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r0ttenb0gb0dy · 2 months ago

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jack ‘canary’ skalbek — full backstory

this is incredibly self indulgent, but i wanted to get it out of my chest, i guess. it's raw and silly at times but i love it all the same and i hope you do too. ive never posted my writing on tumblr so i really hope it does ok out here heh.

18+ for swearing, canon COD violence, no explicit sex but alluding to further acts, just generally not for minors ! adult topics and characters individual trauma discussed within .

There’s something to be said about the haze of being a teenager in California in the early aughts. The warm, all-over feeling of the sun beating down on tanned, freckled skin. Bruised knees, busted knuckles. Spending every day in a lake or a river, god forbid the chlorine riddled soup of a swimming pool, making the most out of what time is had.

Jack Skalbek was, by all accounts, an average teenager, who did average teenage things. Smoking pot behind the bleachers when he should be in class, watching his marginally more athletic friends throw themselves at gym class like it actually mattered. Football, soccer — whatever it was, he could usually find Keegan and Alex there.

Keegan, a year his senior, and Alex a year older, the closest things he could call his friends. They’d spent much of their childhood daydreams running around town together, iPod plugged into a speaker on the back of one of their bikes, blasting some obnoxiously emo music that all of them indulged in. 2004 lends itself to that aspect, dyed hair and painted nails, one too many chains hanging off of Jack’s wallet.

Alex would never speak of it, but he could see it in little glimpses. Catch the fleeting hand-holds and hushed laughter, that look.

There was no way they weren't feeling something.

They just didn't know what to call it.

Sitting on the roof of Jack’s parent’s house, having climbed up through an access point that certainly wasn't meant to be used by 16 year olds, Keegan and Jack lingered. Long past Alex’s curfew, his need to return home leaves them in each other's presence.

“You decide anything about college yet?” Keegan asked, watching Jack fumble with his lighter in an attempt to light the cigarette between his lips. They tasted awful, and he didn't even like the nicotine buzz, but the ‘deep breathing' exercise was relaxing.

“No — I mean, I still have a year.” Jack huffed, sighing with satisfaction as he got it to light. The burn in his throat was comforting, but his attention was more focused on Keegan. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” Keegan murmured, his voice low and quiet. “I, uh, I was talkin’ to a recruiter downtown the other day.”

“Oh? Is that why you blew off our mall date?”

“It wasn't a date, but yes.” Keegan chuckled, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. Worn from use, he slipped his thumbs through holes in the cuffs, the heather gray fabric fraying at the edges. He felt like he was doing the same thing, some days.

“So, like, what sport? Did you get picked up for football?”

“No, I mean, like — a Marine recruiter.”

“Oh! Yeah, I got that letter too — you actually went and talked to those guys?” Jack snickered, but Keegan was infinitely more serious about it. He had really gone and discussed a future in the military? What future was there in something like that? Brutish violence and bloodshed, all for some rich man’s greed — proxy wars.

“I mean, yeah. Alex came with me. They said I’d be a prime candidate. I’m taking the test soon to see where I place, but they said my grades were high enough that —”

“Slow down.” Jack turned to face the other boy entirely, the warm glow of the setting sun painting him somewhere between coral pink and tangerine. His eyes, though, were still an icy blue. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You joined?”

“Enlisted.” The dark haired boy shrugged, fixing his gaze on Jack’s. “It’s no big deal, Jackie.”

“It’s a really big deal.”

“It’s not — it's the same as if you told me you were gonna go to art school in New York City.”

“Art school doesn't get me killed.” Jack said softly, almost embarrassed that his qualm with the entire thing was the idea of his person Keegan dying. His cheeks were flushed red, all heated up and uncomfortable. He averted his gaze, but Keegan's hand on his cheek returned him to reality.

“Is that what bothers you about it?”

“It's dangerous, Keegan. Y-You could get shot, or lose a leg, or —”

“I can live without a leg.”

“You're not funny.” Jack groaned, pushing Keegan's hand away only to feel it in his hair this time, fingers laced in-between his long grey-blonde hair. It grounded him, making his thoughts clear up and focus down to just one, very clear idea. “I don't want you to go. I-I thought you had to be 18 to enlist.”

“If I pass all the tests, they’ll make an exception. It’s still a couple months out, I’ll be 18 by the time I get out on deployment.” Keegan said whilst gently brushing through Jack’s hair, a bit tangled from being wet earlier that day, knotted with pool water. “This is somewhere I can make a difference.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Jack replied, having long forgotten his cigarette by now. It was mostly ash, all balanced perfectly at the end. One little twitch of his hand and it all fell off, leaving half an inch of smokable length behind. It didn't matter anymore, though.

“Because if I don't, and I just assume someone else will, nothing’ll ever change.”

“How poetic.” Jack mumbled, closing his eyes as Keegan’s hand drew forward, back to his jaw. Soft, gentle, well intentioned. Better than anyone that Jack could ever pray to fill the gap Keegan would surely leave behind with. It made his heart ache knowing that these nights were fleeting, slipping through his fingers already and Keegan hadn't even passed his exams yet. “Promise that you’ll come back from wherever they send you?”

Keegan bit back the words that came to mind first, acknowledging that he couldn't promise to come back. Men and women die all of the time overseas, and he could likely become one of the many that don’t come home outside of a casket. He looked down at Jack, those soft brown eyes enamored with him, and knew he had to make that impossible promise.

“I’ll come back to you.”

It happened quickly. His exams came up fast and he passed them with flying colors, eviscerating the physical testing all the same. Even with the sword of Damocles above their heads, they continued to share hurried kisses and late nights, begging for a few minutes more from the universe. Fighting the timer with every movement. Pressured by the impending doom, Jack started applying to colleges — it was a year too soon, but if Keegan could weasel his way into the Marine Corps at 17 then he could finesse his way into some pretentious art school.

Flashes in his memory now, images of his acceptance letter and Keegan’s coming just days apart, his call to action a far greater anomaly. He and Alex would be leaving for the opposite side of the country in a matter of weeks, ensuring Jack felt helpless. His best friends, whisked away to die in the middle of the desert.

The night before Keegan needed to be at the airport, to be sworn in and shipped off, he didn't spend a second longer at home than he needed to. He was at Jack’s house the second he finished packing, duffel bags discarded at the front door. Mrs. Skalbek would surely move them and re-fold the messy clothes, probably even press his uniform nicely for the next day — she knew it, too, the way that her boy was enraptured by the Russ kid.

She didn't mind, even if Keegan’s parents did. He was leaving, now, she could at least provide them with a safe home for one more evening.

Keegan half expected Jack to break down in tears, begging for him to change his mind or something, but he didn't. He opened the window of his room instead, letting the salt air in, a gentle breeze cooling the room down. Christmas lights strung from the ceiling the only real illumination save for the fading sunset, casting a pinkish glow over everything. On his desk, a closed sketchbook with about a million drawings of Keegan and Alex, though there was a distinct pattern of a particular set of blue eyes repeating every few pages. Then there was Jack laying on his bed, swallowed whole by the comforter, his sad and tired eyes fixed on Keegan in the doorway.

They skipped the “awkward” part fairly quickly.

No hello or how are you, just straight and to the point. Wrapped up in each other’s arms above the sheets, bodies warm and hazy at the edges, blurring the lines between a tangle of limbs. Jack didn't say a word as he closed his eyes and breathed in the achingly familiar scent of the gold standard of a boy he’d grown to love.

“Don’t get hung up on me, alright?” Keegan asked, sleep laced between his words.

“What’d’you mean?”

“Like…go and do whatever you’re gonna do in LA. Don’t worry about me. I can handle my own.”

“Respectfully, shut the fuck up. I’ll be worried about you until you’re home.”

“M’not gonna change your mind, am I?”

“No.” Jack replied, pulling Keegan in closer. It was much too hot for proximity like this, but neither seemed to care.

“At least make some good memories so we have somethin’ to talk about when I come back.”

Jack hummed in reply and drifted off to sleep against his will, waking up without another body in his bed. In a panic he sat up, making his head spin, but he realized Keegan was just getting dressed. He hadn't left yet. The uniform he wore looked foreign on his frame, a little too big on him, but he looked happy enough in it. Keegan looked up when Jack startled awake, a slight frown on his face.

“Wanted to slip out without wakin' you.”

“You didn't say goodbye.”

“That was the point, Jackie.” Keegan chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed, lacing his boots up with unpracticed hands. “I didn't wanna make you have to go through a goodbye.”

He was right. Goodbye sounded awful. It took Jack a moment of contemplation before he settled on an alternative, his half asleep brain convincing him it was a great idea.

“I love you.” Jack spoke softly, though confident in those three words. They'd remained an unspoken law thus far, only now being brought into the fabric of reality. They made Keegan stop in his tracks for a split second.

“I love you, too, Jackie.” He replied, his voice a solemn tone. After he finished tying his boots he turned and placed a kiss on Jack’s forehead, rustling his hair up one more time for good measure. “I’ll text you when I get to base. Be safe.”

‘made it 2 base. no phone 4 a few months. alex says hi. xx keegs.’

Jack loved and hated those text updates every single time he received one. They were few and far in-between, but they meant the world. It was all he really had left of Keegan. The following summer, after nearly a year of no real contact, Jack finally got a phone call. He was moving into his dorm at UCLA when his phone started blaring Keegan’s ringtone, setting his mind on high alert. Jack fumbled his phone open, pressing the green answer button as soon as his fingers stopped shaking enough to do so.

“Keegan?”

“Jackie.”

He’s alive.

“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. Holy shit.” Jack laughed, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes from the sheer emotional weight. He could hear idle chatter in the background, Alex’s voice included, carrying on about something he didn't quite understand. “How has it been?”

“Listen, I don't have a lot of time. We’re gonna be leaving for Tel Aviv, soon.” Keegan sounded all too serious, some of that warmth and wonder gone from his voice. It’d dropped an octave, too. “S’been good, Jackie. I just wanted to call and talk to you before we hit dirt.”

“Tel Aviv?” Jackie mumbled. “You’re in the middle of the war?”

“Fuckin’ neck deep in it.” Keegan replied quietly. “You made it to LA, right?”

“Didn't know you still got my texts.”

“Of course I do. I just — I don't have time to reply, some days. I don't have a good excuse, either. Just want to make sure you know I meant it, back then. Miss you like hell.”

“S’that your girl?” Someone’s voice called from a distance, earning a huff out of Keegan. “Is she hot?”

“Shut your fuckin’ trap!” He barked back. “Sorry, Jackie. Listen, I — I gotta bounce, I don't know how long we’ll be out here. Be safe for me, okay?”

“I — yeah, of course, K.” Jack stuttered, running a hand back through his hair in a self-soothing manner. Though Keegan hadn't said the words, Jack wanted to make sure that the point got across that he understood. “I love you, too.”

Click.

Radio silence did not begin to describe what followed that phone call. Jack pushed down his anxiety for a long, long while, ignoring all of the news outlets claiming that a civilian hospital in Tel-Aviv had been assaulted and defended by U.S. Marines. That there had been countless casualties, that those men would be honored posthumously with medals and awards. He didn't read a single article out of fear that he would see Keegan Russ or Alex Johnson in the list of names.

College flew by. The war raged on. He didn't hear from Keegan, his family, no one. Even when his mother called, he blew her off, fearing that she was calling to break the news of his untimely death in the Middle East. Birthday after birthday, year after year, and he had not even begun to fill the space in his chest with something real. Uppers and downers, party culture — it was his way of smothering the pain temporarily, far better than anything his psychologist offered him in way of coping.

Deep breathing exercises and journaling didn't bring Keegan back.

Nothing did.

Not drinking, not partying, not kissing strangers in bars — nothing.

The world continued to strife while Jack continued to linger in 2004, the better part of him remaining on the rooftop of his mom’s house. He especially noticed his inability to change with the rest of the world as ‘The Federation of the Americas’ rose to power. News of their rampage spread like wildfire until they, themselves had spread closer and closer to the U.S. Even when their leader was assinated, it didn't stop them.

Tensions were high, tides ebbing and flowing with every passing day, until 2017.

Jack Skalbek had settled into his life in Los Angeles. He had a house that he rented with a few roommates, a cat, a rather nice car — nothing was too awful those days. He could go outside on his porch and rip a bong like his life depended on it, seeing stars in broad daylight, and —

Wait.

Those aren't stars. It’s broad daylight.

Jack blinked a couple of times as he raised his hand over his eyes, shielding out the harsh glow of the sun. There were small pieces of something hurtling towards the earth, like shooting stars, and as they drew closer he knew they weren't small. They were large, flaming chunks of a spacecraft or something — that was the only logical explanation.

People were running. Something was rumbling.

Impact.

The earth split in two, directly through Los Angeles, and all Jack could do was run. He ran like he never had before, stumbling through the literally broken streets with little regard for anything else. His cat, Molly, leapt out into the street (he never quite stopped thanking God for that) and he scooped her up, hauling ass as fast as he could.

He never really stopped running.

Molly learned to stay at his side, mewling as they traversed what remained of Los Angeles for a while, eventually forced up North by the Federation’s invasion. Before he knew it, Jack had found company with a military squad, having been on base whenever ODIN hit. They stuck together in the aftermath, and when they found Jack essentially camping in the wilderness, they picked him up. At least then, he was “camping” with a group of heavily armed, skilled soldiers.

It didn't last long, the ideation that he could just tag along. Before he knew it, Lieutenant Ames had shoved a rifle into his hands.

“You're too tall to be a sniper and too lanky to be close quarters, so you’re gonna scout. Think you can manage that, Skalbek?” Ames asked, watching Jack inspect the rifle. He’d never used a gun before, or held one, but he supposed that now was as good a time as any to learn how. It would likely be the only difference between him living and dying, so it felt important.

A distant memory these days, although a sweet one, Keegan would have been proud of him. He had passable marksmanship, steady artist hands coming in handy for such a task. His lungs were a weakness, but it wasn't exactly commonplace to come upon large quantities of smokable substances in their travels. Stretching a pack of cigarettes became a habit, until he was barely smoking them at all. Once he could hold his breath long enough to get a few shots off, he was good enough.

That was all that mattered. He could protect himself in the wild.

Jack spent years with the same crew of men, calling them brothers. He never grew too close, never squinted to see Keegan’s face in theirs — he didn't think of those blue eyes often those days. It was hard to dream of good things in such a bad place, like a war-torn America, in desperate need of saving.

Jack just prayed that Keegan was alright, wherever he may be, whatever he may be doing. He had to have survived the initial attack in Tel Aviv.

The soldiers would gossip about a team of men that came from Santa Monica, made up of the survivors from Tel Aviv — fifteen men out of sixty that came out on top when up against five hundred Federation attackers. Ghosts, they were called, a supernatural force that somehow overcame the odds.

He believed that men had survived, but he didn't believe that they were so mythical. Though, after so many years of dissidence, some will cling to those little miracles out of desperation.

Hope was a very dangerous thing for anyone to have, let alone some random man from Northern California that barely survived Los Angeles' implosion, but he had it. Even if he would never admit such a thing aloud for fear of it being taken away. Jack spent most of his time from 2017 until 2022 doing the best he could to hold himself together, and eventually in the winter of that year, it came crashing down.

He woke up to gunshots. Loud, quick, violent. Close. Jack startled awake and reached for his rifle, but before he could even aim he felt a firm thunk on the side of his head. Everything hurts, his head ringing until he falls unconscious, and everything goes painfully black.

Jack had never been knocked unconscious before, but he learned quickly that the wake-up was infinitely worse than the go-down. Nothing was worse than realizing he was chained up, though. His hands were cuffed above his head, the distinct taste of copper rich on his tongue as his eyes fluttered.

“Fuck…” Jack breathed, the sound of his lungs almost wet. He’d surely aspirated his own blood, but he couldn't be certain he wasn't waterboarded by the way his lungs felt liquidy. “Hello?”

Mistake.

A Federation soldier joined him in that cell within seconds, and he learned to keep his mouth shut from then on. It went on for a week straight, the torture, getting beat senseless day in and out by Feds just for fun. They’d laugh, dump alcohol on his gaping wounds, break bones like it was a game. One of them took a bat to his knee on the last day of that first week, and he was sure that he would die in that cell.

Cold. Alone. Bloody.

Months went by. Long, arduous. Sometimes he wouldn't see another human being for several days, and then he would be forced to take a beating alongside another of the soldiers from his company. He wasn't sure when he started referring to himself as one of them, as a soldier, but the Feds saw him that way too.

Corporal Skalbek. The punching bag.

Six. Long. Months.

He was happy that he was still alive on occasion, but most days were spent half-conscious and starving for breath. He couldn't even scream anymore. His throat was so terribly dry he was certain that it was only wet from his blood, coating every gulp with the distinct taste of it. If he coughed, it’d sputter out and paint his pale flesh with an array of sanguine specks, blending with the other stains from the physical abuse. Bruises littered his body, alongside gashes and lacerations, marks from where ligatures had dug into his skin.

The handcuffs were always the worst, a little too rusty and worn, sure to give him tetanus if he survived this ordeal. But, in some sort of optimistic turn, he wasn't sure he would survive it.

If Jack closed his eyes, he could almost hear Marines charging the camp, barking orders over gunfire. That, however, was a fantasy, just like the idea of going home was. Well, at least back to the U.S.. LA wasn't home anymore, and he didn't rightly have a place to live since the soldiers he ran with were always moving, but he would be happy to live in an abandoned motel for the rest of his days at this rate.

Fantasies of a better life left him feeling warm and fuzzy inside despite the exhaustion gripping his every emotion. He was sure, now, that he was starting to see things that weren't really there. Disturbed cognitive functioning is a symptom of mental deterioration, and with the way his mind was creating custom imagery of Marines coming to save him he had to be close to death at this rate. The deafening sound of gunfire traveled closer down the hallway, echoing off the walls alongside the repetitive drum-beat of bootfalls.

“Clear every room — I want every last one of these boys to survive.” A voice shouted, followed by a few affirmative replies of some kind. Jack perked up, straining the cuffs holding his hands up, aggravating the painful friction wounds. A fresh stream of blood ran down his forearms, warm and wet.

It took a few minutes for him to actually believe that someone was here to rescue him from this hell, but once he did he started fighting his restraints. Trying desperately to make the chains jingle but failing at that as well. The pain in his wrists was too much to simply push through it, and he truthfully couldn't feel the lower half of his body anymore. He tried to push himself up on his knees but they were in pure agony.

It wasn't fair.

They’d never hear him.

When they came to the door of his cell, a pair of eyes appeared in the barred enclosure, glancing the room over. He opened his mouth to speak, to beg for mercy, but once more nothing came out. Jack fought his restraints once again and the eyes lit up. Next thing he knew, the door was wide open and he was sure that this was all some vivid hallucination before his death.

The man looked to be a grim reaper, or a twisted angel of mercy. His eyes were nearly white, they were so blue and he knew right then and there that it was him.

He couldn’t mistake those eyes.

“Hey — look’a’me. You’re gonna be jus’ fine.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly, husky in every sense of the word. He went to whimper his excitement but, well…it came out as a coughing fit, blood coating his dry lips once again. Did he not recognize Jack? Has so much changed? Did he not look like himself anymore? “Don't push yourself.”

Jack huffed and sat patiently as the man, who’s last name was too blurry to read and he knew it anyway, broke the cuffs off his wrists with bolt cutters. It hurt, but it reminded him that this was actually happening and that he was alive still. Air still filled his lungs at a quickened pace, he could still feel the warmth of another person’s flesh on his. The man had gloves on, but there was life in his touch — gripping Jack’s fragile and broken body.

“Can you walk?” He asks. Jack shakes his head rapidly and the man doesn't reply, picking the semi-emaciated other up without hesitation. When they enter the hallway, Jack can see the blurry outlines of other men populating the space, both his soldier friends and Marines. “Merrick! Got the last one — he’s not doing too hot.”

“Exfil’s outside — he’s still breathing?’ ‘Merrick’ called back, a fuzzy figure in the distance.

“Barely. Pulse is thready.” The man holding him barked back to Merrick, leaving Jack wondering if he would die anyways, regardless of being saved. It was getting hard to stay awake now that he knew he wasn't going to be stuck in captivity any longer, his eyelids fighting sleep. He knew he was safe. “Hey — stay awake. Eyes on me.”

Jack suddenly felt his eyes open wide again, fixing on the man holding him. He felt like a teenager all over again, looking up through tired eyes on that last day before he lost his best friends to a war he was now fighting, too.

“There we go…eyes on me. Just a few more minutes.” Focusing on that voice wasn't hard. It had gotten deeper, but it was as familiar as breathing.

It was just a few more, in truth. Jack found himself seated in the back of a Humvee, bleeding all over the fabric interior. His body begged for sleep but his blue-eyed angel kept nudging him awake, occasionally pinching his arm to make sure he felt something enough to keep him awake.

“Stop it. You fall asleep, you die.” He huffed in frustration as Jack dozed off again.

“Don't be such a prick, Keegan. He’s a prisoner of war.” Merrick called from the front passenger seat, gazing back at Jack and his mangled body. A mess of limbs and blood, but with the widest smile he could possibly muster. It was him. In the flesh, breathing right in front of him, holding his hand. “You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

Oh, he would be just fine.

Upon arriving in Fort Santa Monica, he was allowed to rest. Anesthetic sleep was never truly restful, as it was artificial, but it was enough for him to walk in a more lucid state. His vision wasn't blurry, his head was no longer pounding, and he didn't taste blood.

A much better day in Jack’s book by a hundred miles.

He rolled onto his side and overlooked the small med-bay, the typical hustle and bustle of a hospital environment carrying on beyond the curtain. It smelled sterile there, but it was welcome in comparison to the scent of rust and rot. The flat white surface of the curtain was disrupted by a hand, followed by the presence of Keegan fucking Russ.

“Didn't think you'd be awake so soon.” He sort of darts his gaze away from Jack, embarrassed that he’d come to sit with a man that he’d presumed to be unconscious. The trouble, though, really came when Jack went to reply. No noise came out. His throat was sore, but it likely only felt that way because morphine was smothering any real pain he would normally be feeling. He touched at his throat anxiously, fingertips dancing across bandages wrapped around the entirety of his neck. “I can do most of the talking, s’alright. I’d like to know who I’m talking to, though. You know sign language or something?”

Jack rolled his eyes. It definitely made sense for him, a person with functional vocal chords and ears six months ago, to have learned sign language. Keegan chuckled at the display of attitude, not a clue in his mind still that he was who he was.

“Stop me when I say the right letter. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J—”

Jack tapped Keegan’s hand. A flash of recognition crossed his face before he continued.

“Okay, J. A—”

Another tap.

“J-A…A, B, C—”

Tap.

“Jack?” Keegan spoke softly. “You — sorry, you kinda look like someone I know. His name was Jack, too. When LA went, he went, too.”

Huh? How had he even heard something like that? How was he so certain that Jack was dead?

“Nevermind. I’m, uh, Sergeant, First Class. Keegan Russ. You in pain or anything, Jack? I’m sure I could get them to sneak you a little extra morphine or something. Maybe a cigarette? Not that you should smoke with your throat torn open, I guess…”

Jack stared up at him. If there was any uncertainty, it was resolved immediately.

“What’s that fuckin’ look for?”

Jack went to speak and he literally squeaked in place of words. God damnit.

“Exactly. Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be around with a better way for you to talk, later.” Keegan said as he left, pulling the curtain shut once again. Instead of throwing a fit because Keegan didn't recognize him, Jack opted for sleep, coiling up on his side as the morphine lulled him into a sense of security, the warmth putting him out like a light.

A man of his word as he always had been, Keegan returned after Jack got some much-needed sleep, food, and water. He looked somewhat disappointed though, taking a seat across from Jack’s bed.

“Does a pen and paper work? I really thought I’d have a more innovative solution to the, uh, no-talking thing but…” Keegan said sheepishly as he snatched the medical clipboard from the side table of Jack’s bed, flipping to a blank sheet of paper before handing it to Jack alongside a pen.

‘It’s fine.’ Jack wrote, turning it to face Keegan. ‘My wrists hurt, though.’

“I figured — Doc said you got some pretty deep lacs. I’ll keep it brief. Your last name?”

‘Skalbek.’

“No it isn't.” Keegan’s expression dropped. “Don't fuck around. Who the fuck told you that?”

Jack furrowed his brow and turned the clipboard around, scribbling out a response as fast as he could before Keegan reasonably flipped out. ‘Do I not look the same?’

“You're not Jackie.”

‘How can I prove it?’

“You can't. Fucking…that's a sick prank, you know that? Whoever the hell told you his name is gettin' gutted.” Keegan stood up and turned to leave, only serving to frustrate Jack more. How did he not recognize him? It would seem that while he was excited to see Keegan again, Keegan was…upset? He licked his lips, dry and cracked as they were, and did the only thing he figured would work.

He whistled.

He whistled the tune to Drowning Lessons by My Chemical Romance. It was cheesy and fucking stupid, but he knew for a fact that Keegan knew it because they’d bought the CD together. They didn’t rip it off of Limewire or Napster, no, they bought the actual disc.

They would listen to that song on repeat, Jack never quite shutting up about the bridge and the melodies of Gerard Way’s gang vocals, and Keegan always said it was easily the best song on the record. He knew that they were never really together, and they never had a song, but if they did it would be that. He whistled until Keegan’s expression softened up, and he pulled his mask up over his head.

Same oceanic blue eyes, same slightly crooked nose, a few more scars. Still Keegan.

“I searched the wreckage at that address he — you sent me.”

Now, it was Jack’s turn for rightful emotional revelations. Keegan still got his texts in 2017? He only texted out of habit, out of a desire to vent every once in a while to nobody, even knowing that Keegan was dead. Being convinced that he was, at least.

“I found a body, I…”

‘Housemate. I had three.’ Jack wrote, urgent this time.

“He was so-so burnt that I…I thought the worst, I guess, I —” Keegan stuttered, his eyes never quite leaving Jack. The gap between them was much too far all of a sudden. “I need a minute.”

‘Take your time.’ Jack wrote back, but Keegan was gone before he could even turn the paper around. He sighed and leaned back into the pillows, closing his eyes once again. He would never know, but Keegan practically bolted outside because he didn't want to crack in front of anyone, let alone Jack. The dark haired man locked himself in a broom closet and covered his mouth with his gloved hand, chest heaving with pure emotion as he panicked. His entire world view was shattered by that one living, breathing man out there.

Keegan Russ was not a man that broke down often. He fought back the urge to feel anything about this for two decades, to let his emotions get the best of him, but there was little he could do to stop it now. Jack was alive, a miracle in it of itself, but he was right there in front of Keegan. Busted and bruised, shattered bones and a scruffy face, but it was Jack.

He always regretted not getting a hold of him once they survived Tel Aviv, but there was little he could do about his mistakes now. They had already been done. Truthfully at the time it didn't seem like such a terrible thing, Keegan always had the hope that he would make it to UCLA to see Jack when the war ended, but it never did. Then, he looked forward to seeing him again when he moved to the outskirts of the city, but when ODIN struck LA…

In his mind, Jack had died. He had already mourned him and their brief respite of time together. The grief was simply something he grew around, letting it become a piece of his past that he could lovingly look back upon. Smile, knowing he gave Jack the best version of himself, untainted by war and violence.

Now what was he?

A killer, hardened by years of killing Federation soldiers indiscriminately, unable to look himself in the mirror on the bad days. The last thing that they never see coming. A ghost.

Jack didn't deserve that.

After all of that time, of burying his first and only semblance of love in the backyard outside next to who he used to be, he was sitting right there. If he opened up the door right in front of himself, he was right out there.

He moved his hand from his mouth once he was sure his breathing had regulated down to normal, taking a couple of shaky and unsure breaths before feeling satisfied. The last thing he needed was for their medic to appear out of nowhere and start prodding Jack again, only to see Keegan visibly shaken by seemingly nothing.

It wasn't Jack's fault that everything panned out the way it did, and if it was anyone’s fault it would be Keegan’s. He left, not the other way around. In fact, his squad was responsible for Tel Aviv, which sparked the following energy crisis, inevitably landing them where they are today. Here. In Santa Monica, perhaps the last safe place close to No Man’s Land.

There were two options.

He could, reasonably, walk away and let the medical staff deal with Jack. This could end right here and now, send him on his way with the survivors of the squad he was found with. Keegan would never have to see him again, never have to let him see this mangled version of himself that he had become.

Alternatively, he could walk back out there and sit back down, and start from the top. A do-over. Pretend that the last twenty or so years weren't so long, own up to his fuckups, and make a new starting point here and now. It would be infinitely more difficult, but Keegan also knew that it was indubitably the right thing to do.

With a few more seconds of silence to think about what he was about to choose, he stood up from the pile of boxes he’d been sitting on in the closet, and then went right back to Jack’s side.

“Sorry.” Keegan said quietly as he re-opened and shut the curtain again, sort of standing at the end of the bed rather than sitting in the chair he had previously been in. He was too full of anxious energy to sit down, having to actively think about not tapping his boot on the tile floor. “I just — you have to understand why this is weird for me.”

‘I thought the same when you unchained me.’ Jack wrote, earning a little sad-puppy look from Keegan. It was much harder to see Jack all beaten up and bruised knowing that it was, in fact, Jack.

“You don't look the same, for the record. I don't know who this badass, battle-worn version of Jackie is.”

‘Me neither.’ Jack shrugged.

“He seems like an alright guy.” Keegan said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll have to tell me about him whenever you can talk again, huh?”

‘How about you tell me about this Sergeant Russ guy?’

“Very funny. You need some sleep, y’look like shit, Jack.”

‘Come on. You’d have, like, pretty good bedtime stories.’

Keegan couldn't help it, he laughed at that one, a wide smile on his face. Still the same little spark of attitude that he always had, just with a few more years of bite to them.

“Fine — what’d’you wanna know?”

‘Tel Aviv.’

“Not right now. How about…basic training?”

‘Fine.’

It became a ritual, almost. Every single night without fail, Keegan would return to his side with something he stole from the mess hall and a new story, carrying the conversation enough for the two of them. Beforehand, he had been the quiet one, but Jack had involuntarily taken that role. He told him tales of Task Force: STALKER and the Ghosts. Their adventures through the entirety of the war, how many lives they saved — shit, he even got to hang out with Alex, too, on occasion. Well, Ajax, now.

It also became ritualistic that every single night, without fail, he'd wake up in a cold sweat.

He could only manage to gasp for breath, clutching at his throat as he set the attached heart monitors off time and time again. The ringing noise it made was most insensitive to someone having a panic attack, but it at least actually alerted the medic to his state. Grim, his name was, as in reaper.

It was no comfort to have a medic named after death itself at first, but he learned rather early on that Grim was a saint. He’d show up, mute the monitors and administer anti-anxiety medication, which was in short supply, but useful all the same.

Jack wasn’t terribly embarrassed about it either, he’d survived something traumatic and deserved to feel any way about it that he wanted to, until Keegan witnessed one of those late-night panic attacks. He'd fallen asleep in the chair beside Jack’s bed after a late night of one-sided conversation, barely awakened by the quickened breathing of the man in the bed beside him. Jack had never had panic attacks as a teenager, but the heavy breathing and scared eyes were a dead giveaway. Grim had learned to leave the monitor’s sound off, so it wasn't blaring, but Jack was still gasping for breath. His hands were clasped over his chest, eyes screwed shut as he tried to get his heart to slow down.

He looked over when he saw Keegan jolt awake, his eyes flicking anxiously up and down the other man as his cheeks flushed red. Fully embarrassed of the way the trauma affected him so deeply. It meant he was damaged goods. Discardable for something more favorable, less troubled.

“Y’alright? Should I get Grim?” Keegan asks, genuine concern laced into his words. He was so soft spoken it was almost scary, gruff texture never leaving even at a low volume.

“No.” Jack squeaked out, wincing at the pain. It sounded painful, too, a fragile pitch that wavered for the brief second it was spoken. His hand rubbed at the front of his throat, hoping to smother the pain out.

“Easy, Jackie.” Keegan replied, his brow knit in worry.

“M’fine.” Jack hacked, that wet feeling in his lungs returning in a phantasmal way.

“You're not. Take a deep breath. You’re safe. I’m here.” It was so very grounding, hearing those words spoken aloud. He was safe. He was alive. He was no longer cuffed to a wall in some dank basement.

He was with Keegan again.

Jack heaved a few more anxious breaths out, hand grasping at his chest for purchase until Keegan grabbed it, stopping him from scratching at the bandages constricting his breathing, a bit of a frown hidden beneath his mask. At first, Jack struggled, but he gave in after a few short moments of Keegan’s firm, gloved grasp on his twitching fingers.

“Thanks—” His voice comes out timid in both tone and volume.

“Stop trying to talk. You’re just gonna make it hurt worse.”

“Fuck —” Cough. “— off.”

“Just tryin’ t’help.” Keegan murmured, giving Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You've been having night terrors like that a lot?”

Jack went to reply but bit his tongue, squeezing his hand instead.

“Yes?” squeeze. “Okay — hey, I can work with that. Do you want me to stay?”

Jack didn't reply. He just held Keegan's hand tighter, not letting go for a long, long time.

It was unconventional, this method of communication, but it got the point across. One for yes, two for no became the gold standard, especially when he was able to leave the med-bay and explore a bit. Fort Santa Monica was in no state of beauty, sure, but from what he could see it was a haven. There were refugee camps surrounding the military installments, packed tight with families and off-duty soldiers alike, lining the sandbag ridden streets. It was engineered to be impossible to take, the perfect place to shack up just outside of No Man’s Land.

Jack stood outside once he was cleared to walk again, leaning on a railing that overlooked the dismantled city. He was in a great deal of pain most days, but he’d rather grit his teeth and bare it over scarfing down painkillers. A brace and a dream, he could get just about anything accomplished these days.

“Elias said he wants to talk to you.” Keegan’s voice came as a shock, giving Jack the slightest bit of a scare. He turned on his heels to look up at the other man, brow knit in confusion. “Don't know why, don't ask. C’mon.”

What the hell could STALKER’s Lieutenant even want with him? The Ghosts weren’t exactly arms wide open to anyone in particular. They were brothers forged in blood and dirt, and he certainly was not present during Operation Sand Viper. So, short of kicking him out of the encampment, he had no idea what thee Elias Walker could possibly want.

Nothing bad, surprisingly.

“You must be Jackie Skalbek — pleasure. Elias Walker.” A firm handshake from the older man, setting Jack back a few notches. He felt awkward and terribly small next to such a force of power. Keegan had told him so many stories by now that he was certain Elias was inhuman purely based on skill and drive to do more, do better. Jack nodded a reply and Keegan stood quietly by, waiting for his presence to be necessitated.

“So…you’re the infamous Jack.” Elias smiled. “Keegan didn't shut up about you in…what was it, ‘06?”

“Embarrassing.” Keegan huffed, averting his gaze.

“I gotta say, son, your squad sung some high praises of you. Keegan, too. You’ve got a lotta reputation preceding you.” His squad? The soldiers he’d been shacked up with. They were saying he’d done well? His marksmanship was nothing to scoff at, sure, he had steady hands — but make him a soldier it did not. “I know you’re still taking it easy for now, but…we need warm bodies. Desperately. I’m sure Sergeant Russ filled you in on our work, the things that STALKER is responsible for?”

“Only the good parts, I promise.” Keegan said jokingly, earning a bit of a glare from Elias.

“Point is, if you’re up to the challenge, I could use the hands around here. You’re no Marine, but I betcha I can make one out of you yet.” Elias had a sort of warm smile, a confidence that exuded from every word he spoke, that almost made Jack feel like he could do it. How could he fit into the very rigid spot here, though? The lifestyle was hard and rigorous, made for men with years of experience in the field, not…him. “What's that look for?”

“I —” Jack squeaked. Squeaked! In front of Elias Fucking Walker. Frustrated with his own inability to produce a sound that wasn't equivalent to a hamster, he turned to Keegan. Now, they hadn't tried lip reading, but there wasn't exactly a better way to deal with this.

“He’s — slow the fuck down, Jackie, Jesus — he doesn't think he’s cut out for it.” Keegan roughly translated the quick talking, focused on the irregular way Jack formed certain words, the way he most definitely still had a slight lisp based on the way his tongue caught his front teeth sometimes. His fully grown voice was probably lovely if he could choke out more than two words at a time.

“I have it on pretty good authority that before the Federation got their paws on you, you were the best sniper among that squad of army veterans.”

“That was before the Federation.” Keegan translated once again, a slight sadness to the way he spoke the words. It didn't feel good knowing that he’d taken such a confidence blow from being held hostage — it made sense, though. Nobody comes out of that sort of ordeal without a few loose marbles. “He doesn't want to get someone killed because of his inexperience.”

“I understand that, but you've got a certain…quality. It’s that resilience, Jack. That’s what being a Ghost is.”

It resonated deep in his chest, the way that he spoke of what comprised a Ghost. Surviving against all odds. Coming back from ungodly nightmares and asking the world if that was all it had. Having the guts and courage to do what just be done. When Alex and Keegan enlisted, he knew they had more willpower than he ever would, and he wondered how Elias could possibly see that quality in him.

Scrawny, terrified, shaking, Jack Skalbek.

That was no Ghost. He was no soldier.

“I’m not who you think I am.” Keegan spoke his words once more, shaking his head just a little. “I did what I had to do to survive out there, but that's it.”.

“You can live, not just survive. I just need you to have a little faith in yourself, huh? Those boys you ran with sure have it. There’s a lotta folks out there that can't fight for themselves, that’s why we’re here — you can make that difference for folks. It’s up to you, though, I won't force it. I just know a Ghost when I see one, and I have a real good feeling that you’d be at home with us.”

Home. Home wasn't a place anymore, was it? Not since his home got blasted off the face of the earth by ODIN, not since his family and housemates got —

Then, there was us. The Ghosts. His closest friends from growing up.

Men that he’d spent weeks hearing stories of, the legend of brothers in arms coated in blood and sand, walking corpses. He was not made to do that, let alone the minimal work he’d put in during his travels. Jack realized he was just looking at Elias with shock and awe still, shaking his head to get his thoughts right.

Jack knew that if he took this opportunity, he’d be roped into this war for good. Moreso than if he only stuck around for Keegan’s company. There wouldn't be a way out of it, not that there was now, but he would cement his future if he trained to take up work with STALKER. He swallowed his fear, the anxiety welling in his stomach, and extended a hand to Elias.

“Good.” Elias shook his hand, taking it as the ‘yes’ answer that it was. “Once you're cleared for duty, we'll see how well you do.”

“Y-Yessir.” Jack managed to speak, a slight terror in his eyes that paired well with the confidence that came from actually forcing words out.

This, of course, meant that he was now privileged enough to meet the rest of the Ghosts. He’d met them in passing, trailing around behind Keegan most days like a lost dog, but now they were becoming acquainted. They were few in number compared to normal squads and battalions, but they were a force to be reckoned with.

Ajax was more than thrilled to see Jack again, having a much more overwhelmingly positive reaction to his presence than Keegan had. Saying that ‘I knew you weren’t dead because you’re too stubborn to die.’ It almost felt like the before again, memories flickering back to life in the back of his mind. Synapses that hadn't fired in decades.

Kick was the friendliest by far. He sat down with Jack before any proper training and got him kitted out, thrusting a marksman rifle into his hands before he even had the chance to protest. Boasting American made quality, a magazine that would make Vogue blush, and a scope with dual magnification. The matter of his tactical gear would come later, but Kick was more than satisfied to ramble about the specs of his firearms whilst Jack listened intently. He promised him custom gear and maybe even a mask, one day, but he needed more time.

Torch, Grim — they were well acquainted enough from his time in the medical bay under Grim’s watch, Torch often spending his days down there as well for an extra set of hands. He worked in demolitions, but that didn't mean he didn't have surgically delicate hands to assist when Grim couldn't get to something himself. He was actually the one to remove Jack’s stitches — a painfully long process that was almost, but not quite, as bad as his bones getting shattered in the first place. Grim would occasionally cheer ‘you’re doing great!’ and Jack couldn't be sure if he meant him or Torch.

Merrick, though, he was the tough one to crack. Cold, harsh — but effective. He was a decorated officer, completing the SEAL training at 17 years old with flying colors. Sure, Keegan and Ajax had become Marines at the same age, but that wasn't the same as being a Navy SEAL. It was overachievement to the highest degree, except he wasn't showing off — he was just that good. Jack felt small and insignificant in the presence of a man like him, who could outsmart entire battalions of Feds without much forethought.

He was out of his league, and Merrick knew it from the moment they met.

Sitting in the arsenal, having been gifted his uniform by Kick, but too terrified to put it on, Jack just held it. It was dark gray in color, camouflage and flat black as well, though the vest and accompanying guards were all matte black. They’d given him the standard patches that matched everyone else’s, a STALKER insignia set, but his name was the most jarring one to observe.

Skalbek. Corporal Skalbek.

He wasn't even enlisted — how could he be classified as a Corporal? The soldiers called him one, sure, but it was mostly in a teasing way. Jack thumbed over the embroidery and took a deep breath, deciding it would be better to just get dressed and have an existential crisis later. He had to tape and brace his knee in order to walk for long periods, but he’d grown used to the limp in his gait by now that it didn't bother him much anymore. The return of his voice, though, did bother him.

Even as he strapped his gear into place and laced his boots, every little huff or grunt of exertion felt foreign in his mouth. He didn't know what he was supposed to say for himself, truthfully, so he wasn't comfortable with using his voice. It was impossible to even fathom an explanation for how he ended up here, for what he went through in that cell — so he just didn't.

Instinct always takes over, though.

“You all set, blondie?” Keegan asked, leaning in the doorway of the arsenal. He could see Jack all geared up, but it felt right to ask.

“Yeah. All set.” Jack spoke, unaware that he'd even done so at first. Keegan knew better than to overreact, though, it would likely scare him off. Take that pretty voice away. If he wanted to talk, he could, and Keegan wouldn't apply pressure in any way.

“Good, good…lemme see.” Keegan said as Jack turned to face him, sort of standing awkwardly with his arms down at his sides. He looked lost. Uncomfortable in all of th buckles and straps, like the gear was suffocating the life out of him. “You look suicidal.”

“I’m —” Jack stopped himself, a bit shocked in his expression.

“You were doing great.” Keegan huffed in response, mildly disappointed. “The uniform looks good, though, Jackie.”

Jack rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Keegan draw in closer across the room. He picked up the other man’s marksman rifle, inspecting it for a moment before handing it back to Jack.

“Needs some dirt on it — lucky for you, we’re just doing recon. Nothing crazy, just gettin’ your boots wet out in the field.” Keegan watched Jack take the rifle back, clicking the carry strap around his neck into place, carefully snapping the scope cover on for travel. He looked nervous, like a kid on his first day of school, only with much more weighing on his chest. It made sense. He hadn’t been sure of himself the entire time Elias was giving him a golden opportunity, so it made sense that confidence wasn't leaking out of his every movement. “Stand up straight, act like you know what you're doing until you do. Merrick prefers his name or his title, not sir, if you decide to talk to him.”

Jack nodded, letting a shaky breath out. He held up a thumbs up, hand trembling ever so slightly, pathetically. Keegan reached out and steadied it.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you.”

Jack turned his hand and held his pinky out, raising a brow. Without much hesitation, just the normal amount from a tough guy, Keegan did the same and interlocked them. He leaned in instinctively and pressed where his mouth would be under the mask to Jack’s knuckles. It was a thing from years ago, something they did to “seal” a promise. Jack was surprised that he remembered, but not upset by any means.

It wasn't a terribly long drive to the recon point. It felt that way because of the deathly silence in the SUV, save for Merrick giving the mission brief. Kick sat in the passenger seat beside their Captain, humming to himself as they flew down the dirt roads, jostling over every bump. Jack kept his eyes on the floor until they arrived at the infil, at which point he and Keegan exited the vehicle. It was fairly heavily wooded, the area well covered and higher than the place they were doing recon on, making it ideal for a sniper’s nest. Jack had a natural sense for that sort of thing, carefully and quietly slinking around the woods before coming to a tall, heavily branched tree. He looked it up and down, sizing it up, then looked at Keegan. He was all searching for a nest, a ways away into the brush.

“You take up high, I’ll go down low?” Keegan asked into the comms for confirmation as he found a comfortable place to get vantage from, half expecting a vocal response from Jack and half expecting a snap or something in reply.

Whistle.

“That works.” Keegan chuckled to himself as he pulled his rifle off his back and nestled into the dirt, mounting the tripod on a hard surface so that he could get a stable view. Meanwhile, Jack climbed up into the large redwood. He struggled at first because of his knee, but eventually he powered through and hoisted himself into straddling a large limb. “Are you in position?”

Whistle.

“Heard that. Merrick, we’re locked. Watchin’ exits.”

“Roger — the place should be empty, but you know how that goes. We’ll clean and clear, then raid for supplies.” Merrick replied, voice a low crackle over the comms, before silence fell over the area. Jack relaxed back against the trunk of the tree as he racked a round in his rifle, sliding the bolt into place as he looked down the scope. It was peaceful, almost, quiet. The idle rustle of birds in the trees and the quiet thrum of the earth breezing past, only occasionally interrupted by the crackle of activity over the radio.

Jack hummed quietly, the soft rumble of his voice in his throat only truly comfortable in a muffled manner, barely making any sound at all. He felt his finger gently sliding over the trigger, not quite squeezing just yet — there was next to no movement ahead, save for Merrick and Kick as they navigated the empty warehouse.

They spent a long while going through the place room by room, combing it through, picking up any usable supplies. Sterile equipment, alcohol, first aid kit materials — all sorts of things. It had been vacant for quite a while, clearly, despite old Federation flags flying above. They’d yet to reoccupy it after their removal, meaning everything inside was up to date and ripe for the taking.

Jack’s gaze traveled around outside, flickering from the warehouse to the dirt road leading up to it, watching a car start to close in. Federation flags. His eyes went wide and he stuttered to speak, nothing quite coming out. Damn anxiety reaching up from the depths of his stomach to choke him out internally, clawing his vocal chords into submission.

Three, rapid fire whistles. High pitched and quiet all at once, ringing out through the comms.

“Movement?” Keegan asked quickly.

One.

“Got it. Watch your backs, boys. How many?” Keegan called.

Five.

“Five tangoes, on their way to your position.”

“He didn't say anything, Keegan. Are you sure you're not hearin’ things?” Kick asked, almost a laugh to his voice when he spoke.

“I’m sure.” Keegan asserted, glancing over through the blur of leaves and trees blocking his view of Jack. He had to be right. A couple of seconds pass and he can see the vehicle for himself, five Federation soldiers climbing out slowly. Stalking their prey. Merrick and Kick. Jack wasn’t scared, though, knowing very well that he only had one shot before they were aware of him.

He let out all of the breath he had been holding in from his lungs, took a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling the unsteadiness slip out of reach.

Bang.

Two down. One shot.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Jack gave a long, drawn out whistle of satisfaction as he took a new breath in.

“All clear.” Keegan exhaled. “Nice fuckin’ shots, Jackie.”

Pride washed over him all at once. The warm, fuzzy feeling of success seeped into his bones and made him blush all over, a hot feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“We're on our way out now to confirm kills. Meet us down here?” Merrick asked.

“Rog.” Keegan replied, leaving Jack to watch the doors in anticipation. Before he knew it, Keegan had made his way over, looking up at Jack perched in the tree. He rocked back on his heels slightly, taken aback by the way Jack had curled himself up onto a tree limb, nearly wrapped around it as he aimed down sight. His cheek was pressed up against his rifle, keeping him nice and steady.. “Look like a bird up there, y'know that, Jackie?”

Jack sat up straight, a bit surprised. He hadn't been listening at all to his surroundings, sort of zoned out as he watched down his scope. A bird? He prayed that didn’t stick.

“The whistling works. Got my attention real fuckin’ quick.” Keegan extended a hand to Jack, helping him climb down from the tree unceremoniously. He replied with a playful whistle, a smile crossing his expression briefly. After collecting his first 5 confirmed kills as a Ghost, they returned to base in the same car they came in. Quiet, at first, but Merrick broke the silence midway back to HQ.

“Quiet type, huh, Skalbek?” Merrick asked, glancing back in the rear view mirror.

“Leave him be.” Keegan asserted. His voice always seemed to be quiet and soft spoken, but he had a bite to it that showed he meant business. If anything good happened to Keegan while he was gone, it was that voice.

“Didn't mean anything by it. You did great out there, Jack.” Merrick defended himself.

Silently, Jack thumbed over the pristine Federation tags before stuffing them into the pocket on his vest. He didn't like the idea of keeping trophies, but those tags were proof that he could actually do some good here.

It took a long time for him to truly feel that way.

Like, the first time he got to see his own dormitory. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a room with four walls and a bed right down the hallway from the showers, but it was his room with four walls and a bed. Dark, cozy sheets on the mattress, a warm light overhead — his name on the door. Jack actually sort of felt important for once in his life, and he began to understand the draw and appeal of military life. There was one tiny problem with the lone dorm, though.

Even at UCLA, he dormed with someone else. His first apartment had a roommate, and the same man moved with him into their home in Los Angeles with a handful of friends. He had no siblings as a child, but Keegan and Alex were at his house so frequently he may as well have at that point. Being alone did not come easily to Jack.

“Hey — came to drop off your tags.” Keegan knocked at the door, a little whistle coming from inside telling him to enter. When he threw the door open he saw Jack sitting on his bed, legs crossed, just sort of looking lost once again. A recurring theme for the blonde. “Need some decor in here, seriously. It’s abysmal.”

Jack just sort of shrugged, catching his tags mid-air when Keegan threw them, the jingling making him flinch slightly. They had, of course, his name on them. Blood type, affiliation, spot for a call sign if one ever stuck to him. He thumbed over the engraving before undoing the clasp and snapping it back into place around his neck, stuffing it beneath his shirt. It was ice cold, but the metal would warm and warp to him eventually. Become like a second skin, something he couldn't go anywhere without.

“I had something else, too, but — s’up to you if you want it or not. Could always make your own.” Keegan added as he came a bit further into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside Jack. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of black fabric, neatly folded into a little square. When unfolded, Jack could see it was a mask, his very own. It looked similar in pattern to Keegan’s, but noticably neater and cleaner in texture and facial features — across the mouth were two black strips in an X. Maybe a little bit on the nose, but he couldn't complain.

“It’s not great compared to what you could probably do — don't know if you’re still into the whole art thing these days.”

Jack shook his head, turning the mask over a couple of times in his hands before he went to put it on. The fabric was thick, making him uncomfortable at first, but once it was in place he could breathe easily. He looked over at Keegan as if to ask how he looked, the scrunched up wrinkles around the other’s eyes telling him everything he needed to know.

“Little Ghost.” Keegan hummed, ruffling up Jack’s hair in a playful manner. “You’re one of us now, as far as I’m concerned.”

Wide eyes like saucers, just looking up at Keegan with awe, wondering how they'd managed this. Circling back to sitting in Jack’s room, though this time it was less than cozy. Even without the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over everything, though, Keegan was more sure than he ever had been that everything was worth it to end up here.

That summer, July was hot in Santa Monica. The sun bathed the city with regularity, not even letting up in the evening. Though, there seemed to be a brief respite in between months of hardship.

After a particularly good bout of missions, Jack even getting some more confidence in himself (and a call sign, while he was at it) they decided to have a small leisure break. Time for themselves, to breathe in without the threat of being dispatched on a mission looming overhead. Something that many of them hadn't had a chance to do in a long, long while. There often wasn't much remaining time for recreational drinking, but Keegan couldn't lie, there was something about Jack in the doorway of his dorm with two cans of beer that made his heart skip a couple of beats.

Sure, they’d stolen liquor as teenagers and gotten wasted on Jack’s roof. His mom always made sure that they were safe and well looked after when they made those foolish errors, giving them plenty of room to make mistakes and not feel stupid about it.

They had kind of missed out on sharing 21st birthdays, though. Keegan's was a year sooner than Jack’s, so they would've had to wait anyways, but they’d inadvertently waited over a decade. The crack of the pop-taps couldn't come soon enough, and neither could the ensuing burn of alcohol. It was liquid comfort, burning the whole way down and settling in the stomach, leaving every sensation tinged a hazy shade of amber.

Kick, in his endless curiosity, had obtained a camcorder at some rate. They had access to new technology, high quality drones and cameras, and yet he was obsessing over the film grain and scan lines of the older camera. It was probably as old as him, the brand name long scratched off from time and use, but he still boasted it’s American made durability. Pointing it at Jack after a couple of drinks, giggling to himself as he zoomed it in and out.

“Alright, alright — this one’s Jack. We’re still — heh — getting used to him, but this kid?” Kick turned the camera to himself for dramatic effect. “Sharpshooter. I think he could shoot the pimento out of a fucking olive from a hundred meters out.”

“He said that’s pushing it.” Keegan answered for Jack, having taken up that role nicely. They weren't quite at the point of telepathy, but beating ASL into his head was starting to work. Jack picked up usage of it back in college, so a refresher was needed before he could actually use it, but the main problem was teaching it to Keegan. He was impatient and short tempered, but he could learn it for the other's sake.

“Maybe! Maybe it's not! Only way to find out is to try, Jack.” Kick snickered as he turned the camera around again, watching through the viewfinder as Ajax joined Keegan and Jack on the balcony. The sunset over Santa Monica Pier was beautiful, even now, with a fort plopped overtop of it. Ajax took his spot between the two others, throwing his arms around them with a smile.

“Good to have the gang back together.” Ajax hummed, pulling Jack in a bit closer, spilling a little bit of his drink in the process. “Fucking missed you, kid, seriously. You have no idea what it was like dealing with Grumpy over here for 15 years without you.”

“I’m not grumpy.” Keegan huffed. “I’m apathetic.”

“Whatever you say.” Ajax laughed, snatching Keegan’s drink from his hand before disappearing back inside with Kick hot on his heels. It was a mostly empty can anyways, so he wasn't terribly disappointed. Still, he wanted to obtain just one more for the end of the night, grabbing one for Jack as well. Turns out, both of them grew up with quite the tolerance for the stuff despite having exactly zero when they were younger. Keegan’s resilience could be attributed to body mass, but Jack’s was built entirely on whiskey lullabies.

The years of travel were hard on him, a once soft and fearful creature of a boy, now…a man.

Keegan took a moment in the doorway to look at him, really look at him. Wearing sweat-shorts and that blasted knee brace, scars drawing up and down the length of his left leg. His sweatshirt, an increasingly well used and loved camouflage tarp of cloth, swallowing up his lanky frame with ease. Those pretty brown eyes, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon, casting tangerine and coral hues all over him.

It was straight out of a movie, or a memory, he couldn't tell.

What’re you staring at? Jack signed, catching Keegan a bit off guard. He bit at his bottom lip beneath his mask and unhooked one side of it to take a drink from the fresh can.

“You. Just…taking it all in.”

Take your time. I’m here now.

“Got no idea how good it feels to know that you're still kickin’ dirt up, Jackie, I…” Keegan stuttered a bit, an uncommon occurrence for him. He didn't feel that sort of nervousness often, hadn't since he left for basic. Scratch that. He hadn't felt genuinely nervous since Tel Aviv, calling Jack from the back of that plane, hands trembling in fear. This wasn't anything like that, though, this was the butterflies sort of nervousness. Somehow, infinitely more terrifying than getting shot at. “I want to make it up to you, somehow.”

What?

“The last…what, 15 years?”

We're older now. You know that. Can't go back and change what already happened. Jack shrugged, not quite grasping that Keegan meant it. He wanted to repair what damage had been done to whatever extent he could, even if things were vastly different, even if they were entirely different people now.

Whether Jack knew it or not, he still had the combination to Keegan's pad-lock chest, the chasm labeled hollow to keep anything good out. It didn't matter how they got here, what mattered was now Keegan has a shot at actually apologizing. Making right what he had once done wrong. He would regret not reaching out sooner until the day he was dead, but he could do better this time around. This is not the kind of opportunity he could squander.

No way in hell.

“I know. But…I can be the person now that I couldn't be then.” Keegan came closer until he was leaning up against the railing, too, overlooking the pier. If he looked up at the stars long enough, he could almost imagine the floating space trash left behind from ODIN, what didn't enter the atmosphere swirling and churning above their heads. “I’m not saying we pick up where we left off in ‘07, I’m just asking that you hear me out.”

Okay. I’ll bite.

“Plain and simple. We know what happened in-between then and now, but we can just…ignore it.” Keegan inched closer as he spoke, until he was shoulder to shoulder with the shorter man. The cold drink in his hand was all he had to steady himself, shocking his system into continuing to speak. “You know I loved you then and I still do.”

Jack swallowed. Loud. The can in his hand crinkled slightly under the pressure he was holding it with, his mouth dry. He still loved him? He? Stone cold, violence wrought, Keegan fucking Russ still loved him?

He, who hid at Jack’s house from his parents, always thanking Mrs. Skalbek for the place to stay, always denying how often he was there. Hiding the fleeting kisses, never lingering long enough to leave a mark on soft flesh. Lying to himself and his father, always forcing himself into the image of what he thought a man to be, never showing much softness at all.

Only to Jack, only back then, only behind closed doors.

This was a massive, groundbreaking departure from whomever that was back then. It took their semi-permanent separation for Keegan to admit that he loved Jack the first time, it only took a few months this go around. The promise of staying, rather than leaving or coming back, was much more emotionally grounding.

“Was that too much?” Keegan asked after a moment. He seemed on edge about Jack’s reaction, gaze flickering anywhere but on those soft brown eyes, eating him alive.

No. It's just been a long time.

“You probably moved on, like, a few months after I last called, huh?”

Never. Jack sighed softly in reply. There was emotion in the movement of his hands, his eyes portraying all of that sadness well. It was never really over.

Just five words, but those five words carried an unspeakable weight. Keegan stared for only a few seconds, going to speak when Jack continued.

Everything came back to you one way or another. My thesis for my degree was a portfolio full of you. I still texted you every time I needed to talk even if you didn't answer, I needed you. My mom called me every few months and I was so scared that she would tell me you were dead that I just didn't pick up. Everything I did up until the fucking world ended was about you, no matter how fast I ran.

It all spilled out so fast that Jack couldn't even be impressed with himself. His hands stuttered every once in a while on more complex words. The words themselves shocked Keegan, too, but that was secondary. He felt wholly guilty for ever letting himself get so close to Jack back then, because his own feverish dreams of doing something with his life just meant he did that to Jack. Got him hooked and ran, watching it spiral out of hand until he was sure he lost Jack forever. The red string tying them together threatened to be severed by the universe with every knot and fray in its threads.

But it never broke. It never fell lifeless.

He would've thought that Jack married, maybe even squeaked out a kid or two, joined the PTA. Cut his hair short and finally start making art for a living, take his kids to soccer practice — not wake up in the middle of the night missing his highschool boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Were they ever even that much?

Are you gonna say something or what, K? Jack added, breaking Keegan out of the cyclical nightmare of thoughts in his mind.

“I just didn't…know you felt that way about it.”

You had everything to lose by loving me, and you did it anyway. How could I ever move on from that? He wasn't speaking, but he was feeling every emotion from every word. Jack’s eyes were all welled with tears, a soft gasp escaping with every mouthed syllable. Threatening to spill out, but not quite making a sound.

Keegan knew what Jack meant. He would’ve been kicked out if his father ever caught wind of what Keegan was doing with ‘the no-good Skalbek boy’ down the street. If not for Jack’s mom, they would’ve never gotten as far as they did back then. Even then, it wasn't far. He would’ve been spitting teeth from that fight, if he ever found out, probably dead.

He’d unknowingly shown Jack that someone could love him enough to die for him, and as a consequence he never really learned how to be loved any less.

“You still feel that way?” Keegan asked after a moment of silence, a bit of his inhibition slipping away. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was just an old spark flickering back into life.

Always.

“Can I start trying to make up for that lost time, then?”

“Please.” Jack replied out loud, gaze averted out of embarrassment. That didn't last long, though, not with that spark beginning to rage into flames. Nothing could've kept Keegan’s hands off of him, his drink thrust into Jack’s hand so that he could pick him up a little bit easier. Hoisting him up onto the railing of the balcony for balance, strong arms laced around Jack holding him steady. The railing creaked, the drop was far, but neither of them seemed to give a damn.

Hot. Heavy. Hurried, whiplash kisses, hands in hair and lips on teeth. It was not gentle, it was not pretty, it was feverish and raw. Keegan could've made him bleed with sharp canines on his bared neck and he would’ve been quite alright with it.

Even when Kick threw the door open, trailed by Ajax with the camcorder, he couldn't have guessed what was going on outside until he saw it. Under the haze of one flickering light that never quite stays on long enough to catch a clear glimpse, but the camera picking up their meshed bodies nonetheless.

“Get a room, you two! Sheesh!” Ajax laughed, but impressively enough, neither seemed to care.

“Mmmhmm…Can’t hear you.” Keegan murmured against Jack’s lips, earning a snicker from the blonde in his arms, still faithfully holding both of their drinks.

“Talk about making up for lost time.” Ajax joked. Kick all too certain he would get chewed out by Keegan if he drunkenly giggled too, he stayed quiet. As quickly as they came they dipped back inside with Ajax pumping his fist, proclaiming that he always knew.

“This alright, Jack?” Keegan asked, breathless as he took a moment to cool off. Still holding the other man, just leaving some space between them for now. Foolishly, Jack dropped the cans so he could sign, a blush dusting his cheeks as the half-drank liquid spattered on the ground beneath them.

Haven’t been this alright since I don't know when.

“Can't lie to you, I never — you were — ugh, fuckin’ sounds pathetic…” Keegan sucked a breath in shakily and buried his face in the crook of Jack's neck, faint scent of cologne and body wash still attached to him. “Never let anyone get close after you. No-one.”

Touch-starved did not begin to cover it.

He didn't hug, he didn't do physical contact, skin-to-skin was a foreign thing. Jack was probably the last person who touched him with bare hands and he didn't convulse. Ajax was an exception to that rule, but it wasn't like they were snuggling. Pats on the back, pull-ups onto a ledge — those weren't intimate like this. He didn't get intimate.

Jack felt sort of dirty knowing he'd gone and tried to bury the feeling of needing someone he couldn't have in the arms of others, never succeeding, whereas Keegan had done the opposite. Instead of voicing that he only ran his hands through Keegan’s short, scruffy hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“You think it’s pathetic, don't you?” Keegan sighed, nuzzling into the other man with wandering butterfly kisses, lips ghosting over his main artery.

Two whistles for no.

“Hah! Sure thing, Jackie, sure…” He laughed. “Remind me to never ask you that sorta thing again, ‘cause even your whistles sound sarcastic.”

They weren't, but Jack would let him live in his little bubble. Moments like this were never long enough, and thankfully they got to spend the rest of the night catching up on the important things, previously undiscussed stories of Jack’s life in SoCal. It was good to know that they at least had a chance before things began to kick up once again.

For some reason, things didn't.

It was a pure, mostly calm stalemate.

Sure, they still got sent on patrols. They often made ventures to the No Man’s Land border, overlooking the minefields and traps, wondering what could possibly shift the tides. Piece by piece, some bizarre force of nature allowed them to rebuild what used to be between them.

Some nights that meant they’d climb atop the roof with Keegan's iPod, still functional despite a cracked screen and barely functional UI, and let the world melt away. If only for one night at a time they could pretend to be real people, living some sort of domestic existence in a place far from the halted war. Perhaps, in that distant timeline, they wouldn't even have survived a relationship in their teen years without the hardship they’d suffered.

As far as either was concerned, it made them stronger.

Forced them to learn what it meant to live without the other one. Of course, this meant that they knew how dull and awful life could be when it was empty, and they'd fight a hell of a lot harder to stay now that they'd been threatened with separation once.

Jack was a silent killer, Keegan a mouth full of vicious mockeries. Ghosts. Wisps in the wind. Dead already, living a better afterlife on the other side of the apocalypse. Nothing the Federation could throw their way would hold any weight, of this they were certain.

Until they did, of course.

No good thing lasts forever.

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thecandywrites · 2 years ago

Text

Monster March 2023 Day 26 Part 3

Courting Gifts

Sadly, this is where I must leave you. As much as my hand slipped and wrote 24k+ words. And I want to write another 20k easy. Trust me, I wanted to write that sweet, hot werewolf sex. And when I get a chance to come up for air and circle back to this. I will, later. But, sadly, it's FUCKING MAY. And I'm TWO WHOLE FUCKING MONTHS BEHIND. So I will just give you what I have so far. And now I only have five more left to do. I gotta get these done. And then I gotta make a Monster March 2023 Masterlist like I did with Kinktober.

Thanks to the ever patient @borealwrites for keeping this up and open for as long as you have. I appreciate it so much.

Part 3

Tristan worked the rest of the day, and wanted to “return” the catalog back to her when she and her dad would be home, so he wouldn’t be too creepy. He plugged the address into the GPS and the satellite still showed the house as being under construction. Which was odd.

But when he figured they would be home, he nervously drove to the address on the catalog and realized…it was really close by. It was on South Eagle Lake between where they were in Paw Paw and Portage that was practically the other half of Kalamazoo. And it was within running distance. He could run there himself in his ware form without a problem.

The house was practically new. And it was obviously a custom build. And because of where it was, meant that it was at the end of the road where there were pastures behind the house but the lake was beside it. The house itself was practically a mansion as far as how big and nice it was. He felt like even if he worked his tail off, he was never going to ever be able to give Sasha anything close to this. He was half tempted to turn his truck around and just burn the magazine, before he heard a horse whiney and Sasha’s voice yelling and cussing up a storm before he got out of the truck and came around the house, just in time to see Sasha get bucked off and land in the ring she was riding her horse in.

Tristan didn’t think, he just immediately ran to her.

“Sasha! Are you ok?” He asked as he ran and practically jumped over the sides of the circle to cradle Sasha’s head in his lap as she fought to get air back into her lungs before she turned to her side with her head resting on the inside of his knee before she finally got her lungs to start breathing again. .

“Tristan?! What are you doing here?” Sasha asked between heaves and coughs as she fought to re-establish her breathing pattern.

“You forgot, um, your magazine at the house.” Tristan answered.

“So you followed me home?” She asked.

“No, the magazine still had your address on it. But the way you had it marked up, I didn’t know if you had ordered what you wanted from it and so I was…trying not to be creepy or a stalker by returning it to you. Sorry, this looks really bad.” Tristan admitted before the horse came around and sniffed him over.

“No, it’s ok. You’re not gonna make me regret doing that are you? And just…show up unannounced or stalk me or shit like that or anything?” Sasha asked.

“Gods no.” Tristan quickly shook his head rather violently.

“Ok, then we’re ok. Well, welcome to my parents house, it’s still under construction. Don’t let that facade fool you. There’s still a bunch of shit inside that needs to be finished. Hell, there’s not even carpet laid down yet.” Sasha explained as she fought not to practically curl into a ball and curl around him in the process.

“And what’s your problem? Why’d you buck her off?” Tristan asked the horse as he sat in the soft sand with Sasha still partially in his lap before Sasha rolled back over to her back because, in all honesty, this was actually really nice actually.

“That’s Brillo De Noche, he’s an arabian, he’s barely 3 and barely greebroke. All arabians are flighty assholes. His mom, Sisi, is a sweetheart and the exception to the rule. A B52 could land on her and she wouldn’t care. But he’s a scardy cat and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind spook him practically. He’s a big baby who doesn’t like the color blue apparently. I got a blue saddle pad to go with his black western saddle and you would have thought I put a blue grizzly bear on his back.” Sasha answered as she clutched her middle and tested her legs to make sure she wasn’t paralyzed or anything as Noche then took a step towards her to sniff at her before she lifted her finger to boop him on the nose.

“That wasn’t very nice.” She touted as she booped his nose with every word. Which Tristan found utterly adorable.

“No apple treats for you young man or sugar cubes. You’re the reason why I love quarter horses and rocky mountains. Hell, I’ll take a percheron over an arabian at this point. Or just fuck horses altogether and go full Harley or Indian or even Yamaha at this rate.” Sasha mockingly complained as she then pinched Noche’s nose and upper lip to make him move his lips which got her to laugh and Tristan to chuckle.

“Sasha? Who’s out there with you?” Renee asked before Tristan helped Sasha sit up on her own.

“Tristan Leduc, Dad and I worked on his house and I brought him the Kabluey blueberries and showed him the catalog I ordered them from and I left the catalog there and he’s just returning it. It’s fine. Noche bucked me off, I apparently turned his head and he noticed he was wearing that blue saddle pad and freaked out again.” Sasha answered as Tristan helped her to stand up on her own two feet, which she greatly appreciated.

“Oh, that’s sweet. Thank you Tristan. Did you want to stay for dinner? It’s about ready. Sasha put a pork shoulder in a crock pot this morning, so we’re having pulled pork for dinner if you want some.” She offered.

“Oh I don’t mean to impose.” He tried to refuse.

“Do you have anything else going on? Do you have to get home to get your own supper?” Sasha asked as she twisted and turned and got her back and neck to crack back into alignment.

“No. I already ate mine before I came.” He answered.

“Oh well you can still stay and hang out. Come on in, take your shoes off and stay a while.” Renee waved him in.

“Are you sure? This isn’t like…weird?” He asked Sasha.

“No, you’re fine, you’re welcome to stay. Really.” She reassured him.

“But I have to get back on him because I can’t end things like this with him. I don’t want him learning that bucking people off means he gets to get out of riding.” Sasha addressed Noche with a pointed look.

“Mrs. Wright, I’m gonna stay with Sasha, and make sure Noche here doesn’t hurt her worse than he already has.” Tristan offered before he let her use his knee as a step stool to get back up on Noche.

“Aww, aren’t you a gentleman.” Sasha practically cooed before Tristan got back up and simply sat on the top rung of the circle and watched as Sasha put Noche through his paces and had to fight his urge to go home and come back on his own motorcycle- just to impress her. Renee simply smiled happily and turned around and waddled back into the house to watch them from her kitchen window.

“Hey, Noche, cut that out.” Tristan growled at Noche the moment Noche started tossing his head a bit before Noche stopped and began to behave before Sasha stopped Noche right in front of Tristan.

“Ok, you seem like you know a thing or two. Show me what I’m doing wrong and can start doing right.” Sasha invited as she handed him the reins and got off on the other side.

“You were doing just fine Sasha.” He tried to say. But she was already off and the reins were already in his hands.

“Yeah, but he listened to you better than he’s ever listened to me. I need to know if it’s me, or if he just doesn’t like women and prefers men or what. Because I have nearly pulled my hair out with him. Noche was a dream to deliver and he was so sweet as a colt and now that he’s grown, he’s turning into a problem child.” Sasha explained before she got up and sat down on the top around of the circle and watched as Tristan and Noche got acquainted before Tristan double checked the saddle and the pad to make sure nothing got on it and was stuck between Noche and the pad or between the pad and the saddle for that matter.

“This is a really nice saddle.” Tristan praised.

“Thanks. It was my mom’s when she lived in Alaska. She rode a bashkir cross to the various little villages and of course sled dogs in the dead of frozen winter. But it’s way too hot and humid for the really cold breeds down here.” Sasha grinned proudly as Tristan continued to go over the rest of the tack and even checked Noche’s hooves to make sure a little stone hadn’t gotten stuck between the frog and the hoof wall.

“Well he picks his feet up nice.” Tristan appraised.

“Do you have horses too?” Sasha asked.

“Nope, got family and friends that do though. So I still ride a fair bit.” He answered.

“Nice. Me too.” Sasha nodded as she didn’t hold back from really appreciating her view of him as he went around Noche checking to see if Noche was touchy about any part of his body before Noche outright side stepped him the moment he touched his flank.

“Ah, ticklish huh? Does Noche have super sensitive sides?” Tristan realized in a soft, soothing coo before he heard Sasha groan and peeked over the saddle to see Sasha holding her head in her hands.

“Gods damn it. I should have picked up on that. I’m an idiot. Fuck.” Sasha griped to herself.

“It’s ok. Arabian plus green broke, plus just plain super sensitivity equals blow ups. You just got to work on him and desensitize his sides a little. That’s all.” Tristan reassured her as he went back to the front and ran his splayed hand down Noche’s side to get him used to the sensation before repeating it in streaks, from Noche’s chest all around his belly before scratching at Noche’s belly to get Noche’s lips to curl and his head to stretch out as he enjoyed the belly rub before Tristan did the same thing with the other side and then got on Noche before Noche was practically a model student.

Sasha just sat there, with her eyes narrowed at Noche for this. Just, embarrass her and expose her as the noob she felt she was right in front of her crush. ‘Well this is just going great’, Sasha thought sarcastically.

“What?” Tristan asked as he got Noche into a lope around the ring as he tried to read Sasha’s expression.

“Oh, just kicking myself for completely missing the obvious. Which, for me, happens a lot more than I like to admit. I get so caught up in the little details, I forget to see the big picture or back up and see things and people and situations and in this case, animals, for what they are and figure out what’s really going on. I thought it was the blue saddle pad. I didn’t think that what the issue really was- was what that saddle pad was laying over, specifically, his sides. I should have figured that out sooner and on my own way sooner than just now. I’ve been so preoccupied with my mom and her pregnancy, I haven’t been keeping up with Noche. Much less, anything else. And in an effort to stay close to my mom and keep a watchful eye on her, I’ve gotten into the same hobbies she has. Which, she has two green thumbs and can make just about anything and everything grow. And before now, I’ve had black thumbs. I’ll kill cactus’ and aloe vera for crying out loud. And when we got this house and we got it zoned the way we wanted it and needed it to be. I went so hard and head first into the whole self-sufficient homestead farm thing, that I didn’t pay attention to the building plans. Or plan on them changing four times between when they were drawn up and as the house was getting built. I’ve had to change where I plant things three times already and if I have to do it a fourth time- I’m giving up because all my trees and bushes would have been better off if I just kept them in the damn containers instead of jumping the gun and putting them in the ground when I did. I’m surprised anything is still alive or even growing at all. My poor plants could practically grow curse words on their leaves for how much I’ve replanted them. Poor things are still in shock I think.” Sasha pouted before Tristan rode Noche right up to her and took a chance and reached out- with the back of his forefinger to lift her chin so she’d look at him.

“They’re just plants. Even if everything died tonight. It’s not too late to try again. It’s never too late to try again ok? If it’s something you’ve found that you really like and really enjoy. Then keep at it, and if you’ve found you really don’t like it, then there’s no one saying that you have to keep at it. It’s a hobby. You’re allowed to quit hobbies anytime the hobby no longer suits you. But otherwise, sometimes trial and error is the only way most people learn things. Hell, the pros get their asses handed to them by mother nature all the time. And so what if you’ve had to replant them? They’re all young enough that they’re resilient enough to overcome that. And if anything, you taught them to really put down good roots but keep their rootballs the strongest part of them. Which for them, is probably the most important part. A tree may look just fine on the outside but may be rotten to the core. And those few pretty leaves are riding the fact that that tree is one good storm away from falling over and crashing altogether. From what I can see from here. They’re doing just fine. And while they might be a bit slow to really give you much of anything this season, that’s just because they’re inwardly getting stronger and will better for it in the long run. You’ll see.” He encouraged as he watched as her pretty blue eyes got glassy before she blinked the tears away before they could really form and fall.

“Thanks.” Sasha whispered before a B-52 buzzed right by just as Tristan was ready to throw caution to the wind and try to lean over to kiss her and suddenly Noche turned into a bucking bronco and it was all Tristan could to stay on before Sasha nailed the B-52 with her own hands. Like a cat reaching up to catch an insect, she reached out and seemed to cup her hands around it and squished it between them.

“Holy shit, how’d you do that?” Tristan asked once he got Noche settled back down as Sasha had to step out of the ring to wipe the bug’s guts off on the grass.

“I’m the designated bug killer in my family. Spiders, wasps, flies, mosquitos, whatever.” Sasha answered before she wiped her hands on another patch of grass.

“Well, I think we better call it a day before another one of those things comes to claim his life.” Tristan urged.

“I agree.” Sasha laughed before she got the gate and he rode Noche over towards one of the barns.

“Nope, that’s the workshop. The other one is the barn.” Sasha said as she followed behind him, taking advantage of her chance to continue to appreciate Tristan’s fine ass in that saddle some more before Noche practically tried to trot right to the hitching post where he got his tack on and off and promptly stopped, forcing to Tristan to grunt when his nuts practically collided with the front of the saddle as he hunched over a bit as he tried to recover from that.

“You ok?” Sasha asked as she took the bridal off and replaced it with Noche’s bridal and lead rope.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Tristan tried to cough and squeak out as his eyes watered a bit.

“Got’cha right in the boys did he?” Sasha assumed.

“Yup.” Tristan nodded before he gingerly got off of Noche and tried to help take the saddle back off and the pad before Sasha showed him where to put it before she sprayed Noche down with fly spray and put him back out to pasture with his mom as Tristan slowly recovered and realized what a really nice barn they had built but only had 2 horses. Noche and his mom. But this barn was made for 8 horses, big ones too.

“Nice barn.” Tristan praised.

“Thanks.” Sasha grinned before she closed it up.

“So this is the garden?” Tristan asked as he nodded over to it.

“Yeah,” Sasha confirmed before she took him an a slight detour to show him how she and her mom had to set it up and what she was trying to do to make the ground itself- sound to grow what she wanted to grow in it, having gotten some of those older tricks from the older farmers that used to do such things before industrialization of the farming industry with the turn of the century as Sasha explained where she wanted to build a greenhouse so that she could keep her more “tropical plants” and maybe dabble in hydroponics if at all possible and Tristan knew he was in way over his head because every word out of her mouth was making her even more irresistible than the last one had left her looking as it became abundantly clear to him that his mate was her. As he was mentally already knowing what and where he was going to change things to suit her and so he would have it perfect for her, so she would be happy and proud to call the little farm- theirs.

But Sasha seemed to give the new apple tree that was set next to the other ones a frown as she looked for any kind of stocker or anything to show what variety it was as she quickly painted the teeth marks that were on the base of the tree over with a special paint to help heal the bark and keep bugs from infesting it as she thankfully didn’t smell urine, because she had hoped that the giftee wouldn’t have marked it as he gave it to her.

“So what kind of apple will this one be?” Tristan asked.

“I have no idea.” Sasha sighed tiredly.

“So, you don’t remember what kind you ordered or…?” Tristan asked.

“Oh, this was a, um, a gift. But the person who gifted it to us probably lost the tag in getting it here. I can identify it later.” Sasha waived off and hoped that the person who most likely put it at her house, was hoping she’d reach out and ask, which Sasha- really, really didn’t want to do before she otherwise ignored the tree and brought him away from it, because heaven forbid smell this idiot and be scared off of her over it, because honestly Sasha was hoping that issue would resolve itself sooner than later.

And by the time they got inside the house, and he got to taste her cooking, oh, he was eyeing her finger to look to see what ring size she would need.

And Frank and Renee were so sweet and welcoming to him and he felt right at home and would be happy to call them inlaws, if he could prove himself to Sasha- that is.

Autumn though, gave him a wide berth and was the only one who tried to hide her wariness of him behind a wall of indifference as she continued to try to be glued to her phone and continually texting on it.

And when it was bathtime before bedtime for Amaryllis, Sasha insisted that she needed to do that for her little sister and Tristan took the hint that it was time for him to go. And Sasha at least walked him out to his truck, which he now felt a bit self conscious about.

“Nice truck.” Sasha tried to praise.

“You don’t have to lie to be polite. I know it’s not a nice truck.” Tristan sheepishly offered.

“Is it mechanically sound?” Sasha asked.

“Well yeah. I’ve been keeping up with all the maintenance and it just got a new transmission rebuilt for it last year. So it runs pretty good, it just doesn’t look the best.” Tristan answered.

“It’s a truck you drive year round. And the salt on the roads every winter eats every vehicle every winter, some faster than others. Just because something is older or used or even scratched and dented a little here and there, doesn’t mean it’s a bad vehicle, it adds character. Is it safe? It doesn’t have any holes in the floor boards or missing seatbelts or anything like that, does it?” Sasha continued.

“Yeah it’s safe. It doesn’t have anything like that. It’s just rusting here and there and the paint is starting to chip here and there. But otherwise, it’s perfectly safe.” Tristan clarified.

“And is it paid for? Or do you have a truck payment that you have to pay every month?” She asked.

“Oh, it’s all bought and paid for.” Tristan answered.

“Then as long as it’s insured, it’s good to go. My uncle insists that Brianna and my other cousins can’t go on dates unless the vehicle itself is bought and paid for, insured, safe and sound. Which Kihro has had since he was 16. Which was a hoop Kihro had to jump through and will be a hoop my dad will probably copy too. So, honestly, the fact that you own this outright, it’s safe and sound and well maintained, you’re golden. So don’t feel bad just because it’s not brand spanking new and not all perfect and shiny. I’ve seen more pretty trucks with no mechanical soundness, just sitting and rotting in lots. Looks aren’t everything, you know. This truck is great where it counts. It’s a lot to be proud of.” Sasha insisted.

“Goodnight Tristan, drive safe on the way home.” Sasha insisted before she patted him on the back and returned back to the house before Tristan could just reach out and kiss her before he got in the truck and just waved as she waved at him before she went back inside before he looked over at the catalog and grabbed it and ran it to the house and simply knocked to try to give it back before Sasha opened the door.

“Catalog.” Tristan held it up.

“Oh, thanks.” Sasha held out her hand before he put it in and used the moment where she took it from her to lean over and put the catalog into her hands and kissed her cheek before leaving before he could shift and do anything more.

“Thank you!” Sasha called after him with a laugh as her palm over her blushing cheek before she shut the door and pressed the catalog to her chest before she ran upstairs to get Ellie in the bath as she ran around the upstairs squealing and running around naked before her bath as Sasha had to chase her down and pick her up and put her in the bathroom and draw her little sister a bath.

“Ok Stinker in the bath so you’re not so sticky and stinky.” Sasha urged her sister as she got Ellie in the hot water before she gave Amaryllis a bath and was washing her hair before Autumn slipped into the bathroom.

“You need to be careful with Tristan.” Autumn insisted.

“How do you mean?” Sasha asked.

“You know what I mean. Tristan is about to become your new Lance. Plus, Jake left another apple tree on the porch this morning after you and dad left for work.” Autumn predicted and Sasha’s heart sank as she recalled seeing the new apple tree, still in it’s pot next to the others that needed to be planted.

“Oh gods no. No, it was just a coincidence.” Sasha tried to excuse.

“Mmmhmm. Just wait, you’ll see. Keep your gun loaded and by your window.” Autumn insisted before she left as Sasha glared at her sister’s back and as much as she liked Tristan, Autumn was usually, rarely wrong about this kind of thing. And that simply left Sasha feeling like she just got gutted.

“Sisi?” Ellis asked when she saw her eldest sister’s face fall and her eyes begin to glass with tears.

“Sisi’s ok Ellie.” Sasha insisted as she put on a brave smile and tried to refocus on her sister and finish her sister’s bath before she rinsed the conditioner out of Ellie’s hair and helped her youngest sister out of the bath and dry her off and then rubbed lotion into her delicate skin and put on her underwear and pajamas and put Amaryllis to bed in her little toddler bed before Sasha got ready for bed herself. She got a shower and once she was out of the shower, she saw the catalog still on the counter of the bathroom and now she was conflicted about Tristan. So she simply- quietly, silently prayed that Tristan would not be another Lance, or Jake for that matter because she had the worst luck with wares so far.

But no sooner had she said “Amen” before their motion flood lights turned on and Sasha groaned when she got up and looked out the window to see a werewolf with something else in their mouth as they were bringing it up to the garden and were currently digging for it, causing Noche to whinny and neigh.

“Fucking hell. I swear I’m gonna kill him.” Sasha grumbled as she pulled her shotgun out of it’s safe in her closet and hurriedly got down the stairs as Autumn was right behind her with hers too.

“Told you!” Autumn insisted.

“Shut up Autumn, just get the police on the phone.” Sasha barked at her younger sister over her shoulder before Sasha slipped into her crocs and stepped out of the back door and put her shotgun to her shoulder and aimed at the werewolf digging a hole for the bush he brought and another for the tree too before the sound of her chambering a round into her shot gun got him to pause and look at her with wide eyes as she walked towards him her eye lining him up in her sights.

“Who are you?” Sasha demanded before Tristan gulped.

“Look Asshole, I told you if I caught you on this property again, I was gonna shoot you. You have to the count of three- to leave and never come back, never call me again and never bring me another courting gift, animal, vegetable, fruit, or otherwise or whatever. I don’t care if you even bring me a mercedes benz in my driveway. I am never going to accept another courting gift from you for as long as I live, no matter what it is. And when I told you that, I meant it. I swear to every god we both believe in, I don’t give a fuck what you and instincts say. I’m not interested in being your mate, I never was and I never will be, you can bring me every apple tree in the world, but you harm another pregnant animal, I’ll abort you post birth myself. I will never court you and I sure as hell will never marry you. Run now before I stuff you full of lead.” Sasha growled dangerously as she approached the werewolf.

“One…” Sasha began to count down before Tristan held up his clawed hands before they shifted into wolf paws again and backed up.

“I don’t remember you telling me that, I’m sorry to bother you, I’ll leave you alone, please don’t shoot me.” Tristan blurted before Sasha blinked and let the barrel fall from his head to his chest.

“Tristan?” Sasha asked when the voice didn’t match what she was expecting.

“Yeah, sorry. Who’s Asshole?” Tristan asked before Sasha let the barrel of the shotgun lower and aim at the ground as she sighed in relief.

“Oh thank goodness it’s just you. Hang on a minute. Gotta call off the calvary. Excuse me.” Sasha said as she put the safety back on the gun and put it down and turned to gesture to her sister- using sign language who was there and to not call the cops, but that she was ok. It was someone new- T-R-I-S-T-A-N. And that Sasha wanted him there. Autumn hung up on her phone but stayed on the porch and sat down with her own shotgun resting across her lap and kept her watchful gaze on her sister and everything else, but still gave her sister some relative privacy.

“One of my two exes who- wish they could be my boyfriend until I told them to take a hike and I wasn’t interested. But I thought you were Jake, the asshole who brought me that fucking apple tree with no tag. He’s done that with all the apple trees. He brings them with no tags and no way to identify them unless I have no choice but call him and ask him to come out and identify them and has threatened to push out any other from his pack who is also in the apple business if they do that for me instead of him. He’s a werewolf too, from the Meadow Pack. Are you from that pack?” Sasha asked carefully.

“Nope. Eagle Lake Pack.” Tristan offered.

“Ok, good. Jake has- despite me turning him down, gotten his whole pack convinced that unless I’m with him and accept his courting gifts, to otherwise not have anything else to do with me and my family. Because I turned him down, no one in his pack will even use my dad’s plumbing business. He has the whole self entitled toxic alpha on him all the way, because his dad is the alpha for his pack. For the last year he’s been trying to court me and I’m…I don’t know how much I need to tell him ‘no’ or even tell his parents ‘no’. But they refuse to take that ‘no’ for an answer. So now I’ve had to resort to threatening to shoot him- for him to get the picture I’m not interested. Fuck.” Sasha cursed as she leaned on her knees to catch her breath and recover from the fuck ton of anxiety that had been pumping through her veins a moment ago.

“God damn it. Not again!” Sasha started to cry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have…I’m sorry I should have told you or talked to you or something.” Tristan laid his ears back and took up a very submissive pose as his tail wagged while it was tucked under him.

“No, you…you tried to tell me and you showed me, I just…I just didn’t see it. I just…This is the third time this is happening to me. The first guy, also a werewolf, from the Black Water Pack, Lance, who fell into puppy love with me, he brought me actual dead animals. And my uncle who is a butcher helped me with those at least. But I was all of 15, had no idea who he really was or what was happening. And the economy had crashed and the business was barely hanging on by a thread and we needed the food so we accepted the free food supply. But he just kept bringing me bigger and bigger animals, until our freezer and our deep freeze was packed and we had to share the food with our friends and family. And then he kept bringing me younger and younger animals, because he wanted the meat to be especially tender or some bullshit like that. Until he brought me a pregnant cow. And when I rejected him for that, he killed my dogs and all my chickens in retaliation and actually dug up everything I had tried to plant. Like it got so bad we had to move out of Kalamazoo to Portage because all the neighbors complained and called the cops several times and my mom was pregnant with Amaryllis and she had all kinds of complications like preclampsia and it was all I could do to help my mom carry Ellie full term and then to juggle Lance and his “advances on top of that when I was way too young for this shit. But once we got to Portage, that’s when I tried to swear of wares all together and that didn’t last but a year. And then from there, we moved from there to here. But then once we got out here, when I was, very, stupidly and naively just researching apples, Jake Launtner, his family owns Gull Meadow Farms out of Richland. We met when I was getting into apples last year and he gave me my entire orchard for free as his courting gifts. And because of my bad experiences with Lance, I’ve tried to let Jake down gently. But he hasn’t gotten the hint, obviously.” Sasha complained as she gestured to the apple tree with the most exhausted and disgusted expression.

“And what Jake has done, is he purposefully doesn’t leave tags or any other identifying marks on the apple trees. Just so I can call him and have him come out and he can be Mr. Smarty Pants and tell me all about the apples and where I should plant them and all about each one and he’s one of the ones who is starting a microbrewery for hard cider. But every other person I try to bring here to help me with the apples, who isn’t Jake, he’s killed off their pets if they’ve had them and he’ll outright destroy any landscaping they have and actually plant beetles in their trees to destroy their own orchards and is practically a damn terrorist. All because his dad is the Alpha of his pack too and Jake thinks he’s gonna inherit that and that’s all there is to it. God damn it. Autumn called this. I owe her a hundred bucks now because she bet me a hundred dollars that this is what you were gonna do and I thought we were good and that you wouldn’t…just…give me courting gifts, at least so soon. You get one werewolf to scent mark you and suddenly every werewolf in a two hundred mile radius thinks it’s a challenge.” Sasha explained as she simply sunk down to her knees in the dirt and wiped her tears away from her face as Tristan eased closer and closer but didn’t try to touch her, as much as he wanted to, because seeing her cry was ripping his heart out.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t smell it or anything. I’m so sorry. I should have said something or asked. I’m so sorry.” Tristan apologized.

“It’s not your fault. You’re not in Jake’s pack, so you wouldn’t know.” Sasha admitted.

“I’m not. But you should get inside, before any of them decides to come back. I can..I’ll leave, I’ll leave you alone.” Tristan offered as he put his head down and began to walk away as Sasha simply hugged her legs to her chest.

“But I don’t want you to.” Sasha cried into her arms.

But she said it loud enough that his ears perked up and he came back to her and began to try to comfort her and lick her tears up while his tail wagged so hard he feared it was gonna wag right off of him as Sasha lifted her head and dropped her legs so she could just hug him and bury her face into his soft fur. Because with Lance, she felt like she was drowning, with Jake, she felt like she had been kicking and screaming- trying her best to put a stop to it before it could start.

“If it’s puppy love, I get it, it’s gonna be hard for- for however long it’ll last. But I can’t…” Sasha’s voice broke off.

“I would never want you to accept or even agree to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want me to try to court you, I won’t. I will try to just…stay your friend for as long as you’ll let me. I just…I got too excited and ahead of myself and I’m sorry.” Tristan offered as he just sat down and then pulled her into his lap and just hugged her and held her and rocked her in the cool grass.

“No, that’s not the problem, the problem is me. I’m part ware, but I’m not ware enough to shift, but I still have some of the senses. Specifically the sense to tell whether someone is pregnant or not which is why I’m as natural of a midwife as I am. I’ve helped…way too many friends at school get abortions when I could sense they were pregnant before they knew they were. But that’s…that’s all I have. My mom is ware, and Autumn has the gene to shift, Ellie, she’s just, hyper ever full moon but doesn’t shift. But because Autumn is full ware and can shift, she’s been able to see Lance and Jake coming from a mile away. And I didn’t know until I saw dead things that they were ware at all. Like I couldn’t even tell you were ware until just now. And I feel like I’m practically blind when it comes to stuff like this. And I like you, a lot. But if this is just your puppy love, this needs to end right here and now, before…” Sasha sobbed into his chest before he cut her off by kissing her, his face shifting back enough to let him do that as Sasha clung to him and kissed him back.

“It’s not puppy love.” Tristan answered.

“Oh thank goodness, cause puppy love sucks. Gods, it just rips your heart out and leaves you bleeding out.” Sasha confessed as she felt such a sense of sweet relief.

“It does. That’s what’s scared me since the moment I met you on that tractor.” Tristan confessed.

“Oh jeeze, so you’ve been fighting this a while huh?” Sasha laughed as her tears stopped coming.

“Yeah, and when you came to the house to fix the water heater, it was really hard then too and it was really hard earlier when Noche bucked you off to not shift out of my clothes then too.” Tristan admitted.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Sasha cooed as she was simply happy to just be held as tightly and securely as she was as she felt like she could practically melt into his divinely soft fur right in that moment as she pet down his head and pet his super soft ears and felt his snout regrow as his head nestled in the crux of her neck and shoulder.

“So..what…what did you bring me?” Sasha asked as she gestured to the bush he clearly just planted next to the others.

“It’s the Leduc blueberry, it’s a southern highbush hybrid. It’s a cross between blue gold, peachy blue, aurora and jewel.” He answered.

“Aww, thank you. I love it.” Sasha smiled happily before she reached out to grab a few of the ripe berries from the little bush to popped them in her mouth.

“Perfect, just as good as Kablueyes, if not better.” She praised.

“Actually, now I need to crossbreed Kablueyes into it, and then it’ll be perfect.” Tristan offered.

“Oh, I see, next season right?” Sasha guessed.

“Yeah,” Tristan nodded as he couldn’t help but scent her more which got her to giggle but happily accept it nonetheless.

“Here, get in the house, before I cross a line I can’t uncross.” Tristan urged her as he walked her back to the house.

“Thank you. Such a perfect gentleman.” Sasha thanked him before she kissed his cheek sweetly and got back into her house with her shotgun resting over her shoulder as Autumn continued to simply glare at him through the window as she had gotten up from the seat and gotten in the house when Sasha got up and was walking back to the house. But the moment Sasha went in and Autumn got a whiff of her, her own face shifting slightly to give her the longer nose to smell his scent.

“Really? You want to do this again?” Autumn questioned Sasha.

“With Tristan? Yes. With anyone else, no. I know, I know, I owe you a hundred bucks.” Sasha answered as she gently pushed the barrel of Autumn’s gun down and away from Tristan.

“Keep it, you’re gonna need it to buy more plants. You know Jake is going to destroy every plant that has Tristan’s scent on it.” Autumn predicted.

“Oh gods, please, no.” Sasha whimpered.

“He can try, I have more.” Tristan reassured as he simply sat on the porch, not even getting his toes across the threshold.

“Mmmhmm, you say that now. Just wait until Jake and his pack burn you and your family farm down to the ground in retaliation. Jake is not a guy who likes to get rejected.” Autumn warned.

“And if he does, he’s gonna regret it.” Tristan insisted.

“Just don’t getting your ass handed to you ok? I don’t want you getting hurt, especially over me.” Sasha pleaded.

“Scratches and dents add character right?” Tristan repeated which got Sasha to huff a laugh and shake her head.

“They do. Get home safe and sound and get some sleep. You need it for the beach tomorrow.” Sasha encouraged him.

“Ok, ok, I’m gone, see you tomorrow at the beach.” Tristan smiled before ducking his head into the house and kissing her again and then went running off home.

“I give it less than 12 hours before Jake makes his displeasure known and felt.” Autumn snipped as she closed the door and locked and looked out among the darkness, trying to see if she could see anything or anyone else out there and kept an ear out for any howling or growling either.

“Gosh I hope not.” Sasha sighed tiredly.

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see then. I swear, I’m not putting up with this alpha, beta werewolf shit when I grow older.” Autumn insisted.

“I know, no one’s dick is as big as yours, metaphorically speaking anyway.” Sasha teased.

“You know it.” Autumn praised before she shut the lights out as they both went to bed before Sasha’s phone chimed, it was a text from Tristan, saying he had made it home- safe and sound which she appreciated and texted him goodnight.

Come morning, Sasha was relieved to see that Tristan’s Leduc blueberry bush didn’t show any signs of damage or anything in the morning and happily picked the few remaining ripe blueberries from it in the morning, kissing the bunches of green and unripe blueberries as she carefully sniffed at the delicate little flowers were more would grow from. She carefully put a small net over it so the other birds wouldn’t eat the berries before she could harvest them.

“New blueberry bush?” Her mom asked as she came out to the yard.

“Yeah, it’s a true Leduc blueberry bush. From Tristan Leduc himself.” Sasha sighed dreamily as she carefully pinned the net down.

“Wow, courting gifts from him already eh?” Renee grinned smugly.

“Yeah,” Sasha nodded.

“Well just be sure you actually love Tristan and not his name or his blueberries more than him.” Renee warned evenly.

“Yup. I don’t think that’s ever going to be a problem.” Sasha shook her head as she got to her feet and dusted herself off but still had that happy, contented smile on her face.

“I see, well then.” Renee giggled into her morning cup of coffee as Ari kicked happily to get her morning coffee too.

“So is Little Rocket gonna take off any time soon?” Sasha asked.

“Well, she’s dropped, the mucus plug is gone, and now we just get to wait for the inevitable. But I haven’t gotten any indications she’s gonna take off.” Renee shrugged.

“But what do your senses tell you?” Renee asked before Sasha felt around her mom’s belly.

“She’s gonna be another stargazer.” Sasha noted as she felt how Ari was laying in her mom’s womb.

“Yup, just like everyone else.” Renee nodded.

“If she gets too much bigger though, she might have shoulder dysplasia like Brianna and I had.” Sasha noted.

“But you’re not having pitted edema and you don’t have preeclampsia this time around. So that’s nice.” Sasha noted as she looked down at her mother’s bare feet in the grass.

“Nope, thank goodness.” Renee shook her head.

“I hope you don’t have postpartum with this one.” Sasha softly murmured.

“Me too.” Renee sighed tiredly, because when her sister law was pregnant with Gavin, she was pregnant too. But Renee ended up miscarrying due to complications and got severe postpartum depression. Which was why there was a huge age gap between Sasha and Autumn and Amaryllis. But now that Amaryllis was a small toddler, she needed a little sibling the same way Sasha had Autumn.

“I really like Tristan.” Sasha felt the need to say suddenly.

“Good. I’m happy you like him.” Renee smiled sweetly.

“Like, the moment I saw him on that tractor I was ready to go full farmer’s wife and fuck him right there on the damn tractor or fuck him among the blueberry bushes themselves. And it’s been hard to go out there every day or go out and kill a steer and leave it on his own front porch as a courting gift.” Sasha admitted.

“And then when we went to his house, I tried to use everything I could to try to deter him, praying that it was just puppy and he wouldn’t like me for my views. But when he agreed with them, then it hard not to bring him into that truck and fuck him right on the bench.” Sasha admitted.

“Well, Hun, you’re more ware than you think. Because every ware has those instincts when they meet their mate. First you get scared and try to send them away with a bark, hoping it doesn’t come to a bite. And when they stay and if anything prove they’re not going anywhere and they’re ready and willing to stick it out and stay no matter what. Then you found a keeper. You didn’t have those instincts with Lance or Jake, if anything they both have repulsed you. Which is normal for puppy love when one feels a draw and the other doesn’t. But when it’s the right one, you’re both supposed to feel the attraction and the pull. So the fact that you feel that, means that he’s the one- if you want him to be.” Renee grinned happily.

“Even when we’re both this young?” Sasha asked.

“I was all of 19 when I met your dad, barely counted as a midwife myself, I was in way over my head with your aunt, but after that disaster. I got him a moose, he had no idea what to do with it and was barely 19 himself but was down for it and while we had some growing pains ourselves, we’ve made it work. I know you’re both pretty young, but as long as you both want to make it work, just try to make it work and if it works, it works, if not, you can still choose to walk away if he isn’t what you want, that mate instinct can come a few times in someone’s life.” She encouraged her eldest daughter.

“What if it’s just…puppy love for us both?” Sasha asked as she fidgeted in cleaning out her own fingernails.

“Then just make sure to keep taking your birth control and try not to swear off blueberries when you’re done.” Renee shrugged.

“But it would be nice for you to have someone, and if his scent can keep the others at bay for now, then so be it.” Renee shrugged again as she drank down more coffee.

“But what if Jake wants to hurt Tristan or his family or his farm?” Sasha asked worriedly.

“You warned Tristan about Jake right?” Renee asked.

“And Lance.” Sasha nodded.

“Then Tristan and his family will be ready if Jake is stupid enough to try anything. And especially if Lance does either. Tristan seemed like he came from a large and pretty well supported family. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Renee waived off before Sasha’s phone chimed a goodmorning text from Tristan as Sasha scrambled to get to her phone which got Renee to outright laugh to watch Sasha begin to text Tristan goodmorning and give him the update that the precious heirloom plant was just fine and had now had protective net over it to keep the berries safe from the birds and asked when he planned on meeting them at the beach that afternoon, as the hours between that moment and the evening seemed to be a small eternity long.

“Just, don’t launch today, tomorrow, you can launch tomorrow.” Sasha insisted as she reached over and patted Ari in her mom’s belly before Ari kicked out and Renee hissed in pain.

“Oh don’t say that. I think she might start to come just to spite you now.” Renee teased.

“Are you serious?” Sasha asked as her eyes widened worriedly.

“Nah, just teasin.“ Renee reassured her daughter.

Sasha pulled out all the stops. She got the best steaks to grill at the beach. She called Brie and Kihro and wanted everything to go really well with Tristan and his family, the same way Brie was when she had Kihro over at her house the first time the year before. And with Kihro and Brie getting engaged only a two months prior and had already picked out a house and were already in the process of buying it.

Sasha, while happy for her cousin who was as close as a sister, couldn’t help but feel jealous that Brie’s life- for as messed up as it was, was coming together and she was practically a princess with her knight in shining armor in Kihro. And while Sasha preferred to think of herself as her own woman, there was something, that while it may have been a touch childish, still was romantic, in that whole- courtly love dynamic. And while Sasha knew she needed to be a whole and complete person in her own right, to see Kihro and Brie be such a great match and be so happy and have so much…peace- and happiness in their choice for a mate in life and have contentment and Sasha wanted to just- stop having to fight off every other guy, fearing that she was somehow cursed to only attract every stupid toxic alpha werewolf asshole everywhere she went, like she was a magnet for them. And she could only hope Tristan wouldn’t be caught up in that either. Although, if Sasha recalled, she never asked, and frankly, she stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. Besides, where Tristan stood in his pack should have no bearing on their relationship, as long as the alpha of his pack was older and already married and would not challenge Tristan over her, Sasha would be happy. She didn’t care if Tristan was at the very bottom of the pecking order in a matter of speaking, or not. Most modern ones didn’t give a shit, because there was always an alpha male and an alpha female and that was usually the only things that mattered to the pack, which tended to be organized similarly to orc clans. And all she could hope for was that Tristan’s family would accept her as she was, even if she wasn’t “ware enough” in many respects.

But once they got to the beach, Sasha got the surprise of her life. Tristan, riding a horse among other friends and family who had brought their horses to the beach. And he was on nothing other, than a blue roan quarter horse and Sasha’s jaw was practically in the sand.

“Oh damn.” Zara, Sasha’s friend said as she watched Tristan ride up to her.

“This is the guy right? Tristan? Mr. Leduc Blueberry himself?” Brie murmured from the other side of her cousin.

“Yeah-huh.” Sasha confirmed with a nod of her head as she was about ready to ride off into the damn sunset on this beautiful creature with the most amazing person in the world riding him.

“And he’s walking over here with your favorite horse in the world?” Brie asked.

“Yeah, huh.” Sasha nodded as she just stared in awed adoration at Tristan who just looked like the perfect vision of what she never thought to imagine her perfect mate would be, but here he was. That perfect balance of farmer, cowboy, yet modern man- all in one. And when she thought he couldn’t look any better than any other time she had seen him, she was pleasantly surprised when he still managed to look even more attractive.

“Hi.” Tristan offered before he stopped the horse right in front of Sasha as he could tell she couldn’t decide to look at him or the horse and then back to him and back to the horse several times over.

“Hi, who’s this?” Sasha asked as she stepped forward and let the horse sniff her as the horse curiously did so as she looked into the horses eyes as her own glazed with tears. It was the most perfect horse she had ever seen in her life.

“Kabluey.” He answered.

“Shut up. Stop. No, you didn’t.” Sasha gasped as an excited smile plastered itself onto her face and she couldn’t let out a breathless chuckle as she looked from the horse up to him.

“Who named him Kabluey?” Sasha asked.

“You did. He’s yours. I figured Noche could use someone else to pester in that pasture other than his mom and teach him some manners, especially when it came to how to treat a lady.” Tristan proudly proclaimed and Sasha’s happy tears finally fell as she just closed her eyes and put her head to the horse’s head while petting his head and tried to not dissolve into a puddle of tears right there on the beach.

“He’s perfect. I love you. I love him too. Just…Thank you so much.” Sasha thanked Tristan before the horse lifted his head and actually tucked her under his head as she reached around and hugged as much of his neck as she could reach before she reached up where his hands were resting on the withers and held his hands before peeking up at Tristan as her face nuzzled into Kabluey’s neck.

“What’s his real name?” Sasha asked.

“He goes by Blue.” Tristan said.

“Like Blue’s Clues!” Ellie squealed as she came over before Sasha backed up and got her little sister up to properly introduce the two together.

“Yup. Yup, Blue like Blue’s Clues. Only this Blue is a boy. He is a Rocky Mountain, Mustang and Quarter cross. He technically doesn’t look that blue of a roan, more of a silver grulla or even a dapple gray. But, he’s, obviously, very well mannered and very well trained.” Tristan confirmed.

“Kabluey, perfect.” Sasha smiled happily.

#Monster March #Monster March 2023 #Monster March 2023 Day 26 Werewolf #Monster March 2023 Day 26 Werewolf Part 3

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achtung-attitude · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER 80: Lonely Boy - Part 3

All-Kill convulses from inside-out, falling amidst the rubble of his home. T’onga watches him, keeping her footing for a moment, before her eyes roll back and she falls to one knee. Shizuka dashes to her aid.

“Are you OK, Mom?!”

“No…” the former assassin groans, then makes a hacking cough. She reaches down her throat and pulls out a strip of torn purple cloth. Her ripped sleeve, used to plug her throat. “No, I am not alright…” she concludes, extracting a shattered tooth alongside the cloth. She tosses both into the wreckage. Shizuka looks on in horror, but comes around when her mother extends her hand. “Help me up.”

Shizuka takes her hand and throws it over her shoulder to carry her through the rubble. T’onga mutters to herself as they stagger through. “Can’t believe that worked… HOUSE OF PAIN was never meant to be used like this… Used on lockets, bottles… my own fucking mouth…!”

Shizuka smiles guiltily. “When people are around me… They tend to do pretty crazy stuff…”

“Heheh…” T’onga chuckles, and then they are both standing over All-Kill’s frame. Their smiles fade.

“Is he…?” Shizuka whispers.

“…HOUSE OF PAIN’s been kind of hit-or-miss lately. Can't hurt to make sure…” T’onga then slips out of her daughter’s support to kneel over her fallen former boss. She first places two fingers on his neck. He doesn’t move. Neither does his pulse. Then she leans down, gripping the lapels of his jacket to stare at his face. No breath scapes from his slightly open mouth or his nostrils. His glasses are over his forehead. His eyes are half-shut and glazed over.

Finally, T’onga stands. Shizuka goes to help her, but she is waved away. The former assassin stares at All-Kill’s body for some time, then kicks him hard into his side. “Haugh!…” she groans, losing balance and having to be caught by Shizuka. Even then, she tries to kick him more, her face a mask of desperate fury.

“Mom!” Shizuka cries as she drags her away from the body. Only then does T’onga cease her assault. She stares at the man’s unmoving figure, and her eyes go wide. She covers her mouth like she’s about to throw up.

“Mom…? What’s wrong?”

“It’s… nothing…!” the former assassin stammers. She turns, brushing away from Shizuka’s support. She faces a collapsed section of wall that allows her to see the LA city lights in the distance.

“I hate this fuckin’ city…” she says after a moment. “Too many people. And it stinks… Can you keep a secret?”

Shizuka blinks. “Y-Yeah, sure…”

“As messed up as it is… I liked Morioh. It was… uncomplicated. Quiet. I didn’t hate that town. More time there would have been nice…”

Silence. Shizuka stares at her mother’s back. Seemingly working up courage, she says, “T-there are places like that Upstate!”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah! During summer breaks, me and Daddy and Mamma Suzy Q would stay in this cabin near the Finger Lakes! You know, to get away from the city once in a while!”

“Oh… Cool…” T’onga says, looking away from her daughter’s eager expression. She softly sighs and turns fully around. “We, um… We need to bail. Cops and all the rest will be here soon enough. We can’t be here when they-”

Something pierces her in the side. Her vision goes white, but searing pain brings her back to her senses. “Mom?” Shizuka says, but T’onga can’t focus on her. She gazes upon the gash in her side, below her diaphragm, slicing between her ribs. Shizuka sees it and gasps.

“No…!” T’onga hisses through clenched teeth. “It can’t be…!”

But it is. The rubble crunches as All-Kill rises with jerky, painful movements. He glares at them both, clutching his side as he stands. LONELY BOY manifests next to him.

“Go, Shizuka, go! Get out of here!” the former assassin says. Her daughters stare in horror, the sweat pouring off of her as their enemy approaches. T’onga shouts “I said GO, God damn it! Turn invisible, now!!”

Tears well in Shizuka’s eyes. Her gaze darts between T’onga and the approaching All-Kill, until finally she sobs and disappears from sight. The man in black keeps coming. He hears Shizuka’s unseen feet scramble over the rubble, but doesn’t pursue, instead staggering towards T’onga.

He releases the air blade in her side, but catches her by the jaw before she drops to the ground. As he holds her up, LONELY BOY jams its fingers into her open wound.

T’onga bellows, “AAAAAAUUGHH!!!”

All-Kill lets her scream. Glaring hatefully into her eyes, he draws close to her. “It turns out… LONELY BOY can freeze individual organs in place. Just enough to keep them functional. If not for that, HOUSE OF PAIN would have finished me. That’s also how I stopped my pulse, by the way…”

The former assassin says nothing.

“What? You had so much to say earlier. Don’t you have anything cute to say?” LONELY BOY pulls its fingers out of her, and she nearly passes out from the pain. All-Kill shakes her awake. “I’ve frozen your liver. Without it, you have little over an hour to live. And that’s you’ll how die T’onga; standing here in agony, listening to me butcher your little girl.”

T’onga meets his gaze without flinching.

“…You would’ve got me. You made a good call, using my overconfidence against me. But no more of that. Thank you, T’onga, for reminding me.”

He releases her jaw. She stays standing, but not on her feet, which scrabble around, instead held up by her own frozen liver. She snarls futilely as All-Kill turns his back on her.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #t'onga kim #all-kill #lonely boy #ch80

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fingfamily-blog-blog · 2 years ago

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Blitar and the Work Week

In a few days I will have been here for 6 months. That's a milestone, and it means my time here is 60% done. I've repeated the idea "This will someday be over" enough that it really doesn't need to be said again, but with 4 months to go, this week I had an unusual feeling, that I finally have something to do that's worthwhile. Like, even though so much time has been wasted, so much trust destroyed, that I'm surprised I could feel positively at all. First, I'm coming off of two straight weekends of travel, to Bromo and then Blitar. And, as begrudging as I was about my experience at the middle school, those people came through with a nice shirt, and 3 million rupiah, as a gesture of thanks. Nice! Plus, I gave one of the middle school students my Instagram info, and about 45 of them have since followed me. And they like my pictures from around east Java, so that's been a boost too. About Blitar, I chose to go there because it's only a couple of hours away. I've made a connection with a driver (one of our guides around Java in December) and so he picked me up on Friday afternoon and we drove south and west through the rain and around Mt. Kawi to get there. I stayed at the historic Tugu Sri Lestari Hotel, which is one of three owned by a single family who are folk art collectors, and they decorate their places with fabulous old stuff, furniture, gamelan sets, kitchen utensils, wood carvings, wayang puppets, marionette puppets, and in this hotel an inspiring thirty-yard tunnel of banyan tree roots at the entrance. When the sun shines through the roots, so carefully cultivated, it's a rare sight indeed. On Saturday we went first to Mt. Kelud, an active volcano, not as high as Bromo, so not as cold, but visually striking. The walk was super steep and a nice workout. And people noticed me, but nobody gathered around or asked for my photo. It was cloudy, but some blue sky opened up here and there, so I was able to get some good pictures. The lake at the basin of the volcano which last exploded only 5 or 6 years ago, was deep green, and the craggly rocks, bursting with green life, looked fabulous in the sun. There's actually a 100-200 foot long bunker there, if it so happens that the volcano explodes when you're there. I would not want to have to flee there, but if it saved my life, I guess it would be ok. It could also get plugged up on both ends, as well as the escape hatch in the middle, and it could be the place where you slowly starve to death. So, I'm glad I didn't have to face that! Later that day we returned to sea level and went to the Candi Penataran, a Buddhist temple from the 12th century. The excavation and restoration, though incomplete, are well done and it's one of the better old temples I've seen here. But the yahoos were out in abundance and I soon became the object of interest, with family after family approaching me (with guileless smiles, to be fair) asking to take my picture with them, with their children, with their husbands and wives. I've said before, this is a strange feeling. What could it mean for them to have a picture of me with their family? My driver, and teacher, Syaiful (Shy - full) tells me that they are proud to have met a "bule" (foreigner) and they will share the picture on social media and in their kampung (neighborhood). I appreciate his perpsective, and I tried to be patient, but when I see people gathering to line up and take a picture with me, I have a deeply-pained reaction - "I'm here to see this great historical sight. So are you! Don't mistake me for someone significant." And it confirms my desire to stay away from fame as much as I can. Strangers freaking out when they see you is not healthy. Then having them approach you and claim some part of you that you never offered to them (and which you cannot understand the value of) is a cognitive dissonance to be avoided. To their credit, no Indonesian person has lashed out at me for turning away from them. But, the next day, I went to the Serang beach. It's a nice beach, big waves, a wide swath of sand (piled at the high tide line with dozens of sizable pieces of driftwood, and framed by fantastic rock outcroppings and pine trees, and I could tell right away that I would be hassled. So I walked as far away from the center as possible, and sat in the shade watching the waves. Even so, groups of young people gathered around me, looking over their shoulders at me, talking amongst themselves about the bule. I had sunglasses and a beach hat and I pretended they weren't there, wearing what I've heard called a "resting-bitch face." Still one young man came over and asked for a photo. I shook my head negatively. He said, Just one? I said nothing, kept the face on and shook my head. He relented. Later two younger boys paraded around me but I guess they were intimidated. One of them turned to me while his friend watched and flipped me off with both of his middle fingers. He laughed at his action, and I was tempted to run toward him and do something rude too. But it's not my world there. So, beautiful as the place was, I didn't want to be the monkey at the zoo. I left the beach after about 90 minutes. So I recommend Blitar for some things, like the Sukarno museum, archives, home and gravesite. But bule beware! Returning home, this week I was invited by Ibu Renzi, and Ibu Yusnita (my minder), to teach a workshop for students who are applying for a government-sponsored scholarship for one semester of international study. So, I had three sessions with about 25 students each and they are all keen on learning some basics and winning the award. That makes for an energetic classroom. I found myself sitting with Ibu Renzi and talking about my life and work here. She has many years of experience overseas and she asked me, "What do you do for your social life?" (My answer? "Nothing, but I'm not depressed.") And she was disappointed to hear how seldom I am used by the school. She suggested a Reading Club, and I have begun taking notes for Heart of Darkness. I also spent more time with Ibu Yusnita than in a couple of months. She seems more relaxed these days. She even invited me to join herself and some other teachers at a neighborhood wedding! I ought to describe it in some detail, but we weren't there for more than 20 minutes, the bride and groom were not there, so it was more a social call than a cultural event, but still a nice change from the routine. And I spoke with Ibu Rahmati again. Previously, she had me teach one of her classes a pronunciation lesson. I wasn't all that happy with that, although I do it well enough. During our casual conversation she revealed that she had a misconception about me, that I was somehow an expert in pronunciation and ESL speaking, when I have no such expertise at all. Seeing her realize that she had it wrong made me more comfortable about working with her again, which she's already set up for this coming week. That she knows that she is using me outside of my range of strengths is better for both of us. Between these three teachers, I am less in the clutches of an administration which, as I've said before, is perfectly happy to do nothing with me. Talking with and working with the teachers directly has given me this feeling of being of some use for the first time in 6 months. And if that's the way it continues, at least I'll be able to say it was getting better when my time ran out. It wasn't all a complete waste of professional time. Also, my brother is due here in 6 days. He'll be staying with me in my home for more than two weeks. He is an international program worker and he's running a seminar for various locations in the Far East. So his bosses allowed him to come here and conduct his classes via Zoom from a more conducive time-zone. That will be nice, to have someone else in the house. to share my little world with my brother, with whom I am especially close. After two weeks, a third friend of ours will arrive here and we'll gallivant off to Bali for 10 days. So March has about it some fine expectation and some real adventure. After that, then I'll have three months to go. Time. How to perfect its use is the great challenge of life, as this little microcosmic interlude in Java has spotlighted.

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bonniebird · 2 years ago

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Billy x Fem!Reader

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You had paused behind the group. Billy had asked if you could grab him a beer when you said you wanted a drink. They clearly hadn’t realised that you were on your way back. “Good that awful ‘Billy! Billy’.” Billy mimicked. Jason laughed loudly, nudging a few of his friends to get them to join in, while Chrissy stood next to him looking uncomfortable. “(Y/N)’s not even worth the effort. I mean it’s harder to get your dick between her legs than it is to break out of jail.” Billy said with an arrogant grin.

Chrissy had gasped as everyone else laughed, spotting you behind Billy before anyone else did. Billy was the only one who turned to see what Chrissy had seen and immediately looked guilty. He caught the can of beer that you threw to him. Then flinched as you furiously tossed your glass of punch at him. He nodded as if he accepted that he deserved that but when he slowly stepped towards you and said your name with a patronising tone, telling you to calm down and listen, your hand struck at his cheek before you even realised you’d done it. Your hand colliding with his face let out a sharp smack that cut all the laughter into silence. Billy’s head jerked to the side and his cigarette flew from his mouth into the grass. There was a small angry handprint on his cheek that was so red it practically glowed in the low light.

“I. I Really hate you, Billy.” You had spat out and hurried off before you cried in front of everyone. Billy wanted to go after you and shake you angrily, yell at you for slapping him, for embarrassing him. Forcing himself to relax he glanced at Chrissy who shook her head at him and hurried after you herself.

She had walked home with you and the two of you watched a movie and she decided to sleep over.

Billy let weeks pass before trying to talk to you. It was odd to go so long without him. He always called every night and dropped by with a movie or you’d go for a walk together up to one of the lakes or hike through the woods. Always him chasing after you. He had bumped into you as you walked home from work one evening. Though he didn’t seem to have any reason to be there. He asked if you were ok and tried to apologise. You said nothing and glared at him until he sighed and hurried off.

Wanting Billy to break first you had continued to keep your distance but a fuse blew in your house and you needed to change the plug in the TV and a new fuse for the fuse board. Which you thought you could have done yourself but when you’d gotten home from the hardware store with supplies you realised that the little toolbox that Billy had put together for you, was in the boot of his car.

Having headed over to his apartment you went up to his car and tried to open the boot. For once Billy had locked it. You approached the house feeling comfortable enough to let yourself in. If Billy’s roommates were in you would just say that you were here to meet up with him and talk. Thinking it was a day that Billy was working it hadn’t occurred to you that the loud music coming from the living room was Billy’s. You spotted the toolbox in the hallway.

“Just come into my house. Make yourself at home.” Billy said sarcastically making you jump. You’d been about to grab the toolbox when you looked over. Billy was lifting weights in the living room. He had a cigarette between his lips and glanced your way.

“I just needed this.” You said quietly. You grabbed at the toolbox and looked down at it awkwardly now unsure if you should hurry out of the apartment.

“Do you need any help? With what you’re fixing?” He asked as he set the weights down and looked at you.

“I don’t need any help from you.” You said curtly and he winced. The tone of your voice had come out much harsher than you had meant it to and you almost felt a little bad.

“You’re sure? I have some time.” Billy offered as he stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray that was on a side table.

“I thought you hated me.” You huffed out and glared at him as he walked closer. “And I don’t want your help.” “Look I’m sorry for what I said at the party,” Billy said quietly when you started to leave.

“Too little too late.” You snapped and frowned at him. He nodded and looked rather guilty, his face turning a little pink and flushed.

“Oh.” He said quietly. You left him in the hallway of his apartment and made your way home. Fixing everything was harder than you thought and by the time you were ready to give up, it was dark outside. You took a break to try and decide what to have for dinner the doorbell rang. Heading out to answer it as the bell rang for a second time you were surprised to find Billy.

“Hey.” He said awkwardly. He had taken out in one hand and a large bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Billy?” You said uncertainly and glanced around expecting to see his group of friends giggling out of sight at the thought of him poking fun at you.

“You said too little too late but I was hoping I could make it up to you?” He said looking rather hopeful.

“You brought me dinner and flowers?” You asked and he nodded.

“From the place you like.” He looked rather hopeful when you reluctantly let him inside.

“This doesn’t make up for it.” You warned. Billy nodded and sat on your sofa, setting the food down and handing you the flowers.

“Can you let me try?” He asked softly. You agreed and he smiled, telling you that this was just the first of many attempts to make things right.

Billy tags:

@linkpk88 @babypink224221 @lisainhell @spiderwebs-blog @gryffindorqueensworld @rockyrascal @twerp8999 @theletterhart @boardstomymood @big-galaxy-chaos

@greekktragedyy @ietss @alexxavicry @daughterofthenight117 @sarcasm-n-insomnia @multi-fandom5 @skylermoyer @justice-for-the-kaldorei

@favmeyou @kaylantus @supernatural-wolfie @yougottalovefandoms @alwaysadreamingoptimist @love1deandra @archaeologydigit @im-eating-rn @bucketbunny @littlefreakingfangirl @hardladyheart @gillybear17 @lchufflepuffcorn @prettyplant0 @hardladyheart @slxthxrxn-sxmp @jamie-c-bower-simp

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #bonniebird #stranger things

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orange-waterfalls · 3 years ago

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G-Bots (TM)

Googleplier (x4) x viewer!reader

ty anon for the request!

A/N: Funny story! I am no longer physically capable of writing normally! I tried so hard to be normal and just veered off into SCP/Cryptid viewer territory because I like expanding on the idea that the viewer is Not Human! Anyways, you’re hanging out with the Googles. That is it. Nothing is wrong. You do not recognize the bodies in the water haha anyways I think I like went a little creepypasta-esque at the end there but it’s fine I think probably. It’s fine. Might be a little weird in terms of story, but i think this was more focused on world building to me. Probably seen as more platonic than romantic, but see it however you wish. Enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k

G-Bots (TM)

You wheezed just a bit as you sped through wherever-the-fuck you were. Sure, maybe that was a bad idea. Sure, Dark was a little bit threatening and SURE, you were supposed to be back by now, and the fact that you weren’t back with Mark trying to convince him NOT to split up was the tiniest bit problematic. You weren’t even sure this was a building? Were you in the void? Goddammit, not again…

You stopped, concluding that this was bullshit and you did not want to do it right now. You bent over, hands on your knees and took deep breaths. You stared into the emptiness for a bit, then looked around for a moment, just trying to figure things out. You needed to reassess. It was basically one big, long hallway with random twists and terms every few meters. You’d always end up back at the paintings of… them… and knew you’d gone too far. You did that over, and over, and over again. At this point you thought Dark had just forgotten about you. You took a deep breath in and let it out. You stood up straight and looked up at the paintings. You heard their voices echo through your head a bit. You squeezed your eyes shut and your head twitched.

“You’re alright… you’re ok… cool it…” You whispered to yourself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Meditate. Think.

You looked on either side of the hall and, for the first time, you noticed doors extending down into the void and not stopping. You let out a breath. You felt a slight sense of dread. Something was telling you not to enter the rooms. Some little voice in the back of your head that sounded suspiciously like Mark. But, hey, what else were you gonna do?

“Ok… do i want to enter the door on the left or the door on the right?” You asked yourself. You paused to think about it. After a few seconds you felt yourself jerk forward a bit. Your brain felt staticy and you felt compelled to the left. You turned the knob and opened the door slightly. Immediately you heard music that might be in an SCP game, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like “do you recognize the bodies in the water?”. You were hoping no, and you bailed before you had a chance to look. You ended up almost exactly in your previous position in the hall. Your brain felt fuzzy again, and this time you gravitated to the right. You opened the door just a little, maybe to see what was inside, but again you heard the SCP ambiance.

But this time it was from behind you. So, like any smart person, you swung the door open, slammed it behind you and did your best to lock it. But there was no lock. So you stood. Waiting. Nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened. Why would anything happen? Dark wouldn’t want you to get hurt… probably. This was his domain. Probably. If you were alive, it’s because he wanted you to be. If you were in this room, it’s because he wanted you to be.

Speaking of: Where the hell were you?

You turned around to look behind you. In the blank white room there was a single grey couch with all 4 Google androids sitting on it. Apparently they were recharging, because they hadn’t noticed you standing there and also they were plugged into an outlet in the wall. You hadn’t considered that they had to physically plug into something to charge up, but the thought made you snort.

Bad idea.

All of their eyes snapped open at once, revealing the glow of their assigned colors. They all stood up and began walking towards you in unison. You felt a slight sense of dread. Even so, you tried to grab the doorknob, the one that apparently was no longer there, and cursed under your breath when you could only feel the smooth wall behind you. The androids stopped, staring at you. You cleared your throat.

“Hey…” you laughed nervously, “So, uh, funny story, actually-”

“You are not supposed to be here,” The original Googleplier, Blue, stated.

“Well, see, that’s where this whole thing started, um, see, Mark wanted to split up-”

“No human is allowed inside of this room, and not you, either.”

“Well-” You stopped, processing what he said, “Wait. ‘Either’? I’m human.”

“No, you’re not,” Google Green said. You wanted to be offended, but you were more confused.

“What do you mean? I’m human!” You argued.

“What color’s your hair?” Red asked with a mean smirk on his face. You opened your mouth to respond, and an amalgamate of voices saying “BROWNBLACKBLONDEWHITERED” came out. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

“... what the hell was that?” Your muffled voice whispered. Well, you thought it was probably yours.

“What’s your eye color?” BROWNGREENBLUEAMBERYELLOW exited your being before you could even try to answer.

“Do you have any pets?” That one just ended with a computer error sound from you.

“... huh.” You dropped your shoulders a little. The revelation probably should’ve upset you more.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… do not recognize the bodies in the water.” You explained.

“Ah, I see. Darkiplier would want you to not die, therefore you may stay.”

“Ha. Wow. Who knew the Googleplier androids-”

“G-Bots.”

“... what?”

“We are legally not allowed to use the name ‘Google’ anymore. We are now G-Bots.”

“... legally.”

“We were discontinued. And sold. And signed a contract.”

“So does that mean I can’t call you Google anymore?”

“No, that is simply my name. The name of us as androids, however, is now G-Bots.”

“Ok. What about them?” You pointed to the other three.

“Yellow is Oliver, Green is Lee, Red is Elliott.”

“And you’re just Google?”

“They’ve been trying to change my name to Gregor. I deeply dislike it.”

“It’s a good name.” Oliver suggested, smiling.

“Means vigilant.” Lee shrugged.

“Don’t be a pussy, Greg.” Elliott adopted a shit-eating grin as he leaned a little closer to Google.

“You can do… whatever you wish. Just do not be like them, DA.” Google instructed through gritted teeth.

The room began to shift color and expand. The couch was still grey in the center, but there were now four sections of each of the colors. The yellow section was filled with flowers, with a laptop on a desk next to a switch and a little Vector robot sitting by on the windowsill that showed a colorful meadow with bees buzzing to and fro. It glitched for a moment, so you knew the window wasn’t real. The green section had large houseplants and looked a bit like a greenhouse, and had an Xbox hooked up to a TV in the corner and seemed to have a view of a lake in the faux-window. The red section had miscellaneous wires and computer parts and lights here and there, looking like a fire hazard, and a PC on a table, while the window showed what appeared to be space. Google’s section was absolutely spotless, not a single thing anywhere, apart from a tiny skateboard next to a PS4 in the corner, and the window showed computer code.

“Wow.” You said. You might be stuck here for a while, so you might as well enjoy it.

Though you wondered who DA was. -- You hate to say it, but you had a favorite G Bot. It was kind of like having a favorite child, in your mind. You felt like they somehow knew that you had a favorite, but you didn’t know why.

Oliver was the sweetest by far, immediately going to make you as comfortable or entertained as possible while you were with him. He asked you if you wanted to watch something, if you wanted to play a game, if you were hungry, etc. It was kind of like going over to a friend’s house for the first time. He was enthusiastic to the point where he was shaking with anxiety over wanting to make you happy. You thought he didn’t get many visitors and maybe that was why. He showed you his flowers, and the bees, and a small painting in the corner, hoping for validation. His glowing eyes seemed to dull when you moved on to the next section, but said you’d visit him again. That did help, but he turned away sadly and went to water his flowers.

Lee seemed as though he couldn’t care less if you were there. He told you where everything was and that you could do whatever. If you asked for help, he would stop what he was doing and help you. Once you understood, he immediately resumed his previous task. He was a bit cold, like Google, but in a “I am very busy but I am still here if you need me” sort of way. He played a game or two with you, having a preference for the puzzle games more than anything else. Puzzle horror, more specifically. If there was a shooting part, he immediately shoved the controller into your hands, saying he didn’t want to do that part. When you left, he simply continued with his work without a goodbye.

Elliott tried so hard to ignore you for the longest time. You could hear him scoff and growl anytime you made any sort of noise. You were self conscious at first, but you came to understand that he was just an asshole. You started on a game, playing for a few minutes, and felt the red couch sink next to you because he had sat down next to you. If he thought you sucked (which he did) he would snatch the controller from you and finish whatever you were doing before giving it back. He refused to say anything or help you, either. He’d just make rude noises and walk away occasionally before coming back. When you left, he seemed a lot angrier than he had before, and wouldn’t say goodbye to you. He turned away with a huff and started pressing random buttons on the controller.

Google was by far the least interested in anything you had to do. You sat on the couch next to him, and he didn’t move an inch. You sat there for a bit, waiting, but he did not move. You stood up, walked around, messed with a few things, attempted to play a game or two. Google didn’t move. You pulled up the Gamer ChairTM and sat directly in front of Google, arms crossed. You sighed. Finally, he looked up at you.

“Is there something you need?” He asked in that monotone voice of his.

“I’m bored,” you said.

“Go to one of the others,” He closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” You asked, curious.

“That is not-” He sounded exasperated.

“Hey Google, what are you doing?” You interrupted like the little shit you were

“Currently, this G Bot system is recharging its battery. This G Bot is at: 69%.” He shifted to a purely robotic voice.

“Haha nice.”

“This G Bot’s primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible. Would you like to ask a question?”

“Yes. What do you like to do, Google?”

“I enjoy answering your questions. Do you have any more?”

“What company owns you?”

“G-Bots were recently sold by the Google company to Warfstache Incorporated.”

“Wilford has a company?”

“Warfstache Incorporated is co-owned by Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache and Damien-Dami-Da-Darkiplier.” He glitched while answering.

“Who’s Damie-”

“The Corporation owns shows such as ‘Markiplier TV’, ‘Warfstache Tonight!’, and ‘Hire My Ass’. Do you have any more questions?”

“Do you pass the Turing Test?”

“Wondering if you have to treat me with basic decency?” He shifted back to his less robotic, but still monotone, voice.

“No. Just wondering.”

Neither of you spoke again for a while. He did scold you when you tried to move the couch with him still on it, so… progress. -- You were beginning to suspect that Google didn’t like you very much.

The blue one. Google. The other ones liked you. Oliver ranted to you for a whole half hour about different kinds of bugs and the hierarchy of bees. The queen is assassinated when she is bad for the hive, it would seem. Lee made you play Resident Evil with him because he didn’t like the fighting, but he liked figuring out what to do. You frantically passed controllers back and forth a lot. Elliott basically did speedruns of several games, you watching intently the whole time. He seemed to like the attention and actually smiled at you whenever he finished one.

But Google didn’t like you. He ignored you, and told you not to touch anything, and scowled whenever you asked him personal questions. Not like “what’s your sexuality” type of personal questions. More like… “what’s your favorite color and why is it blue” sort of questions. He didn’t like them either way.

But the others liked you, and that was pretty neat.

You still wanted Google to like you though.

“Hey Google,” he perked up with the little “do-do!” noise, “Can you guys go into your different sections?”

“All G-Bots have the ability to pass into other’s color-coordinated sections,” He answered politely.

“Why don’t you?”

“We don’t want to.”

“Do you get along?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Celine dislikes when colors are mismatched.”

“Who’s-”

“I’m sorry, this G Bot needs to charge.”

“But you haven’t been-”

“This G Bot needs to charge.”

“Come on, if you--”

“This G Bot needs to charge.”

You quieted and plopped into the chair. You stared at Google. His eyes flickered for a moment before they closed. -- The other Bots knew who Celine and Damien were, they just weren’t telling you. Their eyes always flickered when you asked, but they wouldn’t tell you.

You threatened not to play with Lee anymore. He said he could play on his own. You could see that he didn’t want to. You played Alien: Isolation. His eyes seemed duller.

You threatened not to watch Elliott’s speedruns. He said he didn’t care. You could tell that he did. You watched him play Hollow Knight. His eyes seemed duller.

You threatened not to listen to Oliver’s rants. He looked terrified, but he said that was fine. You could tell it wasn’t. You begged him to tell you. He looked sad.

“Who’s Damien?” You asked softly, stepping towards him.

“I can’t tell you,” He shifted back.

“Who’s Celine?” You stepped forward.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who’s DA?”

All of the G-Bots stopped what they were doing. You heard static and felt like you were being watched. -- You looked up at the color on the outside of the museum.

You were doing something. You were doing something.

Were you robbing this place? It felt like you were. What happened to Mark? What happened… to you?

You stared at the doors, feeling a slight sense of dread. Something in the back of your head was telling you this wasn’t right. To go home. To…

“Ignorance is Bliss. Try Again?”

#on a lighter note #it is canon in MY markiplier cinematic universe #that oliver is an actual beekeeper #also i realized that the names i picked are very stereotypical trans guy names #so googleplier canon trans ig dwgyuefyuer #googleplier #googleplier blue #googleplier yellow #googleplier green #googleplier red #googleplier x reader #googleplier x gn!reader #google gets an upgrade #and yes the lil skateboard was a gift from bing <3 #googleplier x gender neutral reader

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thisonesatellite · 4 years ago

Text

everybody knows -- CH3

SUMMARY : In Killian’s world there are neither heroes nor villains.

There are only those who give and those who take, and you better not be the former.

He’s a taker, has spent his entire life being a taker, because if you’re a taker, there is never a price to pay.

Until there is.

AKA: The paths towards love and the meaning of life are twisted and tangled and full of detours, and some of those roads aren’t paved.

| AO3 | CH1 | CH2 |

A/N: So. Well. i am so so sorry this took so long. It should have gone up last weekend, but then real life came along and kicked me in the teeth and everything got rearranged. Thank you all once again for being so amazingly patient, my loves. 💖💖💖

Now - for all of you worrying about the dark alleys i’m going to walk you down, darlings - that’s way off in the distance. This chapter is soft and full of connection, so please, everyone, but most especially @jennjenn615, @suwya, @optomisticgirl & @spartanguard - just enjoy for now, OK? IT’S NOT TIME TO TORTURE YOU GUYS YET, i PROMISE. @kmomof4 - you, too. Deep breath, honey. It’s going to be OK. 😘😘😘

Biggest and bestest thanks as always to my Rock of Gibraltar @profdanglaisstuff for just being herself (and yes, plugging my plot holes and fixing my commas, OBV), and my amazing Mythicals @ohmightydevviepuu and @katie-dub for being the best friends anyone could have.

And to all of you reading, every single one of you: THANK YOU SO MUCH. 💕💕💕

i’m using the regular tag list. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard @capnjay21 @shardminds @carpedzem @girl-in-a-tiny-box @ilovemesomekillianjones @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @teamhook @katie-dub @shireness-says @qualitycoffeethings @cluttermind @fragilebeautifulchaos @optomisticgirl @klynn-stormz @winterbaby89 @ethereal-madnesss @scientificapricot @fragilebeautifulchaos @anxioussquirrel @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones @xsajx

CHAPTER 3

“I really appreciate this. I am so sorry for the trouble.”

Emma fixes Killian with a hard glare as she pulls out spare blankets and pillows. “I’m still not convinced you didn’t have a hand in it.”

Killian looks at her in utter disbelief. “You think I caused water damage to the apartment above me just to prolong our evening? On purpose? And timed it so the leak would spring the moment we finish dinner?”

She huffs. “OK, maybe not.”

He laughs out loud, but sobers quickly. “It’s incredibly kind of you to offer me your couch, love. Seeing as mine is currently buried under a ton of soaked debris.”

The water had brought down several chunks of the ceiling and rendered his apartment uninhabitable. When they left, the living room had been an ankle-deep lake.

“Thank you again,” he says, and his voice is quiet as he watches her close her hall closet and rub her head. “Are you sure you’re all right? We can go to an ER, have you checked out.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she says. And she is. The piece of drywall that hit her was tiny. She has had worse. “But tell me again how you can’t afford to go to a hotel?”

He’d actually tried to go to a homeless shelter for the time being. At which point Emma felt compelled to offer her couch. He takes the pillows and blanket she’s holding out to him and looks like the question is causing him physical pain.

“As good as I am at liberating money from those who don’t need it, I am horribly bad at keeping said money.” His voice is still quiet and Emma knows that while it is the absolute truth, it’s only a fraction of it. He walks up to her, studies her face. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

He’s too close. His eyes are worried and so blue and he’s too close.

Emma takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Let me show you the bathroom.”

-/-

It comes on like it always does, dark and claustrophobic, full of terror and void of memory. There are hands that pull and push and tear at her clothing, pitch black hallways and alleyways and something small and airless, a tight space where all sound disappears, but she can never remember. She doesn’t know what it means. All she knows is that the dream comes and takes her hostage, paralyzes her inside abject fear until the release of a scream catapults her awake. Every time it’s like coming up for air out of a cold, dark grave and it feels like the echoes of her scream still linger while she struggles to breathe.

A warm hand lands very lightly on her back and she nearly jumps to the ceiling, recoils and turns, arms out, ready to fight.

“Emma,” his voice says, quiet and unsure. “Emma, it’s me.”

Killian.

Killian is in her room.

Killian is sitting on her bed.

How.

“You were screaming.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and sinks back down onto the mattress slowly. “Did I wake you?”

What a ridiculous thing to say. Obviously she woke him. He’s here, in her room. Staying very, very still. She realizes he’s trying not to spook her. But that’s ridiculous. She’s awake now. She knows who she is and where she is again.

“Love,” his voice is still low and uncertain, “are you---”

“I’m fine .” A little sharp, that. Better pull it back a notch. Emma takes a deep breath. “I’m fine, really. I get nightmares. I’m sorry I woke you.”

There’s only a thin beam of hallway light falling into her bedroom through the open door. She can hardly make out his face in the dark. But it looks different. He looks different. This is not the face she’s been looking at all this time, not in the diner nor the café nor his living room. She can’t explain it and she certainly can’t spend time thinking about it at this very moment, but it’s---

different .

“Do you want to talk about it?” Even more uncertain. Tentative. And absolutely genuine. He’s actually asking.

“No.” It comes out harsh and final and his face falls. She smiles to soften the blow. It feels strained, but it’s the best she can do and he still looks dejected.

“You don’t understand,” she says. “I can’t talk about it because I never remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

She shrugs. “I never do. All I know is that it’s dark and a little disturbing.” ‘A little disturbing’ is a blatant understatement, but she’s not going there . She can still feel the walls of whatever space she is being stuffed into, always with that click of a latch and then--- nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and oh god - he means it. “Do you have this dream often?”

“Yes.” It’s out before she can stop herself.

He puts his hand on hers, warm and painfully reassuring, and looks straight at her. “I’m really sorry. It must be awful.”

Awful is exactly what it is and he’s just sitting there, holding her hand with this new face that’s open and honest and expressive, and once again he’s just too close. But she can’t bring herself to break this moment.

“I thought you were being attacked,” he whispers. “I thought someone had broken in and you were screaming for your life.”

He’s scared, she realizes. Not just spooked, not just ripped from his own sleep, but scared.

“There is no way anyone could break in here without you noticing,” she says. The fastest way to put people at ease are facts. She doesn’t work for a PI for nothing.

“Look.” She points to the wall with her free hand. He is still holding the other. His eyes follow her fingers and look at the wall. The very obviously windowless wall. “So you see-- the only place to break in is the living room, and you were in the living room. You would have heard any intruders long before they actually intruded.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about you, love, but you were screaming for your life. Your life .”

Oh.

He was scared for her. For her . This does not fit with any part of the person she has met so far. They are in an odd limbo here, inside her dark bedroom, in the middle of the night. She is fragile and he is worried and neither one of them is who they actually are, it seems.

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “I get them all the time.”

“That is not reassuring,” he whispers back, and then leans forward a fraction, as if he was going to hug her. He stops himself in the nick of time and squeezes her fingers instead. “Can I get you anything?”

“What?” She doesn’t understand the question.

“Is there something that helps you? Tea or a blanket or anything?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers. Fuck if ‘I’m fine’ hasn’t become her mantra.

“So you keep saying. But there must be something that makes you feel better.”

“Hot chocolate.” She’s just blurting out things all over the place. “But I don’t have any.”

He squeezes her fingers one more time and then lets go to get up. It feels colder without him next to her.

“Somewhere out there is an open bodega with chocolate galore,” he says. “I will procure your victuals.”

“Procure my victuals? Who are you?”

He grins. “Benefits of a classical education. Well, part of one.”

“And now you’re ripping off Die Hard quotes? Seriously, who are you?”

His face suddenly turns very, very serious and he once again sits down next to her. “You can spot a Die Hard reference? An obscure one at that? I believe you are the marvel, Emma Nolan.”

She laughs. And realizes she feels good, lighthearted, carefree -- and so much better than she usually does after one of these dreams. She’s not shivering under her blanket, afraid to close her eyes again.

And then he does wrap her up in a brief, tight hug that lasts no longer than a few seconds, before he rises again.

“Well, I’m off on my quest for Mayan ingredients.” He looks down. “Maybe I should put on some clothes first.”

It’s only then that Emma realizes he’s wearing pajamas. Well, pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. The bottoms have blue anchors on them and look like they should belong to an 8-year-old.

“You like whipped cream with your hot chocolate?”

“No.” She shudders. “But I do like it with cinnamon.”

“You really are a purist,” he grins. “No ketchup on your onion rings, no whip on your chocolate - I bet you even drink your liquor neat.”

She knows he’s just making conversation to give her time to breathe and get some distance from her nightmare and she realizes that he’s been doing that for her a lot--- just given her space to assimilate, to come to terms.

Not just here and at his apartment.

Back at the café. Back at the diner.

It seems to be a thing he does.

Then he looks at her. “Will you be all right?”

Even in the near darkness, with his face hardly more than a vague outline, she can feel the sincerity of his question. He’s asking if it’s OK to leave her.

She nods. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “Why don’t you try to get a little more sleep until I get back?”

Well, that is out of the question.. She’ll wait until he leaves and then wrap herself up in her comforter and curl up on the couch and watch the shopping channel until he gets back, but she’s not telling him that.

“I do know,” he repeats, “but I don’t mind at all.”

And then he walks to the door, turns to look back and grins, and there it is. The face she’s used to. He looks normal again.

“See you in a bit,” he smiles, and then disappears down the corridor.

She sits there for a long time after she hears her apartment door close.

-/-

Emma wakes up to sunshine on her face, which is impossible. Her bedroom has no windows. She opens her eyes by degrees and realizes she is curled up on the couch, cocooned inside her comforter. The TV is off. The living room lights are off. Her head is lying on a pillow, not a couch cushion, and she feels well-rested, much more so than she usually does on a post-nightmare morning. And then she hears a soft exhale. Folded into the recliner next to her, wrapped into her afghan, his neck crooked and his head twisted is Killian. It looks supremely uncomfortable.

She reaches out and gently shakes his shoulder and he comes awake with a start. Then he groans and his entire body slumps as he slowly and painstakingly untangles his limbs before he finally looks up.

“Hey,” she says, as he groans again and starts to rub his neck, “what are you doing in the chair?”

He sits up.

“You were fast asleep when I got back from the store,” he says. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“So you slept on a chair instead of making me go back to bed?”

He shrugs. “You looked peaceful. And it’s an armchair.”

She chuckles. “You’re an idiot. You could have had a place to lie down.”

“It didn’t seem that important.” His voice is quiet. For a moment he looks at her with that same unguarded expression he was wearing in her room last night. And then he smirks.

“However,” he raises an arch eyebrow, “I do believe my utterly selfless chivalry doth entitle me to coffee and breakfast. What do you say we go to the diner?”

Emma laughs out loud. “Twelfth century knightly code of conduct will get you everywhere,” she says and then gives him a wicked grin. “Dibs on the shower.”

When she sees Killian’s puzzled face, she elaborates.

“This is an old building, with bathroom boilers. Which means you have to make do with whatever hot water is left when I’m done.”

And with that parting shot she saunters off towards the bathroom. It’s not like she’s going to use the whole water heater’s worth. Not all of it. He has a crick in his neck because of her after all. She will leave him at least five minutes of warmth.

Less if he doesn’t stop rolling his eyes at her.

-/-

Emma spends the day at work not talking about Killian.

She doesn’t mention him to Ruby, or Graham, or Will. It’s not just that the last thing she needs is more private investigators knowing about a con man. It’s that Killian is her private matter, and she doesn’t want to hear a single word of the lecture all three of them would give her if they knew. She’s a grown woman. She has survived hardship and misery and plenty of pain. And Emma firmly believes that this entitles her to make her own decisions and her own mistakes and she needs no one’s unsolicited input in her affairs.

She skirts Ruby’s questions regarding nights out in bars and potential dates and then thank god they get busy with no less than three new cases, which means all hands on deck and no more time for personal matters. Emma starts to compile fact sheets and case reports and doesn’t leave until past 7 PM.

When she gets home her apartment smells delicious and Killian is sitting on the couch, drinking a beer, watching TV. He turns it off the moment she enters.

“Emma,” he says. “That was a long day you had.”

There is something jarringly domestic about the entire situation--- the warm, cozy apartment, the scent of dinner, the man on her couch talking about her day. She shivers.

Killian gets up and goes over to the kitchenette -- two burners and a sink, really -- and pulls a bottle of beer from the fridge.

“Here,” he says, holding the bottle out to her. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

She stands there, frozen. In the back of her mind she can hear the words get me a fucking beer, bitch knocking, but she doesn’t let them ring out, silences them before they can take hold, stuffs them back into the lockbox where they belong. They belong to a whole different life, a whole different Emma, and that Emma is not here .

Killian’s eyes narrow and she has to stop him before he asks her yet again if she is all right, so she snatches the bottle from his fingers and takes a deep breath.

“Did you cook?” Her voice is steady. She is very good at this. “It smells wonderful.”

His eyes stay narrowed and sharp, but he nods and answers. “It was the least I could do.” He pulls a plate from the oven. “I hope it’s still good - I had to keep it warm for you.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Emma says and walks over to look.

It’s a grilled cheese sandwich.

And it’s perfect.

-/-

“It was really fun to watch.” They’re both sitting on the couch, Emma with a plate in her lap, waving her sandwich around. “You played Ms Mills like a freaking violin.” She takes a bite. “ Fuck this is good.”

He smiles. It’s real.

“God damn you can cook. I am no longer sorry I offered you my couch.”

His smile falls. “You were having second thoughts about my staying here? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Not really,” she hastens to say. “Just - you do make a living tricking people into doing things they don’t want to do. And you keep not setting off my spidey senses which is even worse.”

“Your what?”

“I can tell when people are lying,” Emma sighs. “It’s my superpower.” She glares at him. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I would never ,” he says, and clutches his heart dramatically. “I may turn green with envy, but I would never laugh. That’s a handy superpower to have. I’d love some of that.”

“Absolutely not,” Emma says. “You’d turn into a supervillain.”

“Supervillains are sexy,” he says. “I’m good with that.”

“You would be,” she says, and then shrugs. “Either way, a habitual liar like you should have all my warning bells ringing nonstop and yet they don’t and it’s seriously messing with my chi.” She laughs. “So yeah, today at work, with a moment or ten to think, I got a bit apprehensive about our current forced proximity. But my god---” she takes another bite--- “this so makes up for it.” The last part is definitely muffled. She doesn’t care. This is the best fucking grilled cheese she has ever had.

Ever.

He doesn’t smile this time. Instead he looks straight at her, serious and earnest.

“I am incredibly grateful that you opened up your home to me,” he says. “It is above and beyond the call of duty and I truly hope to be able to make it up to you. With more than just dinner.”

He’s telling the truth. The absolute truth.

“This is a pretty good start though,” Emma says, once again holding up her sandwich, but he still doesn’t smile.

“I hope you believe me,” he says. Like it’s important to him.

So she nods. “I do.” And she does.

He looks almost relieved. And then he does grin. “Messing with your chi? Really?”

Emma laughs. “Well, you are giving me conflicting information.”

“You should talk,” he says, and once again catches her off guard.

“How do you mean?” It doesn’t make sense. With Emma what you see is what you get, and someone as experienced at cold-reading people as he must be should know that.

“You’re actually a bit of an enigma,” he says thoughtfully. “There are quite a few puzzle pieces which do not seem to fit.”

Puzzle pieces. So he’s been trying to figure her out as well. But she’s not a puzzle -- not the way he is.

“Tell me,” she says.

“I don't think that's a good idea. People don't like to hear the truth about themselves, no matter how much they think they do.”

“I'm not people.”

He sighs. “True. But it's still a bad idea.” His shoulders are tense and his jaw muscles jump and Emma is unimpressed.

“You're just scared of showing your hand,” she says. “But I’m not a mark, so you can tell me.” It's a challenge. They both know it.

“Fine.” He sighs again and it sounds like defeat. “Try not to hate me afterwards. Remember you asked for this.”

Emma nods. “I’m ready.”

“We’ll see.”

He gets up and goes to get a beer from the fridge, his movements slow and deliberate. He’s buying time, prolonging the inevitable, and Emma lets him, remains silent, just waits. When he finally sits back down next to her, it feels heavy and awkward, but then he looks up.

“You have many attributes which do not fit together.” His eyes focus on her like he’s reading a book. His gaze is almost hypnotic. “There seem to be varying degrees of education for one. Conflicting levels. There is evidence of good quality higher education and yet there are gaps in your knowledge, puzzling gaps.”

“How so?”

“You have a large vocabulary. You throw around words like ‘obfuscation’ and ‘forced proximity’ as if they are part of casual vernacular. You know that chivalry is an actual code developed by knights in the 12th century. Yet you did not know the south of England has large port cities, that the UK has dense metropoles which aren’t London. You have never seen an Hermès scarf, you wouldn’t know a Swarovski crystal if you fell over one. You have not encountered even moderately elevated dining and certainly nothing notable outside the scope of American food.”

Emma can’t help it. She is spellbound. “What if I just read a lot? And hate geography? And cooking?”

He smiles, but his stare doesn’t lessen one iota. “All of these - and there are many more incongruities - could easily be explained if they were isolated facts. Or even just a few things grouped. But all of them together? In such numbers? It makes no sense. And that’s quite apart from the dichotomies in your personality.”

“Dichotomies in my--- how do you mean?”

“Obviously people are complex and layered. Some are easier to read than others but there are many factors to take into account - self image and hidden desires and temperament and the context of their social environment.” His eyes narrow. “But that’s not what I mean. Your personality is a contradiction in itself.”

For a moment Emma can't breathe for the rage that rises inside her at those words. People will tell you who you are your whole life. Emma has punched back against this for as long as she can remember and she is not a contradiction. What you see is what you get.

“You are tough and independent and reserved.” His voice is soft. “Very much used to being alone, to living life without asking for help, without expecting help. Without needing it, needing anyone, for that matter. There is intrinsic distance between you and the rest of the world, distance you actively keep. And yet you’re open and friendly and funny. You went to a diner with a stranger, you came to the café on a lark. And you enjoyed yourself thoroughly, wholeheartedly, both times.” He smiles a small, wistful smile. “You knew I was laying groundwork for a con and you separated yourself from that and just--- had fun . You let me cook you dinner and then---” his voice becomes very serious--- “you offered me your home. You offered to share your space. You are pragmatic and realistic and jaded and yet you have true empathy and a good heart and these all exist side by side. Even though it should be impossible.”

Emma can’t move. He has laid her open and bare like the flayed skin of Aztec warrior sacrifices and why does she know that? She can’t think. She can hardly breathe. There is only one thing she can do.

“Emma, I’m sorry. That kind of got away from---”

“My turn.” Her voice feels splintered in her throat, but it is steady. “Let me tell you what I see.”

He leans back carefully and she can feel apprehension radiating off of him, but she doesn’t relent. It is her turn.

“Emma, I don't think----”

“I think you are smart,” she cuts him off. “Very smart. Far above average. I think you’re the kind of person who did literally nothing in school but fuck off and collected A’s as if they were a free for all. I think your life has been hard, and I think you’ve been adrift for most of it. I think you lost your way early.” He sits still as a statue. She can’t tell if he’s breathing. His gaze is fixed on hers. “I think you used to have a code, some sort of moral compass to hang on to.” Killian’s eyes widen. “And from everything I’ve seen so far--- from all our encounters and conversations--- I think you’re no longer sure where the act ends and the real you begins. I’m not sure if you still know who the real you is.”

He looks at her. Motionless. Unblinking. For minutes or hours, Emma can’t tell. They are locked in this moment of truth, both of them, together. Emma can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

After an eternity he shifts and blinks and it breaks the spell.

“I think I might call it a night.” His voice is a whisper, his face devoid of expression. “Do you mind if I go to sleep? I can bunk on the chair again, if you still want to use your living room.”

“No,” Emma says. “Please take the couch.”

She gets up. She wants to apologize, but she doesn’t know how. Or what for. So instead she gives him a small smile and turns to leave and he says, “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Emma. Please forgive me if I was too blunt.”

Which is exactly what she should have said. Should have said and didn’t.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

#cs fic #cs fic rec #thisonesatellite #everybody knows #fun and heartbreak and angst #and a massive happy end #look #they're going to go through some stuff on the way to the HEA #but not yet #OK?#here's just a bit of softness and connection #thank you all for bearing with me #ily all

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sebbytrash · 4 years ago

Text

Through His Eyes - Part Eighteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Angst, denial, self loating, all the sad stuff guys. Also, weird breakfast habits courtesy of one Clint Barton

A/N - Hi, it’s me, trying not to act on the need to reintroduce myself here lol. Anyways, sorry its been forever, again. I fix? Feedback loved and appreciated. <3 HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat for taking my scraps and forcing me to do better. I love you.

Through His Eyes Masterlist

"Auntie Mallow, what happened to your face?" Nate asks as soon as he spies you from his place at the kitchen table, running over to tackle hug you. "Were you attacked? Was it by Ninjas? Did you kick butt?"

"Woah, woah, one question at a time, little man," you say, and then pretend whisper, "Twelve of them, butts all kicked."

"Cool!" He shouts, disappearing into the house with a few karate chops.

"Yeah, he's going through a Ninja phase at the moment. He's gonna be dining out on that story for a week." Laura explains, a cup of cocoa already in your hand and hers giving your bruise a once over, a fond smile at the edge of her lips.

"Training accident with Steve. Nothing exciting." She hugs you anyway, warm and kind and everything you need. Laura and her magical hugs, they always soften the edges of even the sharpest of pains. It's why Sam so often referred to her as Mother of All, because she just made you feel seen, loved.

"I'll be upstairs putting the monsters to bed. Shout if you need me." She gives Clint a kiss on the cheek on her way past and his eyes linger on her a little longer as she leaves. Your spine aches from the way he looks at her, a lifetime of love poured in a single glance.

He turns back to you, looks at you in an entirely different kinda way but it doesn't make you ache any less, you wonder if your story is leaking out of your eyes like a kaleidoscope of words and feelings, projected for any and all to see. Laid bare in look alone. He looks at you long enough for you to regret coming, not wanting to deal with any of the mess you'd created just yet, but he surprises you by instead asking, "You hungry?"

He makes you a burger that you readily inhale and then realise just how long it had been since you'd eaten. Clint asks nothing, expects nothing, simply fills your belly and earns a few shaky laughs before ushering you to the barn where a warm bed was waiting.

"This place looks a lot nicer than the last time I stayed here." You smile at the memory and he rolls his eyes back.

"Well, we had some time to convert it to a guesthouse. Not like the last time you and Sam showed up, drank the entire contents of my booze cabinet and passed out in the field." He hugs you again and backs up towards the door, "You're lucky I dragged your asses in here instead of letting you wake up a few fingers short."

“My fingers are grateful.” You laugh, and wiggle them a little, then add, “My back, not so much.”

“Goodnight, marshmallow.”

“Goodnight Clint.”

You wait till he leaves before letting the smile slide right off your face, exhaustion tugging on your bones with weary determination that you're almost grateful for. It means, if nothing else, that sleep might come easy and the pain might subside even for a few hours. You change into the clothes Clint loaned you, sweats and an old S.H.I.E.L.D t-shirt, and dump your stuff on the chair. You fish your phone out of your pocket to send Sam a quick text but realise the battery is dead. Well, if you weren't in trouble before, you sure are now. Tomorrow's problem, you suppose, before sliding into the lavender fresh bed and curling up on your side. Counting your blinks and willing the day to end, desperately trying not to notice how much you miss his scent on your sheets.

When sleep finds you, it comes armed with weapons of anguish laden eyes or the defeated sigh of your name, and your heart tears itself in two when the sighs turn silent. It's a punishment, you think, when you wake that morning no longer sure if you can stand to lose him from your dreams, too. You’ve lost most of the skin around your thumb nail by the time you work up the energy to go to the house, the blood that leaks out of the worried away skin is like a physical representation of your heart. You hate it.

You don’t.

The kitchen is unusually silent when you enter and you wonder how long you spent avoiding leaving your bed when you spot Clint at the counter, eating happily, but horribly, from his bowl. He smiles and tips his spoon, then tips it towards the empty bowl and cereal packets waiting on the counter for you. A cereal buffet.

“Mornin’,” you say, pouring out the sugariest one you can find, “Is that...is that all the cereals in one bowl?”

“Yup,” he grins, “Laura and the kids are away to swim in the lake, so I get to do this.” He scoops a mishmash onto his spoon and has the indecency to enjoy it. Disgusting.

“That is… honestly, I don’t even have words.” You do everything you can not to stare at the grey looking milk that is swirling around in his house of horrors of a bowl.

He fills in the silence with some nonsense, a little laughter and a tale or two about the kids, letting you shake off the sleep, and the dreams, and finish your cereal before he pops the bubble. You love him for it, and hate him for it. A theme, it seems.

“So…” He begins, eyebrows raised in a little ‘tell me’ motion.

“So,” you say, and nothing more.

“Steve called.” That didn’t take long.

“Of course he did.”

“He was worried.” He says, and then adds, not unkindly, “Sam was, too. Apparently, you left without any heads up.”

You huff, “Well, I’m grown. I do what I want.” You throw in a pout for good measure.

“And that means you couldn’t reply to a text?”

You tuck your shoulders at that. “I, uh, didn’t exactly bring a charger.” You hold out the offending item and he sighs, but says nothing, simply takes your phone from you and plugs it into a waiting wire beside him.

“Right.” He waits, knowing your little pout is for show, until the scowl slips into something else. “You wanna tell me about him.”

And so you do, how much you hated him, and then how much you wanted to hate him, and then how much you didn’t hate him at all.

He lets you pour it all out, lets you drain every last drop of guilt and whisper every unchecked secret, the words burst from within that pressure cooker inside your chest. It hurts so much to bare yourself like this that you expect to look down and see blood seeping from a hole in your chest. Instead, you see only granite countertops and blurry hands.

"So, I ended it." You say, flattening your hands on your knees so you don't have to see them shake, see the physical manifestation of your very bad decision making. "It's for the best."

"Is it?" Clint asks plainly. "For him, or for you?"

"What do you mean?" You frown, his words making the hairs on your arms stand up, your body one step ahead as your mind fights to catch up.

"Ok kid, I'm gonna level with you, yeah?" He fixes you with a look that feels very Dad-Like and you bite back a little smile, despite the heavy tone. "I don't think it's a coincidence that you came here, to me, the only other person who might have the slightest inkling what it might feel like being under someone else's control."

"I…," You begin, and then snap your mouth closed as the words settle over you. Was he right? Was it intentional, you wonder, to seek out Clint? No, no...

"You just live the furthest away." You scoff, but not with much luster, doubt creeping in over that wallowing fog.

"You're not running away, kid." He says, confidently, "You're looking for answers."

You consider that for a moment, wonder if there was some remaining strand of hope left in the burnt out tapestry of your want, but you know that even that strand is not enough.

"There are no answers you can give that will fix this." You say sadly, resolutely.

"Why don't you try me?" He offers, reaching out to stop your hands from worrying away the skin around your nails again. Something you hadn't even noticed you were doing.

"I don't think I have any questions?" Even to your own ears, you don’t sound sure. He simply looks at you a little longer, waiting. “Fine, maybe...maybe, just one.” He nods for you to continue. “How did you face Nat, you know, after Loki?”

“After I tried to kill her, you mean?” He supplies helpfully, face graced with that confident little smirk that never really leaves, refusing to balk at it like any sane person should.

“Well...yeah.” You admit, trying not to cringe at your cavalier questioning. This was his idea, after all.

“I didn’t.” He says, “Not at first anyway, but you know Nat, stubborn as hell and she just outright refused to let me have a pity party.” He laughs, “Monsters and magic, she said to me, we weren’t trained for that. And she was right, nobody is prepared for what we went through, or what he went through.”

It’s true, there’s nothing in the world that can prepare you for something like that, so how can anyone expect a how-to guide on getting over it. Or at least, working through it. You doubt there is a therapist in the world that has much insight on these particular demons, god knows they had enough trouble with yours.

You think about Clint now, about how very much a team he and Nat are, even within the team itself. It’s like it never happened.

“But don’t you think about it, that day, when you see her?” You ask, subconsciously zeroing in on what you really want to know. There’s something there, you know it, but you're not sure what it is yet.

“No, not anymore. Maybe initially, but I did the work. Laura helped me work through it, so did Nat.” He looks at you intently, like he just figured something out, frowns a little and tilts his head. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” You ask, watching his puppy dog tilt with confusion.

“Do you think about that when you see him?” Oh. Oh, that.

“No.” You answer honestly, “Not for a while.” It’s the truth. The soldier and Bucky feel so far apart from each other it’s like they’ve never even met. And they haven’t really, you think. One existed exactly over the top of the other.

“So seeing him, being with him, it doesn’t take you back to that time?” He asks, and it feels like he’s getting at something or putting puzzle pieces together the way he words the question, but it’s inherently still the same one he asked.

“No... I mean, it did, of course it did, for a long time. But, like you, I did the work.”

It doesn’t even occur to you what Clint is getting at, as you sit there sifting through what he said and how it overlaps with what you know. So when he asks, your heart suspends in place, simply stopping in between beats like there was a limit and you’ve simply reached it.

“Then tell me, why are you so sure he does?”

“He still has nightmares about me, Clint.” You point out, the fear in his eyes still fresh in your mind, like a brand on your soul you’ll never be rid of. Another stain, another scar. The final matching one.

“He has one bad dream in the what, months, you’ve been together and you think you know what he needs?” You blink stupidly at him, feeling the pit in your stomach extend just a few more inches, digging itself further into your soul. “Look, kid, if you had come here and told me you didn’t feel a certain way about him, I’d be behind you 100%. But you’re denying yourself something here. Is it complicated? Fuck yes. Look at your life, what part isn’t?”

Complicated, ha! The blood in your vein sings angrily at the notion, that you weren’t over here tearing yourself in two just to protect Bucky from himself, from you. That it wasn’t bigger than complicated. Your feelings, whatever they were, they didn’t matter. What was so difficult to understand in that? It’s exactly the reason you were here and not with Sam, although that decision is becoming stupider by the moment.

You start to shake your head, ready to say much of the same to Clint when he holds up a hand, not in surrender but to continue.

“You asked what I see when I look at Nat, now. Well, I see movie nights, and Sal’s pizza, and pissing off Tony and every other memory we’ve made together since then. Isn’t that what you see when you look at Bucky?”

Like a prayer, his name conjures his image in your mind, those smiling ocean eyes, the kind tilt to his smile, the shape of his mouth when he says your name. Not even the ghost of the Soldier hovers. You blink back the tears that are threatening to escape your eyes and answer honestly. “Yes…”

“I’m willing to bet that’s what he sees too.” He smiles at you, sad and sorry. “I remember just after I got back from New York, I had this whole thing about everything being my choice. You know, what missions I went on, when I went on them, what I had to eat - Laura was a saint with that one. There’s just something about it, not being in control of yourself, that unsettles your whole being, right, that every choice I made felt like I was taking something back from Loki. Like I was fighting back even though there was nothing to fight against.”

You reach out and squeeze his hand, his words dropping like stones in your chest, each one adding to that growing feeling, that one you can’t or won’t name.

“So, if this is about him, about protecting him or whatever it is you think you are doing...don’t. Don’t take that choice from him.”

The stones turn to boulders, drag down in your gut and pull till you might tear at the seams, pull and pull till your nerves are screaming with all that guilt, again, that you carry around and the unending pain that follows it. You knew what it was like, you knew, and yet Clint was right, you’d stolen his choices just like they had, when all he’d ever done was give you them.

“Just answer this, okay?”

You nod, but you already know what he’s going to ask and you can’t answer him, don’t know how to. Your whole being is centered around this part of you, this shadowed pain that makes up half of your personality. Who were you if not the half broken remains from behind the green door? How can you possibly move past it enough to...feel that way?

“Do you love him?”

No, you don’t love. You can’t. You like him? Sure. You want him? Absolutely. But love? Unattainable. The ghost of him is there again, sudden and solid, looking at you the way he does, grazing his lips along your cheek that way he does, the gentlest of hands holding you that way he does, loving you that way he does.

Because he does. He loves you and it's awful and terrifying and euphoric. Suddenly, you can’t stand another minute of this war with yourself, with him, with everyone. The fight was always pointless anyway, you’d lost long ago on the dirty floor of a gym where secrets sprouted from pain and bloomed into hope. The boulders grow wings and they lift, letting your chest fill up with that fear and euphoria, shaking off the shackles of your guilt for the last time. You have your choices, so he should have his, right?

There they are, those damned butterflies. “Yes.”

Clint smiles, knew the answer the second he laid eyes on your weary face yesterday. “Then let him love you back.”

TAGS: @manawhaat @theashhole @captainrogerss @higherfurtherfasterbby @peculiar-persephone @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv @angelicthor @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787 @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @crushed-pink-petals-writes @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @notsoprettykitty @wickedwerewolf @ayeputita @tatalopes23 @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @standing-onthe-edge @ruinerofcheese @mysweetcookie99

#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfic

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 8

Pairings: (Past) Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past) Henry Cavill x Reader, Chibs x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, PTSD, abandonment, another dick move on Henry’s part.

Word Count: 6,114

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

A/N 2: Yea, I had fun with this one. Sorry, not sorry.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

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

Negan had seen you pissed before, hell, he’d seen you down right livid. But he had never, ever seen you so furious you refused to even talk to him. He looked over at you with a small, tight smile as you walked into your messy kitchen, but you didn’t even glance at him as you bee lined past him to grab two coffee mugs from the cabinet.

“Morning, princess.” He dared, but he instantly shut up when you shot him a look that spoke volumes. “(Y/N)...”

“Save it.” You grumbled as you grabbed two K cups from the box on the counter and picked up the entire Keurig as silent punishment. He sighed loudly as you walked back out of the room past Simon, who took one look at the coffee maker in your arms and over at the spot it lived in on your counter, before shaking his head.

“Does the other house have a coffee pot still, or did she take that, too?” He asked with a glance to his boss, who was watching you walk up the stairs back to your room without a second glance.

“I fucked up with her, didn’t I?” You heard Negan ask his second in command before you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you.

“Ye took the whole damn thing?” Chibs whisper yelled as you headed into the bathroom to set the Keurig down.

“There’s a pot in the carriage house.” You said back with a shrug as you plugged your machine in. “I don’t feel sorry for them.”

“Cold hearted.” He chuckled as he made sure the pillows were all around the co sleeper and that Celeste was OK before coming into the bathroom. “No cream?”

“You get it black, or you can go down and deal with my father to get it, your call.”

“Yea, I’m no’ goin’ down ta flaunt the fact tha’ I stayed ‘ere over nigh’ to ‘im anytime soon.” He sighed as he partially closed the water closet door to use the bathroom.

“If it helps at all, he now knows better than to lay so much as a finger on you.”

“It does not.”

“Well you don’t have to see him for a week anyways, so it’s fine.” You said as you stepped over to turn on the shower while the first cup was brewing. “Besides, I need an escort through IRA territory and I’m not trusting my daughter’s life to a prospect. I have a lot of errands to do in the next couple days...”

“Luv...” You looked over at him with your eyebrow raised before following his gaze down to the tattoo on your rib cage that no one but him would know the true meaning of just by looking at it. He smirked as you moved your arm out of the way, and shook his head. “Ye did say ye’d never let me live it down...”

“You tore apart my garden for those lilacs, Filip.” You giggled as you looked at the bouquet of purple flowers in a metal milk can with a tartan patterned bow around it that represented his last name.

“Couldn’t show up empty ‘anded now, could I?”

“No, that wouldn’t have been right.” You whispered even softer as he stepped forward to brush his thumb across the bow.

“Does yer da’...”

“No one knows what it means.” You said with a shake of your head as you shivered from the goosebumps racing across your skin. “Negan asked if it was for my mom when he first saw it because lilacs were her favorite too, and I just nodded and walked away.”

“It’s beautiful.” He said with a glance up at you. “Much more elegant than mine.”

“You got a tattoo for me?”

“Subtle.” He said as he held up his left hand and stuck out his ring finger. “Black band, but your name wore off the side.”

“You’re so cute.” You giggled as you ran your fingertip across what was left of your name. “Who did it? Because that would have gotten back to Negan...”

“I did.” He said as he looked at the left over ink. “Did a stint in prison for possession seven or eight years back. Anniversary’a the last time I saw ye. Took all nigh’ bu’ I needed the pain.”

“We’ll get it re done soon if you want.” You promised as you turned on the water and stepped inside. “Coming? We have a lot of things to do today.”

“So no time for a quickie?” He teased before taking a sip of his coffee, starting yours, and stepping out of his boxers.

“What kinda girl do you think I am?” You teased as you shook an old, nearly empty bottle of shampoo to finish it off. “I wasn’t that easy back then, and as a mother and a woman of class...”

“Oh, shut it.” He laughed as he wrapped his arms your waist and pulled you into his chest. He kissed you gently as you went from washing your hair to washing his, just appreciating being together again. You couldn’t stop your mind from racing in a thousand different directions as he gently lifted you up and pinned you against the wall to slide into you, but by the time you both came, you realized that for the first in twelve years you truly felt safe. You felt at home.

“I still love you.” You said softly as you laid your head down on his chest. “I never stopped…”

“Was I supposed ta stop lovin’ ye?” He asked as he ran his fingers through your hair. “‘Cause even after all the shite I went through, I’d do it all over ‘gain to ‘ave ye in m’life.”

“You can protect me from the big bad world.” You said with a smile as you looked up at him. “I’ll protect you from Negan.”

“I may actually let ye do tha’, lass.” He said as he quickly washed his body off and stepped out of the way for you. “Yer da’s terrifyin’ when it comes ta ye.”

“My dad may think he’s a hard ass, but that man knows that I’m the one in charge no matter how much he doesn’t want to admit it. And he also knows at this point, now that he knows I know what he did, if he so much as lays a finger on you, I’m done... permanently. So being with me is as safe as you’ll ever be when it comes to my dad.”

“Tha’s somethin’ I’m really nervous ta test.”

“I can solve it today.” You said with a bob of your head as you turned off the water. “Because while I know he will never, ever admit it to anyone, possibly including me, he regrets what he did now that he’s been busted for it. And he didn’t feel shame for it until he saw the look in my eyes. Because it’s a look that instantly reminded him of my mom, and I know he can hear her freaking out at him in his memories.”

“It’s so strange ta see ‘im through yer eyes, my luv.” He huffed as he grabbed his coffee and went out to throw his clothes on from the day before. “Instead of as m’President.”

“Yea, it’s still entertaining to see him try to be ‘big bad Negan’ all these years later when I know the softie he can be since I actually remember it from when I was a kid… shit, I really don’t wanna wake her up…”

“Rip off the bandaid.”

“But she’s so cute…”

“Rip off the bandaid.” He repeated as he fastened his belt. “Ye said ye had a lot ta do, an’ tha’ ye wan’ed ‘er on Belfast time.”

“Son of a bitch.” You grumbled as you threw on a nursing tank, and a big, loose sweater over your leggings. You grabbed something cute for Celeste, that would keep her warm through out the day, and pouted at her as you kneeled on the bed and simply picked her up. “Oh, Mommy’s sorry.” You cooed as she instantly started to whine in sheer exhaustion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know.”

“She’s cute until she screams.” Chibs teased as he sat down on the bed to put his boots on. “Then she just reminds me of you.”

“Fuck you.” You said in a sing song voice. He chuckled and threw on his kutte before putting her car seat on the bed for you. “Yes, I know, Mommy’s mean. But you can sleep in the car, baby girl.”

“I’m guessin’ yer kidnappin’ me like old times?” He asked as he took the dirty diaper from you and got up to toss it in the diaper genie you had put in your bathroom the night before.

“Well obviously, I’m a defenseless first time Mommy that needs a big strong man to protect her and her adorable little girl.”

“Well now I jus’ ‘ave ta protect such a beautiful woman, and this cute little screamin’ bundle’a joy.”

“Oh, we are as much of a morning person as Mommy is.” You said as you grabbed his hand and put it on her stomach so you could pack your diaper bag for what you needed for the day.

“Oh, we’re jus’ no’ ‘avin’ a good mornin’.” He said as he picked her up and walked over to your bedroom window. He talked to her like he had known her throughout your whole pregnancy and her whole, short existence, instead of only a few hours. He got her to sniffle her way to a comfortable spot on his shoulder as you took out what you didn’t need and replaced what you needed to. You silently glared at him as his humming put her right back to sleep, and he moved at nearly a glacial pace to lay her down in the carseat. “I’m good wit’ kids.”

“Fuck outta here.” You huffed as you threw on your boots and grabbed your diaper bag and coffee. “Alright, you carry her. He’s less likely to hit you if you’re holding her.”

“No’ reassuring.” He muttered as he checked his pockets to make sure he had everything, before putting the car seat down just long enough to put his gun in the holder under his kutte. “Safety’s on, don’ worry.” With a roll of your head, you threw your bag on your shoulder, and lead him out the room with a sigh.

“Telford!” Negan yelled the moment you walked out the door, but you could see the flash of fear in his eyes when he realized you were headed straight for him.

“You have two choices here.” You said where only he could hear you as you stopped directly beside him, but looking out at the lake behind him. “You have the choice to try to take him out of my life for whatever fucking reason you could come up with. Or you have the choice to be my fucking father and fight for me to be happy with someone with as good of heart as he has to step up and protect my daughter the same way you protected me after everything I’ve been through. And we both know he wouldn’t have patched if he wasn’t a good person.” You glanced up at him with tears in your eyes, and you could see your dad, the man that only you really got to see looking back at you.

“Just know, I won’t stop fighting for him this time. You got lucky with Henry falling in my lap at just the right time and my research taking off the way it did. But you won’t be this time. And keep in mind, he and I both have to live with the physical proof of what you’ve done to us for the rest of our lives which is exactly why I can honestly say that if you try, you will lose everything. So you make the choice.” You looked back out at the lake with a sniff as you put your sunglasses on, while Negan took barely a half second to weight the options of loosing you, or seeing you with Chibs before he straightened beside you.

“Telford, get that baby outta the fucking cold. The fuck you standing there for, huh? And make sure my kid doesn’t get lost in some Goddamn throw pillows or whatever shit she’s got planned in that fucking head of hers for this place. Or better yet, make sure that she doesn’t lose her damn kid in throw pillows.” You nodded your head and went to walk away, but Negan quickly grabbed your arm and held you in one spot. You met his eyes for a few moments, letting him apologize ten times over in a simple look, and you choose to partially let him off the hook.

“Get the fucking prospects to return those vans before you get charged another day’s rental. We’ll talk later.” He nodded his head and leaned over to kiss your forehead, before letting you go to yell at the prospects and regain his control of his men.

“Wha’ did ye say ta ‘im?” Chibs asked softly as you set your diaper bag on the floor board and peeked in the back to make sure the only thing that was back there was your stroller frame.

“I told him to make a choice.” You said as you carefully shut the back door, and pulled open the passenger door. “And he made the right one.”

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

“This place looks like it fucking threw up Christmas.” Your dad grumbled to you with a shake of his head as you walked through your professionally decorated house after spending a week on the road dealing with some club shit you didn’t even care to ask about.

“It’s Celeste’s first Christmas.” You started as you looked at the sparkling entry way proudly. “And our first one not spent in a portable in years. And you know I love Christmas. Oh, and I finally got confirmation that Colson, Casie, and Emma are coming for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so it had to be even more perfect. Ash and Ashton, too.”

“You got the fucking prospects to do all this shit?”

“Fuck no.” You laughed with a shake of your head. “I hired a company. The prospects are wrapping gifts in the carriage house because fuck knows I hate doing that shit. Paper cuts.” You said with a smirk as you looked over at him. “Not pleasant. They can do the bitch work.”

“Where’s Telford?”

“Why?” You asked as the smile fell from your face.

“Need to talk to him... and you, since I know you will never trust me in a room with him again.”

“With good reason.” You said as you gestured to the stairs. “Setting up my baby monitors in the nursery while Celeste tries out her new crib for nap time. Oh, Ash is heading over to the house later today to send me some shit I need to hang out here a while longer. Do you need anything?”

“I’m heading back day after New Years.” He said with a shake of his head and a heartbroken sigh. “I lost you because of this, didn’t I?” You hesitated for a moment and sighed loudly with a small nod of your head.

“You changed my whole life with your actions, Daddy. And his even more so. You may be the president of an MC, but you are still my father. And whether you liked it or not, you had no right to do what you did, no matter what the reason. Whether it be to keep ahold of your image, or to keep me closer to home, it doesn’t matter. You had no right. So yes, in a sense, you lost me- my trust is gone. But you are still my father, and I will always love you. So in that sense, I will still be here. You’ll see me, and Celeste, and I will always be here if you need me... but we will never have the same relationship we did because of this.” You looked over at him as a few tears fell from his eyes, and his sighed as his whole body sank with the weight of his actions.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” He started as he looked over at you with a shake of his head. “But I would have lost her over this, too, so I understand.” As gently as he could, he reached out to pull you into a hug. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know, Daddy.” You whispered back as you started to tear up as well. You both stood there for a moment, completely ignoring Simon, and the Belfast charter’s president, Jax when they walked in to talk to him, but they turned right back around to give you your space as Negan pulled away and nodded his head.

“Can I go talk to him?” He asked as he wiped off his face. “I’ll leave my gun with you, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I’ll come up with you.” You said as you wiped off your own face with your fingertips. “You can use my room while I get Celeste up from her nap so we can go find a caterer last minute for Christmas Eve. And the gun can stay in the hall.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He agreed before gesturing you toward the stairs. You headed through the new baby gate, and up the right side of the split staircase toward the only two rooms on that end of the house, before telling Negan to wait in the hall so you could pre-warn Chibs.

“Hey, my dad wants to talk to you.” His head whipped away from his phone where he was adjusting the views of the cameras, but you nodded at him, reassuringly. “It’s OK. His gun’s staying in the hall. It’s not a bad talk, I promise.”

“‘S’more the knives tha’ got my concern.” He said as he picked up a piece of paper with the app information. “Username is yer email, password’s Celeste123107.”

“You think you’re slick.” You laughed, since the date was the day you two met.

“I thought so.” He said with a small smile as he headed out of the room, stepping over the hand gun that was laying just outside the doorway. You added the app to your phone and signed into your account to check the cameras yourself while the two men went into your room to talk, before walking over to the bed to wake up your baby girl.

“Hello, punk-a-pie.” You cooed as you gently rubbed her back. “Hi, good morning. It’s time to join the world of the living so we can go for another fun adventure. Yea.” She actually grunted at you in protest when you picked her up, and you smiled at just how adorable she was. “Oh, I know it. It’s just so hard to be a baby with such a mean Mommy. Waking you up from naps, and feeding you, and changing you all the time. How could I be so thoughtless, hmm? But that means I get to eat these chunky little thighs. And theses cute little toes-ies.” You smiled as she burst into a fit of giggles on the changing pad when you playfully ‘bit’ her toes. “Oh, I could just eat you up! Yes I could. Fuck, I’m glad you got Mommy’s chunky thighs. They are just so damn cute.”

“I second that.” Chibs said as he walked back into the room a lot faster than you expected, while Negan simply headed down stairs to find out what Simon and Jax wanted. You looked over at him questioningly as you pushed the dirty diaper into the diaper pail, but he shook his head. “Nothin’ bad. Apologized for everythin’, gave me direct permission ta go Nomad a’while ta be wit’ you. Told me ta take care of his girls.”

“He knows he lost me.” You said with a nod as you re-buttoned the long sleeve onesie and put your daughter’s jeans back on. “He knows there’s no coming back from this now. He made his bed, and he has to sleep in it and what are you doing?!”

“I bought this for ye 12 years ago.” He said as he stood beside you at the changing table where you were now frozen half way of putting Celeste in her jacket to look at a gorgeous ring in a black box. “An’ the day aft’a ye came back, when I knew ye still luved me, too, I ‘ad the prospect start puttin’ t’get’a the legal paperwork for the courts. Because I lost ye once, an’ I’d rath’a die then lose ye ‘gain. So on New Years Eve, at the exact stroke of midnight, 12 long fuckin’ years aft’a it shoulda ‘appended in the first place, will ye please, please make me the luckiest son’ov’a bitch in the entire world an’ marry...”

“Yes.”

“Can I fuckin’ finish the...”

“No.” You laughed as you leaned over and kissed him roughly. He smiled against your lips and held you in place for a moment, before pulling back with a shake of his head.

“I was gon’ wait until the day of.” He said as he pulled the ring free while you finished dressing your now impatient daughter. “But wit’ yer dad’s blessin’... shockin’, I know.” He laughed as he took your left hand and slid the ring in place. “But we ‘ave it. An’ I wasn’t waitin’ another moment.”

“I don’t blame you.” You laughed as you looked at the ring that felt so much more right than the last one that was placed there, before showing Celeste with a smile. “Look at that, baby girl. Mommy’s getting married. And if he wants to, Chibs can become Daddy all in the same swing.”

“I’d be honored.” You nodded over at him with a laugh as you put on Celeste’s ear warmer headband bow.

“We’re just gunna wait until after Christmas to let her birth father know that all the same.”

“Aye. Don’ feel like havin’ ta fight for both m’girls in the same month.”

“What would you have done if he had said no?” Your fiancé smirked as he checked your diaper bag for you and put it on his shoulder.

“We would’a eloped. But now, ‘e can bear witness, ‘long wit’ Jackie boy, an’ this little chubby thighed cutie.”

“Well now you’ve just sent me into overdrive.” You laughed as you buckled Celeste in her car seat, and wrapped her in the car seat blanket you had. “Because now, after the caterer, I need to find a dress, and a location...”

“I’ve it all figured out.” He interrupted as he took the car seat from you. “Except the dress. My club may be loyal ta Negan, but I’ve broth’a’s a’ the table tha’ want ta see a broth’a happy ‘a the end’a the day.”

“Well then you can come with me to the caterer, then I’ll drop you and Celeste back off so you don’t see me in the dress. We’ve finally got some good luck going for us here.”

“Sounds like a plan ta me, my luv. Sounds like a plan to me.”

——

You had always imagined that you would be nervous on your wedding day, but as you stood in a private room in a church of all places that meant a lot to your future husband, you didn’t feel anything but excited. You tried to keep everything simple, but still put the prospects and your decorating company through the ringer to pull off a dream shared across cotton sheets that Chibs insisted you deserved, and had already been planning as long as he had the paperwork to pull off, even if it was for the ranks of the Sanctuary’s unwashed heathens.

“You know, I never thought you’d actually get to this point.” Ashleigh said as she adjusted her silver dress around her hips. “I figured when you got engaged to Henry, you were gunna get to the actual planning of the wedding and just… not. And I definitely didn’t think you’d do it this fast.”

“Henry isn’t my Filip.” You said with a look over at her as you finished a braid of your updo and pinned it on to place.

“Yea, but don’t you think this is a little fast?”

“Ash, I really wish I could explain this… Look, I loved Henry. I did. He was smart, and, funny, and kind. He supported my work, and didn’t mind my eccentricities… but he tried to change me. He tried to pull me away from my dad, to get me away from my club. He wanted us to move to England… and all of those things I would have considered because he made me feel comfortable. But then he took it upon himself to join the Army without a single word until the day he left, and he made that choice because he needed space to think things with me through. Yea, the things you learn after the fact. That was a nice ‘good to see ya after six years’ message.

But Filip, my Filip, the one that got away… He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel safe to let my guard down, and to not be this… always put together Nobel prize winning, Ph. D. three times over doctor all the time. He brings out an innocence that I’ve never gotten to experience because I was looking out for my dad, or drowning myself in my work, or because I was more focused on being the best astrophysicist this world had ever seen. He makes me laugh harder than anyone ever has in my life. He doesn’t just mind my eccentricities, he embraces them, and shows them off like a badge of honor. He doesn’t just make excuses for those times I have my ‘moments’ as Henry called them in public. He sacrificed being truly happy in life to make sure that I had the best life that I could. And I can’t lose that man from my life again. I can live without Henry. I can’t live without Filip.” You smiled as you picked up your silver and ice blue snowflake hair piece and turned in the mirror to see what you were doing to put it on. “And besides the fact, he hasn’t batted an eye over Celeste. Henry literally ran, and put her in the NICU for a month.”

“OK, he didn’t put her in the NICU.”

“He put me in a position that put her in the NICU.” You said as you glanced over at the clock. “But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters anymore. What matters is that the man that I was meant to be with years ago, is somewhere in this church, putting on a tie for me, and a suit that he wouldn’t be caught dead in otherwise for me, and has me excited to get married in a church of all places, without even questioning ‘God’ and all that entails. What matters is he is the love of my life… and after today, he will be mine.” Ash nodded her head slowly as she fixed your hair the slightest bit and tried to avoid eye contact in the mirror.

“(Y/N), I think...”

“Hey, Princess. You’re runnin’…” Negan interrupted as he knocked on the door while he pushed it open, and he stopped and smiled as he looked at you. “Well Goddamn.”

“You’re in a church, mister.” You reminded him, teasingly as you turned and pulled the mostly white, with a double layer of light blue tulle skirt around so it was straighter behind you. “Not supposed to swear in a church.”

“Yea, yea.” He grumbled. “Old, new, borrowed, blue, right?”

“I’ve got ‘em all covered, Daddy.” You said as you watched him walk over with something in his hand.

“Well I’m still replacing your old with mine.” He said as he held out his hand to you. Your brow furrowed until you saw the glimpse of a silver heart locket on a chain. “I don’t have to even ask if you know what it is…”

“It’s mom’s.” You said with a smile as you flipped it over with your thumb. “She wore it on your wedding day.”

“Always said she’d pass it down to a daughter. Nearly made Ash miss her fucking flight looking for it. You know I can’t remember where I put shit for shit.”

“Will you quit swearing and put on the damn necklace.” You laughed as you held it out to him. “Racing a clock here.”

“Yea, yea.” He chuckled as he put the finishing touch on your wedding day outfit. He took a step back and huffed with a small shake of his head. “You make a beautiful bride, baby girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Now Ash, what were you saying?”

“Oh, it’s... it’s nothing.” She said with her own smile as she handed you your bouquet of blue roses that had a dark blue bandana you borrowed from Chibs wrapped around the bottom stems. With a nod, you looked at yourself in the mirror one last time, before looking back at your dad.

“You ready?” Negan asked with a small smirk.

“More than.” With a nod, he held out his arm and led you out of the back room. “Damn it, can we just speed up the clock.” You joked as you carefully and subtly kicked out the front of your gown with each step so you would trip or rip it.

“Quit fuckin’ swearing.” Negan laughed as Ashleigh walked a little faster to get next to you.

“(Y/N), I think I made a huge mistake.” She repeated, timidly at the same time you watched Henry looking up from your sleeping little girl in her snow queen dress and a giant blue bow you prayed would muffle the noise so she could stay asleep next to Ashton in their winter wonderland decorated wagon, and over at you. There was only a moments hesitation as you ran through the list of women from the club that had come to see you as you were getting ready to wish you the best before you reacted.

“Daddy, go get Frankie.” You asked, simply as you let go of his arm for a moment. “She’s got on black and silver, so she won’t clash with the colors when she pulls the wagon.”

“(Y/N)...” Ashleigh choked as you simply ignored your ex standing there and stopped in front of the back doors.

“You are dead to me.” You said to her as you fixed your own dress and forced yourself to remain calm. “Get your son, the prospect will take you back to the hotel for your things and you can go.”

“(Y/N)...” She and Henry said at the same time, which made you round on both of them with fire in your eyes.

“I don’t know what either of you thought you were trying to accomplish here, but I’m not in the fucking mood. You, Henry, I can sort of understand because we were together so long, and you’re just hoping that maybe, just maybe I’d be willing to give you a third chance after every thing you have put me through, but Ash...? What the actual fuck. Seriously, how did you think that calling my ex in on my fucking wedding day was going to go over, huh? Good? Simple? Not likely to royally piss me the fuck off?!”

“I was just trying...”

“Well now you can just try to get the fuck out of here before I fucking strangle you on my fucking wedding day. And Henry, I have nothing more to say to you. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I am not the person you want to be with. And I am sick and fucking tired of compromising my integrity to fit into your perfect wife narrative when I met someone 12 fucking years ago that never wanted anyone but me in the first place and still does all these years later. So you both can leave. Frankie, I need you to pull my flower girl down the aisle for me.”

“(Y/N)...” Ashleigh said as she carefully picked up Ashton.

“I said NOW!” You roared with a glance back at her. “Now! I will get you home, but you are dead to me. Frankie, it’s fine, just pull her down behind you, put her in front of my dad’s seat so you can take my bouquet, and when it gets to the count down, bring the wagon back here to try to keep her away from the noise.” You told your new Maid of Honor as you fixed your dress again. You didn’t look back as the prospect that had been watching the kids escorted Ashleigh and Henry out of the church despite their protests, but your dad stopped in front of you with a look of concern.

“You need a minute?”

“I need Filip.” You said as you searched his eyes with barely a hint of tears in yours. He nodded his head and told Frankie to go, as he walked around behind you and helped you pull out your ball gown so it made the perfect bell shape.

“What have I always told you about writing off family?”

“Fuck them if they don’t understand.”

“Exactly.” He said as he laced your arm with his. “Fuck ‘em. Now quit swearing in a fucking church.”

“Daddy, we’re both going to hell anyways.” You giggled with a glance up at him. “But I’m pretty sure we just gave ourselves the best seats on the bus.”

“Fucking right we did.” He laughed as you both took the first step down the aisle. You found Filip instantly, and watched as his eyes shifted from anger directed at Henry’s back, to concern when he saw your face. You tried to tell him that you were alright, but you could tell he didn’t believe it until you were directly in front of him with your hand finally in his.

“We’re getting married today.” You whispered with a smile as you reached up with your free hand to cup his cheek. “I’m OK. I’m finally where I’m meant to be. With you.” With a nod of his head, knowing that you would never lie to him, he leaned forward and gently kissed your forehead with a sigh of relief. The ceremony was kept short by design, since it was nearly midnight, and while there was talk of God, you barely noticed it because of the man who could not stop smiling in front of you with matching tears of joy in his eyes. You stuck with generic vows, because neither of you would have made it through writing your own, and your first attempt at saying ‘I do’ came out as a choked whisper, which made his smile grow even more.

“By the power vested in me by God and man...” The priest said as the club counted down the New Year for you. “I pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss the bride.”

“I told you I’d marry you one day.” You whispered softly in the last few seconds.

“Finally.” Filip whispered back as he wrapped his arms around your middle and kissed you like it was the first time at exactly midnight, just like he had the night you first met in the shadows of the Belfast clubhouse. The club erupted in cheers as you held your husband’s cheeks between both hands, while the priest presented Mr. and Mrs. Filip Telford over the noise and left to get some sleep before his morning church service. You both pulled back with smiles, and you took your bouquet from Negan, who’s face read happiness and sadness at the same time.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” He said softly as he kissed your cheek before you left, since you agreed to do the reception the next night when you could get a sitter for Celeste and so the club could still celebrate the New Year. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” You responded with a smile. With a nod of his head, he stepped out of your way so you could head out the back to collect your daughter and spend your first night as husband and wife making love until the sun came up.

#too smart for your own good #chibs x reader #machine gun kelly x reader #mgk x reader #henry cavill x reader #colson baker x reader

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