SHOOT - ME - AND - MY

AIR - MAT - AND - TENTS

BOTH - SAID - WALMART

SELLING - ILLEGAL ITEMS

HAITI - BLK - MALE POLICE

SAID - AIR MATS - LIKE YES

HEROINE - ILLEGAL IN - USA

WALMART - ILLEGAL STORE

HAITI - POOREST - COUNTRY

IN - LATIN - AMERICA - AND

POOREST - CARIBBEAN

COUNTRY - CATHOLIC BIBLES

CHRISTIAN - VUDU - AND VUDU

THEIR - BIBLE - STUDY - THEN

THEY - ASK - DEMONIC SPIRITS

2 - FILL - THEM - UP

DEAR - KOREAN - GIRLS,

ONLY - MALE - DEMONIC

SPIRITS - THEY - LIKE EARTH

WOMEN - USE - 2 - GET - THEM

PREGNANT - THUS - U - SAW IN

HISTORY - 19 FEET - IN - HEIGHT

GIANTS - SCIENTISTS - HAVE

PROVEN - 40 DAYS - 40 NIGHTS

EARTH - WAS - FLOODED

DEMONIC - SPIRITS - CAN NO

LONGER - IMPREGNATE - YES

DEMONIC - SPIRITS - USUALLY

PREFER - WOMEN - AND - YES

NERDS - NOT - BARBARIC

BULLIES - BUT - THEY YES

ENTER - GENTLE - MALES

BARBIE - WORLD

3 - GROUPS - ERASE - YOUR

FINGERPRINTS - 4 - FREE 2

DEMOCRAT - PARTY

DEMOCRAT - CHEERLEADERS

YOUR - BAGS - POLICE WON'T

B - ABLE - 2 - OPEN - EVEN

WITH - COMBAT - KNIVES

PROTECTING - YOUR - CASH

JEWELRY - YOUR - CARDS 2

BARBIE - BANKS

ITZY - HELLO KITTY - BANKS

AESPA - CHARLIE BROWN

BANKS - ALL - CARDS ARE

NON-TRACEABLE

BUT - TRACES - WHO - IS

TRACING - THEM - BIG TIME

WE'RE - EMPLOYING - 18 AND

OLDER - BOUNTY - HOUNTERS

AMATEURS - 2 - PROTECT OUR

OWN - RESTRAINING - ORDERS

FREE - FREE - GETTING

LEGAL - PERMIT - HARVARD

LAW - OVER - 300 YEARS - 2

FREE - RESTRAINING ORDERS

AIR - WILL - BRING - THEM TO

ANOTHER - AREA

DEMOCRATS - TONGUES

DEMOCRAT - CHEERLEADERS

TONGUES - ONLY

SINGERS - ONLY

BARBIE - WORLD

ALL - 3 - PROVIDING

NEW - IDENTITIES

NEW - BIRTHDAYS

WESTERN - ASTROLOGY

ME - APRIL - ARIES

YOU - WILL - HAVE - NEW

BIRTHDAYS

AUTHORIZED - GIVERS

NEW - SOCIAL SECURITY NOS

EVERY - YEAR - ALL - ISSUED

SOCIAL - SECURITY - NOS

ILLLEGAL - YOUR - BOSSES

EMPLOYERS - LANDLORDS

HAVE - THIS - ILLEGAL

IDENTITY - THEFT - 2 - KILL

YOU - AND - TAKE - YOUR

PLACE - MOST - CURRENT

PHOTOS - BUT - DIFFERENT

WE'RE - ISSUING - PAPER

AND - GLOSSY - THIN YES

4 - SOCIAL - SECURITY TO

LOCK - IN - YOUR SIGNATURES

THEY - WANT - 2 - FORGE - THE

SUICIDE - LETTER

KIDNEY - BLADDER

$9,000 - EACH

TENTS - CAN - B - RUN OVER

BY - LOCAL - POLICE - 2 KILL

FEMALES - AND - PREGNANCY

USA - ILLEGAL - MISOGYNY

HARM - ABUSE - AND MURDER

OF - SMALL - BREASTED - YES

FEMALES - HARM - ABUSE

AND - MURDER - OF - GIRLS

NO - VISIBLE - BREASTS

HARM - AND - ABUSE OF

LARGE - BREASTED FEMALES

THEY - DIDN'T - KILL - THEM

'MILK - THE - COWS'

SAG - THEIR - BREASTS

NO 1 - NON-VIRGIN - MEN

NO 2 - NON-VIRGIN - WOMEN

ILLEGAL - MISOYGYNISTS

WILL - TELL - PRUNE BAG

LISA - LOOKS - LIKE - AGE 175

I'M - OLDER - WILL - GIVE HER

CASH - AS - WE - HAND - OVER

KEEPING - SOS - RADIO - THAT

IS - COAST - GUARD - WILL YES

PARK - VEHICLE - REAL - EASY

UNDER - OPENS - AUTO BRIDGE

THEN - STEP - THAT - EASY

MIAMI RIVER - LANDMARK

FOLLOW - SOUND - JUST

ATTACH - 2 - FENCE - LOTS

OF - FENCE - IN - MIAMI FR

PARKING - LOTS - THEY

HEAR - SOUND - BECAUSE

100 MPH - WINDS - FOGGY

GRAYISH - NIGHT - TIME ITS

FOGGIER - AS - THEY HEAR

SOUND - SEE - RED - LIGHT

LESS - THAN - 10 MIN - 2 FIND

ME - SW NORTH RIVER DR

AND - SW 2 ST - HISPANICS

AND - BLKS - SCREAMING NOW

IN - PARKING - LOT - 7:!7A EST

AS - COAST - GUARD - GETS ME

MY - THINGS - BUT - THEY - YES

RETURNS - US - UNLIKE POLICE

SPORTS - STADIUMS - THEY

HAVE - THOSE - FOLDABLE

SO - MANY - SLEEPING THERE

AS - THEY - STEAL - ALL THEIR

THINGS - CORRECTION - WHITE

AND - BLK - MALE - FINALLY

WOKE - UP - THEIR - TARPS

SLEPT - ON - SIDEWALK SO

THEY - WOKE - UP - STREET

BELONGS - 2 - NEW COMERS

PUBLIC - NUISANCE - 7:!9P EST

BUS 77 - JUST - PASSED - BUT

WHEN - ALL - SCREAMING AT

EACH - OTHER - 5A - NONE OF

THEM - NO ONE - WOKE - UP

2 C - WHAT's - GOING - ON

PUBLIC - NUISANCE - SHOT

2 - DEATH - IN - EUROPE - 4

DANGER - 2 - KIDS - AND

PREGNANT - FEMALES

SCENARIO

DEMOCRATS - NEW - IDENTITY

IF - THEY - DESTROY - BAGS - 2

SO - U - CAN - SIGN - UP - FOR

T-MOBILE - 5G - PREMIUM

PLAN - WE - WILL - REIMBURSE

YOU - BY - DOUBLE - TAX - PAID

ALL - THOSE - EXPENSES

SO - AS - THEY - CALL YOU

ANOTHER - NAME - WE'RE

PREPARED - AS - UPS STORE

AND - POST OFFICE - NEEDS

YOUR - PAPER - DEMOCRAT

VOTERS - INFO - CARD - TOO

WE'RE - PREPARED - 4 - USA

PEOPLE - WORLDWIDE

PAPERWORK - IDENTITY

WE - GIVE - AWAY - FOR THEY

ARE - DOING - IDENTITY THEFT

2 - KILL - U 4 - YOUR - MONEY

DEBIT - CREDIT - CARDS - TO

GET - YOUR - BANK - MONEY

JESUS - IS - LORD

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girlmeetsliv3 · 5 years ago

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Lilies of the Valley II

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

Chapter Two: Tears of the Virgin Mary

“In Victorian times, lily of the valley meant a “return to happiness.” In Christian legend, Eve's tears as she was expelled from the Garden of Eden turned into lily of the valley.”

Release Date: 05/22/20 @ 7 pm

previously ~ next

YN was beginning to wonder if all Jungkook had in his closet were suits, or if that was a part of the pack uniform. It wasn’t even ten minutes after YN finished speaking to him, that the alpha stormed in threatening to tear the place down, by his side a lean figure with styled blonde hair that she recognized as the infamous Park Jimin. I should stop referring to them by their maiden names. The second Jungkook saw YN he rushed towards her, hands gripping the bars tightly. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Jimin stood off to the side, watching their interaction. As much as YN disliked them, at least they’d come to the rescue.

“Thank you for coming.”

Jungkook nodded quickly, his eyes roamed every bit of her body frantically as if to make sure she was alright. "We'll see to it that the charges against you are dropped," Jimin spoke, he sent a polite smile YN's way. The beta had a calming effect on YN because if he was here Jungkook would restrain himself - theoretically of course. The guard by the door seemed stumped, "no charges are being pressed on either of them." This caught both Jimin and Jungkook's attention as they turned toward the cop. Before either of them could say anything Rosé finally spoke, truly exasperated.

“So you were simply going to send us to the boarding house with no reason?!”

YN swore under her breath. Jungkook however flew into a rampage, heading straight for the cop. Thankfully Jimin stepped in, holding Jungkook back by his hand. “Go get your superior right now.” The tone in which Jimin spoke was far more terrifying than the look in Jungkook’s eyes. The guard nodded and hastily walked away.

“Fucking genderists.” YN heard Jimin mutter under his breath, he pulled Jungkook towards him and leaned into his chest. “Call Hobi, he’ll know what to do.” Jungkook nodded and climbed up the stairs, but not before sending YN a small smile. If it was meant to be comforting it did the opposite. YN sighed, leaning back against the wall before casting a glance at Rosé. Her eyes were filled with questions that YN didn’t know how to answer; she couldn’t even begin to try. Rosé was bound to misunderstand like everyone else or worse - pity her - YN couldn’t lose her only friend too.

"I'm sorry you had to be here for so long," Jimin was now by the cell door, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her belongings. "I believe these are yours." They'd been confiscated when the two of them had been imprisoned. YN stepped forward, thanking him as she reached for her things. Their hands brushed and YN was amazed by how soft they still were. Jimin had always been soft with her, understanding even if she was nothing but cold to them. Something flashed in his eyes but it happened so quickly YN missed it. Minutes later, Jungkook came back downstairs followed by officer Hwang. The man looked smug, as he took in the situation.

“See I knew you had an alpha. No need to lie.”

YN would've ripped his throat out right there and then if she wasn't sure Jungkook would do it for her. Instead the young alpha marched towards Jimin, lips turned down into a scowl. "They won't let them leave, not both of them." At this Jimin frowned. YN saw Rosé visibly tense when the officer got near her cell, "Your family has been called, your brother is on his way to pick you up." For some reason, Rosé's eyes filled with panic. YN wanted to question her on it, but Hwang turned to her instead.

"Unfortunately you're unregistered so you'll be taken to the boarding house after all." YN felt faint as if all the blood was being drained from her body. It was when she swayed that Rosé rushed to her side trying to reach her through the bars. "You've got to be kidding me?! It's a partial bond, she doesn't have to be registered." Jimin was now screaming at Hwang, who seemed to enjoy having riled the beta up. Hwang leaned forward as if to mock the height difference between Jimin and him. Immediately Jungkook stepped forward, a low warning growl emitting from the center of his chest.

"I don't make the rules. You can either register her or she'll be taken away. The choice is yours."

The choice was theirs because in the society in which they lived in YN would never have a choice. She stood to lose too much if they took her away, but she stood to lose much more if she accepted. YN wouldn't simply be registered as Jungkook's omega - he wasn't lead alpha, it wasn't his pack. She would become a pack omega forced to uproot her life and abide by the rules established by her mates. It wouldn't simply be under society's rules that she'd be mated but under the eyes of the law. There would be no escape, not unless another person was willing to be her mate and even then, it would be immensely looked down upon if it was even allowed.

Rosé reached through the bars and placed a hand on YN’s cheek, caressing her softly. As if trying to give her strength. The look she sent her was hopeful as if to say things will get better. YN wasn’t sure they would. Her whole life had been one unfortunate event after the other ever since presenting, this would surely be the same. Still, at least there was hope if she was claimed. The boarding house only meant certain death, either to her spirit or her physical self.

“We’ll register her.”

“You do know what that entails don’t you?”

“Don’t treat us like fools or you can kiss your career goodbye.” Jungkook was entirely in Hwang’s face, but the older man only laughed.

“Whatever you say boy.” The officer turned once again towards YN, sending her a sly wink that had chills crawling up her body. “Good luck with this one, once his rut rolls around.”

They had waited until Rosé's family picked her up, though YN could see hesitance in her friend's eyes she quickly jumped into her brother's car and sped away. YN had originally planned to ask for a ride back to her place, but it seemed that she was now stuck with the two men. It was Jimin who took the initiative to speak, "We'll give you a ride back to your place." Jungkook looked like he was about to say something, but Jimin shot him a look and the boy quickly became quiet. It seemed that even though Jungkook was the supposed 'dominant' one, his hyungs held full reign, which wouldn't stray too far from what she remembered.

The ride was awkward and tense, to say the least, YN thought the two men would ride shotgun while she sat alone in the back. When the driver pulled up to the curb, she realized that was not to be the case. It was a thirty-minute drive from where she lived to the police station, fifteen if one sped but it seemed the driver was taking his time. Likely ordered to do so by his patrons.

"How have you been YN?" Jimin asked, turning in his seat to look at her properly. Jungkook was seated beside him, glancing out the window. YN couldn't help but feel Jimin had noticed how tense she was around the alpha, so he'd done this to make her feel secure. Sadly his efforts were wasted, YN wouldn't feel safe even if there was an entire continent between her and the men. "I've been better." That was as polite a response as she could offer up. Jimin seemed to take it, smiling at her. "We've been looking for you. We wanted to meet and discuss things, but you moved away and didn't tell anyone." YN didn't see what they had to discuss, she'd long forgiving the others for the part in which they played. She was trying to forgive Jungkook, even if she wasn't there yet. But YN could never forget. That moment would forever be imprinted in her memory and body until she eventually died.

"I just don't see what there is to talk about." She folded her hands in her lap, glaring down at them. "What's done is done." Jungkook scoffed but didn't say anything else.

Jimin moved to lay his hand on top of hers, “We don’t see it that way. You’re a part of us. You always will be.” Yeah right.

YN withdrew her hands from under his, crossing her arms though she noted Jimin’s hand remained placed on her lap. “Thank you for helping me and my friend out back there. You didn’t have to and I appreciate that.”

“Of course, we’d help you. You’re our -”

YN noticed they were near her apartment and quickly cut him off, “Thank you for the ride. I’ll contact you if anything else happens.”

Before she could jump out of the moving vehicle Jungkook said something that made her freeze, “You live in this dump?” Jimin sent a glare his way, but the words had already tumbled out of his mouth.

"It's the only place I can afford to live. It's the only place I can live in." Her tone was sharp, barely above a whisper as she wondered how much more she would have to endure.

"Right," the car had finally pulled up right in front of her apartment. "See you soon." YN exited the car, slamming the door. She practically crawled up the stairs, dreading having to have lost so much potential sleep. Her senses become hyper-aware when YN notices her front door is open, clearly hearing sounds coming from inside. Remembering that someone had broken into Rose's and with Jungkook's snarky remark at the forefront of her head, she prepared herself for whoever or whatever was inside.

Rosé stood in the middle of her apartment with all her belongings, the second her eyes met YN she broke down. "I'm sorry your landladies let me in." YN rushed to embrace her in a hug, perplexed at everything that was occurring. "Ro, please tell me what's wrong. I know that something is and I can't stand seeing you like this." Gently, YN pulled Rosé towards her bed arranging all the pillows and blankets to resemble a nest. YN wasn't big on cuddling, but she knew her best friend needed her. It took hours for Rosé to finally calm down, but now it was YN who was even more anxious. Her friend was never like this. Rosé was the bubbly of the two, the sunshine that accompanied her clouds.

“What’s wrong?”

“My brother’s alpha propositioned me.” Her tone was so dull and lifeless; resigned.

“What? Why would he do that?” YN had never met Rosé’s family, but she’d heard enough from Rosé herself when her brother finally found a mate. ‘He’s a good man. A kind one.’

It’s always the nice ones. Rosé sniffled, “He didn’t even offer to mate. He simply told my brother that I was getting too old and that it was his responsibility to take care of me. My brother thinks it’s because he can’t have pups.”

“I’m so sorry Ro.” YN hugged her tightly, rocking her gently. “That guy is an asshole and I’m sorry your family ever had to cross paths with him.”

“T-they said,” sobs were threatening to leak again but Rosé bit her lip to prevent them from coming out. “I-if I don’t t-then they won’t support me anymore.” That’s why she was here with all of her stuff. Rosé had come from a family of Omega’s, being born to a single mother and then placed into the foster system wasn’t easy. It was her older brother who’d she bonded most with and it was he who helped her maintain herself.

“It’s alright, babe. You can stay with me, we’ll figure it out.”

YN would have to move, find somewhere cheaper where she could maintain both of them. Rosé's job couldn't cover rent and YN couldn't possibly ask her parents for more money. The issue was finding a new place: very few places in Seoul rented to unmated omegas, even fewer to multiple. They would all just direct them to the boarding house and if they tried to hide, then they'd be arrested. YN had already seen this morning that the system was set up against her, not that she didn't know that already.

There was a knock at the door and YN had to pry herself away from Rosé promising to be back soon.

There stood her two landladies outside the door. Well fuck. “Hi, how can I help you?” YN stepped outside and tried to close the door as much as possible. “Oh we just came to check up on your friend, YN. She looked wrecked.” Though her landladies were nice, they weren’t once to be trifled with. Both of them were sticklers for rules and YN could already guess why they were here. “I’m sorry her apartment was broken into while she was sleeping and her families out of town.”

“Oh what a shame.” Spoke the taller of the two, Min So, her brow raised as if she didn’t believe a word YN had just spoken.

"Ah I heard something about that on the news. Terrible crime rates these days. Well anyhow there was something we wanted to talk about." Ivy's tone was always polite, bordering on being too nice as if it was all an act. Min So was the one who spoke now, YN wondered if they took turns speaking; the way twins sometimes do. "We wanted to remind you that your rental contract is almost up and that we don't rent to multiple omegas or mated ones." YN's eyebrows shot up at that statement. Wondering how exactly they'd found out so quickly, it was then that YN remembered that mates are public records.

From their faces YN knew that the jig was up. She was beginning to question what she'd done in her past life to merit such bad luck. YN felt like she was the protagonist of Shakespearean tragedy forced to undergo trials and tribulations until her inevitable death. Casting one last glance at the door behind her YN let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in, "That's exactly what I wished to speak with you about."

“No, absolutely not. I’ll find a place to live.”

YN groaned falling back on the sofa, she'd spent several minutes trying to make Rosé see reason. "It's fine Ro, it's not like I can even live here. I'll find someplace else and I refuse to let you go back out there knowing that predator is waiting for the perfect opportunity.” Finally her best friend relented, “but where will you go?” Rosé intertwined their hands together, she was big on skinship, having been raised as omega it was the only way she knew to express affection.

“I’ll find a new place.”

“With your mates?”

It wasn't her fault, she didn't know. YN simply nodded, not wanting to add more stress onto her friend's plate. She would figure it out. She always did.

“How long do you have to move out?”

“Three days.”

“Well then you better get packing.” It was said in a teasing tone, but that didn’t stop the dread from setting in. “I can start on dinner while you call your mates, yeah?” Yeah like that’ll be easy.

Getting in touch with them wasn't difficult, she had Jungkook's number in her phone and a business card with their work on it. It was building up the strength to make that call that took her the entirety of the day and a bit of the morning. Jungkook had been extremely pleased when she'd called, though it fizzled out a bit when she asked to speak with Jimin - privately. Still the alpha obliged, Jimin seemed surprised but his tone implied that it was rather how soon she'd called rather than that she had contacted them at all.

Now YN sat near the front of a cafe, facing the window waiting for two of them to arrive. She had asked, as cautiously as she could, that Jungkook was not present or any other alpha's for that matter. Jimin obliged, saying he understood her hesitance and that he wanted her to feel as comfortable as possible around them. That would likely never happen. Truly she didn't know who he would show up with and it worried her. She knew most of them from school, having all attended the academy where elementary, middle, and high were each a few steps away from each other. However, they didn't know her at least not until the incident that created this mess.

YN took a sip of her now watered down tea, hoping to calm herself down before she simply ran out of the cafe. From where she was seated YN saw a Bentley Bentayga pull up to the front of the building before the passenger doors opened from which Park Jimin and Min Yoongi stepped out. Their walk was full of swagger and it attracted the eyes of everyone around them. Even if Beta's had a muted scent there was a different allure to the two of them: something that made people want them even if they knew they could never have them. They faced forward when they walked, heads held high as if they had only ever seen the sky and that ahead - never the ground.

Min Yoongi turned his head over so slightly and YN, fearing that he might look her way and their eyes would meet, looked down at her trembling hands. Here goes nothing. The little ring of the bell attached by the door announced their arrival. Shortly YN heard the scrapping of the chairs until Yoongi and Jimin were seated in front of her waiting.

“Hello.” It was all she could muster, she forced her downcast eyes up and met their stifling gaze. YN nearly trembling in her chair.

Jimin's lips turned upward, "You called?" There was something in his eyes, expectancy perhaps. Though YN didn't want to dwell on what he might be expecting. "Did you run into trouble?" It had been a while since she heard Yoongi speak, she'd forgotten how mellow yet rough his voice was. Back then it had been more high pitched too, but that was an expected change. Yoongi had his arms crossed but leaned forward ever so slightly. It made her uncomfortable. Having them so close, even in a public setting, made her uncomfortable. YN shook her head, she opened her mouth to talk but Jimin spoke before she could get a word out.

“How’s your friend?”

“Um, Rosé is good...kinda.” The look the two betas gave her was enough for her to launch into explaining the situation. After she was done, they both looked at each silently communicating with each other. “So...you need a place to stay?” Jimin questioned, repeating what she’d just said moments prior. YN nodded, “I know that you guys have a lot of connections, so I was wondering if you knew anyone who was renting or someone to room with.” YN knew it was unlikely but she had to try and they were her last hope.

Yoongi shook his head, “That’s ridiculous. You’re staying with us.”

Taglist will be in the comments!

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years ago

Text

Unexpected (Modern!Ivar x reader x OC)

A/N: This is my contribution to @waiting4inspiration‘s Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge. Hope you’ll like it, hun 💖

Please, stay safe, it’s far from over. Last night, at 10:30pm, my eldest daughter's teacher called me. Two teachers positive. School (about 1000 kids) closed until further notice.

Prompt in bold.

@inforapound 💋

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

The gif (🤤) belongs to @therealcalicali 🌷

Summary: You're about to spend a quiet evening with your friend Vero when the doorbell rings. Ivar...

Warnings: Implied FxF sex ; implied threesome.

Words: 2229

You pull back from Veronica's embrace just as the doorbell rings and your friend gives you a questioning look. "Did you invite somebody?"

Shaking your head, you frown slightly, getting up off the couch. Handing her the remote, you sigh. "Might as well go see who it is."

Squinting through the peephole, you let out a gasp of surprise before opening the door. "Ivar," you greet your unexpected visitor, "everything okay? What are you doing here?"

A sly smirk on his lips, Ivar shrugs. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thought I'd come to see you. This isn't a bad time, is it?" Raising an eyebrow, he points behind him with his thumb. "I can leave if you want me to. It's no big deal." He then tilts his head to one side as his eyes wander over your body. "Though it would be a shame…" He says cockily, glancing down again to your tiny shorts.

"Ivar!" Suddenly hyper aware you are basically standing in the hallway of your apartment building, half-naked, you turn beet red, fumbling with the bottom of your shirt and pulling it down in a fruitless attempt to hide your upper thighs. "You know I'm not alone, right?"

As he just nods, you furrow your brows, an idea popping into your mind. "Did you get my letter?"

§§§

Ivar (Dear Ivar, My dear Ivar, I don't really know how to begin… You know what? I'll stick to 'Ivar', everything else sounds too weird!),

I bet you're wondering why I'm writing to you. And if I know you, you're probably thinking it's so twenty-century-ish. You are right but guess what? I don't care.

§§§

Looking down at you with a wry smile on his face, he shrugs and takes out of his jacket pocket a sheet of paper, on which you can clearly see your neat handwriting. "It would seem so, don't you think?"

His amused tone does nothing to calm your nerves and you wince, your heart speeding up until you feel it pounding in your throat. "And?" Biting your lower lip, you hold your breath, waiting for his answer.

"Well..,” he chuckles, "I'd say it's so twenty-century-ish."

Rolling your eyes, you heave an exasperated sigh. "You know that's not what I meant." Ivar keeps quiet as he locks his sparkling eyes on yours and you can't help but insist. "Please, Ivar, tell me what you think. Seriously!" You cringe at your begging tone, a dead giveaway that his opinion matters more than you'd like.

"You're no fun, Y/N!” Ivar pouts for one second, then seems to realize how tense you are. "I don't understand why you didn't tell me earlier,"he frowns, "but I'm glad you eventually did."

"You're not mad?" That's really a load off your mind and you're immediately breathing better.

§§§

I have something to tell you. Actually, I tried several times, but to no avail. Hope it'll be easier in writing…

You know about my friend Veronica, right? She was my roommate during my Erasmus semester in Spain, five years ago. I told you she was coming to visit me this week. That part is true, but I wasn't completely honest with you. There's more to it…

§§§

Ivar's face softens as his hand grazes yours, your fingers intertwining for just one moment. "Why would I be?" Giving you a sweet smile, he cocks his head questioningly.

"I… I thought that…" Sputtering, you inhale deeply. "I didn't tell you the whole truth, did I? I… thought you'd be upset…" Running nervously a hand through your hair, you look down, shy and uncomfortable.

§§§

I know we're not in an exclusive relationship, yet I know what we promised each other. That's why I feel awful about that… Because of course, the longer I wait, the harder it gets…

§§§

For two years, Ivar had been your lover's younger brother. Hvitserk and Ivar got along well, but even though they were family, they didn't run in the same circles. Different friends, different interests. Actually, during those two years, Ivar was always with his fiancée, a very blond, very pretty and very venal fucking bitch you couldn't stand. Freydis. Even her name rubs you up the wrong way.

Anyway… So, for two years, you had only occasionally met Ivar, mostly at family gatherings. And then, ten months ago, both of your love lives had been shattered, almost simultaneously. As you randomly found out Hvitserk had never stopped sleeping with Margrethe – Ivar's and Hvitserk's older brother's wife – Ivar caught Freydis fucking the gardener of the Lothbrok's estate. It had brought you closer together, as you spent nights drinking, cursing your former lovers and crying over your broken dreams, each of you drowning in each other's sorrow. You ended up finding comfort in each other's presence, and one thing led to another, you began sleeping together, rarely at first, more regularly for a month or two.

From the beginning, things had been clear between the two of you. No exclusivity, no commitment, as you were both emotionally scarred and totally not ready. However, an important rule had been established from the start: no lies, no secrets, no dirty tricks. A complete transparence at all times, in order to preserve your friendship – yes, you had become friends – at all costs.

Ivar giggles. He fucking giggles. "Love, that's a tiny white lie, an omission, you know? I can live with that. What I don't get is, why were you so afraid of telling me?" No mischief in his eyes. Ivar seems genuinely curious, prepared to hear your answer, whatever it is.

Relieved yet a bit embarrassed, you bow your head, feeling suddenly childish. Why didn't you tell him? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Plus you didn't do – and are not doing – anything wrong. So yeah, why? "I'm… I'm not sure, Ivar. I suppose… I thought… Maybe…" Chewing on your cheek, you suck in a ragged breath while collecting your thoughts. "I didn't know how you'd react. We never talked about… this kind of things, you know…"

§§§

Okay, here goes. When I met Veronica, I was single and so was she. We were young and carefree, always up for anything. Vero was bubbly, self-confident, straightforward and quite fascinating. And so, so beautiful.

I don't remember how it happened the first time.What I do remember, however, is the softness of her skin and the smooth roudness of her breasts. (How wonderful a woman’s breast is! Right, guess you know that.)

After that first time, there were others. Many others. In the end, my Erasmus semester had been peppered with a lot of kissing, touching, caressing… And so much tenderness… That was fantastic.

From then on, whenever we see each other again, and as long as we're both single, we don't resist. Not a chance. Why should we?

Well, here we are! Now you know my "big secret.” I didn't have the guts to say it in person, that's why I chose to write. Because even though you and I aren't really in a relationship – or not in that kind of relationship, and you know what I mean – we promised to be fully honest with each other, and I didn’t feel like I had been.

Because I never told you about Vero, or the fact that I'm bisexual. It's obviously what I am. Quite frankly, I don't know. Maybe. Possibly. Truthfully, I don't care. Labels shouldn't matter, don't you agree? To me at least, they don't.

Anyway, now you know. Please, try to be understanding and non-judgemental. And forgive me for not saying anything earlier. I'll be glad to still be your friend, you know?

Talk soon,

Y/N.

§§§

"We never talked about this kind of thing?” Ivar mumbles, repeating your words. "It would have been pointless. There was just nothing to talk about!" His nostrils flare and he clearly struggles to restrain a growing anger. "Fuck Y/N! I can't believe you think so little of me. It is well known that Sigurd fucks more men than women, isn't it? And I'm pretty sure my father was once in love with a man. A fucking Christian priest! You really thought I was that closed-minded that you playing stink fingers with a girl would shock me?"

Quirking your brows, you shrug, wincing slightly. "I… Sorry Ivar… I thought… I don't know what… I… huh… I was… scared… or maybe… I… Shit!" Stopping your rambling, you pull yourself together, inhaling deeply while rubbing your sweaty palms up and down your bare thighs. "Guess I don't know you so well. After all, we sleep together and sling mud at our unfaithful exes, but that's it. There are a lot of things we've never talked about and yes, I was scared. Yet, I should have known better, you're probably right. I've been silly, haven't I?"

A half-smile tugs at his lips, and he nods. "Yes, you might say that."

You can see his face is still tense, but his tone, much to your relief, is playful, which gives you the courage to ask another question. "Still friends, then?"

"Of course. I wouldn't be here otherwise." Reaching out, his right hand cups your face, his thumb stroking lightly your cheek. Ivar is sometimes so soft, it's disarming.

"I'm glad." You're not lying. Ivar is important to you, has a special place in your life. You would have been disappointed if he was less accepting.

Wrapping your fingers around his, you stand on your tippy toes, giving him a quick peck right under his cheekbone. "Thank you. And now…,” you clap your hands, your face breaking into a wide grin, "are you finally going to tell me what you're doing here?"

"I will," Ivar begins before shifting his weight from one foot to the other still leaning heavily on his crutch, "but won't you let me in?" Gesturing to his legs, he groans, tilting his head. "Or are you going to leave the poor cripple on your doorstep? How rude!"

You burst out laughing, rolling your eyes. "You know using your disability that way is a shame?" Still, you can't help but feel guilty when you see him stifling a wince, trying not to show his pain. "Okay Ivar, come in." Stepping aside to let him in, you scratch your head, confused. You still don't know what he's doing here.

***

The awkward small talk is unsettling. Frowning, you take your seat on the couch next to Veronica after getting Ivar a beer, who is now comfortably seated in an armchair.

"So, what is it you really want, Ivar?" You ask growing annoyed at this point. As much as you like him, you'd rather spend your night in Vero's arms than chitchatting with her and your current "bedfellow.”

Ivar doesn't open his mouth for a long time, an impish smile lingers on his lips. Tilting his chin up, he finally clears his throat. "Kiss her." His hoarse, bossy voice – his sex voice – catches you off guard, sending shivers through your spine. "Excuse me?" You murmur, your hand gripping Vero's.

"That's what I want. That's why I came. Kiss her." As he suggestively licks his lips, your eyes widen, a familiar warmth spreading in your lower belly. Knowing that Vero is anything but bashful, you give her a meaningful look, pleased as you can see desire in her dark, dilated eyes. Immediately leaning forward, you brush your lips against hers, your tongue parting them almost instantaneously, invading and claiming her mouth. Soft moans escape your lips as Vero deepens the kiss and you close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment.

"We can do better than that," Vero mutters, her teeth nibbling on your earlobe, "if he wants a show, we'll give him a show. It would be rude to deny him, don't you think?" Without waiting for your answer, she slips a hand under your shirt, gently pushing it up, running her fingertips over your breasts as you wrap your arm around her waist, bringing her closer.

Catching your attention, Ivar lets out a low, appreciative growl, his expression unreadable. He's aroused, the bulge in his pants is obvious, but does he want more? Remembering that time when you sent Vero a pic of him, and how she was screaming over the phone about how hot he was, you know she wouldn't mind. She wouldn't mind at all.

"Care to join us?" You blink at him, making sure he can see your fingers sliding under her panties. When he doesn't answer and looks unsure, a faint frown creasing his forehead, you slowly get off the couch, kissing Vero one last time and then cross the room. Kneeling down in front of him, you reach out, putting your hand on his groin and squeezing his hard cock. You can hear Vero stand up, "Yes Ivar, join us please.” You make sure you whisper so that only he can hear you. "I promise, you won't have to take your pants off if you don't want to."

His nod brings a beaming smile to your face and you grab his hand as Veronica joins the two of you. Brimming with excitement, you lead them up to your bedroom, wordlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

This is unexpected and definitely not how you planned to spend the night. But you won't complain. It's a thousand times better.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @milkkygirls @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @didiintheblog @xbellaxcarolinax

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jawritter · 4 years ago

Text

The Arrangement

Part 12

Summery: You are a young girl that was raised in a small church in Dallas, TX. One of the only churches left in the state that still practices arranged marriages. When your betrothed ran off to California you thought you'd escape the fate you were trained for ever since a small child. Now upon the death your parents your fate seemed to be inescapable as he's returned, and is ready to take you as his bride.

Book Warnings: Arranged marriage, loss of virginity, smut, unprotected sex, angst, language, suicide attempt, battles with anxiety, struggles with mental illness, age gap (about 11 years), I think that’s it, chapters will have warnings of their own!

Chapter Warnings: Heavy trigger warning!!! Suicide attempt!! Angst, caught in your own head, feelings of abandoment, depression, grief, this one is rough guys.

Word Count: 2377

A/N: This book is a book about Christian and church based arranged marriages, I would like to take this moment to say that I DO NOT have ANYTHING against the Chirstian faith, and mean absolutely no harm to anyone! Especially Jensen’s family! This is a complete work of fiction, and should be treated as such!

Beta’d by the amazing @deanwanddamons who was awesome enough to do all this for me! It was a lot of work, and she deserves all the praise for it!!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

It had been three days since your fight with Jensen.

When he slammed the bedroom door after you had slapped him, he got his keys, walked out the door, and did not come back.

You didn't know where he'd gone.You didn't try to contact him . If the truth were told, you hadn't really moved from your spot in your now cold, and very lonely bed, unless absolutely necessary.

The air around you hung in a deafening silence . Who the hell knew silence could be so loud?

You didn't bother turning on theTV.You hadn't bothered to eat, and only drank a little bit of water. You’dsurvive, it just wasn’t there anymore.

You were too big of a coward to take your own life, though the thought had crossed your mind.

If you were dead, Jensen wouldn't have to be burdened with you anymore. He could go back to what he wanted to do. Not like there would be anyone around to miss you anyway.

Still, you were too big of a coward to 'pull the trigger'. So you just laid there, and prayed for death to find you on it's own. Prayed that you'd drift off to sleep, and never wake up again.

It didn't happen.

Every morning you woke up to a fresh, and even deeper pain; and the realization that Jensen probably wasn't coming home.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, you stared around the room. It was so cold, but you didn't care. It matched how you felt on the inside. You had cried until you didn't have any tears left to cry. Until everything in and around you felt numb.

In most homes, you would walk through the house and see pictures of your wedding day, family, friends; even your parents' home had all those things.

This place had none of that for you and Jensen.

You would see kids toys scattered around in some homes. You and Jensen had no children together, and Danneel had three of his.

This house felt 'lived in'. All your things were there, along with his, but even though it was lived in, it wasn't a home.

It didn't hold the feeling of home the way your parents house had. There were no memories of times with friends, no family dinners, or holidays, nothing.

You had fooled yourself into thinking this marriage with Jensen was a real marriage. Was even stupid enough to let yourself fall in love with him.

Now you were staring reality straight in the face. You had nothing together. You just shared a bed and had sex on occasion.

Getting out of bed, you dragged your way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the sink, you stared at the mirror. You didn't recognize the woman that stood there, staring back at you.

Her eyes almost looked sunk into her skull. She was pale, almost a chalk white color. Her eyes were red and swollen around the eyelids. Her lips were cracked and had been bleeding, probably from lack of food or water. Her hair was an absolute mess.

She looked like a dead person that was to stupid to know they had died. So they were still standing there.

That's what you felt like. You felt like you had died, you weren't really there. You were living, but you weren't alive.

You died the moment he walked out of the door.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw the look on Jensen's face after you had slapped him. Before the guilt could really grip you, the picture of Danneel and him locked at the mouth would flash before your mind, and shot down the guilt.

For a moment anyway.

The eternal war continued to rage on inside of you as you made your way back to the bed, pulling the cold sheets back and crawling in. You closed your eyes and begged whatever God was listening, cause at this point you weren't even sure there was one, to just let you die this time. You couldn't handle another day like this. Another day of crippling heartache, and a loneliness on a scale you could have never imagined existed.

Jensen's POV:

Jensen sat on the back porch of Jared and Gen's house, more than a little drunk. At first when he left the house the day of their fight Jensen had been angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He told her he loved her and she literally slapped him in the face.

That anger quickly turned to hurt.

Rejection wasn't something he was used to. Most women threw themselves at him willingly. That wasn't really it either. What was the real slap in the face was that Y/N didn't trust him, and didn't believe him, not only when he told her he did nothing wrong, but also when he told her that he loved her. That’s the part that hurt the most.

No matter how angry he got, he couldn't deny the feelings he'd come to accept regarding his wife.

He'd picked up the phone, looking down at it, almost willing it to ring. Nothing. So for the hundredth time he called. It rang and rang. Nothing, only voicemail.

Slamming the phone down on the table, pulled at his hair harshly before he downed the rest of the scotch in his hand. He was well on the way to drinking himself into passing out for the third night in a row. It was the only way he could sleep without seeing the hurt look on Y/N’s face when she looked up at him from the kitchen table that day.

Jensen heard Jared pull the chair away from the table he was sitting at, and sit down next to him. He didn't bother looking at him, just continued to stare at the empty dark pool in front of him.

Jared didn't really care for Y/N. He always thought she was just using his friend for his money, but right now, looking at his best friend and watching him literally try to drink himself to death, he wished more than anything she'd call and ask him to come home.

He may not like her, but Jensen obviously loved her, and he didn't like to see him this way.

"Jensen, what if I send Gen over there, check on her, get a feel for things? You can't keep hiding out here drinking man. You gotta fix this."

"I don't want Gen going over there, and making this shit worse. She doesn't know you guys, and the last time she was here you didn't exactly go out of your way to make her feel welcomed." Jensen mumbled, alcohol loosening his tongue to the point he wasn't worried about sparing feelings.

"You’re right, I didn't, and I'm sorry for that. I was just looking out for you, but Jay, man, if you love her that much you're not going to be able to sit here, and drink this mess Danneel has created away. You filed a restraining order, and you have the paperwork to prove it. Go show it to Y/N. Prove to her that it wasn't what it looked like."

Taking a deep breath, Jensen nodded his head. "Okay, yeah I got paperwork now. Maybe she will see I really don't want anything to do with that bitch."

Jensen blinked hard, trying to hold back tears that threatened at the edges of his eyes.

"I can't lose her Jar. I just can't."

Before he could finish the sentence, Jared had reached up and grabbed his friend, pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

"Let's get you some coffee, and something to eat so you can sober up.Then you need to go home and make this shit right Jay, for her, but also for yourself."

Your POV:

Day four of Jensen being gone dawned early for you.

You had woken up once again, much to your dismay. Trudging your way to the bathroom you felt utterly numb, everything in you felt numb, from your insides, working it's way out. You had hit your breaking point. Your body craved Jensen's contact like a dying person craved oxygen, and to be honest you were tired of feeling the way you were feeling.

Thoughts rolled through your mind without your consent.

Was he with Danneel? Was he sleeping with her now? Did he just abandon you because he didn’t care about you anymore? Why didn’t he come home? Why is this all happening to you? Why couldn't’ you have just been more like her? Maybe then he would still be here. Maybe then he could have loved you, the way you loved him.

Ever since your parents passed away, there was nothing in this world left for you that loved you. The church had abandoned you, you had no friends, now you didn't even have Jensen. Walking to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom you searched through whatever you could find to numb the pain. There was nothing. Not even a fucking Advil.

How was it possible to hurt so much, yet be so damn numb? It didn’t even make sense.

Staggering back to the bedroom, you began to search through drawers and night stands. Maybe there was something left that would kill this headache stashed somewhere.

Finally you found your prize. A full bottle of adult Motrin. 100 tablets in all, seal not even broken. Looking at the bottle you turn it over in your hands, taking four of them at once.... Then the thought hit you.

'You’re not good enough for Jensen. Do him a favor, down this whole bottle and go back to bed. Then you will be out of his way. No longer a burden, and out of your own miserable existence.'

Standing there just turning the bottle over in your hands, you weighed up your opinions.

Yeah you were way too chicken to literally shoot yourself. This though, this was easy. Just take the pills, go to sleep.

Your heart ached in your chest. You could still hear the sound of your hand connecting with his face, the sound of the door slamming to the bedroom, then the front door. Everything you've been through, this was it. This was your limit. You wanted out. This was the only way.

Grabbing a bottle of water you start taking fistfuls of pills. You don't know how many you finally successfully swallowed, but you finally got it down to only a small amount of pills left in the bottle when you just couldn’t take anymore.

Grabbing his notebook from the bedside table, and a pen you wrote quickly.

‘I'm so sorry I was a burden to you. You can go be free now. I did love you. I'm sorry you couldn't feel the same.’

Sitting it down next to the bed, you crawled back under the covers, and waited for sleep, or death to take you. There was no turning back now, not even if you wanted to. Grabbing your phone you quickly googled a picture of him. He was smiling, happy. It was before he met you. You were doing this for him. He deserved to be free of you. Free to be happy. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was his beautiful face. That's the way you wanted it....

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

Jensen's POV:

Jensen wanted to come home last night.Only problem was, he couldn't sober up enough, and he knew coming home to try and make things right between the two of you while drunk wasn't the best idea; so he slept it off and took off for the house as soon as the sun came up. Even though he had a pounding headache, and his stomach was in knots he didn’t care, hangover be damned, he had to make this right between the two of you. He couldn’t take the distance anymore.

His heart hammered in his chest the whole way home.Something deep down inside of him screamed something was very wrong, but he shoved it off, doing all he could to convince himself everything was going to be okay.

Pulling up into the driveway, he saw no lights on inside the house. 'She must still be sleeping.' he thought to himself.

Slowly, he made his way out of the door of the car and up the driveway. No sound was coming from inside the house, no TV, nothing. Which was normal while people slept, but something just didn't sit right in him. Something was wrong.

Slipping his key into the doorknob, he unlocked the door and took a step inside the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

The only light in the house was the light coming through the windows. Still,he could see everything was the same as he left it when he walked out of the front door four days ago. His heart started to hammer in his chest loud enough to pulse through his ears.

Walking through the kitchen, he could still see pots on the stove she had taken out that day to start dinner, empty, and untouched. Walking through the bottom floor she was nowhere to be found.

"God please let her still be here." he said to himself as he started to climb the stairs towards the bedroom.

The silence in the house seemed so thick he could cut it with a knife. Something was wrong. Every fiber of his being was screaming it. His breath was coming in short, quick bursts. Fear gripped him in a way nothing ever had before. Reaching the landing, he opened the door to the master bedroom slowly.

The lights were off in the bedroom, but he could clearly see her figure outlined underneath the covers. For just a moment he took a deep sigh of relief. She was just asleep.

Closing the door quietly, he walked over to the side of the bed. Her back was to him, the covers pulled up over to neck. Standing there looking at her he internally kicked himself for not coming home to her sooner.

Reaching his hand out he brushed the hair away from her face. "Y/N?"

Nothing. She must be really asleep. Putting his hand on her shoulder. He shook her in earnest how. "Y/N... Baby wake up.. We need to talk..."

Nothing...

Something wasn't right.

His heart started to hammer in his chest again. He felt like he was taking his breath through a straw. Shaking hard, he reached over and turned the lamp light on by the bed.

The first thing he saw as the light flooded the room was his notepad open, and her handwriting that was on it.

‘I'm so sorry I was a burden to you. You can go be free now. I did love you. I'm sorry you couldn't feel the same.’

At first his mind couldn't compute... Then it started to sink in. Panic grabbing him tight in his chest as he ripped the covers off her, shaking her hard.

"Y/N! Wake up!! Come on baby, please!!"

Putting his head down by her face he could feel no breath coming from her body.

His heart seized up in his chest, shaking her lifeless body in his arms, screaming inaudibly.

He couldn't take the thought that she was gone. It was all his fault, he left her here, he abandoned her, he was all she had, and she took her own life because of him.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket,his eyes blurred as uncensored tears poured down his face. Every breath seemed to come out as a scream.

"911, what is your emergency?"

Jensen tried to make his voice work, but all that would come out was strangled noises and screams. He held her close to him, desperately trying to wake her up.

"Sir, please calm down.. What is your emergency? I can't help you if you won't calm down.."

Taking a deep breath he was finally able to make his voice work in a noise that wasn't a scream.

"My wife.. Please send help. I can't wake her up. I think she's..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Throwing the phone down on the ground without hanging up, he pressed her body as close to his as he could, burying his face in her hair, begging her, God, and whoever would listen that she would wake up for him.

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

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#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles series #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen x reader #jensen x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester #jawritter #x reader inserts #jawritter 1k celebration #the arrangement

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years ago

Text

The Unexpected Protector: Part 3

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Abuse, Domestic Violence, Fluff.

Word Count: 5,003

A/N: HEED THE WARNINGS!!!!!! DON’T COME CRYING IF YOU DON’T!

Part 1 / Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How the fuck are you so damn cute?” Negan, who had changed out of his usual suit and tie into jeans and a Patriots jersey, asked as you headed across the private tarmac toward Robert’s personal jet. You shrugged and looked down at your off the shoulder Tom Brady t-shirt, ripped jean shorts, and black, ankle high, high heeled boots.

“I’m not, but OK.” You said with a shake of your head. Negan’s jaw tensed for a half second and he let out an annoyed breath through his nose as he took your duffle of clothes from you He reached into your dog carrier and scratched Chewie’s head.

“I’ll get you to see that beauty, baby girl. That’s a promise. You ready to go?” You nodded your head and gestured to the jet with a smile. Negan offered you his arm with a smile and gestured to your now ever present body guard to follow.

“Is he always so quiet?” You asked with a glance over your shoulder at Tank. “I don’t think he’s said three words to me in the past two weeks.”

“When he’s working, yes.” Negan said as he followed you up the stairs. “He’s ex military. Stays quiet to stay fucking vigilant. Ain’t that right, Tank?”

“Yea, boss.” The six foot seven man who was built like a linebacker said with a nod as he took a seat in the row behind you and Negan. You smirked back at him and buckled your seatbelt as Jessica, the flight attendant, closed the jet door.

“We’re at five words, now.” You teased as you took your pup out of the bag and set him on your lap. “Alright, so are you ready for the owner’s experience?”

“You’ll only fucking hear me admit this once but I’m like a fucking kid in a Goddamn candy store. But you fucking tell anyone and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes.” You laughed at his horrible Italian accent and got comfortable in your chair.

“You’re secret’s safe with me but you better make sure Mr. Blabbermouth back there doesn’t talk either.”

“He fucking knows better than to share secrets.” Negan said as the plane taxied down the runway and took off toward Massachusetts. You nodded your head as he glanced over at you and reached for your hand.

“Snitches get stitches.” You said as you laced your fingers with his.

“Exactly.”

——

“Well I’ll be damned.” Your Uncle Bobby said with a smile as you headed into the owners box a couple hours before kick off after dropping your bags and Chewie off at your hotel room.

“Hey, Uncle B.” You said with a smile as he pulled you into a strong hug. Tears welled in your eyes for a moment as the man that was the closest thing to a father to you held you tight and rubbed your back since he hadn’t seen you in nearly five years.

“Damn, I missed you, little girl.” He breathed as he leaned back and held onto your shoulders to get a good look at you. “You look so good, sweetheart. So much better than the last time I saw you.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” He pat your cheek once before taking a step back to be introduced to your guests. “This is Negan and that back there is my body guard, Tank.”

“You have a body guard?” Bobby asked with his eyebrow raised.

“I’m divorcing Christian.” You said as you glanced over at him. “Need to prepare myself for the worst.”

“Good point.” He said with a nod as he looked back at Negan. “Nice to meet you, son.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sir.” Negan said as they shook each other’s hands. “You raised a wonderful girl.”

“She’s a pistol.” Bobby chuckled with a nod as he gestured over to the bar. “Give her time, you’ll see it. She was always a damn handful…”

“Thanks, Uncle Bobby.” You laughed as a blush rose in your cheeks. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Says the girl who trashed my Lamborghini into a fire hydrant at three in the morning.”

“That was an accident!” You claimed over Negan’s laugh as you grabbed a glass of wine and a bottle of water as well.

“Yea, an accident that cost me 50 grand to fix.” Bobby laughed as you grabbed a spot at one of the high top tables in the back of the spacious box. “Don’t ever let this woman behind a wheel.” You groaned and covered your face with your hands as the waitress came over with menus.

“Well I will absolutely keep that in mind.” Negan laughed. “What else can you tell me about this troublemaker?”

“Negan!” You whined as you playfully hit his arm.

“Oh son, I could write a book!” Bobby laughed. “Like this one time…”

“This was the worst idea ever.” You groaned as you grabbed your menu to hide behind.

——

“See, this is how you watch a fucking football game.” Negan said quietly so only you would hear his swearing. You smiled and glanced over at him as you set your beer on the bar in front of your seat.

“You having fun?” You asked as you leaned into his side with a smile. He nodded as he continued to brush his thumb across your right knee like he had done the whole game.

“So fucking much. Thank you for this.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He squeezed your knee and rested his cheek on the top of your head for a second before bolting forward in his chair as the Patriots intercepted the ball. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself when his foot started to bounce with nervous energy as Jason McCourty ran the ball back to the end zone. You stood up and a proud smile spread across your face as the entire stadium erupted into a roar for the fourth touchdown of the game.

“Good to be home, right?” Bobby asked as he clapped you on the back. You nodded at him and clapped your hands as Negan put his arm over your shoulder. Instinctively, your arm went around his waist and you leaned into his side to watch Stephen Gostkowski make the conversion kick. Your phone started ringing in your back pocket and you glanced at your smart watch to see who it was. Your eyes went wide as Christian’s number stared back at you.

“What?” You asked of no one as you moved out of Negan’s arm to grab your phone from your pocket.

“No!” Negan said a little harshly as he grabbed your wrist. “Let it go to voicemail. He’s violating the fucking restraining order and that gives you more leverage when you go to court for your divorce.” You nodded your head, set your phone on the bar, and sat down in your chair. Negan turned back toward Tank and you over heard him saying to get someone on the phone before turning back to you. “I’ll be right back, baby girl.” You nodded your head and tried to focus on the game as Negan took Tank’s phone and headed back into the box for some privacy.

“Everything OK?” Bobby asked, pulling your attention away from your phone screen and the voicemail notification that had popped up. You sighed and shook your head.

“Christian’s not gunna make leaving him easy. I kicked him out a couple weeks ago and filed a restraining order for the abuse. I had to change the locks on my house, installed cameras in every room and covering every inch around my house, updated my security system, and I have someone watching my house 24/7. Negan’s… well, Negan’s in a position to help me out and he’s doing everything he can to get the divorce finalized as quickly as possible. But Christian, of course, is fighting it as hard as he possibly can.”

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Bobby said with a shake of his head.

“It’s OK.” You said as you reached over and pat his hand. “I’ve got help. I’ll get out of this.”

“Maybe you should move back to Boston…”

“Ha!” You barked, humorlessly with a smile. “Because Boston totally wants me back. Look, I can promise you without a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Negan can help me. I know I’m in a rough spot right now but I’ll be OK. I have people in my corner now that will make sure of it. Am I scared of what Christian is capable of? Absolutely. But everyone keeps telling me that I’m gunna be OK so I have to believe them, right?” He nodded his head in agreement as he reached over and took your hand in both his.

“If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. I still have a lot of connections in Manhattan and I won’t hesitate to fly down there.” You smiled at him and pat his hands.

“You hate flying, Uncle Bobby.” He chuckled and nodded his head.

“Alright, you caught me. I’d drive really, really fast.” You giggled and pulled your hands back to give your attention back to the game.

“I’ll call you, Uncle B. I promise.” He nodded his head and went back to the game as Negan sat back down next to you.

“Don’t answer his damn calls, OK baby? For me?” He said with a glance over at you as he reached out for your hand and laced his fingers with yours. You nodded your head and squeezed his hand.

“I won’t.” He nodded and gently kissed your forehead before turning back to watch the rest of the game.

“I’ll put an end to all this shit soon. I promise you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What a day.” Negan said as the two of you headed into your hotel suite later that night. “What a fucking day.”

“Welcome to my life.” You said with a small giggle as you bent down to pick up Chewie and the pee pad you had in the kitchenette. “I used to come up at least once a month. Just wait until Super Bowl.”

“Fuck… the Super Bowl.” Negan groaned as he leaned his whole body and stomped his foot. “Baby girl, what the fuck am I supposed to do with you?”

“Walk the dog and come to bed with me?” You turned to look at him with pleading eyes as he searched your eyes. “Please?” You asked before he could say anything. “I don’t… I can’t sleep alone anymore.”

“Fuck, baby girl.” He groaned as he scrubbed his hand over his mouth and gestured to you. “Not the eyes.” You smiled as he nodded his head and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I have some shit to take care of first.” You nodded your head as you grabbed your leash from the counter and clipped it on to Chewie’s collar. One long stroll around the large hotel, and one tuckered out pup later, the pair of you headed up to your suite to call it a night.

While Negan made his phone calls, you jumped in the shower. You were grateful that, with a hair dryer, your hair dried in a matter of minutes. You threw on a pair of cotton sleep shorts and the darkest, most non-transparent tank top you owned. Once you took off your make up, tossed your earrings and bracelets in your make up bag and put your phone and smart watch on their chargers, you turned off all the lights, and headed out of the room for bed.

“And if he still doesn’t have my fucking money, then fucking end him.” You gasped and tripped on nothing as you looked up at Negan’s darkened eyes. He completely ignored whoever he was on the phone with and forced his face to soften no matter how frustrated he was with post game gambling gains and losses. “Sweetheart, you’re OK. You’re safe, alright?” You nodded your head subtly as he hung up the phone and set it on the dresser. “I would never hurt you.”

“OK.” You whispered as he walked toward you. With quick yet slow movements, he reached out to cup your jaw in his hand.

“Baby girl, it’s just business…”

“I know.” You breathed as you leaned subtly into his palm.

“You gotta understand something. Being with me, you’re gunna overhear some shit. Lots of shit that ain’t gunna be fucking pretty. I’m literally as fucking polar opposite of your ex-husband as I can possibly fucking get. But I swear to you, on my life, that you will never have to worry about a single fucking thing with me. No matter what happens, you will never have to be fucking scared again, whether we’re together or not. Now, I’m not done working yet so I’ll take that shit out…”

“No.” You gasped as you reached out and grabbed his white undershirt in your fingers. “Don’t leave.” He searched your eyes for a moment before slowly nodding with a sigh.

“Alright, but just… don’t fucking listen to me, OK? You shouldn’t be fucking hearing any of this shit, ever.” He said with a small smile. You returned the smile and nodded as you jokingly covered your ears with your hands. “Smart ass.” He chuckled as he moved his hand to your shoulder blades and directed you over to the bed. You shoved the decorative pillows to the floor and pulled back the blankets as Negan grabbed his phone and laptop, and set them on the bed. You habitually snuggled in to the side of the bed farthest from the door and pulled the blankets up to your chin.

“Night, sweetheart.” Negan said softly as he took off his shoes and jeans, shut off the room lights, and got into bed in front of you.

“Night baby.” You responded as you closed your eyes. He smiled subtly as he leaned back against the headboard with a small shake of his head.

‘You’re trouble, baby girl.’ He thought as he shook his head and called his lead enforcer back. ‘You’re gunna be so much fucking trouble.’

“Yea.” He said as he laid his hand down softly on your head and began to run his fingers through your hair. “Alright, what’s next on the fucking list?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘She’s Negan’s girl.’ It became your monicker quickly after that weekend. You went from being known as just another socialite in the throngs of people to being the girl of the most notorious, untouchable man in the five boroughs. It was a simple monicker that boosted the self-esteem Christian had spent the past five years of your life tearing down.

You walked into the club with a whole new pep in your step in a new skin tight, low cut, white, collared, halter dress and the most cherry red heels and lips as you could. You nodded at ‘Jerry two-toes’ (a nickname you never, ever wanted to know the origin of) and Mikey, who were standing guard at the bottom of the stairs and headed up to the cat walk with Jade right behind you. The sound of your heels clicking on the metal platform was lost in the loud bass of the music down below and you smiled as you walked past Big Sam.

“Well holy fucking fuck.” Negan said as he looked over from the man he was talking to about who knows what. “Look at you.”

“You like?” You asked as you turned in a tight circle to show off your most recent purchase.

“Fucking love it, baby girl. Jade.” Your friend, who was conflicted about your blossoming relationship with the gangster, waved from her spot by the office door. “You just getting here?” You nodded as you walked over to lean on his desk.

“Spa day ran a little later than I expected. How’s work?” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach with a shake of his head.

“Fucking obnoxious.” He groaned as he pointed to the man sitting across the desk from him. “Dealing with idiots like this fuck who…” You quickly leaned forward and put your hand over his mouth with a small shake of your head.

“Mixed company.” You whispered so that only he would hear as you gestured to Jade with your eyes only. “Not now.” He nodded his head and reached up to lace his fingers with yours.

“Good girl.” He said as he kissed your fingertips. “You go have fun. I’ll be up here for a while.”

“Alright, baby.” You said as you leaned forward to leave a faint, red kiss on his cheek. “Have fun with the idiots.” He chuckled and gave you a light swat on the ass. You flipped your hair over your shoulder and looked back at him with a wink on your way out the door.

“I don’t like it.” Jade said with a shake of her head. You looked over at her as the pair of you walked side by side to the stairs.

“Weren’t you the one that told me that I was lucky that Negan liked me? Weren’t you the one that said I should sleep with him?” She came to a stop at the top of the stairs and sighed as she put her fingertips on her forehead with a shake of her head.

“I did.” She replied as she met your green eyes. “It’s just… look, I love you. I want you to be happy but I’m scared of what dating him could lead to for you. Especially with everything going on with Christian.” You glanced around to make sure no one was close to you, and pulled her a step closer.

“Nothing can ever happen to me.” You said directly in her ear so that no one could over hear you. “Trust me, Negan promised and I looked into it. I can’t be arrested because I don’t know anything. Christian can come at me all he wants but there’s not a damn thing he could make stick. I don’t call shots. Women bosses in the Mafia were phased out fifteen years ago to prevent wives from suffering the fate men can. I’m literally just arm candy along with the rest of the wives. I know it seems unbelievable but I’m safe. I’m untouchable.” You pulled away to look at her with a small nod.

“After everything I went through with Christian, Negan swore he would guarantee that no matter what, I’d be safe. He swore that no matter what, I would never know anything that could land me in jail or in a grave. Trust me, you aren’t the only one scared here with me dating a boss… but I trust him. I trust that he will protect me. I have to.”

“OK.” She agreed with a nod. “Alright, I trust you so if you trust him, so do I. But I know nothing. And I want him to keep Mark out of it as well.”

“You have my word.” You agreed as you laced your arm with hers and headed down the stairs. “Come on, let’s dance.”

——

You knew it was only a matter of time before Christian retaliated but you were absolutely not expecting the retaliation he delivered. You were working out in the gym when your door buzzer buzzed loudly through the entire house. You groaned at having to stop just shy of your two mile run and headed over to let whoever was there you’d be down in a moment. The welcoming smile you stepped out of the elevator with dropped instantly at the sight of two blue police officers uniforms standing on the other side of your red, frosted glass door.

“Boys.” You said a breathily over Chewie’s barking with a nod of your head as you looked back and forth between Jade’s husband, Mark and his captain, Ben.

“(Y/N). Sorry to bother you but… well, we have a warrant.” You cocked your eyebrow at them and stuck your hand out for the warrant as you took a step back into your house.

“What are you looking for? I can save your boys the trouble of tearing apart my house.” Your eyes danced across the page as Mark cleared his throat.

“Two watches. Chief claims you stole them from him. And roughly two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” You swore under your breath and rolled your eyes as you folded the paper back up.

“Didn’t steal them.” You said as you closed your front door, picked up your dog, and gestured them toward the elevator. “I purchased them with my money and kept them…”

“OK, (Y/N). Stop talking.” Ben interrupted as you hit the third floor button and closed the gate to the elevator. “Not another word until you’re with your lawyer.” You nodded your head in understanding as the elevator came to a stop on the master suite floor.

“Can I at least jump in the shower first before you haul my ass in? I’ll make it quick.” You grabbed the two watches in question from their boxes in the top drawer of the dresser in Christian’s old closet and handed them to Ben, who nodded slowly.

“You gotta be quick, OK? And I’m gonna stand out here in the sitting room.” You nodded and looked at Mark with the hint of tears in your eyes as you passed him your fur child.

“Can you go down and feed Chewie? His food is in the pantry and the scoop is in the bag. One even scoop.” Your friend nodded and turned back toward the elevator. You growled to yourself and headed into the bathroom with a shake of your head. “Stupid son of a bitch is never gunna give up.”

——

You could feel your husband watching you from the other side of the two way mirror as you waited patiently and silently for your lawyer to get there with the documents you had told him to get from your house. Your still damp hair was making you shiver in the freezing cold room and you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a sweater to throw on over your plain black t-shirt and jeans. You cursed Christian as well for being so damn ridiculous and petty since the division of property was clearly spelled out in the prenup you were so grateful you had made him sign before you got married.

“So how have you been, (Y/N)?” Ben asked from across the table just to fill the silence with something. You huffed a laugh and nodded your head minutely.

“I’m doing really well, Benny. Probably ten times better than the last time you saw me. How’s Susan doing?”

“She’s doing real well, thanks for asking.” He replied before someone rapped impatiently on the glass behind him.

“Uh oh! Better not talk to the enemy.” You joked with zero humor in your tone as you looked up at the mirror again. You huffed and shook your head as your lawyer, Nathan, finally came into the room with a giant pile of documents in his hands.

“OK.” Nathan said as he dropped the stack of papers on the table and pulled out the metal chair beside you. “So, let’s hear the charges against my client.” You crossed your legs and leaned back in your chair.

“Grand theft…” Ben tried before you simply interrupted him.

“You gunna come in here and get schooled or you wanna hide behind the glass?” You called out. Nathan hissed your name seconds before the door to the interrogation room flung open.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Christian demanded as Ben lurched to his feet. “You fucking thief!” You smiled contently as you reached out and grabbed the stack of papers from in front of Nathan.

“Thief, am I?” You asked as you flipped through them to find the prenup first. “We’ll start with this.” You held up the thick stack of papers and rested your elbow on the table for a moment. When his eyes narrowed, you pursed your bottom lip and nodded as you flipped through to find the page you needed. “Pre-nuptial agreement signed by both of us, right? The one you signed agreeing that we… oh, here we go.” You flipped the page over and slammed the packet down on the table where Christian and Ben could see it.

“We each had a fucking personal bank account where our incomes were coming in with a joint account in the middle we would both move money in to for bills. Your signature is right fucking here, Christian, agreeing that if we got a divorce, we’d split the joint account fifty-fifty. Right?” You cocked your eyebrow at him as you pushed the paper closer before flipping through the rest of the stack to look for the statement for the joint account.

“Well, that’s what I did.” You said as you pulled out the last two bank statements and the amount you pulled out the day you closed your personal account to switch banks. “I split it directly down the middle to the fucking penny. Two hundred, fifty-one thousand, four hundred and sixteen dollars and twenty-three cents. Exactly half of what was in the account despite the fact that I was the only one putting money in for bills in the last four months. So technically, I should have taken more but I didn’t because I’m not a shitty person.” Christian stepped forward and snagged the bank statements off the table as you continued on your rant.

“Now the watches? Those were paid for with my money, out of my fucking account. Not yours. They were anniversary gifts. Was I petty by keeping them? Sure, but I did anyways because fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Christian snapped back as his eyes darted up with yours.

“Yea, fuck you!” You snapped back as you leapt up from the chair. “Fuck you for beating me and thinking it was acceptable! Fuck you for making me think I was less than what I was worth! Fuck you for everything you put me through! You want the fucking watches so bad you need to have me fucking arrested for it, then fucking take them! I don’t give a shit. But next time you pull a fucking stunt like this, keep in mind. I have been one fucking step ahead of you for seven years. I have kept receipts for every single fucking thing I have bought you since we started dating. Every dinner, every gift, every article of clothing, magazine subscription, and bottle of wine. Everything is documented. Every receipt is filed in the basement like it always has been. Just like the receipts for the two watches I supposedly stole from you.” You snagged the receipts out of the pile and slammed them down on the table and grabbed the prenup again.

“Sign the fucking divorce papers, asshole, because I will fucking take you to court and I will make it very public and messy as fuck. You signed off on this divorce before you even said I do. Sign- the fucking- papers! Can I go now?” You looked over at Ben with your eyebrow raised as you reached out as far as you could and snatched the bank statements from Christian.

“Yea.” He said with a nod as he fought hard to keep the smile off his face. “You can go.”

“The charges against my client are obviously going to be dropped, correct?” Nathan asked as you collected all the papers he had brought you.

“Absolutely.” Ben said with a nod.

“Sign the Goddamn papers.” You said again as you walked around the table and headed out the door. You paused in the archway and looked back over your shoulder at your hopefully soon to be ex-husband. “And if you fucking dare to have me arrested again on some trumped up, bullshit charges, I will sue you and the NYPD for harassment. Try me.”

“You fucking bitch.” Christian shouted as he lunged for you. Ben caught him around the middle and held him back as you simply flicked him off over your shoulder.

“Bye Ben! Send Susan my love!”

“Can you not taunt the chief of police?” Nathan asked as he walked with you through the police station. “At least, not in front of me.”

“He deserves it.” You said with a shake of your head as you stepped outside. Your smile grew as Negan, looking as dapper as ever, looked up from his phone and pushed off his town car.

“Hey trouble.” He chuckled. “Didn’t think I’d be the one picking your ass up from the police station.”

“Stop.” You giggled as he took your paperwork from you. “Misunderstanding. This is my lawyer, Nathan Riggs. Nathan, this is Negan.” The two men shook hands before Nathan gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I got court in twenty minutes. Judge Harris will kick my ass if I’m late again.”

“Oh! Tell Ian I say hi.” He nodded and waved bye before grabbing a cab.

“Let’s get you home, my little trouble maker.” You smiled as Negan opened the back door and gestured you in.

“I was completely innocent, here.” You said as you got in and scooted across the backseat to give him room. “And damn, you should have seen that jerk’s face. So priceless.”

“So, what the fuck did you get arrested for, anyways?” You sighed and leaned into his side as his driver pulled away from the curb and headed up town to the Upper East Side.

“Grand theft over three hundred thousand.” You breathed as he put his arm around your shoulders.

“Well fuck me running. Way to go, baby.” You looked up at him with a fake scowl and rolled your eyes.

“Shut up.” He chuckled lowly and kissed the top of your head.

“Anything you say, fellow felon.” You groaned and buried your face in his black suit jacket.

“Oh, my God.”

Part 4

#Negan x Reader #The Unexpected Protector #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad

41 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: Homeward Bound (1/?)

Summary: After Miles and Sawyer follow Claire when she wanders off after her father in the dead of night, Claire and Aaron are safely returned to the beach and head towards the freighter and freedom from the island.

But as Claire learns a few years later, the island has a way of bringing people back...

A fix-it that diverges from canon at S4Ep10 “Something Nice Back Home”, in which Claire becomes one of the Oceanic Six and gets to raise Aaron herself, away from the island.

Rated: T

[AO3 Link]

===

Homeward Bound

Part One: Things Best Left In Darkness

“Hey. Hey. Hey, big bro, wake up!”

Sawyer wakes to a persistent and pointy finger jabbing him in the ribs and he smacks the hand away, opening his eyes to find Miles barely an inch from his nose. It’s a startling sight and he grabs the rifle; Miles sensibly backs up.

“Woah, it’s just me.”

“Yeah, don’t think that’ll stop me…” Sawyer breaks off on realising that their party is two short. “Where’s Claire and Aaron?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Why do you think I woke you up, dumbass? She just wandered off into the jungle with some grey-haired dude who was holding Aaron. She looked kinda… spaced out.”

Sawyer’s completely confused now, because the only grey-haired guy he can think of is Bernard, who has no reason to come and spirit Claire away in the middle of the night. Unless it’s one of the Others, but they’ve been kinda quiet lately since Hurley ran a couple of them over.

“She called him Dad,” Miles says helpfully, and Sawyer decides to stop being confused and just find Claire in the hope that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this. He jumps up and drags Miles to his feet.

“Easy, easy!”

“Which way did they go?” Sawyer growls, not letting go of Miles’ collar. The other man nods through the trees to their left.

“I’d have followed them, but you know, restraining order and all that.”

Sawyer narrows his eyes and shoves past Miles along the path that Claire and her mysterious, never-before-seen father took. They can’t have that much of a head start, and Sawyer begins to run.

“Claire! Claire! Claire, where are you?”

“Seriously, you think that running through the jungle yelling when there are a bunch of mercenaries out to kill us all is a good idea?” Miles hisses, but Sawyer’s past caring at this point because of all the people he can’t lose, sweet, innocent Claire and her baby who never did anything to anyone are top of the list.

“Claire!”

“Sawyer?”

And just like that, they find her, and the guy holding Aaron is that guy from the bar in Sydney who turned out to be Jack’s father? Jack’s dead father? Who’s also apparently Claire’s father? Who’s still dead and should not be wandering about in the jungle and really shouldn’t be holding Aaron?

“Claire, what are you doing? Where are you going? Who is this guy? You can’t just wander off on your own like that, it’s not safe!”

He’s aware of how much like Jack the ever-concerned leader he’s sounding right now, but as much as he hates it, he really, really wants to keep Claire safe and this man-who-can’t-be-Jack’s-father is setting off about seventeen different alarm bells in Sawyer’s head right now.

“I’m not on my own. I’m with him.”

God, she’s really spaced out. On the surface she looks totally lucid but she’s not Claire, not really. That head injury she got in New Otherton must have been worse than they thought.

“Claire, snap out of it! He’s got Aaron! Who even is he?”

“It’s ok. He’s my father.”

“Claire, he’s dead!” Sawyer exclaims. “His coffin was on our freaking plane!”

“If I’m dead, James, how am I here now?” Jack-and-Claire’s dad says, so horribly calmly, and there’s something about his utter stillness and aloofness that makes Sawyer just want to knock Claire upside the head and grab her and Aaron and run for it.

“Considering what I’ve seen on this damn island, nothing would surprise me,” he growls. “Claire, please, come with us back to the beach.”

“It’s fine,” Claire says, and she has a hazy, almost dreamlike quality to her voice. “I’ll be fine, Sawyer.”

“Sorry, Mamacita, but I ain’t buying it. What’s his name?” Jack’s father was Christian, right? Christian Shephard.

“Does that matter?” Claire asks.

“You’re letting a guy whose name you don’t even know hold your kid!” Sawyer explodes. “And you say he’s your father but you don’t know his name!”

“We need to go now, Claire,” Christian says. “The others will be at the cabin soon.”

“What others!” Sawyer exclaims, but Christian cuts him off, speaking to Claire.

“Why don’t we give Aaron to James and Miles, they’ll look after him for you for a while.”

Claire’s completely passive as Christian hands Aaron over to Sawyer.

“No.” Sawyer shakes his head. “No way. Claire! Claire! Can you hear me in there? Claire!”

“Bye, Sawyer.”

She turns to leave, to follow Christian through the trees, and Sawyer curses before shoving Aaron at Miles, who squawks in protest, and running after them, smacking Claire upside the head with the rifle. He winces at the crack of it and catches her as she slumps back against him. He’ll gladly take whatever she might throw at him when she wakes up if it gets her away from Christian and back safely with Aaron.

“Sorry Claire, but you’ll thank me in the long run.”

Christian’s face has changed from calm and unperturbed to a twisted, ugly mass of fury, and in the distance, Sawyer hears that awful tickatickaticka. He doesn’t know what he’s unleashed here, and he’s beginning to think he’s made a terrible mistake. He scoops Claire up, thank the stars she’s so tiny, and runs hell for leather. Glancing back over his shoulder, he sees that Christian has vanished and the plume of black smoke is rushing after them.

“RUN!” he yells to Miles, and despite their burdens, the two of them charge through the jungle until Sawyer realises that he can’t hear it following them any longer.

“Has it gone?” Miles pants. Sawyer’s too winded to speak and he lays Claire down on the ground. If it sneaks up on them now, they’re done for. But nothing happens. It does seem to have left them alone. Whatever it wanted Claire for, it can’t have wanted her that badly. It probably needs to get back to that cabin that these mysterious Other Others are waiting in. Nonetheless, he and Miles stay there on guard until Claire comes round.

“What happened?” she asks groggily. “Did we get attacked again?”

Sawyer and Miles exchange a look.

“Sort of,” Sawyer says. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Going to sleep.” Claire looks around herself. “Where are we? Where’s Aaron?”

“He’s here. He’s fine. Slept right through the whole thing.” Miles hands over the baby, looking quite relieved to be free of it, and Claire holds him close. Miles and Sawyer exchange another look. Claire obviously has no recollection of her close encounter with something that might or might not have been the human form of the smoke monster wearing her dead father’s face, and neither of them are going to tell her.

“We need to keep moving,” Sawyer says. Miles agrees without protest; this experience has rattled him as much as it’s rattled Sawyer and Claire, unsteady on her feet, nods. It’s slow progress in the dark, but Sawyer feels infinitely better knowing that they’re all conscious. Next time they stop to rest, they do guard duty, Miles and Sawyer taking it in turns to sleep. This incident has scared both of them, not that they’ll admit it, and they’ve put aside their differences by mutual and silent consent, just until Claire’s safely back with the rest of the camp.

They reach the beach in the early hours of the morning, and are immediately met with a barrage of incessant questioning. It’s only once Claire is safely off down the beach with Sun treating her newest injury and Rose taking care of Aaron that Sawyer can relax and finally respond to Kate’s interrogation about what the hell happened and why the hell Claire’s poor head has taken such a beating.

He tells her the whole story, sparing no details, and by the end of it, Kate’s just as shaken as he is.

“Kate,” he says presently.

“Yes, James?”

“Don’t tell Claire what happened. Not the me knocking her out part, I can handle the fallout from that. But the part where she nearly left Aaron behind. She wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t really Claire.”

Kate nods her understanding. “No, I won’t tell her.”

Sawyer wings up a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that nothing else is going to happen to them.

Getting on the Zodiac and getting out to the freighter is all a bit of a blur in Claire's mind. Her head is killing her from the attack during the night that Sawyer and Miles seem so cagey about, and she rests her forehead on Sun's shoulder, the other woman's surprisingly strong arm around her keeping her safe and steady as she clutches Aaron close. It seems to be her lot in life that things will happen to her and she won’t remember anything about them. She really just wants to sleep, but Hurley had told her not to sleep because of concussion and now that she's got even more bumps on the head, she probably should heed his advice. And since the last time she fell asleep, she ended up injured again, she really doesn't want to add a third bang or her head will be more bruise than anything else. Getting up the ladder to the freighter is difficult with Aaron tucked in against her chest and only one hand free; Jin climbs up right behind her to keep her steady when she has to move up a rung, but then a pair of large hands are reaching down and she's looking up at Desmond's smiling face.

"Give the bairn here, Claire, I've got him."

She lets Desmond take him gratefully, and clambers up the ladder to allow the others to get up. The sound of the Zodiac zooming away to get the next load of passengers rushes in her ears and her head pounds afresh. There's so much activity and hustle and bustle, and Claire just wants some peace and quiet and aspirin. She takes Aaron back from Desmond and tucks herself away in a little corner behind a container, soothing her son when he starts to complain vocally about all the upheaval.

"Are you all right?" Sun is back beside her, fussing over her head, and Claire heaves a sigh and shakes her head with alarming honesty. She's too tired to put a brave face on it.

"Is this really it?" she asks. "Are we really leaving?"

Sun smiles. "Yes, we are."

"Stay with me?" Claire reaches out and grabs Sun's hand with her free one. "Please... After everything that's happened these last couple of days, I don't want to be alone."

"Of course, sweetheart." Sun curls up beside her and Claire nestles her head on the older woman's shoulder again, a nice comfortable pillow. Jin comes over and they talk in quiet, urgent Korean for a while, but Sun is as good as her word and stays with Claire and Aaron as Jin goes back down into the bowels of the freighter. It all turns into a haze, the ocean wind whipping at her face. Claire doesn't even really register when all hell breaks loose and Desmond starts screaming about a bomb on the freighter, and Sun is on her feet in a moment going to find Jin. Claire just screws her eyes up and listens to the roar of the helicopter, and cuddles Aaron so close that he squeaks. Then a warm hand is on her shoulder and she can barely hear herself think, but she looks up, pulls herself back into the nightmare that's going on around her. It's Hurley hovering above.

"Come on Claire, we have to get off the boat, it's gonna blow."

That gets movement back into her limbs and Hurley pulls her to her feet, ushering her towards the chopper. Sun is already in there, screaming for Jin, and Jack and Kate are arguing by the door into the freighter, and Sayid has just pushed past them saying he has some experience with explosives, and soon enough the helicopter is taking off with only six passengers and a baby and a limited amount of fuel.

The freighter blowing up is so loud and so hot that it makes Claire's head feel like it's about to explode as well. Aaron is screaming, Sun is screaming, everyone else is screaming at Sun to sit down before she rocks the chopper out of the sky, that Jin's gone, Sayid's gone, and all Claire can do is cry, because they were so close and yet so far, and now they have to go back to that hateful island...

There's a white flash on the horizon, unrelated to the freighter, and suddenly the island has gone. Silence abounds in the chopper for a single blessed minute, and then everything else goes to hell, because the thing can't stay in the air forever and there is absolutely nowhere it can land. Forget what she said about the island being hateful; right now Claire would give anything to see it again.

They ditch in the water and Claire is terrified, as how is Aaron supposed to survive this? He can't swim! She can't swim whilst she's holding him! She just treads water, trying to keep his head above, and as long as he's screaming, she knows he's all right. Then she sees the life raft and Hurley is paddling along with her, propelling her towards their salvation and keeping Aaron's head up. Once they're in the raft, she collapses into his side gratefully, but she barely dares to breathe until they're all in the little boat. Eight of them, including Aaron. Of all of them, only eight have managed to get away. Aaron's sobbing subsides but he's so incredibly cold and wet and shivery, and in the end Claire takes her top off so that she can clutch him skin to skin and try to warm him up. The sun soon dries them, but then the sun begins to go down, and they're floating along in the middle of bloody nowhere, with no food, no water, nothing but each other. Aaron's hungry but Claire's dehydrated and she's got barely any milk. Sun is quiet now, staring straight ahead in shock, and no-one even tries to keep morale up. They're doomed, and they know it, until Desmond and Jack spot a light and everything gets loud again as they holler for help. Considering their luck, Claire thinks bitterly, they're probably going out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Except, for the first time, luck is on their side. Of all the boats in all the world that could have entered this patch of the pacific at this specific time, it is Penny's boat. Desmond's girlfriend whom he time-travelled to see. She's here, and now they're all on her boat, and she has food and water and blankets and everything they need. Including, much to Claire's relief, painkillers.

She spends the rest of the night sitting on a little sheltered bench on the deck with Aaron, sipping water, feeding him, drying him off and thanking whatever's out there that they're together and they're off the island. Kate stays beside her, the shoulder for her aching head that she can no longer expect Sun to be. Tomorrow, Claire will truly take in everything that's happened and she will grieve those they left behind on the island, Sawyer and Miles and Juliet, and she'll grieve those they lost on the freighter, Jin and Sayid and Michael. The pain in her head finally subsides although she still doesn't want to sleep, for fear that she'll wake up back on that island, in the middle of something she doesn't understand and can't quite remember.

At length though, sheer exhaustion takes over and she feels herself nodding off, and she feels Kate take Aaron from her arms and lay her down on the bench, head in Kate’s lap, covering her with a blanket.

"I've got him, Claire," she says softly. "We'll be right here when you wake up."

And against all the odds, they are.

#Claire Littleton #Lost #Lost fanfic #Lost Season 4 #canon divergence #fix-it fic #Claire as part of the Oceanic Six #Fic: Homeward Bound

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writingstudent · 7 years ago

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Handle Me

Ivar x Reader

Warning: possible triggers, mature themes

You shifted awkwardly in your chair, hands immediately going to smooth down the skirt of your floor length dress. It was not often that you wore such dresses, or any dresses for that matter. Being born on a farm and raised without a woman in your life, you were not a graceful being. You were a shield maiden, a fierce fighter. This has earned you several scars among your body, that littered it alongside the several tattoos that you had been given as sign of comradeship with your other fellow soldiers.

It was an understatement to say that you felt uncomfortable as you sat down next to the usual flower picking girls around the table. You were sitting next to Ubbe, who had Margrethe on his other side. He must have picked up on your awkwardness when you had first entered the dining hall and quickly motioned for you to sit down next to him. You were very grateful, and finally realized why almost all the women in Kattegat melted at the sight of him – not only was he attractive, but he was also a very caring man.

A hand suddenly clamped upon your lower calf. You let out a small yelp, and your battle reflexes immediately took over, making you take whatever you had in your hand (which happened to be a fork) and slam it onto the arm that was holding your leg in a vicious grip. Luckily for your attacker, he quickly moved his arm away. Your fork was now stuck halfway into the wooden floor, its hilt bent oddly towards a side.

“Impressive.”

A small growl left your throat at his condescending tone, and your mind was quickly clouded with anger. You whipped your head around, and crabbed your attacker by the collar of his shirt, snarling in his face. That is when you realized, that you were looking at Ivar’s mesmerizing blue eyes. Odin.. you thought. You were holding Ivar Ragnarsson up by the collar, while snarling menacingly at him. It was worse than writing, signing and sending your death wish to the gods. Your lips were also a few mere centimeters from Ivar’s plump pink ones.

“Now, I do like it when a woman knows how to manhandle me.” You could taste the ale in his breath due to your proximity. You shuddered at his sultry tone, needing to take a deep breath to resettle yourself. You quickly let go of his collar, letting him fall back to the ground unceremoniously.

Ubbe next to you chuckled, clearly amused by the scene he had just witnessed. “Are you alright Y/N? I have to say, it is certainly a pleasure to see a woman finally be able to put Ivar back in his place. ” He laughed whole-heartedly, getting louder at your horrified expression.

“E-excuse me, my reflexes took over.” You lowered your head in shame, nervously tugging your dress lower to cover your legs again. The ink that swirled around your lower thighs and the back of your knees covered the scars that you could not help but hate looking at.

The small bench you were sitting on shook slightly as Ivar heaved himself onto it, smirking as he made sure to keep very little space between the two of you. “Ivar, I don’ -”

You were cut off from protesting as Aslaug stood up, demanding silence in order to make a toast. It was an unwritten rule that one was not to leave the table or change seats since the delivery of the toast – unless such is requested or approved by the queen. You did not wish to fall out of her good graces, and hence you could do nothing to offend her crippled son, which she watched and fawned over constantly.

“The gods have blessed us on our past raid! We have shown these Christians who we are, ruthless, violent and blood-thirsty Vikings. We have to thank our fiercest and most notable fighters – Ubbe, Y/n, Sig-…. ”

The list went on, but you had drowned out the sound of the rest of her speech. Pride bubbled in your chest, as you grinned lazily at the queen, winking as you lifted up your cup towards her. She didn’t seem to be able to resist the temptation to laugh at you and nod approvingly of your gesture.

You could feel the curious glances of the Vikings weighing upon your body, looking you up and down as if to seize you up and understand how you could ever be a fighter. But there was gaze that seemed to burn you. You did not have to look at him to feel his eye shift, frantically scanning over your face and then lowering to your chest abdomen and to your legs. You weren’t sure if you wanted to turn your head or not – on one hand, you could have told him off and ended the awkward sensation of tinkling throughout your body, while on the other you could have simply remained quiet, and would not have to burden yourself with seeing his reaction. The cold fingers of a shiver traced your spine. His reaction.

He kept looking, but this time his gaze was lingering well below your chin, and focusing on your body instead. Your shoulders, too wide after all the training and preparing for battle, your stomach too strong to hide properly within the corset of the dress. Then came your legs. You grimaced simply thinking about them. You had been severely injured multiple times in battle, leading to your legs becoming a fascinating display of scars. You hated them, and always felt uncomfortable at their sight. They had grown old, and no longer protruded your legs’ natural shape, but instead simple marked your skin with odd patterns of light – like an artist scratching out his unwanted sketch. Unwanted, that is what they were.

You had attempted to cover them up with ink, but nevertheless they were not as feminine and elegant as they once had been.

You tense suddenly when a calloused hand grabs onto your knee. It does not move, yet instead it holds you forcefully, giving you a slight squeeze.

“What were you saying Y/N?” His breath fanned upon your neck, spreading a searing warmth throughout your body – adding to that of his gaze.

You gulped. “I don’t think that we should sit so close together.”

Hurt quickly flashed upon his face, but was replaced with his capricious fury. “What?” He hissed, pulling your knee towards himself and making you face him in the process. “Are you afraid of sitting next to the cripple?” His tone was getting lower and so was the volume of his voice, but his words were getting as menacing as ever. “Are you afraid that my legs will somehow infect yours? That you will not be able to flaunt anymore, or go around as the battalion’s hellcat?”

You squared your shoulders, relaxing as you arrived back into your familiar territory of sentiments and discussions. As a woman, you were often accused of such actions, and being a shield maiden you were one quick to violence.

You stared him straight into the eyes, challenging him purposefully this time. You were blinded by your own uncontrollable anger, and you could feel your fear and uncertainty slip away instantly. He wanted a show? He will get a show.

“Why? Did you sit next to me hoping that your legs would learn from mine?” Your snarled back at him, your upper lip lifting slightly in repulsion at the force he was applying to your kneecap.

His eyes widened and a hand quickly wrapped around your throat, squeezing it mercilessly and almost blocking your air passageway. You continue glaring at him, nearly unfazed by his violent reaction, but your face softens as you look down at your legs. You spent what seemed like hours in this silence, knowing that you would have a blooming bruise on your throats the next day. "There's nothing to flaunt anyways" you rasped out, your voice sounding very airy due to Ivars hold on your neck. Confusion took over his features, and he slackened his hold. " Why? " " it's nothing that anyone would want to see. Wake up Ivar, look around you. There are plenty of pretty women, elegant and gracious, made for the soul purpose of ring wives. Even the servants and slaves would look better." You were whispering now. Ivars hand simply rested on your neck, no longer doing anything to harm you. But these words did. These thoughts. Why were you telling him anyways ? It's not like he could have ever understood. He was a prince, and a man for that fact, he took whatever he wanted. " Why would anyone want me if they could have anyone better?”

“Darling,” Ivar drawled out, his sarcastic demeanor returning, “do I need to remind you that you are sitting next to the cripple?“ A puffed chuckle passed through his lips.

He took his hand away from your neck, but his other found its way back to your calf, kneading it softly. He leaned in closely, “I do not believe that they are as bad as you describe them to be. How about you let me the judge of that tonight? ”

Your heart hammered into your chest, excitement rushing through your veins. Gods, what you wanted to do to him. In just a few minutes he had made you shy, furious, uncomfortable and back to a stuttering puddle.

Ivar’s calloused hand began sliding up dangerously, snapping you out of your thoughts immediately.

“Plus, like I said before, I wish for a woman who can handle me. I lust for a warrior, fierce, cunning and beautiful.”Ivar added , after having sensed your discomfort. “You Y/N, seem like the perfect choice.” He nipped at your earlobe teasingly. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue pushed out a quick gasp, your mouth watering at the sensation.

“Now, the question is, can you handle me, darling?”

You once again found yourself staring in his sea blue eyes, remaining mesmerized. You didn’t have time to think before you crashed your mouth onto his. The passion in your kiss was feral, your teeth clashing as neither could restrain themselves.

Yes, you certainly could.

#ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson #ivar fanfic #ivar's heathen army #heathen army #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings history channel #vikings fanfiction #vikings x reader #love #writing #imagine #creative writing #ivar smut #ivar fluff

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jjbaconsumedmysoul · 7 years ago

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Wamuu x Reader: “Pleasure”

It was just a small side job to get you a bit of extra money. When you had heard from your friend Suzie Q that her boss was seeking another helper around the house, you accepted wholeheartedly. It was just weekends when you were needed to tidy up, and it was never terribly messy. On one hand, you had never expected to be someone’s personal maid, but the job paid extremely well.

Of course, the thought crossed your mind that there might be a catch: maybe she’d lower your pay soon, maybe it was only temporary, maybe it would be permanent (you certainly didn’t want to be someone else’s cleaning lady for the rest of your days). But, this… This you had never imagined.

Tears streamed down your face as your body shook with sobs. The interrogation had gone on long enough. Why wouldn’t they believe you? You told them everything you knew, but still, they hadn’t found what they were looking for. You kicked and bit, but they paid no heed. A clawed finger trailed across your cheek, you heard a voice soft as honey yet sharp as steel.

“Where is it?” the nail dug into your cheek, and you gasped at the prick of pain. “The stone?”

“I told you,” You spat through your convulsions. “I don’t know any stone…”

There were three men. The one crouched before you seemed to be the leader of the group. His violet eyes seemed almost inhuman as they peered out of the dark cloth tied around his head. Another man, just as tall and just as intimidating, stood to his right, a smug smirk on his face. The last, however, seemed a bit different. He stood slightly taller than his compatriot, and seemed even more muscular, if that were possible. His gaze was directed not at you, but straight ahead, as if he were a soldier waiting for his command. But you could see something behind those eyes. His muscles twitched a bit, as if in discomfort.

The leader suddenly squeezed your jaw in his spindly fingers, turning your face from side to side, inspecting you, for some unknown reason. You glared at him with abhorrence and rage. He then released you, throwing you to the ground like garbage as he turned on his heel.

“Esidisi, come. Wamuu,” he looked over his shoulder, a malicious grin lighting his face, “Eat up.”

Eat up? Eat what? Eat… you? Your mind blurred in an avalanche of thoughts as your breathing became shallow. One man, Esidisi probably, turned to follow his master as he exited the dark cell, leaving Wamuu standing in silence. His eyes finally met yours. His body was rigid and alert, an experienced fighter if you’d ever seen one. But his gaze wasn’t threatening, it was contemplative. His brow furrowed as he looked down at your frail form.

Just before the others reached the door, he turned. Kneeling before the backs of his betters, you heard his resonant voice fill the cell.

“Master Kars,” The two men slowly turned to face him, “May I…” You couldn’t see the expression on Wamuu’s face, but something about it obviously amused his commander, who let out a wry and teasing chuckle.

“You want a little toy? I might understand if it were a skilled hamon warrior with whom you could duel to the death, but it’s just a disgusting little lump of flesh.” You held stationary where you were chained to the ground, almost hopeful, yet still fearing for any of the possible outcomes.

“It may prove useful,” Wamuu began again, “These humans form very strong attachments. It could be used as bait –”

“Very well,” Kars cut him off with a scowl, “But the human is your responsibility. Esidisi,” Kars waved for the other man to follow him out of the cold stone cell, leaving Wamuu behind.

As the slam of the iron door echoed through the darkness, he turned back around to inspect you. Your tears had ceased, though you still were quite shaken and confused. Wamuu walked around behind you, and you panicked, not knowing what his intentions were. You felt him pull at the shackles restraining your wrists. Suddenly, the chain was wrenched apart, and you heard the clatter of metal on the floor.

“Stand.” his voice commanded you, however the order was not necessary as he easily hauled your fragile frame to its feet. Your hands fell to your sides, your posture almost defeated, as he turned you around to face him. He noticed the handcuffs still rubbed against your wrists, and you gasped as he took your hands in his large fists, bringing them up to shoulder level. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was as if a hundred blades of wind cut through the iron all at once, breaking the shackles into pieces as they fell to the cold stone ground. The only expression on your face was awe.

“What do they call you?” His voice was softer than it had been before. You took a deep shuddering breath before answering.

“I’m (y/n).”

He had seemed like such a stern warrior, a man whose only concern was his master’s wishes and his own honor. But you could see something beyond the cold, hard exterior. At first, he thought it necessary to come to you only daily to deliver a large, raw chunk of meat. You had to explain to him how often humans eat, how small their portions generally were, and what a “vegetable” was. Intrigue flashed behind his eyes every time he learned something new, and his visits gradually became more lengthy.

He was sitting beside you as you tore a loaf of bread. He had no idea where he had acquired it. It was still warm and fresh, it crackled as you bit into it, crumbs spilling onto the floor. Wamuu regarded you as usual. But this time, you paused. You carefully tore off a small chunk, holding it out to his lips. Your smile was a bit shy, and you chuckled.

“Try some,”

He seemed taken aback at first, but slowly opened his mouth. You raised your eyebrow. Did he expect you to feed it to him. You grabbed his wrist with your free hand, placing the bread in his palm. You then ripped off a piece of your own, bringing it up to your mouth. He stared, curiously, as he followed your lead. He chewed and swallowed. He stared off into the distance again.

“That was awful.” You giggled, as he remained straight-faced.

Once you tried to describe how humans actually cook food, and he had found the process tedious: why go to so much trouble for something that merely provides sustenance? This started your conversation on the concept of pleasure.

“Humans take pleasure in eating. They take pleasure in hobbies, and relationships,”

“Do they take pleasure in fighting?” You paused at this question.

“Some take pleasure in fighting, but for most of us, fighting is merely the means to an end.”

“I do not understand.” He tilted his head in confusion. You took in a deep breath to explain to him.

Wamuu was fascinated by the history of battle. You tried to recount for him all you could remember from your lessons. The motivation behind each battle intrigued him the most: the Christian religion behind the crusades, the lust for power during the Era of Warring states, the desire for freedom over tyranny during the American Revolution. And of course, World War II, the current conflict between all the nations of the earth.

“But war is not all glory and victory,” you tried to explain. “War causes pain and suffering.”

“Is that why you do not fight?” you paused at his question.

“What do you mean?” You asked. He looked down as you sat, finishing your meal, on the floor.

“Why are you so small and fragile? Why was it so easy to capture you?” Your face burned, almost enraged by the insults. “Do you only concern yourself with pleasure?” You stood, staring up at him with a subdued fury behind your eyes.

“I fight with my words. I get what I want through compromising with people, not terrorizing them. I don’t cause pain to others for my own benefit. That’s the difference between you and me.” Your face was just inches away from his, and you panted slightly, releasing every ounce of anger that had been pent up inside of you since you were captured. Yet you dare not touch him. You wouldn’t punch him or slap him or grab him by his collar. Because you were better than him. His eyebrows raised at your sudden surge of assertiveness, of rebellion.

“Then, that is it.” His expression returned to stoicism. “That is what I sensed from you. You are a warrior, but of a different kind.” With that, he turned on his heel and left. You gazed in shock and silence as he strode out of the room. What did he mean?

The incident passed as if it had never happened, and the only shadows left behind showed in the progression of your relationship. Your conversations were originally very one-sided: you would tell him of human tradition, and he would nod his head, taking in the information. But now, he began to tell you his stories. The tales of the Pillar Men, the rise of Kars. He stared off into the distance as he recalled his past, and something about it made you feel… comforted.

“(Y/n),” You paused as you wiped your mouth with a napkin he had so courteously brought you. He rarely used your name, expect when he was being extremely serious. “I have a question to ask you about humans.” His back was turned, and he seemed to be gazing at the wall, deep in thought. You stood, wiping the crumbs off of your lap, and approached.

“Yes, Wammu?” He twitched a bit. You were used to his calm and quiet exterior, though often you could see hidden glimpses of intrigue, of discomfort, though usually he never became enraged. But right now, he seemed restless. His hesitation made it seem as if he were unsure about his actions. Wamuu had always been confident in every situation. Except for now. “Tell me about… attraction.” You halted in your tracks. You thought that the Pillar Men had no use for copulation or romance, or anything other than pursuit of power. However, Wamuu was different, he had always been different compared to Kars and Esidisi. He was strong and skilled, but he was still a child on the inside. He was sincere. You took a deep breath.

“Attraction is… When a human forms a bond with another human. It can be based on their appearance or personality or both–”

“I know what it is,” he interrupted you, turning on his heel to gaze deep into your eyes. “But how can you tell if it’s real? If it’s something more?” You heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. Could he possibly be asking this because he felt this way about… you? He was your sole companion, he had been for a while now, and you certainly enjoyed conversations with him. You enjoyed how much he cared for you, even if his expression didn’t show it, and how much you had learned from him. But was it love?

“There’s no way to tell for sure,” Your eyes were still fixated on his, and you stepped closer. In one moment, his face seemed to break. His eyebrows furrowed and his fist clenched. He looked at the ground in embarrassment.

“But when I first saw you… Why couldn’t I kill you? You were fragile and weak, nothing but a puny human. But the way you fought back. The way your frail figure railed against Kars every strike. Was that attraction? Is that why I come to you every day to make sure you’re well fed and content? I’ve only ever lived to serve my masters. How is it that you too can have such a hold over me?” You almost felt dizzy. To think that such a beautiful and powerful creature could ever fall in love with a pitiful being such as yourself shocked you.

But all the same, you welcomed it.

“I-I think,” You stuttered out, placing your hand into his. He looked down at the initiation of contact curiously, “I think that is love,” you gathered your confidence as your eyes fluttered shut, raising on your tip-toes so your lips could reach his. You waited for the kiss. And waited.

“What are you doing?” His deep voice sounded uncharacteristically nervous. You opened your eyes, staring at his confused expression and stifling a giggle.

“It’s a kiss. It’s an act of,” you squirmed, still a bit shy, “of love” his eyebrows raised in recognition.

Suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist, and you let out a small squeak of surprise. You latched your fingers behind his head and into his hair as he pulled you to his chest, your toes leaving the ground. Your lips met, forcefully, and you shivered at his cool touch. You could feel every inch of his chiseled frame supporting your body. You involuntarily tilted your head and slid one hand down his chest, gasping at how cold his body seemed. But you loved it.

Soon, he set you down, and you stumbled as you regained your composure. His face was flushed red, and his usual stoicism was replaced with surprise. His hand seemed to unconsciously trace where your lips had left his, as if he were remembering the touch. You smiled shyly.

He abruptly pinned you to the wall, attacking your lips with even more vigor as he ran his fingers up and down your sides. You shivered as his hands grazed across your breast; he probably didn’t know just how sensitive that area was. You pressed both palms to his firm chest as he sucked at your lips. Your leg slid up to wrap around his massive thigh as you pulled him in as far as you could, making sure that no space was left in between you two. Slowly, you parted your lips to let your tongue graze across his own. He immediately took the hint, and practically started devouring you with his mouth. You would have giggled if you could. Something about his ignorance yet his unbridled aggressiveness was so endearing. He probably had no idea what he was doing, but he tried his hardest to please both you and himself.

As you broke away to take a breath of air, you heard him whine softly. You made sure he didn’t see your smirk as you softly kissed his neck. At this, he shuddered. You took full advantage of this opportunity, placing light kisses down his collarbone (where you could actually easily reach him). You sucked lightly as he shuddered. Running your hands up and down his biceps, you heard him moan your name. His hands groped your waist tightly, as if he were afraid you would soon slip away from him.

You finally paused, to look up into his eyes.

“Now do you understand why we seek pleasure?”

#wammu #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #x reader #reader insert #I said no updates on Sunday #i lied

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regrettablewritings · 8 years ago

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How to Be a Good Catholic, Pt. II (Sonny Carisi x Reader)

A/N: Part 2 of my self-drag piece aka The Reason I’m Going to Hell! I’m sure I had more to say here but it is literally about to be 6AM~

@ohbelieveyoume and @xemopeachx (to the latter: Lower your expectations. Like, lower them so deep Satan’s demanding to know why you’re in his house and threatening to call the police on you.)

PART 1 HERE

5. Remember not to eat meat on Fridays during Lent

It was amazing how cravings worked: You could be perfectly fine, not want to eat anything in particular and just eat whatever simply because you needed nourishment to keep getting through the day. But the moment you’re told you can’t eat a certain something, no matter how often you may or may not eat it, it suddenly becomes all you can think about. That was what made Lent maddening for you as a child. It was as though the season held special powers beyond serving as a countdown for your lord and savior basically becoming a zombie: It could make you crave cafeteria nuggets like a junkie craved a fix. But considering that said zombie-savior got beaten, nailed to a cross, and was forced to wear a crown of thorns for you, abstaining from meat a couple of Fridays for 40 days was the least you could do besides doing nothing at all.

. . . But Zombie Jesus, it was so hard. In your youth, it was a bit easier because your packed lunches would always be checked over by your mom or dad to assure that it was up to Lenten approval. Sure, there was the occasional slip where you’d stop by the convenience store after school for a quick snack and all too eagerly buy a Slim Jim (was that even meat?). But for the most part, you did your due diligence as a good Catholic girl. Unfortunately, you were now a Catholic woman whose mommy and daddy’s involvement, at most, would maybe occasionally happen to call on Friday just to chat and then happen to mention what that day’s meatless meal had been. This, without fail, would always cause you to grit your teeth on the strip of bacon you’d been eating or lead you to utter an expletive muffled by the pepperoni Hot Pocket you’d microwaved to avoid cooking.

You always knew you could do better. Knew that you should do better. And yet, you never quite got anywhere, consoling yourself with the same thought every time the only options for dinner were between a can of Campbell’s chunky beef stew or air pudding: “It’s okay. You’re fine. God has bigger worries than if you’re eating mud-flavored soup alone in front of a TV playing reruns of Bridezillas a quarter to midnight. Just say two Hail Mary’s before bed.”

You were a little embittered about the fact that it took Sonny’s presence in your life to serve as a catalyst of sorts for improving upon yourself. Such a task should’ve relied on sheer will, not sheer guilt no matter how much of a part in the stereotypical Catholic’s life such a feeling played. But you figured guilt catalyst was better than none. After all, life was already hectic enough as is.

You grumbled this sad fact as you dug into your meal. It was hitting 8 o’clock, and this was the first meal you’d managed to catch all day. Work had been busting your butt with no time for a break. And snacking on vending machine munchables could only do so much. It was probably for this reason that your McNuggets tasted like Heaven instead of a travesty to your health. Like amateur food porn where it’s not what you wanted exactly, but the craving was so bad that you took the first legal, not entirely creepy-looking thing that you could get your hands and mouth on.

You were so deep into your pathetic relishing that you didn’t even notice that Sonny had come through the door, plastic bag in hand. It wasn’t until he’d actually spoken that you were broken out of your McNugget musing.

“Hey, Babe,” he greeted, taking off his shoes by the door. He heard you hum in response; your mouth was too full of fast food to reply with a vocal greeting. You heard him usher his way towards the kitchen, bag rustling by his side. “I got us veggie wraps from that place a few blocks do – ” The sudden stop made you turn to look at your boyfriend, who was now staring at you with brows quirked.

You smacked your lips as you swallowed. “What?” Sonny opened his mouth by a fraction, as if not entirely sure what words to use.

“You, uh . . . You do know that it’s Friday, right?” he finally replied.

“What?” This time, your own brows creased. “No it isn’t; it’s Thursday. I know it is because Mrs. Vatillo’s been blaring Dancing with the Stars all evening.”

“Ever heard of reruns, sweetheart?”

“. . . Ah, dammit!” you cried. You didn’t notice the half-eaten nugget pressed against your head as your hands flew to your face. It took the dipping sauce creating a notably cooler spot on your skin to notice the physical mess you made instead of just the mental one.

Sonny, on the other hand, watched will unadulterated amusement, only cutting in once you began berating your mistake.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it!” he insisted, holding his hand up to gesture a cease. “You made a mistake; happens all the time! Even I mess up my Fridays every once in a while. It’s fine, Babe.”

A muffled groan rippled in your throat. You weren’t sure if it was worth pointing out that he had points to spare while you didn’t.

“Besides,” Sonny continued, placing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t think McNuggets is even real meat.” He chuckled as he heard your subsequent whimper waver with the sound of you finishing off the nugget.

6. Save yourself for marriage. The rules might’ve changed a bit, but it’s still preferable that you practice a healthy sense of abstinence

Okay, you at least had this one pretty down pat. And for that, you were quite proud. Maybe it was the romantic in you, but the idea of saving yourself for your spouse had always been extremely appealing to you. And considering the shifting feelings about premarital sex, you felt that made your efforts even more worthy of his or her admiration. Specifically, the “his” that you deep down desperately hoped was Sonny.

To no surprise of yours, he was quite accepting of you preferring to practice abstinence and even admirable of it. He always made sure to keep your boundaries in mind, particularly when you got handsy under the influence. He was quite fine if the extent of your shared physical affections meant making out. Hell, you were pretty certain that if the most you wanted was booping each other on the nose, Sonny would do it. He’s be perplexed, of course, but it wasn’t in him to be so judgmental of it: As an SVU detective and an overall decent man, consent and consideration ranked high on his list of importance in everything he did, relationship or not. That being said . . .

7. In fact, refrain from pre-marital actions of the flesh, be it heterosexual, homosexual, or solo

Abstinence didn’t mean the switch was turned off. It just meant that you were conserving energy until you found a reason for the room to be lit, so to speak in awful metaphors. And man, were there times when you thought, “That room could be put to good use – as a room to bang my handsome boyfriend in!” Of course, you restrained yourself out of sheer principle and will power. But at this rate, your will power was started to get buff.

And tonight, it was getting quite the workout: Sonny had offered to come over for simple, shared relaxation. Normally, this would’ve been fine. Normally, the two of you would order in and binge watch reality TV shows on Hulu until you passed out with some caresses and a few moments of making out in between. And normally, you weren’t feeling . . . . “special.” On the nights he did come over and you were feeling “special”, you could practice enough self-control to keep things at a maximum of maybe some grinding. (And even that wasn’t without some semblance of shame on your part to be honest, particularly after Sonny would gently suggest that the two of you stop before the grinding became closer to a skinship.) But tonight – and you didn’t know why – the Fornication Forces™ were inexplicably strong with you.

Maybe I should cancel, you processed, laying on the couch. You figured if you just set yourself down, maybe your body would recognize the position and realize how tired it was, rendering you too tired to try anything frisky. Really, though, the only thing you body was convincing itself at the moment was that this would’ve been a good position to do things in. Naughty things.

While one half of your mind was frantically trying to beat the hormonal thoughts back into the abyss, the other half was disagreeing with your previous suggestion. It had been a long week, and you and Sonny had barely seen each other, much less in an intimate manner that even included anything more than a peck on the forehead for parting ways. Besides, it wasn’t fair to Sonny if you dropped out just because you felt particularly needy. You just had to be a grown-ass woman and control yourself as you usually did.

In the midst of your inner pep talk, you figured that maybe a distraction would cool down the embers of eroticism within. Grabbing your laptop, you scoured YouTube for funny videos or informational ones in the hopes that they would serve as efficient enough distractions. It was through the inevitable connecting rabbit holes that is YouTube that you found yourself on the theater side of the site, where you came upon a title that you were certain would kill off the feeling for good.

“Leap of Faith,” you read aloud. Sounded Christian, sounded light-hearted and pure. Perfect! Nothing wiped away arousal like Christian theater, right? You selected a video offering clips of the performance . . . And almost immediately regretted it.

At least, that was what you were trying to tell yourself you ought to be feeling. But it’s hard to think straight while being captivated by the image of a handsome man with a great ass shake his hips in such a controlled yet somehow fluid fashion. It made you wonder what else those hips of his could do. Not helping was the bad boyish facial hair, the dangerous look in his (beautiful) eyes, those gorgeous locks, that fine physique, those arms, that literal Godsend of a voice, and good lord, nobody should be able to make a suit covered in disco glass look so deliciously good!

You tried to scold yourself, constantly pointing out that even if his character’s position as a man of God was false, it was bad enough to imagine the possible reverend kink you could imagine him having. But, to your immense dismay, the idea of sullying such a title made it disturbingly more tempting! The entire time you battled inwardly with your logic and your lust, your hand was taking advantage of your distracted state: little by little, it was moving closer and closer toward your pajama pants. In synchronization, little by little a ticklish warmth pulsed and glowed within your lower tummy and downward. By the time the reverend-devil of a man (devilrend?) was shown in that red jacket and leather pants, the elastic of your bottoms was being ushered to the side.

“The women I’ve seen are like a pinball machine,” he stated. “Push the right button and you score.” To clarify exactly what his simile had meant, his slender fingers curled in the air with a “come hither” motion. Oh, God what sins and blessings those fingers could commit . . . That seemingly simple gesture sent a blazing spark into your lower half, burning away at all sensibility and leaving only desire and a clear path to chase it down to completion –

Click.

Oh, shit.

You whipped your hand out of your pants so fast you nearly knocked yourself in the chest. As your door creaked open, you prayed that Sonny wouldn’t notice anything or pick up on the atmosphere you’d created for yourself, only to wind up wondering if it was appropriate to ask for God’s help when you were milliseconds away from making joyful noise.

Per the usual, as he took of his shoes, your walking sunshine greeting you with a warm, “Hey, Babe.” And per the usual, you responded right back. Only, not per the usual, your greeting was a bit trembly like a child nearly caught in the act of stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Thankfully, Sonny was seemingly too tired to take note of this, making his way towards you.

In your state of being frazzled, you didn’t think quick enough to shut your laptop, allowing Sonny to be able to take a glance at the screen. In doing so, he was able to look upon your shame.

Brows furrowed, he said, “Huh. That’s weird . . . That guy looks an awful lot like Barba.” . . . What? You didn’t say it, but the look on your face certainly did. Able to recognize this, Sonny went on, “Yeah, look: Same facial structure, similar hair, about the same height . . . This guy dresses a little gaudier than him but yeah – dude looks a lot like Barba. I’nt that interesting?” He cracked a smile and went to head to the bathroom to wash up, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What was now seen could not be unseen, no matter how hard you rubbed the heels of your palms against your eyes. Why couldn’t you notice that before so that your girly boner would’ve died on the spot before this all began!? After making sure to close your laptop screen and set it gently on the coffee table away from where it would be most likely to become damaged, you slammed your face into one of the couch cushions and screamed as quietly as possible. Screaming, knowing that you almost got off to the prosecutor’s dramaturgical doppelganger and that you would never be able to look at Barba the same way again because of it. If only you had noticed this before, then maybe the overwhelming senses of embarrassment, horror, and confusion would not have burned even brighter than the feelings you’d had only moments before.

Needless to say, you could barely get through cuddling that night, completely turned off in every which way.

8. Above all else, aside from accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior, just be a good person. The world is already so crappy, making it nicer out of the goodness of your heart is something that should be valued

Sonny watched wordlessly as you sat on the ground, arms reached out for his niece to toddle right into. He found himself smiling alongside the laughter the two of you shared as the chubby-legged child flopped herself against your chest. He never understood why you always insisted that you weren’t good with kids; as far as he was concerned, most kids had an almost immediate liking to you or, at the very least, were willing to approach you without must suggestion. He supposed it had something to do with how kind you looked and sounded. After all, that seemed to be one of the reasons his family invited you back over for yet another family dinner.

In the midst of you giving his squealing niece a raspberry on her tummy, Sonny heard Theresa call for you to come “hang around the big girls” for a change. Agreeing to the invitation, you scooped the toddler up into your arms and, mimicking the sound of an aircraft, gently zigzagged her through the air as you walked toward her watching uncle.

“This is your captain speaking, we welcome you to Sonnyville and hope you enjoy your stay,” you told the little girl amongst her coos of delight. Gingerly handing her over to Sonny’s waiting arms, you gently added in, “Might I recommend the cheek kisses, Little Miss? They’re my favorite!” One last teasing poke on her tummy and you went on your way to hang out with Sonny’s sisters, leaving the man himself on the couch with his niece. When Sonny noticed the toddler pouting and reaching out for your departing figure, he found himself chuckling, “Yeah, I like having her around, too,” before treating her to your highly recommended kiss on the cheek.

“I didn’t know you could knit.” The comment caused you to look up at your boyfriend. Despite having turned on the TV as soon as he’d taken his place beside you on the couch, he’d spent the last couple of minutes observing you. As you looked up from your project, your fingers kept moving without error. This suggested to Sonny that not only could you knit, but you were at least practiced in it enough to nearly do so in your sleep.

You blinked. “Well, you never asked. Plus, I haven’t done it in a long while.” You shrugged and looked back down to start a new row.

“Well, what made ya stop?” Sonny inquired. He liked learning things about you. Particularly, he liked learning things about you even if they were simple things. Things that could’ve been revealed earlier in the relationship.

You looked upwards in thought, knitting still. “Dunno. I think I just sorta fell out of it when life started getting too busy? I used to knit during my lectures in college – kept me awake and somehow alert – but then this one professor asked me to stop because it was causing a distraction. Which I think is total bullshit because absolutely no-one cared that I was knitting in a literature lecture.” You paused, recognizing that you were beginning to ramble. “But yeah; I just kinda stopped doing it for a while.”

Sonny nodded with understanding. “And you’re doin’ it now because you missed it?”

“Well, sorta. Liv told me about this one project the art museum is doing to raise awareness of abuse survivors: People are knitting and crocheting squares to be made into a big blanket. The idea is about not being alone and being covered with warmth of strangers who care. Each square and the elite involved in this thing will donate money to the Joyful heart Foundation. I thought it’d be a great idea and a great thing to do, so I found my old needles, stopped by the craft store, and got to work. Plus, knitting’s therapeutic.”

You smiled. “My goal is to have between 5 and 8 squares by the deadline in six weeks!” The amount of determination, in addition to the subtle glow you developed during your explanation of the project you were now a part of, caused Sonny to return the grin. Though his carried tones of being impressed. And of pride.

You never noticed, however, as you turned your attention to the TV. You continued to knit. And Sonny continued to watch you.

It was Friday night and Sonny was bushed. The week, while not necessarily as bad as others, had still beaten his ass with a case that had about as many twists and turns as the map of Candyland. If only the outlook for the pending trial were so sweet. Needless to say, Barba was going to have yet another chunk of his work cut out for him, meaning that tensions were going to be high for the coming week.

During exhausting days like this, there was nothing more that Sonny would have loved than a nice, hearty meal; maybe something from the deli. He found himself groaning alongside his stomach at the thought of such a treat, only to remember that it was a Friday and it was still the Lenten season.

Well, he thought to himself as he trudged his way up the stairs to his apartment. I guess I can just order the usual pizza and call it a night. As he got to his floor, Sonny found his previously drab and tired senses being stroked by a new, invigorating stimuli. Baked goods? Probably one of his neighbors. Must be nice; cakes sounded all too delightful right now. As he neared his own door, however, he began to realize and error in his previous assumption. The smell wasn’t coming from somebody else’s place: it was coming from his. That, and the sound of an oven door creaking open, bowls clattering, and the sound of the sink running.

Sonny wasn’t sure what to expect as he opened the door. Being ready to fight a baking burglar wasn’t how he thought his week would end but if that’s what was going on –

Between the two of you, Sonny was the better cook. You weren’t awful in the kitchen, Sonny was simply just divine by comparison. As such, the image of you dawning an apron splattered with patched of flour, powdered sugar, and your sleeves rolled up was a bit strange for Sonny to see. Adorable, no doubt about that, but different from how he usually saw you. You began to blush when you saw the man walk through the door, only adding to the cuteness.

“Crud,” you murmured. “I was sorta hoping you wouldn’t be back until a bit later . . . B-but don’t worry, I’m going to clean all of this, I promise!” The “all of this” being the mixing bowl, egg shell particles, and small piles of baked good ingredients marking his counter. Normally, Sonny was particular about his kitchen. But instead, he found himself concerned with something else.

“What’re you up to?” Sonny asked.

“Well, it’s, um . . . I know this week has been hard on you so I – ”

As if on cue, the egg-shaped timer you had set earlier dinged. Immediately, the stammering gave way to a person with the mission.

“Oh, good, it’s done! Wait here, I – no wait! Go wash up and change while I put the finishing touches on it!” you insisted. When Sonny didn’t move, confused as to the sudden shift, you groaned. “Come onnn!” you whined, scurrying behind him before nudging him toward his room. You tried to pay no mind to the laughing this coaxed from him, insisting that you needed it to be a surprise since he practically ruined it by coming home early.

“M’kay,” sighed Sonny as he emerged from the back. He felt somewhat better now, having had a shower and changed into his Fordham Law sweats. He couldn’t help but smirk as he came upon you, standing in front of the table in a manner that suggested you were shielding something. A huge smile dazzled your features, your hands curled and pressed together as if clasping the surprise within them.

“Okay, okay, so!” you exclaimed. “I know this week’s been tough on you. And I don’t want my Sonshine to dampen so I thought it’d be nice to cheer you up in any way possible. Sooooo . . .” You stepped to the side and gestured your hands Vanna White style. Only instead of letters, your presentation was something of far more use to Sonny: a large order of pizza from his favorite establishment. “Your favorite: Goat cheese and sundried tomatoes.” You threw in a cheeky eyebrow-arching to hype up the mood. However, judging by the way your boyfriend’s face lit up, it wasn’t necessary: The man was thrilled.

“Aw, you didn’t have to!”

“Ah, but I did. You know I’d do whatever I could to make you smile.”

Damn straight, Sonny thought. But as strong as his love for the pie was, the sugary smell present in the air overpowered him with curiosity.

“But, uh . . . As much as I love pizza, I’m almost positive that this wasn’t what you were up to when I walked in earlier, right?” he teased. This prompted a smirk from you.

“Right you are, my little-tall detective,” you joked right back. “So close your eyes.” He did as instructed. He heard the sound of your feet padding over to the oven, the screech of the machinery’s door opening and then closing, and then your voice saying that it was alright for him to look.

“Tadaaahhh!” you cheered, holding up your creation. To the average person, it might’ve looked like a regular vanilla sheet cake. Maybe a vanilla sheet cake with a hint of citrus. But Sonny knew that smell well enough to know better. Plus, the fleur de lis embossment in the powdered sugar was a giveaway.

Sonny licked his lips. “You made – ”

“Schiacciata alla Fiorentina!” you stated. You puffed out your chest with pride. “I phoned your mom the other day asking for any recipes you particularly enjoyed and she said this was a good way to cheer you right up. Plus, it’s good for the Easter season, right?”

Sonny wasn’t sure what made him inhale in delight more: the scent of the cake, or the very essence of you. As you stood glowingly, he gently took the pan from your hands and set it on the table. This left you confused before he ushered you into a hug. Embraces were nothing strange at all when in a relationship with Sonny Carisi. However, the type he was currently providing was one that didn’t come up as often: His cheek laying on the crown of your head, arms wrapped so tightly around you it was as if he was worried that you might fly away. You wanted to joke that he wasn’t leaving any room for Jesus between the two of you but decided against it. Instead, you chose to focus on everything else: The smell of his soap; the sound of his heart beating against your ear; how you could just make out the smile he was wearing against your head. But most of all, the intense feeling of complete, unadulterated adoration resonating from his being.

“I don’t deserve you. Y’know that?” he finally spoke. You scoffed against his chest.

“I should be saying that about you, you know,” you threw back.

“No,” Sonny insisted. “I mean it: I do all kinds of crap both in and out of my job. But then I get you and it’s like . . .” He trailed off. You took the opportunity to step in once again.

“Sonny, what you do in comparison to me (or rather, what I fail to do) makes me the lucky one. You’re great, you deserve the best.”

“And I got the best.”

“No, you got me.”

In that moment, the grip of his arms around you slacked before positioning themselves to push you away. Only enough for Sonny to take a good look at you, but still enough to make you recognize how warm you felt against him. The look on his face was stern; something you rarely saw Sonny be when it came to you.

“(Y/N),” he said with a gentle strictness. “I don’t know how long it’s gonna take before you realize that you’re not this godawful person or whatever it is you think you are. I work in SVU for God’s sake – you’re literally up for sainthood by comparison to the pieces of crap I encounter on a regular basis.”

“Well, yeah, but,�� you meekly replied, “it’s easy for you to say that when you’re higher up on the scale – ”

“For cryin’ out loud, there is no scale! I don’t know what has ya convinced that there’s some Catholic hierarchy goin’ on but I can promise ya: there is none. And if there is, you’d be right up there on the higher levels.”

Your brows creased at the blond’s claim. “Dude, I suck as a Catholic: I don’t always go to services, I get prayers mixed up, I screw up with Lent, I – ”

“Are still a good person,” Sonny finished.

“. . . What?”

“You’re still a good person,” he repeated. “Look, religion, no matter what people say, isn’t a competition: You know there are plenty of crappy pastors and whatnot out there, so the idea that position determines anything is about as wobbly as a broken chair. But you know what God loves? Triers. Jesus wasn’t goin’ around banning people left and right for messin’ up – Mary Magdalen was a prostitute for cryin’ out loud.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You weren’t sure how you felt about being compared to a prostitute, fellow follower of Jesus or not. Sonny bit his lip, noting that you hadn’t taken to that last sentence as well as he’d hoped. But he tried yet again:

“I know ya may think I’m this ‘incredible Catholic’ or whatever it is ya think I am, but it’s easy to think that because you’re comparing yourself. Ya really don’t give yourself enough credit, though. (Y/N), ya knit blankets for abuse survivors; ya do things without being asked; and hey, children have weird senses about people, so my niece liking ya can’t be wrong!” (This provoked a smile from you; a good sign.)

“And if you’re really that convinced that you’re ranked behind some creep just because he has a collar on, that to me, that’s a bigger mistake than messing up grace. Because if God can love this goofball who messes up all the time, then I sure as hell can, too. And I sure as hell do.”

At that last sentence, the cold you’d been reintroduced to upon separation from Sonny’s torso resumed. And boy, did it resume with a vengeance. You should’ve known how much blushing could feel like burning and yet, the flooding within your face was overwhelming. Not helping, of course, was that notoriously blissful smile Sonny wore, even as you pressed your face against his chest as if to soothe the sensation.

As if recognizing how flustered he’d made you, you heard his chest rumble: “Especially if they buy me pizza and come to my place just to make me a cake!” The vibrations of him talking were followed with those of him laughing upon hearing a muffled pouting demand that he shut up.

You were too precious. And how could anyone be disappointed in that?

#lookit this longass bastard!!#21 pages in total with part 1!!#and all for this crap #*eyes ending* I don't really like you . . . but I'm too tired to fix you #here goes nothing anyway #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi imagines #dominick carisi x reader #carisi x reader #svu imagine #svu imagines #law & order svu imagine #law & order svu imagines #law and order svu imagine #law and order svu imagines #Regrettablewritings

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darkmasterkattsvault-arc · 3 years ago

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Frannie Headcanons 1

Her Tattoos And Their Meanings

Frannie has many tattoos. All of her tattoos have meanings. Some have deeper meanings than others.

The series of tattoos on her back are dedicated to the Goddess Athena. Goddess of strategic war. Of justice. Who, when Medusa was raped in her temple gave her a way to defend herself from men who thought they could take what they wanted. It represents her nickname, given to her by a friend, based on her work on sexual assault cases. She plans to fill the other side of her back in things dedicated to the Goddess Artemis. Protector of maidens. For similar reasons.

The bear and her cub on her chest represent the love for son. Her willingness to protect her child at all costs.

She has stars on each hip. It's not a meaning she often talks about, but it represents her ambition. Her willingness to keep going. It represents, to her, "per aspera ad astra" or "through hardships to the stars" meaning that no matter how hard things get, she'll get there.

Her Hades tattoo, she says, is an inside joke. It is, but it isn't. Disney's representation of Hades is a joke. He's portrayed in poor light. A God seeking revenge on siblings who slighted him and nothing more than an evil to defeat. This is how many people view mental illness. Something to be defeated. Hades is the God of the Underworld. A maker of deals. Deals that while possible, are hard to accomplish. Complete a puzzle in a day and he'll set you free. Doesn't tell you he has the last piece. Leave the underworld without turning back, without checking, put faith in your partner, and you'll both be free to leave. Mental illness is the same way. Misunderstood, hard to live with, but it is possible. So much more complex than just a simple lack of strength. It takes faith and cunning and looking past the surface. It's a disgruntled God with depth and challenges, relegated to an evil to defeat. The scar he covers is proof that strength alone won't save you.

ADHD Making Life Hard

Due to her ADHD, Frannie deals with compulsions. The worst of which, is skin picking. The need to pick at her skin, whether it's scabs or acne or whatever. She picks at it. This also includes scratching her skin until it's raw and other similar things. She doesn't always realize she's doing it. She keeps her nails trimmed short because of this. (A full OOC note: I will never describe any of this in full detail if I can help it both because it can be graphic and because it makes my own worse.)

Also due to her ADHD, Frannie has a caffeine addiction that she often uses coffee and Red Bull to fuel. She also struggles with insomnia that can rob her of sleep for days at a time, thus making her need even more caffeine which then fuels her insomnia. Rinse and repeat indefinitely.

Frannie calls the random things she does while not doing anything, her idle animations. They include, but are not limited to: random vocalizations, running her hands through her hair, scratching at her face and neck, biting her nails when they're too long, picking at her clothes/skin, and tapping. She isn't usually aware she's doing these things until they're pointed out to her.

Eating Disorder Issues

Frannie's relationship with food is complicated. Years of an eating disorder left her in a place where certain foods make her physically ill when eating them and others just scare her to eat. While she's worked on challenging many of her fear foods, she does still struggle with some of them.

Physical Health And Pain Tolerance

Frannie was attacked by Russell one night, heading home from a gay bar. He broke her shoulder. It partially fueled her desire to leave criminal justice after learning the kinds of things she'd have to do to get a restraining order effectively issued against him. Ever since, her shoulder dislocates while doing certain things. She doesn't bother getting medical attention as she can pop it back into place and feel fine.

As a teenager, Frannie took the phrase "just walk it off" too seriously. While she doesn't remember doing so, Frannie broke her knee in a cheerleading accident but simply walked it off, ignoring the pain until it was gone. She only found out in her twenties that she broke it at all because when she tweaked it on a hike the doctor who had it x-rayed asked when she broke it.

Religion VS Faith

Frannie doesn't necessarily consider herself religious anymore. She hasn't set foot in a church in over a decade. She has her faith and what she believes, but she doesn't associate herself with religion and especially not Christians/Christianity.

#anxiety tw #abuse tw #depression tw #eating disorder tw #violence tw #bio: frannie

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ruminativerabbi · 7 years ago

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Billy Joel and the Yellow Star

A few weeks ago, Billy Joel surprised his audience at Madison Square Garden by returning to the stage at the end of a concert wearing a yellow star specifically tailored to resemble the ones the Nazis forced Jews in occupied Europe to wear. Clearly, the point was to make a statement—a stark, wordless one, but one that would (and did) get the attention not only of his audience at the Garden but of the wide world beyond the arena’s walls as well—about the rising tide of white supremacism, neo-Nazism, and anti-Semitic and racial intolerance in our American republic. As wordless protests go, it couldn’t have been more well-timed: the nation was still reeling from the sight of white nationalists, neo-Confederates, and undisguised neo-Nazis marching in Charlottesville while carrying semi-automatic weapons, waving Confederate and Nazi flags, and chanting overtly anti-Semitic slogans when Billy Joel donned his star at the Garden not even two weeks later.

The response to Joel’s gesture was mixed. In the non-Jewish media, it was generally lauded as a dramatic non-verbal statement about a serious national issue by a personality who found himself in the right place at the right time to make it. TMZ, the celebrity news website, referenced it as “a bold statement about the times we live in.” Billboard referred to it as “a powerful political statement.” MSN, The Microsoft Network, said Joel’s gesture was “a strong statement against the growing Neo-Nazi and White Nationalism movement.” People Magazine called it a “strong statement” against intolerance.

The response in the Jewish media was far more equivocal.

Andrew Silow-Carroll, writing on the Jewish Telegraphic Agency website, focused almost exclusively on his fear that Joel’s gesture, no doubt heartfelt and sincere, might accidentally trigger an unfortunate trend: “I don’t think anybody wants the yellow star to become this year’s AIDS ribbon or Livestrong bracelet,” he wrote. “The wearing of the yellow star seems the kind of gesture that can be made once, or sparingly, lest you diminish its shock value or begin to insult the experiences and memory of the people who are purporting to identify with an honor.” But that dismissive response qualifies as restrained and measured when compared to the response of Stephen Pollard in the Jewish Chronicle, the U.K.-based newspaper of which he is editor, who labelled Joel’s gesture “crass, infantile, ignorant, stupid, and offensive.” And that was just the headline. Later on in the piece, he explains his position in slightly more detail: “[You] do not express your pride in being Jewish, or your revulsion against hate, by donning the Nazi yellow star as a fashion statement of that supposed pride. All you do is insult those survivors who lived through the Shoah, and who did not wear their yellow stars to draw media attention to themselves but because they were forced to do so by the Third Reich.” Nor was Pollard at all impressed when Nev Schulman, an actor and the producer of the popular MTV television show Catfish, showed up at the MTV Movie Awards wearing his own yellow star, a gesture that prompted Pollard to label him a “half-wit” and which only seemed to confirm Silow-Carroll’s fear that the yellow star could yet become a widespread symbol of opposition to intolerance.

Other Jewish responses varied. A piece in the Forward earlier this week by the anonymous blogger who writes as Jewish Chick described herself as “flabbergasted, outraged, and frankly puzzled,” by Joel’s and Schulman’s gestures. “For myself,” she wrote, “and [for] many others, [the gesture of donning a yellow star] represents a slap in the face for [sic] those who perished during and [those who] survived the Holocaust, no matter what the intent.” On the other hand, Aryeh Kaltmann, a Chabad rabbi writing on the Algemeiner website, labelled Joel’s gesture as “an inspiring surprise” and explained himself as follows: “By boldly wearing the startling image of the star that the Nazis forced Jews to wear during the Holocaust, Joel was decrying anti-Semitism in particular—and, by implication, racism and other forms of hate.”

I think Rabbi Kaltmann got it right. Yes, it was shocking to see Billy Joel (who has hardly worn his Jewishness on his sleeve in the course of his many years of fame) appearing on stage willingly wearing something that symbolizes the barbarism of Nazi intolerance and anti-Semitism. But isn’t that the point of dramatic gestures in the first place, that they trigger emotions in the people who see them that might otherwise have lain dormant?

I’ve read in many places that there is no apparent historicity to the story I heard a thousand times as a child about how Denmark’s King Christian X chose to express his solidarity with his Jewish subjects after Denmark was invaded by the Germans by donning a yellow star himself. When I was a boy, that story stirred me mightily…and the reason I responded to it so viscerally, now that I think back carefully, is precisely because it was so unexpected, so dramatic, and so intense a gesture for someone outside the Jewish community to make in public on behalf of those on the inside. King Christian wasn’t a Jew, obviously, but he—in the story, at least—was expressing his solidarity with the victims of Nazi anti-Semitism personally and publicly. So why should it not be equally moving to contemplate a pop star—and particularly one whose Jewishness has been so low-key over the years that I myself was slightly surprised the learn that he even was Jewish—by such a person standing up to oppose neo-Nazi anti-Semitism…and particularly when he personally had nothing at all to gain by making such a public statement? That the story about King Christian isn’t true (click here for the details) hardly matters and, indeed, the fact that the story was apparently just a fantasy speaks volumes about how meaningful a gesture it would surely have been had he really made it.

The back history of the Jewish badge goes back a long way. In 1215, for example, the Fourth Lateran Council headed by Pope Innocent III decreed that henceforth Jews in all Christian lands under papal control would be obliged to adopt some specific article of dress that could vary from land to land but that in every place would set them apart from their Christian neighbors. In 1222, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton (who is otherwise remembered for inventing the chapter divisions in the Hebrew Bible that are used today in all Christian editions and most Jewish ones) decreed that English Jews were required to wear a white band across their clothing minimally “two fingers broad and four fingers long.” In 1227, the Christian Synod of Narbonne in France decreed that Jews in France wear an oval badge; just the next year, James I ordered the Jews of Aragon to wear a similar badge. In 1294, the Jews of Erfurt in Germany were similarly required to wear the Jewish badge, the first mention of such a thing in any German city. You get the idea…one way or the other, the practice spread across Europe, constantly being cancelled and then re-introduced over the course of almost the entire medieval period. And then, of course, after centuries of disuse, the Nazis re-introduced the idea in many of the countries they conquered in the early 1940s as well as in Germany itself.

There is something particularly vicious about the use of the star. The Jews of Germany (or France or anywhere) were not physically distinct from the people among whom they lived. And the sense of fitting in, of being one of the masses, of being able to circulate easily in society without arousing the ire of whatever anti-Semites they might encounter in the course of one’s day’s affairs—that sense of being indistinguishable from the rest of the populace was a key element in the feeling many Jews developed that they were safe and secure in their host nations and in the cities they had come to think of as their hometowns.

As a result, pronouncements by those medieval monarchs who considered the fact that their Jewish subjects were not easily recognizable to be a problem in need of addressing took on a particularly ominous ring. Nor did that ominousness dissipate with the passing of centuries, and least of all in Nazi-occupied Europe, where the yellow badge was not just a mark of Jewishness, but more specifically a mark of Jewishness overlaid with a deep sense of creeping ill ease, of jeopardy, of menace.

For these last weeks since Charlottesville, the challenge for us all has been to steer a clear course between over-reaction and under-reaction, between seeing neo-Nazis behind every tree and falling into the trap of not seeing them at all because we so fervently wish for them not to exist. I’ve had to negotiate those straits myself, both when speaking from the bimah and when writing my weekly letter to you all, and even now I find myself unsure about how things truly stand. Surely, there is no incipient political movement gaining ground that is anything like the rising Nazi party in the waning days of the Weimar Republic. There was almost universal bipartisan agreement that the President’s initial comments about Charlottesville were equivocal and unworthy. There were, at the end of the day, about 250 people chanting “Blood and Soil” and “Jews Will Not Replace Us” in the streets of Charlottesville, not 250,000. Our nation has always harbored extremists and haters who abuse their First Amendment rights to defame others, yet the civil rights of citizens remain the cornerstone of our democracy nonetheless. The sense of decency and fairmindedness that is the hallmark of true American patriotism remains in place. I myself am neither worried nor scared; my sense of my place in our nation is just as it has been for decades and is, I believe, as unshakeable as it is unshaken.

But we also remember the Jews of Germany who made the cataclysmic error of underestimating the haters. They too felt secure, safe, and possessed of inalienable civil rights! Of course, the fact that they were wrong doesn’t mean that we too are! But it means that when a public figure like Billy Joel comes on stage at one of the nation’s premiere concert venues and, in front of scores of thousands of fans, says with a single gesture that he is identifying these days with the Jews of 1940’s Germany—when a man such as he makes a wordless statement such as that, in my opinion at least, we should applaud his candor, his willingness to speak out, and, yes, his bravery. His was a valiant gesture at just the right moment and Billy Joel should be lauded both in Jewish and in non-Jewish circles for having made it.

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helloworlddemo1122-yahoopar-blog · 8 years ago

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Mel B Files Restraining Order Against Estranged Husband Stephen Belafonte, Alleges Physical and Sexual Abuse

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Mel B was granted a temporary restraining order against her estranged husband, Stephen Belafonte, on Monday, after alleging that Belafonte beat and threatened her throughout their nearly 10-year marriage.

In court papers obtained by ET, the 41-year-old America's Got Talent judge describes the alleged abuse she's suffered, which she claims started almost immediately after the two married in 2007 following a two-month courtship. Mel B, whose real name is Melanie Brown, claims that she tried to leave her husband multiple times before the two separated in December, but that he threatened her with violence and said he would "destroy" her life in "every possible way."

"I desperately wanted to leave the relationship and tried to do so during our first year of marriage and every year thereafter," Brown alleges in the court papers. "When I threatened to leave, [he] informed me he has videos of our sex life and other private moments. [He] would threaten that if I left, he would release the videos to the tabloids. I have lived the past decade in fear that [he] would release intimate videos of me that would embarrass me and damage my reputation and my career."

WATCH: Mel B Files for Divorce from Husband Stephen Belafonte After Nearly 10 Years of Marriage

"[He] often times demanded that I participate in sexual intercourse with him and random women that he brought back to our hotel rooms," she also alleges. "If I objected to participating, he would threaten to release compromising videos of me. He would often times surreptitiously videotape these encounters, and, if I discovered the recordings, would beg him to delete them."

ET has reached out to both Brown and 41-year-old Belafonte for a statement, but has not heard from them at the time of this posting. In a TMZ video on Monday, Belafonte said he "hadn't heard" Brown's allegations and said that he was "shocked" by them.

In the court papers, Brown claims the physical violence in their relationship began in November 2007, when he allegedly choked her after her Dancing With the Stars finale.

"Later, I would come to realize that [his] beatings and abuse would coincide with my career success," she claims. "When something good would happen to me, he would beat me down to let me know that he was in charge."

In July 2012, she claims Belafonte flew into a rage after accusing her of flirting with singer Usher while the two taped a segment for X Factor together. She claims that Belafonte punched her with a closed fist in the face, causing her lip to split and then swell. In another alleged incident, she claims Belafonte punched her in the face in Prague, a day after she reunited with the Spice Girls at the closing ceremony of the London Olympics. She alleges that he then forced her to tweet that she was injured from running in seven-inch Christian Louboutin shoes, after media had snapped photos of her injured face.

In the court papers, Brown also claims Belafonte got their younger nanny pregnant -- and that he told her he wanted to have the baby and "all three of us live together" -- before ultimately demanding the nanny get an abortion. She also says Belafonte paid the nanny in excess of $300,000 of her money for "alleged nanny services."

In another allegation, Brown claims Belafonte blocked her from getting help after she took an entire bottle of aspirin in a "moment of emotional and physical exhaustion."

"He threw me in the bedroom (without a phone) and locked the door, telling me to 'Die Bit**,'" she claims.

Brown says she eventually got help a day later -- after he allegedly blocked her multiple attempts to leave -- when her driver took her to the hospital instead of to work.

In her request for a temporary restraining order, the singer says she is in "fear of her safety" and that of her children. Brown and Belafonte have one daughter together, 5-year-old Madison, and Brown has two other children from previous relationships -- daughters Angel and Phoenix.

In addition to granting the restraining order, a judge ordered Belafonte to leave the family home in the Hollywood Hills. ET has learned that Brown listed the home that she lived in with Belafonte two days after filing for divorce from him.

DOUGLAS ELLIMAN REAL ESTATE

It's been a tough year for Brown, whose father, Martin Brown, died last month after a five-year battle with multiple myeloma cancer.

"Thank you for everyone's kind gestures and words of support, it really does mean a lot," Brown Instagrammed at the time.

Watch below:

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years ago

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The Unexpected Protector: Part 2

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Abuse, Domestic Violence, Little pinch of fluff.

Word Count: 4,685

A/N: HEED THE WARNINGS!!!!!! DON’T COME CRYING IF YOU DON’T!

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were standing in your bathroom, finishing your curled up-do for the gala you would be attending that night, when Christian, who was home way earlier than you expected, stormed into the room with a look of rage you hadn’t seen in almost a month.

“You let a felon into my house?” He growled as he grabbed your arm, and yanked you away from the counter to face him.

“What?” You gasped as you tried to steady yourself so you didn’t fall over. “I didn’t…”

“Mike saw him leave!” He interrupted as he backhanded you across the face. “Don’t lie to me!”

“OK!” You said as you raised your hand to try and protect your face. “OK, he made me. He threatened my life.”

“What did he want?” He asked as he pushed you up against the light blue wall beside your white soaker tub.

“He…” You stammered as you scrambled to come up with a believable lie. “He owns the club I go to. I forgot my bag there last night and he brought it to me. He wanted my opinion on the club since I’m photographed there all the time. That’s all.” Your husband searched your eyes for the lie and you carefully reached up to cup his jaw in your hands with a smile. “I made him leave, baby. I promise. He was only here for a minute.” You tried not to cringe when his grip tightened as he nodded his head, and jerked his face away from your hand.

“He shows here again and you better call me. I don’t want that son of a bitch in my house.” You knew there was going to be a bruise on your arm as he let you go, stormed out of your bathroom, and slammed the door behind him to head back to work. You jumped at the sound and tears welled in your eyes as Chewie jumped to his feet in your closet and barked at the closed door.

“No, shhh.” You gasped as you lurched forward and picked him up off the floor. “It’s OK, baby. Mommy’s fine.” You cradled him to your chest and walked quickly into the closet so your husband, who hated your dog, wouldn’t hear him and get more mad. Tears fell softly in his fur as you ducked into the corner behind all your long, fancy dresses. You crouched down on the floor in your strapless bra and panties and cried like you did nearly every night that your husband came home early from work.

“Mommy will be OK.” You whispered as your fur child licked your face where you had been slapped. “Mommy will be just fine.”

——

You headed into the Central Park zoo with your head held as high as you could for the annual Wildlife Conservation Society Gala, despite the fact that you were not only late, but alone as well. You pulled the shawl you had thrown on over your strapless, black dress with a red rose print tighter around you, and forced yourself not to cry in shame. Your head spun with your thoughts about what Negan had said and trying to figure out how your life had gotten to the point that it had, and a single tear fell from your eye.

“Hey. Thought I’d find you here.” You heard Negan say from the shadows. You squeaked in shock as your head whipped over at him. Your shoe caught on the front hem of your dress and your hands flew forward to catch yourself when you stumbled. Negan lurched forward to grab your arm, and you couldn’t stop the cringe or the slight hiss when his fingers pressed into the bruises. He instantly let go of your arm, and your fear filled eyes darted up to meet his, making his heart shatter.

“Please don’t.” You said with a shake of your head. You watched his eyes narrow as you stepped back into the light.

“Oh, no he fucking didn’t.” He growled as he took a step toward you, and very gently reached up to pinch your chin with his thumb and forefinger. He turned your face to look at the faint red palm print your makeup couldn’t cover. “Sweetheart…”

“Please… I have to go inside.”

“No.” He said as he shook his head. “Fuck no. I won’t let you get photographed with this. Let’s go.” You breathed his name and tears filled your eyes as he took your hand and lead you back out of the zoo. “Nope. I don’t fucking tolerate men hitting women.”

“Negan, there’s nothing you can do.” You said as you let him lead you through the shadows back toward the entrance.

“Bullshit.” He replied with a shake of his head. He stopped in his tracks and spun around in front of you, causing you to jump slightly in fear. “You know who I am, right?” You nodded your head slowly as he carefully reached up to cup your jaw in his large hand. “So you know what I’m capable of.” You bobbed your head slowly as he brushed your tears away with his thumb. “You know I can get you out of there…”

“You can’t kill him.” You whispered as he took a step closer to you.

“That’s for me to fucking worry about, sweetheart. I’m gunna take care of you, now. Someone fucking needs to.” You closed your eyes and tilted your head down but he didn’t move his hand off your cheek. He took a step forward so that he was nearly chest to chest with you but didn’t try to lift your head. “Let me take care of you, baby girl.” You watched a tear fall on his shiny black shoes, and you forced yourself to look up into his gorgeous brown eyes.

“You don’t even know me.” You whispered. He huffed a small laugh and shook his head as he gently reached out and put his hand on your hip.

“Then I’ll get to fucking know you.” He searched your green eyes with a small smile as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Let me help you, (Y/N).” You hesitated for a only a moment before nodding your head, knowing that this was the only chance you had of getting away from your abusive husband.

“OK.” You barely breathed. His smile grew as he leaned down and lightly kissed your forehead.

“OK. Let’s go get your little fucking fur ball and get you set up at my place for the night. I got a fucking dirty judge or two on my damn payroll that will sign a fucking eviction notice. We’ll get your home back for you by tomorrow night.” You nodded your head, and let him lead you out of the zoo to grab a cab to take you the twelve blocks home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jesus Christ.” Jade said as she walked through the front door of Negan’s three story penthouse on 89th and 3rd. “You would think I was trying to get into the fucking White House.”

“Well you kinda are.” You giggled as you grabbed Chewie before he could dart out the door to attack the pants of the guard that Negan had outside his front door who your dog didn’t like for some reason or another. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Didn’t think it was.” She said as she looked around the black walled living room that complimented the stark white tile floor and furniture perfectly thanks to the two walls of windows that overlooked the city. She pursed her bottom lip and nodded as you closed and locked the door behind her. “Nice place.”

“’s’not home.” You said with a shrug as you put your dog down on the floor.

“I’m mad at you, by the way.” She said sat down on the U-shaped leather couch that took up the bulk of the living room in front of the off center fireplace and the TV. “I’ve been telling you for years to get out of this marriage but would you listen to your bestie? No…”

“Jade.” You sighed as you took a seat a little bit away from her so Chewie would have enough room to jump up between you. “I couldn’t…”

“I know.” She said as she reached across the space and gently grabbed your arm so she could see the finger shaped bruises. She shook her head with a sigh before letting you go, and pulling her hand back. “I get it. You finally got your way out, and I’m proud of you for finally doing it.” She said as she found your green eyes. “Look, he has an APB out on you. Mark told me this morning.”

“Shit.” You sighed as you ran your fingers through your slightly messy bed head since you forgot your brush in your hurry the night before. You shook your head at the news from her husband, a cop that sided with you in this whole situation over his boss and friend. “That’s not good.”

“We’re gunna figure it out.” She said with a reassuring nod as your fur child crawled onto your lap and flopped down on your yoga pant covered thighs with a cute yawn.

“Negan’s got some of his guys at my house installing security cameras and changing all the locks and the alarm codes while Christian’s at work.” You said as you looked up at her. “He’s got someone working on a restraining order, and his lawyer is writing up divorce papers.”

“See, that’s progress.” She said with a smile.

“Yea, until Christian gets his hands on me.” You cocked your eyebrow and glanced over at Jade with an unconvincing smile. “He’s gunna freak…”

“And we’ll be right there to make sure that he doesn’t.” She responded with a nod. “We’ve got your back, sweetheart.” You nodded your head and rested your head on the back of the couch as you ran your fingers through Chewie’s fur. You jumped a bit when the locks on the door turned and looked over as Negan walked through the door while screaming at someone on the phone. He found your eyes and gave you a weak smile.

“Hey, just… fuck! Hold the fuck on, for a sec.” He snapped before pulling the phone away from his ear. “Hey, baby girl. I’m gunna take this upstairs, then we’ll talk, OK?” You nodded your head and smiled as your dog put his front paws on the back of the couch to see. With a nod, Negan returned to his phone call. “Alright, you stupid fucker.” You heard him yell as he headed upstairs to his room. “Now I don’t give a fucking shit what the fuck you think you need to do first…”

“Well he’s a real peach.” Jade giggled as Chewie laid back down with a huff at not getting loved on.

“He wants to take care of me.” You said with a shrug as you rested your arm on the couch to prop your head up on it. “Don’t know why.”

“Because you deserve it.” She laughed as she whacked at your knee, receiving a single, protective bark from Chewie in response. You shook your head and rolled your eyes at her.

“Not one little…”

“You know what.” She interrupted. “I’m gunna have surgery tomorrow.” Your brow furrowed as she nodded her head and curled up on the couch. “Yep. I’m gunna have ‘em cut off my tits and give me a penis so you’ll actually start listening to me.”

“Oh God.” You laughed as you picked up Chewie to sit crosslegged on the couch as well. “You’re an idiot.”

“Whatever, you love me.”

——

“He’s gunna be so mad.” You mumbled to yourself as you paced the second floor living room and twisted your fingers together, painfully.

“Baby girl.” Negan said from the stairway as he watched you walk back and forth. “Sit down.” You shook your head and kept walking until you heard Christian’s loud work SUV pull up in front of your house. Your head whipped around and the color drained from your face as Negan took a step in front of you and whistled loudly for the couple guys that were waiting for his arrival downstairs.

“Negan…” You whispered.

“Stay here, baby girl.” He said with a nod. You shook your head and grabbed his arm to follow him down the spiral staircase. “Here.” He said as he gently pulled your hands off his arm and moved them to the staircase banister as Christian jogged down the half dozen steps from the street to your front door. When you hit the first floor, you could see the fury on his face a mile away as his eyes focused on Negan when the latter opened the frosted glass covered door.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Christian roared as he reached for his gun.

“Wouldn’t fucking do that if I were you, chief-y.” He said with a shake of his head. “You’re on candid fucking camera, now.”

“And you’re fucking trespassing…” Your husband retorted as he trained his service weapon on Negan’s forehead.

“No.” Negan drew out with a slow shake of his head. “No, that would be you. You see, I was invited- by the woman who fucking owns this Goddamn house to be here. I was also the one who watched you get fucking served with a fucking restraining order today so you, my friend, are the one who’s fucking trespassing right now.” He kept his eyes locked on Christian as he raised his hand and gestured his men forward. You looked over for a half second as a guy named Tony and an extremely tall, monster of a man that simply went by ‘Tank’, grabbed the two suitcases full of clothes and the three boxes of Christian’s belongings and carried them out the front door.

“Now, I’ve had my fucking lawyer look over your fucking prenup. I gotta say, (Y/N)’s lawyer was a brilliant fucking man for that beauty. I wanna frame that shit and hang it on my Goddamn wall. This is all you’re fucking getting in the divorce; clothes, personal belongings, and the money in your bank account. We closed hers this morning and moved it to a different bank so you can’t fucking touch it. And let me be crystal fucking clear on this next point.” He stepped out of your door a step and pointed at Christian as Tony and Tank stood on either side of the door.

“You’re fucking done- beating on your fucking wife. You’re fucking done- abusing that beautiful women. You come near her again and cop or not, I’ll fucking end you, you scumbag piece of shit. And you can bet your fucking ass that if you think you’re fucking good, I promise you, I’m fucking better. And I don’t know if you heard or not, but I keep my fucking promises.” He turned on his heel and headed back into your house with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Have a nice night, chief-y.” With a wave over his shoulder, he grabbed your door and shut it sharply behind him before Christian could even get a word in. You trembled almost violently as you watched Tony and Tank move directly in front of the door, blocking your husband from view.

“Hey, baby girl.” Negan said softly as he turned on your new house alarm and locked the three automatic dead bolts, only one of which could be unlocked from the outside with a key. “Let’s go let the fur ball out of your room and watch a fucking movie. I’ll send Tony to grab us some pizza or something.” You nodded slowly as you dragged your eyes away from your husband’s retreating back up to Negan’s scruff covered face. He smiled at you warmly and offered you his hand. “Come on, baby. It’s OK.” He said with a small nod. You returned the gesture and slipped your hand into his as Christian’s car tires squealed away from the curb.

“OK.” You whispered with a small smile. “OK.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No matter what you did, you couldn’t fall asleep that night. You tossed and turned, kicked the blankets off only to yank them right back up, turned on the TV for background noise, and even broke the ‘cardinal rule’ and brought Chewie up on the bed to snuggle. But sleep evaded you. Around three am, you gave up, and headed upstairs to where Negan had been catching up on the work he had missed that day.

“Listen to me.” You heard him bark as he paced the den on the forth floor. “He don’t fucking pay up, the detail is fucking gone. Period. I don’t give a shit who the fuck he is.” Your slow movement caught his attention and he blanched for a second at your choice of nightgown; a black, low back satin tank top gown that stopped mid-thigh. His eyes darted back up to yours and he held up one finger as you stepped into the room with Chewie in your arms. You nodded as you took a seat in the giant, plush, leather chair that sat in the corner. “Because I run a fucking business, that’s why! He has the fucking money, that’s not the fucking problem here. Now, pull the Goddamn detail ’til he fucking pays up… and that’s not my fucking problem… well, thank fuck for that.” With a shake of his head, he hung up the phone and flopped down on the desk chair with a heavy sigh.

“Fucking idiots.” He breathed with a shake of his head. “I don’t fucking work for free.”

“People are idiots.” You agreed with a nod.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked as he set his phone on the open books on his desk. You shook your head and made room for Chewie on the chair beside you.

“Couldn’t get comfortable.” He nodded his head as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Can I ask you something?” You nodded your head and tucked your feet up on the chair.

“By all means.” He smirked and sat forward.

“What’s the damn dog’s name?” You startled a bit and said a soft ‘oh’.

“Chewie.” You said as you picked up your dog and stood up. “Technically, it’s Chewbacca, shoe destroyer of the galaxy but that name is a little too long to be shouting through the house. When I first got him, he ate a pair of Manolo's I was planning on donating so the name just fit. Chewie, say hi.” You tilted your head to the side to look at the cute little face of your pup as he let out a single yip. You shifted him in your arms so he can stretch out his paw for a hand shake. “You gotta shake his paw or he keeps waving it at you.” Negan laughed as he reached up to shake the offered paw.

“How long did it take you to teach him that?” He asked as you walked over to the bookshelf to grab your bag of stashed dog treats.

“Couple days. I have a lot of time on my hands. You know, between shopping and going to events every other week.”

“Can I ask you something else? It’s a little personal.” You nodded as you gave your pup a treat and sat back down in the chair. “Where does your money come from? I know old money…” Your laugh interrupted him as you curled up on the chair and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Let me counter with this. What do you think you know about me? Cause I can almost guarantee that you’re wrong.”

“A challenge.” Negan chuckled as he leaned back in his chair again. “Alright. So I’ll skip over the easy stuff- maiden name, age, house location, marriage details, yada, yada, yada. I know you’re on the board of three different charities, and you’re in page six on a semi-regular basis. You come from old money, location is undetermined as of now, and you’re net worth is 1.7 billion.” You arched your eyebrows and nodded slowly as a laugh bubbled in your chest.

“Wow.” You said with a small tilt of your head. “So your guy can use Google. You’re wrong, by the way.”

“Oh, am I?” He chuckled as he gestured as if to give you the floor. “Please, enlighten me.”

“Alright. Well, the first part is all true. I’m on three boards and yes, I do frequent page six more than anyone really should. But the rest is wrong. I don’t come from old money.” You informed him as you got up from the chair with a knowing smile and walked over to the small book shelf you had your dog treats on to grab a small plaque. “And if you had opened your eyes a bit, you would have seen where that ‘old money’ comes from.” You glanced at the blue panel on the front before passing it to him with a smile. “I technically own the New England Patriots.” You watched his eyes go wide and his mouth actually fell open as he read the owners dedication plaque from 1994 when your inherited the team from your late grandfather.

“You…” He tried as you leaned against the desk in front of him. “You…”

“I’m a silent owner, yes.” You said with a nod. “Robert Kraft and my grandfather were old friends. My grandparents raised me after my parents died when I was two. My dad was driving them home drunk from a game and hit another car. I don’t remember it. When my grandpa died when I was six, the team came to me. Uncle Bobby… Robert… was appointed my legal guardian since I didn’t have any other family and he took over as the face of the team since I was just a baby and all. When I came of age, I just gave him the team since I’m not a football junkie like a lot of people. He splits the profits fifty- fifty. Which makes my net worth about 3.4 billion but it’s whatever.” You reached out and pat his shoulder with a cocky giggle. “Good try though.”

“You… you own the fucking Patriots.” He said again as he handed you back the plaque.

“I own the Patriots.”

“God, I think I fucking love you.” You smiled as you put the plaque back on the shelf. “You don’t even go to the games, do you?”

“I used to.” You told him as you moved your dog out of the way and sat back down on the chair. “Christian and I used to go when we first started got together. We’d fly over for the night, catch the home games, and fly back the next day. But when things turned for the worse a year into our marriage, we stopped going. Was easier than explaining to my uncle why I had a black eye that week or why I was wearing sunglasses at night.”

“Jesus fuck…”

“It’s OK.” You interrupted. “I’m OK, now thanks to you. Now, can I ask you something personal?”

“I mean… it’s only fair but keep in mind I there’s certain questions I just can’t fucking answer…” You nodded and glanced down at your hands in your lap for a second.

“How did you become the boss?” He inhaled a little sharply and you were actually surprised you got an answer.

“I inherited it as well.” He said with a small nod. “But I can’t say more than that without…”

“I get it.” You said over him with a nod. “It’s a little bit bigger of an admittance than saying you own a football team.” A smile of relief stretched across his face as he nodded his head.

“Thanks… for understanding.” You nodded and rested your head on the back of the chair. You searched his eyes for moment and bit your bottom lip.

“Did you know who I was? At the club, I mean.”

“Not at first. But I found out yesterday.”

“Did you invite me up to your office just to sleep with me?” You watched the lie dance across his eyes for a moment before he nodded subtly.

“At first.” He admitted. “You’re fucking gorgeous, I’d be fucking stupid not to want to. But then I found out the truth about what you went through and I don’t take too kindly to fucking men who beat up women. I knew you needed help, so I’m helping.” You nodded your head and looked away again.

“Is that all you want from me?” You whispered nearly too quietly. You almost thought he didn’t hear you.

“No.” He said with an unseen shake of his head. “I want you. All of you. I want to protect you, I want to make you happy and see you smile that fucking stunning smile of yours. I want to spoil you the way you fucking deserve to be, and I want you to be the only woman on my arm. I won’t lie to you; initially, it was going to be about the sex. But then I realized fucking quickly that you need someone in your corner so much fucking more than that. You need a real man to show you that you deserve so much more than the shitty life your cock sucking ex gave you.” You looked up at him with tears in your eyes as he continued with a nod.

“I don’t wanna force your hand, here. You don’t want me and just want my protection? That’s fine. I’m not offended at all. My services to you are free for as long as you need and you can consider Tank your personal bodyguard until further notice. You want to consider a relationship? That’s fucking dandy in my book, too. But I’m going to insist we wait a bit before we even entertain the idea. Abusive relationships are fucking killer, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and I’m not about to fucking rush you into something new. I’m not fucking tactless. And let the record show, I don’t want your fucking money. I don’t want your status, I don’t want to get even with your husband, fuck, I don’t want any of that. All I want is for you to be happy and I wanna be the one who makes you fucking happy. I will say though, I wouldn’t mind going to a football game because that’s fucking cool as shit.” You huffed a laugh as you reached up to wipe your tears off your cheeks.

“I think I can make that happen.” You said with a nod. “Season just started so I can call Uncle Bobby and have him send the jet down. We’ll consider it payment for your protection.”

“I think that’s a fair trade, baby girl.” He responded through a yawn. You smiled and gestured to the doorway of the den.

“You know I have four unused bedrooms on this floor, right? You’re more than welcome to get some sleep.”

“You going to bed, too?” He asked as he scrubbed his hand down his face. You shook your head as you picked up your sleeping pup and stood up.

“Probably just going to jump in the pool for a while. Maybe go down and watch a movie in the basement.”

“You have a pool?” He asked as he stood up as well.

“Floor right above you.” You said as you pointed at the ceiling. “I’ll take you on a grand tour when you get up for the day. Get some sleep. When you get up, you can either find me on the fifth floor in the pool or in the movie room in the cellar. It’s marked C in the elevator.”

“Damn.” He said with a shake of his head as he stopped outside the beach room. “I’m kinda jealous of this house.” With a laugh, you shook your head and headed down stairs to the master floor.

“Trust me, you haven’t see anything yet.”

Part 3

#Negan x Reader #The Unexpected Protector #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad

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