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frogletscribe · 1 year ago

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Until It Doesn’t Hurt

Chapter 7: Rotten

Summary:

20 years since the RDA was pushed off of the moon of Pandora, they are back once more. The RDA thinks their only problem is the traitor Jake Sully and his family, but as it turns out, Jake wasn’t the only ‘problem’ left behind 20 years ago.

Anthe was a child soldier, stolen from their home and forced to learn the ways of the humans, erasing any of their connections to the Na’vi from before. Finally free from the RDA’s hold after being trapped in cryosleep, they're about to make themselves everyone's problem.

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Anthe cannot wait any longer.

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Pairing: Aged Up!Neteyam X Nonbinary!Na'vi!Reader/OC (OC and Neteyam are both around 20)

Warnings: Mentions of Past Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mild Claustrophobia, No Use of Y/N, Blood, Self-depreciation, Neglectful Parenting, Suggestive Themes, Mutual Pining, Hurt-Comfort, Hurt-No-Comfort, Angst

WC: 1882 words. AO3 Link Here

A/N: Its angst time~ This one is pretty short so i figured I would post it now and we will see by the end of the week if I will post the next or if I wait the way I keep telling myself I will lol. I just like sharing 😂

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The nightmare was always the same. Anthe, running through the halls of TAP, trying to catch up with Tenak and the others forever so far ahead of them. Wait for me! They tried to scream, bullets whizzing past their head, but no sound ever came out. The halls were never ending mazes of artificial red flashing lights, casting ominous shadows that threatened to swallow them whole. Then they would suddenly break out into the forest, surrounded by the bloody and broken bodies of their family. Their forms shriveled and decayed from old death, already half swallowed by the ground within their glass cryopods. Anthe would scream and dig, desperately trying to pull them out, wake them up, anything. Tenak’s hand would suddenly grip their shoulder, dragging them down to his bloodied form. You left us! You abandoned us! His face was full of unfamiliar pain and rage, sunken green eyes blazing with hatred. He would drag them down and down and down, into the earth, suffocating them, and Anthe would know that everything was their fault. Finally, they would wake, gasping for air.

The guilt was suffocating. Every morning, Anthe would wake, curled next to Neteyam, a little more healed, a little more able, and feeling worse than the day before. They didn’t want to leave the Omaticaya, dragging their feet more and more with every soft touch, every kind word. But they had run out of excuses, their wound healed with not even an ache to keep them reasonably within High Camp any longer. That twisted version of Tenak hissed in their mind, cruelly reminding them that they were taking something that did not belong to them

Neteyam was talking about teaching them to shoot with a bow, excited to be their teacher. He had been so good to Anthe, too good if you asked them. Anthe had given in to a weaker part of themselves that day when Neteyam had held them tightly in the kelku, comforting them through their self-deprecating admissions. He had barely left them since then, always close by with a soft smile or comforting hand. Anthe hated it. Or, more accurately, loved it, and hated themselves for loving it.

They did not deserve the affection and attention the son of the Olo’eyktan gave them, even as Neteyam insisted otherwise. He was supposed to be fawning over someone else, someone training to be a proper Tsahik, not some stray he found in the woods. Anthe saw the jealous glares from other members of the clan across the communal dinner fires, angry and scathing. Imposter.

However, none of the Sully’s seemed to care all that much. Lo’ak and Kiri teased, but it seemed more in the effort to get a rise out of Neteyam and Anthe than any real malice. Anthe didn’t even really know what to call what was going on between them and Neteyam, no gauge for the emotions they felt around the man. Kiri had said he was trying to ‘court’ them, but Anthe still wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. Of course they weren’t entirely clueless, they understood the implications, but they still could not grasp that something as intimate as courting could be aimed at them. No one they had known before had been anything other than an authority figure, a sibling, or an enemy, and Anthe did not know what to do with anyone who fell outside of those categories.

However, it wouldn’t be long now before none of it would matter. Whatever feelings Anthe was harboring for Neteyam, whether he returned them or not, needed to be forgotten. Their time at High Camp was up. They needed to leave.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Like every night for the past week, Neteyam was curled comfortably around Anthe’s sleeping form, holding them to his front. They seemed to sleep better with him near, more relaxed rather than holding themselves in a tight ball. He had been anxious when he first suggested sharing his sleeping mat, worried it was too forward of a gesture, but Anthe had agreed, the slightest flush gracing their cheeks. They still had the nightmares, but being wrapped in Neteyam’s arms when they startled awake seemed to help them slip more easily back into sleep afterwards.

It was another night where Neteyam’s own thoughts plagued him, keeping him from sleep. He was almost finished with the knife he was making for Anthe, planning to give it to them as a way to start their training in earnest. He knew Kiri had started weaving them a more traditional outfit as well, taking into account Anthe’s preference for modesty. Neteyam was sure, if he could only make them a little more comfortable with the clan and its traditions, Anthe would feel a bit more at home. He hated that they felt like an outsider in their own culture, he wanted to change that.

Anthe shuddered in his arms, their hand gripping his fingers and body going rigid next to his. Neteyam closed his eyes, feigning sleep in hopes it might ease some of their anxiety about waking anyone. He felt them slide out of his arms carefully, heard their small sad sigh as their fingers brushed one of his loose braids from his face. Neteyam had to fight himself not to open his eyes again, not wanting to startle them. There was a shuffling, then the light pad of bare feet away from the sleeping mats. He cracked an eye open again, trying to see where they had gone. Anthe had not left the kelku at night since the very first time. He lifted his head just in time to see the sway of their tail as they exited the tent flap.

Neteyam rose from his mat, careful not to wake anyone else as he moved to follow. Anthe was moving quickly through high camp, with their recovered back pulled across their shoulders, long braid swaying as they moved, his beaded cord catching the light. Neteyam frowned as he watched them slide quietly into one of the weapons tents, and emerge again with their sniper rifle. They checked it over in the waning moonlight then, seemingly satisfied with their inspection, slung it over one shoulder and continued on. Neteyam decided to remain hidden, increasingly concerned as he followed Anthe towards one of High Camps exits. He did not reveal himself until they came to the camp's precipice, just before the long climb down to the forest floor. Anthe stood, quietly overlooking the climb. They bounced anxiously from foot to foot, as if still trying to decide something.

“{Anthe.}” He spoke softly, hands raised as they startled and spun towards him, steel army grade knife in hand.

“Shit, Neteyam. You scared me.” They whispered in English as they pocketed their knife once more.

“{What are you doing?}” Neteyam stepped closer, coming to stand in a beam of moonlight with them. Anthe seemed to sag uncomfortably, refusing to hold his eye, as they continued to shift foot to foot. They murmured something he couldn’t quite catch.

“{What?}” The warrior asked again, taking another step closer. He was increasingly concerned and confused as to what was going on. Why did they have all of their things? Why were they out here?

“{I said-}” They hesitated, sucking in a breath before steeling themselves and looking Neteyam directly in the eye.

“{I said, I am leaving.}”

“{What? Why!? Have I done something wrong?}” Neteyam could hear the panic in his own voice. They couldn’t leave, there was still so much for him to show them, so many more things for him to share. Anthe grimaced, shrinking back from him as he tried to reach for them. He stopped, staring at them wide eyed.

“{You didn’t do anything, Neteyam. I just have to go.}”

“{Why? You are safe here, you don’t have to go!}” Neteyam shook his head, not understanding.

“{I have been enough of a burden to your people already. It’s better this way.}” Burden? Anthe was no burden. They had been nothing but a joy to be around. His family loved them! His sisters and grandmother fawned over them like they were already a part of the family. Lo’ak respected them probably more than he respected Neteyam himself, and even their mother and father had warmed to them more quickly than anyone had anticipated.

“{Burden? You are no burden. You are one of us! One of the people! Maybe a behind on your rights but-}”

“{No.}” Anthe cut him off harshly. Their eyes were hard, determined, impenetrable soldiers mask firmly in place, “{I am not one of the people. I never have been and I never will be. I have to go.}”

“{You’re wrong. Anthe, you have a home here- Please-}” He reached for them again, grabbing their wrist, trying to stop this before it was too late. For a moment, it seemed to work, Anthe halted, a flash of something pained crossing their features, but they turned away, quick to hide it. “{Talk to me, please. What is going on? Why do you think you have to leave?}”

“{I don’t belong here, Neteyam.}” Their voice was small, practically swallowed up by the wind howling around the floating mountain peak.

“{You do! You do belong!}” With me, he wanted to say. He pressed their hand to his heart. A plea.

“{I don’t.}” They cut him off again, sounding strained. “{Please let me go.}”

“{You don’t need to do this. Whatever is going on, I can help, please, just talk to me.}” Neteyam knew he sounded desperate, he didn’t care. He just needed them to stay.

“{Goodbye, Neteyam.}” Anthe said, eyes avoiding his as they pulled away from his grip. “{I’m sorry.}”

Neteyam watched them go in a stunned silence. His heart ached, screamed at him to follow, but it was well past eclipse and a stupid small part of his mind nagged at him that he was already breaking curfew just by being out here. The forest at night was too dangerous at night, he shouldn’t be letting them go at all. He wanted to follow, he should be following them! But that look on their face, the pain in their voice when Anthe said they didn’t belong, stopped him. He could not keep them if they didn’t wish to stay.

“{You’re wrong.}” His voice called after them, sounding raw with hurt and heartbreak. “{You do belong.}”

If Anthe heard him, they didn’t show it.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Anthe felt like they had been stabbed through the heart, gasping for breath between sobs. Leaving should not have been this hard, this painful. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. They huddled in on themself, tucked tight into the hollow of a tree. Daylight was finally starting to break over the horizon. You do belong. Neteyam’s words echoed in their mind over and over. A blatant contradiction of everything they had been telling themselves from the very beginning, of everything even their subconscious screamed whenever they closed their eyes to sleep. They could not belong with the Omaticaya or any other Na’vi clan when their family never got the chance. They had wasted more than a year, with nothing to show for it but new scars and the image of Neteyam’s pained face burned into their mind. Just another ghost to haunt them.

#froglet writes fics #atwow #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water #neteyam x oc #james cameron avatar #neteyam x reader #avatar frontiers of pandora #neteyam fanfiction #avatar neteyam

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radioduo · 3 years ago

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roses and riots: chapter 1

i could count the stars (wait until the dawn

notes: apoc au ^-^ this has been in the works for a while, so hope u guys enjoy! thanks to @b1rdza for the title and the letting me plan things w them :}

tws: blood, injury, violence, talks of death and zombies

Ranboo stared at his phone, slightly cracked and looking worse for wear, reminiscing over the photo on his lock screen. A picture from two months ago of him, Tubbo, and Tommy beaming at the camera. Ranboo returned the smile. Probably a picture Wilbur took on their moving day.

Two months ago, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo began living together. Two months ago was the last time everything was normal.

Ranboo leaned against the wall of the now crumbling apartment and laid his head back against the foggy windows with a sigh. He could hear Tubbo in the other room quietly singing a cheerful tune and fiddling with some new gadget on his own. Tommy still wasn’t home from the scouting trip he had left for hours ago, and as the minutes ticked by, more and more anxiety gnawed at Ranboo's stomach.

Speak of the devil, Ranboo thought to himself as the communicator next to him began to buzz. It was Tommy, unsurprisingly. Ranboo gingerly set the phone down and picked up the other device. “Hello?”

“RANBOO, GET - krzzkr - HERE, THERE’S - skrzzkz - FUCKING HORDE HEADING OUR - krzzssz - HELP-”

Ranboo flinched and held the speaker away from his ear as he sprang to his feet. “Oh god, alright. Hold on, Tommy, I’m getting Tubbo and we’re going. Where are you?” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the musty red rucksack that hung next to the door.

“WEST- kzzszrt - NEAR THE DINER-”

“Just stay calm, Tommy, find a hiding place, you know the drill,” he knocked on Tubbo’s door urgently, but there was no response. "Are you k- whatever," Ranboo threw open the door, muttering to himself. Tubbo yelped in surprise as the door swung open, flinging his arm out and knocking his project onto the carpet. “We’ve gotta go,”

Tubbo took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, bossman?”

Ranboo began to explain, but Tommy seemed eager to take matters into his own hands.

“TUBBO, THEY’RE FUCKIN’ AFTER - skrzztz - YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE - kryzztz - TO GOD I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF I DIE,” he yelled through the radio. Tommy was breathing heavily, and Ranboo and Tubbo could hear quick, heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

“Oh fuck, okay, we’re coming, Tommy!” Tubbo grabbed his yellow bag from the foot of his mattress, abandoning his gadget and nearly knocking over his trash can full of failed prototypes. “Where is he?” he asked Ranboo, straining as he tugged his shoes over his heels.

“West Elm, near the diner,” Ranboo said as he pulled his mask over his face, leading Tubbo into the kitchen and grabbing his crowbar from the counter. “We’re on our way, just stay hidden and stay put.” Ranboo ended the transmission before Tommy could keep shouting at him and pulled open the door. “Let’s go, Tubbo,”

Tubbo hoisted his bat over his shoulder and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Wordlessly, the duo slunk out from the crumbling apartment building and down the street.

Nothing new, Ranboo noticed as the two speed-walked around the dilapidated city. Broken glass lined the pavement in front of shopping outlets, rotting wooden planks covered doors and windows, and the smell of flesh and blood filled the air around them, pungent and nauseating. The acrid scent slithered through the mask over Ranboo's nose and snaked into his nostrils, and he fought back the urge to heave as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Rapidly rounding a corner, Ranboo tore his eyes away from the city scenery, stifling a gasp of surprise as he and Tubbo found themselves face to face with a gathering of the undead.

With bulging eyes and mouths lined with yellowed, broken teeth, the pack shuffled down the debris-covered road in the opposite direction, still oblivious to Ranboo and Tubbo's appearance. They seemed too busy tracking something out of sight to pay attention to the smell of fresh, unspilled blood nearby. Unfortunately, Ranboo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the thing they must have been searching for was Tommy, and to find him, he and Tubbo would have to make it through the horde of the starving dead.

Tubbo stared ahead at the mob, a sour expression painting his face. "Don't tell me-"

"We have to, Tubbo. Unless you want to leave Tommy to die over there."

"I'm gonna be honest bossman, that sounds pretty fuckin' appealing right now," Tubbo replied dryly.

"I really hope you're joking," Ranboo answered. "C'mon," he urged, gripping the crowbar in his gloved hands, and charged forward like a bull.

The zombies, luckily for Ranboo, moved slowly, giving him time to react between attacks. He swiped nimbly with his left hand, slamming the metal bar into the face of a corpse, taking its head off with a satisfying crunch. Ranboo heard a grunt next to his ear and rolled out of the way right as an undead creature swung at him, nearly grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He brought the crowbar down into the skull of his attacker and looked away as the creature made a strangled sound in the back of its throat. Bobbing and weaving through the sea of the undead, Ranboo slammed the crowbar into every shambling body he could reach, over and over again. He yelped as he suddenly felt something grab his arm, sending a wave of pain up his arm from the iron-like grip. He wrenched his hand away frantically and stabbed the crowbar into the zombie's eyes. Breathing heavily, he scrambled away from the horde and into the clear at last. Ranboo gripped his sore arm and anxiously looked over the sea of corpses. Tubbo hadn't come out of the mob yet, and Ranboo's stomach twisted with fear at the thought of something happening to him.

A loud smack came from somewhere inside the cluster of bodies, and at last, Tubbo appeared, waving his bloodstained baseball bat like a madman and shouting a string of curses at the undead hands grabbing at his clothes. He ran to Ranboo's side, gasping for air. "Don't ever fucking make me do that again, okay?"

Ranboo grinned, relieved that he seemed unharmed. "Alright, alright, whatever," he said, flicking a drop of blood from his face. "We have to keep moving or they'll catch up with us."

----------

Tubbo and Ranboo slid open the diner door silently, stepping over the upturned chairs and tables as they walked into the abandoned building. "Tommy?" Tubbo whispered. "Are you in here?"

"Tubbo?" A voice answered. A head of curly blond hair popped up from behind the counter, and an unmistakable look of relief swept over Tommy's face when he caught sight of the two. "Thank fuck," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his backpack with him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last." Crawling out from behind the counter, Tommy pulled his green bandana down from over his mouth again and faced the duo. "How'd you get through that giant fuckin' mob back there?"

Ranboo and Tubbo held up their crowbar and bat, respectively. "We managed," Tubbo said with a shrug. "That's beside the point though, why have you been gone so long? You were supposed to be back, like, two hours ago!" The three inched towards the door as Tubbo talked, slipping back into the streets and booking it in the opposite direction they came from.

Tommy huffed, trying to keep up with his friends. "Other than those dickheads back there keeping me away, I stopped by Phil's place for a bit to get us some food," he explained through deep breaths. "We haven't been able to get out much, thought it'd help." He held up his lumpy bag, obviously full of cans and boxes.

"Tommy, you know carrying food long distances is dangerous," Ranboo huffed, pulling ahead of the group as they rounded a corner. "Those things can smell just about everything, what made you think that was even slightly a good idea?"

Tommy made an indignant scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, ex-CUSE me, Boob Boy, for wanting to help out you and Tubbo. That's my bad," he said, placing unnecessary emphasis on the last two words.

Ranboo rolled his eyes with faux annoyance as the three of them kept walking. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?"

"Not enough clearly," Tubbo answered, amusement obvious in his tone.

"Oh my god-" A hand flew over his mouth as Tommy suddenly took a sharp turn and flattened him against the bricks of a rundown building. Ranboo bit back a pained grunt as his aching arm hit the bricks. "I can hear those fuckers nearby," he removed his palm from Ranboo's masked mouth, and the three of them pressed their backs against the crumbling wall. "Is there another way we can take?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth as he strained his ears to listen for the familiar groans of the undead. "There are only a few that won't take us, like, two hours," he whispered. "Most roads loop around the city, and-"

"-and there's no way in hell that we'd make it back alive if we travel in the dark," Tubbo finished bleakly. He stared at the ground, lost in thought as though he were hoping the answer would write itself on the sidewalk. "So what now? Just stay here and wait until the morning? Surely not," he looked up at the other two. "I mean, that's a death wish right there,"

Ranboo and Tommy nodded silently. "I guess there's always Phil's place, but that's a couple dozen blocks down the road," Ranboo suggested, glancing up at the sky. It was only marginally darker than when they'd left, but Ranboo knew the light wouldn't last for much longer - especially not with the luck they'd been having. He absently rubbed his sore arm, careful to keep something from hitting it again. "We'd have to leave now to be there before dark,"

"Don't tell me we have to fuckin' walk even more," Tommy griped loudly. "I just got back from his place, are you sure there isn't a faster way home?"

"We can leave you here with the horde, if that's what you prefer," Tubbo retorted. Slinging his yellow bag over one arm and hoisting his worn baseball bat over the other, he dashed down the street, calling to Tommy over his shoulder, "Hurry up, dickhead!"

"Tubbo, wait-!" Tommy shouted back as he and Ranboo followed suit, jogging down the sidewalk behind Tubbo to the safety of their friend's home.

It was nearly dark by the time the three came to the pale blue house. It sat on the city outskirts, barely safer than the houses on the inside but at least ten times cozier. Tommy rapped on the door raucously, and Ranboo and Tubbo cringed as the sound echoed, definitely alerting the nearby zombies to their presence.

They didn't have time to worry about that, thankfully, as Phil greeted them at the door, looking relieved. "You guys scared the shit out of me," he breathed as he ushered the three teens inside. "You can't just be out wandering and knocking on strangers' doors,"

"Phil, if you were a stranger, this would be very awkward right now," Ranboo said, kicking his boots off and shoving them in the corner.

"I'm- oh my god, you know what I mean," he replied exasperatedly. "Be careful out there, is all. I don't know what I'd do if you guys got hurt."

Silence fell over the group as they heard the subtext of Phil's words. 'If you guys got hurt again.' Ranboo peered over at Tubbo, whose hand had subconsciously drifted up to trace the burn scars that outlined his face. Ranboo's own hand had floated up to touch his bruised arm carefully. He wouldn't tell Phil about it. Not yet.

Coughing, Ranboo broke the silence as he drew his hand away from his injury and undid the clasp on his cloak. "Welp, uh, I'm gonna sit down if anyone else wants to come," he invited, plopping the heavy fabric in a pile with the rest of his things and wandering into the living room.

The fireplace was burning, and Wilbur laid next to the orange flames, half-lidded eyes staring sleepily at the ceiling. He blinked and sat up as Ranboo entered the room, still alone as Tubbo and Tommy followed Phil into the kitchen, discussing something Ranboo couldn't quite hear. "Hey, Rhombus," Wilbur smiled, holding back a yawn. "How goes it?" His eyes darted briefly to the yellow sweater Ranboo wore.

Ranboo shrugged, removing his mask and catching the brief smile that flickered across Wilbur's face. "Could be better, I suppose," he replied.

"I think you said that last time," Wilbur noted.

"Yeah, well, it's been hard to be great recently," Ranboo said, barely audible.

Wilbur nodded sagely nonetheless, shuffling away from the fire to sit on the carpet in front of the couch. "You're not wrong," he agreed. There was a moment of silence as Wilbur looked up at Ranboo, who sat stiffly on the sofa, clutching his arm lightly and staring blankly into the fire. "You all good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Ranboo answered, blinking himself out of his stupor and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Just- pain is all. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," he insisted. Ranboo could see the doubt in Wilbur's eyes, and it made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure why. "I'm alright, seriously," he repeated. "I'd let you know if I wasn't, you know that."

"Right." Disbelief laced Wilbur's words, but he didn't pry, nor did Ranboo want to offer an explanation.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn't get the chance as Tubbo peeped his head into the room. "Dinner's ready big man, if you're interested," he said, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the kitchen, the comforting smell of potato soup wafting through the house. "You too, Wilbur, I guess," he snickered.

Ignoring the lighthearted banter between the other two, Ranboo inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. It smelt like home, he thought, a small smile painting his face. Wordlessly, Ranboo padded through the doorway into the kitchen, where Techno, Tommy, and Phil sat around the table waiting.

"There you are," Techno greeted him, reaching for the soup spoon. "We were starvin' to death in here, c'mon man," he joked.

Ranboo huffed a laugh through his nose. "Sorry about that," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. "Been a long day." He caught Tubbo's eye, who agreed with a slight head nod.

"It's alright, mate," Phil assured him. He held the bowls as Techno ladled soup into them carefully. "We get it." Phil handed him a bowl, steaming and cozy, and Ranboo gratefully accepted. "Just hang out for a while, alright?"

The six of them sat around the small kitchen table, eating together and listening to the radio as songs old and new alike filled the air. Tubbo and Wilbur sang duets, and Techno and Tommy made increasingly strange parodies as Phil and Ranboo watched with amusement.

Tommy and Techno were mid-song about Phil when the music suddenly stopped, harsh static cutting through the joyful atmosphere like a knife.

"WE INTERRUPT YOUR PROGRAM FOR AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT," the prerecorded sample recited. "ATTENTION, ALL CITIZENS OF NEW LENSLING COUNTY: A MANDATORY EVACUATION IS BEGINNING TOMORROW AT 11 AM. ALL PERSONS LIVING IN THE CITY MUST RELOCATE BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK."

The once bright mood at the dinner table quickly sank, dread and icy cold fear replacing the warm feeling of family and safety.

"What the fuck?" Tommy murmured, turning the radio volume up to the max.

"COUNTY OFFICIALS WILL BE INSPECTING HOMES TO ENSURE THAT EVERYONE HAS EVACUATED. SAFE CITIES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ATTSTONE, WORWICKE, LANGSTEDSHIRE, SHANTOWSEA, AND SOUTH BIRBED. FURTHER QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED AT-"

Wilbur turned off the radio with a harsh slam. "Great," he growled. "What the fuck do we do now? Surely they don't expect us to just be happy with this!"

"All our shit is still at home!" Tubbo added, agitated. "There's no way we have time to grab it tonight, and it'll take ages to get back to the apartment in the morning!" He grumbled. "This is bullshit!"

"Calm down, you two," Phil cut in, trying to curb the anger bubbling in the air. "We'll figure something out, okay?"

Tubbo and Wilbur had the same disgruntled look in their eyes, jaws set and eyes shadowed. "Fine," Tubbo muttered, standing up to look at Phil. "Tell us then, what's the plan? Do you even know what's going to happen to us?"

"Tubbo," Ranboo warned. "Calm down. We're all figuring it out as a group."

Tubbo folded his arms and sat heavily in his chair, still irritated.

Techno was already rifling through his things for a map of the county. "The safe zones were all cities nearby," he said, seemingly to himself. He rolled a thin map out over the table, careful to avoid the drops of soup. "Attstone, Worwicke, et cetera. The closest one to us would be-"

"South Birbed, innit?" Tommy finished, shoving his now-empty soup bowl out of the way to lean over the table. "It's 'bout a week-long trip on foot," he explained. "We could be there in no time if all of us leave first thing in the morning,"

"Hold on, Tommy," Techno stopped him as Tommy took a breath to say something else. "One of us needs to stay behind and let someone know where we're goin', right Phil?"

"They need to send a message to all the safe zones to tell 'em how many people to prepare for," Phil confirmed. "I'll stay behind, tell whoever may stop by that the six of us are heading south, yeah?"

Ranboo and the other four shared a look of hesitance, none of them quite sure how to respond. "I don't want to leave you behind, Phil," Ranboo admitted. "Are you 100 percent sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry about me, mate. I'll catch up with you all in no time."

Phil's promise sent a wave of relief around the room. Wilbur and Tubbo looked more at ease, and Ranboo, Techno, and Tommy all breathed a sigh. "We should probably pack up our shit, I guess." Tommy rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. "Early start tomorrow, aye?"

They all stood, some more hesitant than others, and dispersed to their respective sleeping quarters. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo trekked upstairs single file, carrying their bags, weapons, and everything in between into the large bedroom silently. It wasn't like they hadn't done this same thing before, but something about knowing it might be the last time for a while made the mood feel more somber than usual.

Tommy flopped onto the large, pillowy mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we're being fuckin' kicked out," he muttered crossly, a change in mood from the upbeat leader persona he'd put on downstairs (probably to prove himself to the adults). "And to South Birbed of all places!"

Ranboo snorted, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. "What did South Birbed ever do to you?" He asked, watching as Tubbo crawled onto the bed next to Tommy.

"I dunno, it just seems like a shit city," Tommy shrugged.

Tubbo smacked him with a pillow, and Tommy yelped in protest, shouting a string of curse words at his assailer. "Mercy, mercy!" Tommy begged as he and Tubbo began a pillow fight.

Ranboo looked on with mild intrigue but didn't join the party. Instead, he slipped away from the other two into the bathroom and shut the door.

He pried his gloves off his hands and rinsed his face, desperate to clean the dirt and grime from his forehead and fingers. Ranboo stared at himself in the mirror, watching beads of water run down his face. He looked like a mess, he thought briefly, before drying the water with a towel. He winced, feeling a shock of pain flow up his arm as he blotted the water with the scratchy cloth. Deftly, he rolled up his sweater sleeve to examine his arm.

A little bit of broken skin, Ranboo noticed. He caught sight of a few small indents, which he assumed were from fingernails digging into his arm when the zombie had grabbed him. He made a mental note to keep checking the wound before it got infected and rolled his sleeve down again.

With a newly clear head, he reentered the bedroom quietly. Tommy and Tubbo had already claimed the bed, he noted, as the two laid on either half of the mattress, Tommy's head and Tubbo's feet on one end and the other way around at the foot of the bed. Ranboo sighed as he realized he'd have to sleep on the floor. Swiftly, he snagged a pillow from the bed, careful not to wake the already-snoring Tubbo, and dragged a throw blanket from a basket to sleep beneath. Begrudgingly, he laid on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had never noticed it before, but shining overhead was a galaxy of artificial stars, blinking and twinkling. The question of "why" briefly crossed Ranboo's mind as he stared at the bright little shapes above him. It made sense, he supposed, since the room belonged to Wilbur years before he, Tommy, or Tubbo ever stayed there. Still, he thought, it was surprising that Phil had kept them up there after all this time. Maybe he wanted to keep a little piece of the good times with him.

Ranboo felt a pit form in his stomach as he thought about the future (or possible lack thereof). The uncertainty made his stomach churn as he yawned, eyelids drooping. Thoughts of traveling and an image of the artificial galaxy were fresh in his mind as he rolled over that night, shutting his eyes and letting the darkness of sleep wash over him at last.

#ranboo #tubbo #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #blood tw #injury tw #violence tw #zombies cw #my writing

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darylsgirl · 4 years ago

Text

He’s just like the sun. Daryl Dixon x Reader 18+ Smut

*Second ever Fanfic! Exciting! I hope you guys enjoy this! Please let me know if there is anything you’d change about it or anything you like! I would love some tips on how to improve! I will warn it does get pretty dark at points, but the story just kind of got away from me again haha! Younger reader and Older Daryl for the anonymous request! Hope this has lived up to your expectations! Hope y’all having a lovely day <3*

Warnings!: Domestic violence, Heavy cursing, Violence and Smut

Summary: Daryl had saved you from a herd of walkers, When you reached Alexandria he became distant and you started dating Spencer. He stayed away from you fully until Carol brought it to his attention that Spencer could be hurting you. Long slow burn. Smutty ending with Confessions of love :)

Part Two Part three

“Good morning baby” He said rolling on top of you kissing you swiftly.

“Good Mornin’ Spence' You replied squirming uncomfortably.

He enveloped you in his arms around you pulling you closer to him.

“Sorry Spence, but carol’s expecting me. I really have to go!”

His eyes flashed dark, He finally released you. “So just Carol? Or is there anyone else you will be seeing today?”

You pushed your hand to the back of your neck rubbing it uncomfortably. “Urm yeah i think it’s just carol, She did say something about Rosita popping by to give us a hand”

“Well you know what to do if anyone else turns up right? Or should I remind you?” He said with a smirk now.

Your eyes met his panicked now “No i promise only Carol and Rosita. I know what to do i promise baby”

Ugh you hated calling him that but you knew it worked. You looked back at him and could see your words had placated him for now. Running to the bathroom you quickly got ready for the day, Checking over your appearance in the mirror you were satisfied that everything would look normal to anyone looking at her. You tucked your shirt into your jeans wincing as you did to make sure this didn’t rise up and left the bathroom. Sighing a breath of relief when you saw that Spencer had gotten up and left. Running a hand through your hair you ran downstairs, laced your boots up hastily, Leapt off the porch and headed towards Carol’s house.

You always loved your days with Carol, She was the most incredible woman. Tough, unrelenting and takes no nonsense but yet the mother of the group and loves everyone unconditionally, You’re pretty sure she would die for any one of you. She made you feel safe and at ease which is two feelings that were hard to come by these days.

Smiling as you saw Carol in the front garden digging. You ran over and saw that there was a tray sitting on the porch with two cups of tea and some pancakes waiting. She nodded towards the porch “Go on help yourself Y/N. I'll be over in a minute” Another reason you just loved Carol. She. was. The. best. Cook. Even something as simple as pancakes you knew were going to be delicious. “So I heard through the grapevine it’s your birthday soon?” Carol asked. You smiled at her “Yeah,I’ll be 22 on April 16th. Not that i’m even sure when that is now”

“It seems silly now but sometimes i wonder what it would of been like to have my first drink, Never got a chance with the end of well….everything”

Carol looked over at you and checked the calendar. “Deana told me the date when we got here and I've been marking it ever since. Looks to be a week on Tuesday! Got anything nice planned?” “Nah, Just another day to me now!” You said shrugging.

“Is Spencer planning anything?”

“Um not sure, I don’t think i’ve told him if i'm honest”

“Well tell me then. If you could have anything in the world what would it be”

You smiled the answer coming so easy to you now “A sunflower, I would really love to see a sunflower again”

Carol nodded at you. “Now that would be something”

Smiling happily again as you sat down you pulled a plate of pancakes on your lap and ravenously ate groaning as you did. “Carol, these are sooo good. What’s the secret?”

“Y’all know if i tell you, i’d have to kill you” She said with a light hearted laugh and a wink.

You had quickly finished your plate using the tea to wash it down. You thanked Carol, Grabbed the tray and walked in to clean the dishes. Carol followed in behind you talking about the day’s tasks. You didn’t really pay much attention as you were happy to do whatever as long as you weren’t stuck at home or with him.

That’s when you heard him “Mornin’ Carol any o’ those fer me?” You body froze with fear, You needed to get out of here NOW. You scrubbed the plates and mugs as quick as you could and set them on the side of the sink to try. Spinning around you grabbed a dish cloth and wiped your hands. “I’m so sorry Carol, I just remembered I promised Spencer something, I have to go. I’ll see you soon?”

You started making your way briskly towards the door when a hand grabbed your wrist. “Y/N There a problem here?” You were too scared to look him in the eye, Those were your weakness so bright and beautiful. “No Daryl, Just cant be here” You muttered staring at your feet silently begging him to push and save you, But in true shy Daryl fashion he released your arm still staring at you.

Carol cleared her throat “I thought you had made a promise not that you couldn’t be here?” She walked over to you, also staring at you intensely. “Same thing, Not allowed. Promised Spencer” Carol’s eyes burned looking at you she grabbed your face pulling your eyes up to meet yours. “Not allowed?” She asked softer than you expected. You nodded your head slightly “Please Carol i have to go” You begged her scared. She gripped your face tighter, Her eyes wandering quickly across your face. You ripped your face from her hands and Carol gasped. Panic building in you again you turned and ran through the front door with Carol and Daryl hot on your heels.

As you hit the pavement you ran straight into him, You froze again,Fear in your eyes, your eyes downcast..

Spencer looked at you then looked at the porch seeing them both there he wrapped his hand around your lower back digging his nails painfully into your side. You jumped slightly. Spencer put his lips to your ear and whispered “Smile and wave and say goodbye to your friends” Putting an emphasis on the word friends. Tears stung your eyes.

You looked up at carol placing an unconvincing smile on your face, “Bye guys, Thank you for breakfast Carol” The second the words had left your mouth Spencer was dragging you by the hip back to the house your eyes still not leaving Carol’s in a wordless plea.

Back on the porch Carol turned to Daryl “Fuck, We gotta do something about that” “Bout what?” he asked puzzled “God Daryl you can be so blind sometimes!” “Didn’t you see her neck when she was leaving, Those bruises were finger marks. I’d bet my life on it” He looked over at Carol shocked “He like Ed?” She nodded mouth forming a thin line “The one thing that bastard was good for is he taught me to see the signs of that evil in others, That fear was mine not too long ago” She continued “We can’t just get involved that won’t help we need to watch him and catch him at it so he can’t make her lie”

Daryl felt like something inside him had broken, He couldn’t believe that prick was doing this to her, To Y/N, A Girl like that deserved to be treated like an angel. He wished he could have told her how he felt before all this and saved her the pain.

He had loved her from the first moment he had laid eyes on her. He had been the one to find her when they were on the road to DC. She was alone trying to fight off a herd of walkers with a determined look in her eye. Daryl had known he wasn’t supposed to get involved; he was supposed to be just observing and reporting back to the group. But the look in her eye had made him charge forward “Hey!! Over here! Follow me!” She hadn’t even given it a second thought she just ran towards him and swung her leg over the back of his motorbike and they had ridden off. It had happened so quickly neither of them had the chance to wonder if the other could be dangerous. They both had connected at a base level without suspicion.

Daryl had forced his bike to its limits, hightailing it back to the group with her arms around him. When he got back to them Rick had rushed forward to greet them looking warily at the pair, Daryl stopped the bike and started trying to explain to his friend when she fell sideways from the bike. Having to explain to the group that he didn’t even know her name was difficult but he just had to save her. By way of an explanation he just said “Any woman tha faces down a hoard alone earnt her chance”

Daryl hadn’t left her side until she woke up. Seeing his reaction to this woman the group didn’t question it and just accepted her as one of their own.

Daryl smiled thinking back to all the moments you two had been together on the road to here, To alexandria which had quickly become home. Before here he had barely left your side, He had thought you were incredible. A complete badass. From the first day you had defended and helped the group as if they were already family. You were a perfect fit. You were everything he wasn’t Light and beautiful. He knew a woman like you would never want the dark twisted man he had become but he couldn’t stop himself from being around you. You were magnetic.

He never had the guts to tell you all of this, He knew you would reject him and everything your presence had healed in him would be shattered again. When they had gotten to Alexandria he had started seeing less of you as you had taken up your post at the infirmary and he had been going on more and more runs to keep the community fed and taken care of. He had started to wish for injuries just so he would have an excuse to feel your eye’s meet his again. He craved your touch with everything in him. But of course he could never tell you that, It would be so wrong of him. He was no good for you, he was atleast 20 years older for a start, An old redneck like him could never deserve a young beauty like you.

About a week after you had all gotten here someone else had noticed you. You seemed to rebuff his advances at first which gave Daryl hope. A few weeks later Daryl was sent on a long run and when he came back there you were on Spencer's porch wrapped in his arms, Laughing at his words. That memory was the most painful for him, He had just gotten up the guts after a very close call to tell you how much he loved you and needed you to be his and there you were, Someone else’s now.

He couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if you had in fact been his, He spent all of his nights wondering what it would be like to have you in his arms lay next to him, Wondering what your lips would feel like on his, How your skin would feel under his fingers, Your breath on his skin. All of these nights ended in a hurried and urgent tug as he let his mind imagine your hands were his. Moaning your name night after night. Always opening his eyes to the empty space beside him and the gripping pain in his chest.

“Daryl, Come in Daryl” Carol was waving her hand in front of your face. “Uhh Sorry, What did you say?”

“I said,'' Can you make an excuse to go to the infirmary tonight?” He balled his fists. He could definitely do that. He waited a few hours and then stormed towards the garage with Carol hot on his heels. He drew a deep breath and then punched his hand through the glass cabinet. Drawing his hand back and watching the blood seep down his wrist. Looking up at Carol expectantly “That’ll do nicely Daryl” With a glint in her eye. She turned and grabbed a rag off the side and wrapped it around his wrist. You go to the infirmary ill get Y/N. Daryl couldn’t feel the pain of what he had done yet, He could just feel the adrenaline rushing through him.

Carol ran across and down the street stopping to take a deep breath before knocking she heard a whimper from inside. Fixing a panicked look on her face she knocked urgently. A few moments later Spencer tore the door open, “What?” He demanded. Unfazed Carol replied “Hey spence! I’m sorry to intrude so late but we need Y/N Its urgent” She smiled sweetly at him. “Whatever you need her for you either tell me or you can wait till tomorrow” Showing him the blood on her hands. “Well um there was an accident and we can’t find denise.” She said in an innocent voice. Hearing this you appeared at the door and looked up at spencer. “I need to go, I promise i'll be quick…. Please?” You smoothed your hair over your neck again and started out of the door towards Carol when Spencer caught your wrist pulling you back to him. “You better be, I aint done with you yet” He growled into your ear, Then pushed his lips to yours put a fake smile on his face “Okay honey, Be Careful”

You took this moment to pull your arm from his following Carol pressing her for more information. You arrived at the infirmary and saw Daryl on the steps blood dripping down his hand onto the steps. You unlocked the door and ushered him and Carol inside.

Sitting Daryl down and not meeting his eyes you delicately removed the rag from his wrist and grimaced. Knowing better than to ask questions you set to work with a pair of tweezers and started removing the glass shards from his hand and wrist before cleaning the wound, Stitching and bandaging it as quick as you could. You braved a glimpse upwards and saw his eyes searching your body and then your eyes.

Seeing those beautiful blue eyes hit yours you were fighting the tears. You wanted to spill and tell him everything. He had always had that effect on you all he had to do was look at you and you wanted to pour yourself into him. You had loved him from the very beginning, From the moment your eyes met you had craved him, Craved those beautiful strong arms around you keeping you safe from the world.

You had always wished he would show even a spark of interest towards you, Well he was always around but he acted so indifferent.

Engrossed in his eyes just staring at each other it was like there was no one else in the world, He was the sun pulling you in. His hand came up and moved the hair from your face, His fingers lingering before moving your hair completely away from your neck, his eye’s darting downwards inspecting you. His eyes grew dark then “Please Y/N what has he done to you?” his eyes were fixed on your neck as he reached forward and brushed his fingers across your throat tracing the bruises.

Your breath hitched in your throat enjoying his touch. Carol cleared her throat from the corner “Guys we got company” Daryl dropped his hand and darted forwards blocking the doorway as it flung open.

Spencer, He was fucking everywhere.

“Can i help you?” Daryl growled. “What are you doing man, Where’s my girl?” Spencer asked. “She’s Busy and she’s gon be busy for a long time. Why don’t you take off kid” Daryl said still not moving from spencer’s way “I’ll take off when i’ve got my girl, Get the fuck out of the way” You could hear the change in his tone turn from polite to the voice that sent fear through your bones.

You stepped forward. “I’m right here. It’s okay i won't be long” Daryl looked back at you pained “Yeah ya will. We aint letting ya go back with him” Roaring “Fucking look at yaself Y/N look at those bruises!” He span back at spencer “Ya needa take a fuckin hike, Touch her again ill kill you” He growled. Spencer looked amused “Yeah, Ok redneck scurry on to your moonshine and skinning possums'' He half laughed. “You think that little bitch wants you? She’s mine. Now get your ass here Y/N before i get fucking angry.”

Daryl was heaving now Carol rushed forwards and grabbed his arms as he went to lunge forward. You forced your body forward in between them both tears freely running down your face now. “It’s okay, Daryl I’m okay. I’m not worth it” You winced when you felt Spencer's hands dig into your already bruised hips again. Daryl saw this “Ya gotta be kiddin me Y/N Ya worth 10 o’ him'' His eyes searched yours again desperate. “Please Daryl don’t make this any worse” “You heard her white trash” Spencer then pulled you from the room back down the infirmary steps, Daryl watched as he pulled her down the street and threw her back through the front door”

Anger boiling through his veins he took off in the other direction, grabbed his bike and took off out of the gate and into the night.

A week had passed since that night, It had taken a week to recover from the beating he gave you. You knew the rules No talking to either of them now. You were to go to work and come home, No more out of hours calls. You watched when Daryl finally rode back into town. Covered in walker blood his face still contorted in anger when he rushed back into the house. You saw the light come on in the basement and watched as he smashed up what few belongings he had before settling onto his bed. This had become your favourite pass time you loved that you could see straight into his room and the garage when he was in there. Spencer had already noted they could see into this house and had kept the curtains drawn on all rooms at all times.

When you finally did go back to work Spencer walked you to and from the infirmary for the first week until he started to relax again. You liked it better when he relaxed, He could be sweet and loving towards you and you did everything you could to prolong it to avoid his rages again.

On the tuesday you now knew was your birthday, You went to work with a half smile on your face. Denise pointed over to a desk “That was dropped off for you earlier” You walked over and found a slightly dirty Pin. Flipping it over you saw it was a beautiful painted sunflower. Beaming you turned back to denise “Who was it?” “Ahh sworn to secrecy! Sorry Y/N” You playfully growled at her “ooh terrified! I’m more scared of them, than I am of you Y/N Sorry still not telling!” You laughed and decided to let it go and just enjoy your beautiful thoughtful gift.

Since Spencer had relaxed he had let you walk to work and back alone on the second day of this you heard him. “Y/N wait up!” Shit not now! What if he’s watching. You darted your eyes around and picked up the pace towards home. Running to catch up with you, Daryl ran in front of you and made you stop.

“Please not now Daryl, If he sees...I’m not allowed….I’m not allowed to be near you” You stuttered. You gazed up at him pleading. His eyes went hard. “No! NO! I aint allowing it! Ya not going back to him Y/N I aint allowing him to hurt ya again!” You started shaking at his raised voice. Daryl noticed this and looked to be struggling with himself before finally lunging towards you and taking your head in his hands making your eyes stay on his. There it was again he was the sun and you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“I love ya Y/N, I fuckin love ya! I can’t watch him not treat you like how you deserve! I’ll take care of you please, please let me i'll protect you with everythin i have!” His eyes looked wild and desperate. You couldn’t stop yourself, you pushed your lips forward meeting his hurriedly matching his desperation. The world could have ended again right then. You wouldn’t have cared one bit as he wrapped his arms around you and you melted into him feeling safe at last.

Your hands made their way to his hair no longer caring who was watching and pulled him closer to you. He pulled away reluctantly. “Come on we’re getting ya stuff now. I’m not having ya there for another second '' Your brain still foggy you nodded giggling and let him pull you towards your house. Panic setting in again. Spencer should still be on guard duty the house should be empty so why were you so afraid.

You looked back at Daryl and melted again. “Wait here, I won't be long, there's not much I need” He nodded at you taking a defensive stance and staring into the street.

You ran up the stairs and threw the door open shutting it softly behind you and ran up the stairs grabbed your bag from under the bed and stuffing clothes in at random, Next you turned to the bathroom and grabbed your tooth brush and other bits. Smiling at yourself in the mirror not recognising the happy woman in front of you.

It was then you saw him leaning against the doorway behind you. “That was quite a show Y/N, Well there’s only one thing for it! You ain’t goin nowhere with him with fuckin nobody but me bitch” He smirked at you and dove forward grabbing fistfuls of hair in his hands he threw your head forward smashing it into the mirror. You screamed begging him to let go as he continued to pull your head back and hit it back into the wall. You could feel the blood running down your face. Clouding your eyesight. Suddenly the hands were gone you gripped the sink fighting to stay up right. Grabbing a cloth and rubbing the blood out of your eyes you saw Spencer being dragged from the room. You followed as quick as your stumbling legs would carry you.

You made it out onto the street to see spencer in the middle of the road and Daryl over him punching everywhere he could “I fuckin told ya, I’d Fuckin told ya i’d kill ya” He was screaming into his face. You looked around and saw a crowd had formed. Deana, Spencer’s mother was screaming for Daryl to stop. Which brought Rick and the others running. Carol ran straight for you taking your head in her hands and pulling you close. Whispering “It’s okay now Y/N. It’s okay i’ve got you”

Rick ran straight at Daryl pulling him away from Spencer. Spencer pulled himself up and spat the blood from his mouth glaring at you now He pulled himself to his feet stumbling, eyes locked on you glaring he screamed “You little bitch” and ran at you. Rick couldn’t restrain Daryl any more as Daryl ran forward grabbing Spencer and throwing him to the ground again just before he reached you. Rick and a few others ran forward again and stood in front of you guarding you from Spencer. Daryl saw the fear in your eyes and rounded back on him.

Crouching over Spencer on the floor Daryl yelled “Ya don’t listen do ya, Rick was trying to save ya miserable piece of shit life” He punched him again. “Me, I want to see ya as an undead asshole and I wanna be the one to do it, So keep pushing it Spencer” He pulled his crossbow from off his back and pointed it at the man on the ground, his chest heaving now. A strangled cry left your throat then.

Pushing yourself out of Carol’s arms you made your way to Daryl, You put your hand over his on the bow and pushed it down. Internally begging him to look at you. He finally did “Please Daryl it doesn’t matter, I don’t matter. I won’t have you being a murderer for me”

Daryl’s eyes softened before turning back to spencer “Twice in a day someone else has saved ya fuckin life. Don’ even think about coming near her again. I even smell you near her or catch you looking at MY WOMAN again. ill rip ya fucking eyes out” He roared

Deanna was at her sons side now “He gets it please, Please leave so i can take my son home”

Daryl turned to you “Come on baby, We need to go home too” He dropped his crossbow back over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you to him and pressing his lips to your forehead. You instantly relaxed grinning into him and you let him guide you again over to his house and down to his basement. You looked at him sadly when he pulled his arms from around your shoulders and turned to lock the door behind you pulling the deadbolt across.

He turned smiling at you “Come on let’s get a good look at ya” Putting his hand in yours he brought you to the bed and sat you down inspecting the gash on your head. “We needa get you to Denise to get ya patched up” You grimaced “No she will be busy with him, I can do it. You got a needle and wire?” He looked at you shocked “Um yeah somewhere here” He busied himself getting those for you. He came back to you with them and some rubbing alcohol and bandages “Ya sure ya don’t want Denise? I’d do it but i'd probably make it worse” You smiled at him again sighing “It’s okay Daryl, It’s not my first rodeo” You made your way to the mirror and calmly cleaning and stitching yourself up.

Daryl was half fascinated and half horrified as he watched you work. You looked so calm and didn’t even flinch when you were stitching yourself. It disturbed him to know you had probably gotten used to giving yourself medical attention. He waited patiently for you to be done. When you finally made your way back to him he pulled you back into his arms breathing deeply “I ain’t ever gonna let anyone hurt ya again Y/N not ever.”

You reluctantly pulled yourself away now looking up at him with tired eyes. “I um didn’t get a chance to get my bag. Could I borrow something? I think I need to lie down, If that’s okay? Or I could go ask Carol if she minds me going upstairs?”

“Ya kiddin aren’t ya? I aint letting you out of my sight” Getting nervous suddenly “Unless ya don’t want to be here. I aint gonna force you to stay or anything else'' You smiled at him again “Daryl i want to be here, With you. It’s all i’ve ever wanted” He grinned relieved, turned to his dresser and pulled out one of his shirts. “This alright?” You pulled the shirt up to your face smelling it briefly, It was clean but still smelled distinctly like motor oil and cigarettes. Just like him. You smiled sweetly at him “It’s perfect, Thank you”

You looked pointedly at him, He laughed awkwardly, lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling above giving you your privacy. You slowly started removing your clothes wincing at points where your skin was still tender. Gratefully pulling his shirt over you and Scooping your hair out of the neck.

“I don’t suppose the infamous Daryl Dixon owns a comb or brush does he?” You said amused. He jumped up again grabbing a brush from another drawer and bringing it over to you. His eyes assessed you “I don’t think ya going to manage to brush that out. Needs washin”

“Oh and you're the authority on washing now?” You winked at him. You brought your hand to your hair and realised he probably had a point, Looking at him meekly this time. “Sorry I'm being such pain. Would you mind?” “Course not Darlin” He led you to the bathroom just off his room. He grabbed a towel and some shampoo from the cupboard and handed them to you, He turned the shower on “Give it a sec, Generator needs ta kick in”

You shooed him out of the bathroom, Unwillingly pulling his shirt back off you and stepped under the shower. You couldn’t help but cry out the pain in your head was back, You ran your hand through your hair and felt a sharp pain in your palm. Reaching back you pulled out a piece of mirror that had embedded itself in your scalp, dropped it and let your head back into the water again, Whimpering again as you did.

Daryl came crashing back into the bathroom “Y/N You okay?” “I'm okay” You stuttered. Not convinced he lingered in the doorway a moment more before leaving.

The pain had started to recede and you enjoyed the water cascading over you. Once you had managed to wash the blood from your face and hair you turned the water off and stood naked in front of the mirror assessing the general damage to your body. This isn’t something you usually liked to do but it was time for the denial to be lifted and face facts.

Daryl heard the water shut off and when you hadn’t reappeared after a few minutes he went to check on you again and thats where he found you on the floor sobbing holding your chest. He rushed down to you and scooped you into his arms still naked and shaking from the cold.

“It’s okay Y/N I got ya now, I got ya always” He carried you to the bed pulling the towel with you and wrapping it around you. He lay you down on the bed stepping back. He finally saw the marks he had been searching for on you for weeks and he wished he hadn’t. They were everywhere old and new mixed together indistinguishable from each other.

He dropped to his knees at the side of the bed burying his head into the mattress at the side of you. “Y/N please tell me what to do, Ya want him dead. I’ll do it, Ya wanna leave, I’ll take ya. Ya want to be alone, Ya can have my home. Please tell me what you want. Anything. I’ll get it Ya.”

You looked at him sleepily “I just want to sleep” He looked at you standing and pulled the covers over you. “Okay, Ya need me shout and i'll be upstairs” You looked at him and panicked “No please don’t leave me” He ran his hand through his hand and was suddenly nervous again.

“Ok, Y/N move over” He put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you toward him, You nuzzled into his shoulder. “Thank you” You murmured groggily and fell into a deep sleep instantly feeling safe.

Daryl lay by her side all night. Watching over her as she slept. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from the day's events, He looked over at you worried as you started mumbling and thrashing in your sleep. He tried to calm you by pulling you closer to him and whispering “It’s ok Y/N Your safe now.” Her mumbilings became more frantic “noo, Pleasee stop” Daryl’s heart felt like it was breaking as he held you.

Suddenly you jolted upright sitting up with the ghost of a scream on your lips. You jumped up and dove across the room panicking, Collapsing into the corner hyperventilating. He was on you in seconds pulling you close again. Telling you it was going to be okay. It took you a minute to realise you really were safe and you relaxed into his arms allowing him to carry you back to the bed.

You stayed by Daryl’s side for the next few days, They had been amazing, Everything was starting to feel like it was before Spencer; Spencer had been staying with Deanna while he recovered from the beating Daryl gave him which gave you a chance to clear everything of yours out of there. You were offered the house but with the memories you had there you couldn’t stay and besides you were much happier in that little basement room with Daryl than you had been in that huge house with him.

Rick had agreed with Deanna that Spencer was to stay in her home and be monitored for as long as it took to see he had learnt his lesson and would stay away from you. The alternative being that Rick would let Daryl do what he wanted to him or he would be banished from the town. Depending on the severity of his possible future actions.

Daryl hadn’t said a word to you about that day since, You can understand him not mentioning Spencer or those events but he hadn’t brought up the kiss or made any form of move since. You had come to think that he hadn’t meant it and that was just him trying to get through to you.

You really wanted to hate him for it, For making you believe someone as amazing as him could possibly care about you but Maybe Spencer was right, Maybe he was the only one who could ever love you. The thought was painful but just as you had decided to face facts about what he had done to you, You also needed to face facts about yourself and your limitations.

It was only when you were both alone in bed that he ever slightly lowered his walls, When he would open his arms to you in bed and you would both snuggle while you slept. You would always wake alone with Daryl either working in the garage or out running jobs for Rick.

One morning you woke up alone as always and found Daryl in the kitchen waiting for you, Trying to keep the grin from your face “Good morning!” You said brightly. He looked at you exhausted. “Mornin Y/N, I have to go on a run may be a day or two, You gonna be okay?”

“Oh, Yeah sure. Do you need me to find somewhere else to stay while you're gone?” The happiness at seeing him already dissipating. “Course not, Me and Carol want ya here. Ya welcome for as long as ya want.” He then muttered “I don’t ever want ya to leave” under his breath.

“Thank you Daryl, You don’t know how much this means to me, so…? when are you leaving?”

“Uhm, Now actually. Just wanted to wait for ya to get up to let ya know, Anythin ya want me to keep an eye out for?” “No Daryl it’s ok. I couldn’t live with myself if anyone got hurt looking for something I wanted. The only thing I need is for you to come back to me, Unhurt…. Promise?” He smiled briefly at her taking her hand in his. “I promise Y/N. I promised to protect ya, It’ll take more than a few walkers to stop me keepin tha promise”

Cuddling up in bed that night you knew it would be difficult to get any sleep, It always was when he left even before when you were with Spencer. You could never quite get a decent night's sleep until Daryl was home safe. You snuggled up to this pillow on his side of the bed breathing in his scent imagining his arms were wrapped around you safe.

Half way through the next day he returned. Daryl and the group came flooding through the doors of the infirmary carrying an unfamiliar woman between them, She was passed out with blood covering her clothes. Wishing you had a moment to greet him, You and Denise flew into action looking over the woman and cleaning any wounds you could find. Once you were done and determined that she hadn’t been bitten and had no life threatening wounds, You stepped back “Is it ok if i leave you to finish?” You asked denise. She looked to you and then to Daryl pacing at the other end “Yeah” She nodded. “Can you fill those guys in?” You nodded back at her and walked over to them.

“Hey, She’s ok. No severe injuries Just a bit dehydrated and probably hungry. Shouldn’t be too long before she wakes up.” A few relieved mutters were shared around the group before they departed for home to see their loved ones. You ran into Daryl’s arms and then held him in front of you checking over him for any cuts or marks that may need to be seen to. “m’ok , Really Y/N I’m ok jus’ tired. Can we go home? I needa talk to you” He looked at you desperately.

You nod your head taking his hand and following him towards your house.

As you were walking you could feel his fingers nervously gripping your hand. He stopped suddenly and stepped in front of you. Reaching his hand to your jumper brushing his fingers over your sunflower, You looked at him with sudden realisation. “It was you?”

“I heard ya with Carol that day, I couldn’t let your birthday go by and not get ya anything” He blushed looking away from you.

You reached up and caressed his face gently pulling his face to face you again. “Thank you Daryl. That was incredibly sweet.” You pushed yourself up towards him pressing your lips to his softly, He moaned and tangling his fingers into your hair pulling you closer.” Just like last time it was over far too quickly, He started pacing in front of you.

“No.no.no” he muttered “I can’t do this, It will take me weeks to forget again” He started pacing faster, his hands ripping at his hair.

“Daryl stop!” You grabbed his hands pulling them out of his hair. “Please look at me! Why can’t you do this?! You told me you loved me for fuck sake and then act like it never happened! Tell me why!!” You were almost screaming, battling with your tears. How could he turn a moment so perfect into such a mess!

“I’m 24 years older than ya, Did ya know that Y/N? I’m a filthy good for nuthin OLD redneck, I aint go no right to be with someone like ya! No matter what i want!!” He stopped pacing and looked straight at you again.

“I don’t care about your age! Why would that matter? What about what I want Daryl? You told me that night if i wanted anything you would get it for me, Well i’ve decided. I WANT YOU! It’s always been you!” Your tears are flowing freely now. The nosey neighbours of Alexandria started to gather at the noise, Trying to tune them out and you turned back to Daryl. “WELL? Don’t go all broody Dixon on me now!”

He looked torn between pain and anger at the scene you two were now creating. Still not speaking to you.

“You know what, Fuck you Dixon” You put your hands up to the sunflower pin he had got for you, You pulled it off and threw it at his head. He caught it easily, finally breaking his silence. “Ya got any idea what i went through to get this for ya!” He charged back at you, stopping inches from you.

“Ya should care, I’m no good Y/N, I don’t deserve ya” He gazed into your eyes those brilliant blue eyes misting over. “That ain't your decision or your place to tell me what i deserve. It’s mine” You glared at each other for a moment before he couldn’t take it any longer he gripped your face again slamming his lips to yours now, His tongue urgently pressing against your lips begging for entrance. You opened your lips moaning as his tongue touched yours and took charge of it, Kissing you furiously. You moaned into his mouth feeling your eyes rolling back in your head.

You had never had anyone kiss you like this before, Everything else melted away all of your anger, pain and fear. All that was left was him, Glorious, Gorgeous all consuming Daryl fucking Dixon.

You heard Carol chuckle behind you “Hey guys, You might wanna think about getting a room. You’ve got quite an audience here” Daryl smiled into your lips as he pulled away. He turned to Carol “Ya know what i think we will” Quick as a flash he had bent down and grabbed you behind your knees throwing you over his shoulder and running with you back to your home and down into your favourite place. When he had locked the door he turned to the bed with you still over his shoulder and put you down gently on the bed.

“Did ya mean it Y/N? Ya really want me?” He looked down at you searching your eyes for an answer. “I have never wanted anything more in my life, I want you. I want all of you and i want it right now Daryl” You replied feeling the hunger from him burning you.

Still standing over you, His eyes growing dark. “Lie down” He growled..

Grinning you kicked off your shoes and pushed yourself up the bed laying your head on the pillow. He followed you shadowing your body with his pressing himself to you before leaning close to your face lips barely brushing yours.

“Tell me what else ya want Y/N…..Exactly what you want”

You looked at him nervously for a second seeing the lust in his eyes matching yours you decided to just go for it.

“I want your hands….Everywhere” As you spoke you felt his hands grab your hips moving slowly to your stomach then up and under your top. Frustratingly slowly, Your breath hitched as he finally pushed his hands to your breasts gripping them roughly.

He pulled his hands away and back down to the bottom of your shirt grabbing it and pulling it upwards you raised your arms and let him remove it fully. He reached back down to you, His hands quickly unclasping your bra and throwing it harshly at the wall. His hands were back to your chest, Rolling your nipples with his thumbs.

You moaned arching your back pushing your chest into his hands. He hit his hips into yours grinding on your core. “Oh shit Darylll” You moaned feeling how hard he was for you.

He moved his mouth to your chest feverishly kissing your breasts and nibbled on your nipple making you squirm. Daryl then kissed a line down your stomach to your hips stopping to bite each one gently.

Every touch was heaven, Every time he dragged his tongue over your soft skin it was like a thousand shocks spreading across your skin. He was undoing the zip on your jeans now, You lifted your hips to help him pull them off you. He settled between your legs pushing them wider open and running his finger over the material of your gratefully black lace underwear.

Daryl looked up at you. Lifting and turning you slightly to look at the back “Holy Shit ya need to wear these all the time!” Still without removing your panties he pressed his lips to your sensitive nub while his fingers scooped the lace out of his way. His fingers then moved to your opening feeling how dripping wet you had gotten for him.

“Shit Y/N that cuz of me?” He moaned as he pressed his lips back to your clit starting slowly circling his tongue around it and sucking gently. “Oh godd” You had never even get close to going down on you before, It was everything and more. You had to fight yourself from coming undone too soon, You wanted to savour every delicious second of this.

He plunged two fingers into you eliciting an even louder moan from you “Oh goddd Daryl! Please don’t stop, Don’t ever fucking stop.” You moaned between breaths. His mouth and fingers started moving quicker as he could feel your walls tightening on him and your breaths growing shorter, Panting for him. You couldn’t take any more and erupted feeling the wildfire of sensations running across your skin, Screaming his name. He slowed his fingers allowing you to ride your orgasm out onto him. When you slowed he put his lips further down on you licking every drop that gushed out of you. You entwined your fingers into his hair gently pulling him up towards you.

“You taste so sweet baby, I could do that all day” Your eyes grew hard as you felt your core growing hot again and the wetness returned at his words.

He leant down and gave you another kiss, You put your hands to his chest and pushed him onto his back on the bed.

“Your turn baby, I've been dreaming of getting my lips around you” You purred. “But first i need to see you, The man i’ve been dreaming of all this time” Moving your hands to his buttons he nodded at you briefly watching you crawl over him almost naked.

You quickly pulled his shirt off of him, Roaming your hands all over his tight muscled chest and down over his thick arms. Biting your bottom lip trying to memorise every single inch.

“If ya don’t stop biting that lip woman i ain't gonna give you a chance for those dreams to happen” He winked at you eyes blazing. You quickly dropped your hands to his jeans, Ripping his jeans and boxers down together and throwing them without a thought. You knelt between his legs licking your lips as you saw the size of him. He must’ve been at least 9 inches long. Your eyes went wide with need as you wrapped your hands around it you brought your mouth to his tip slowly licking the dew from the eye. Moving your hands you licked him from base to tip and swirled your tongue around the tip.

“Fuck Y/N Get that cock in your mouth now” He demanded. You didn’t need telling twice! You lowered your lips over him, Sheathing your teeth and pushing most of him in your mouth moaning as you felt his huge length hit the back of your throat.

“Y/N no gag reflex? Oh god how did i get so lucky” He groaned putting his hands into your hair and pushing your head back down. You choked as your mouth hit his base, your eyes watering, You hummed to vibrate your throat on his length before pulling up again. It was your turn to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head “Fuck Y/N fuckkkk Your mouth’s incredbile” You could feel your pressure building as you watched him fall apart under your lips. You bobbed your head faster and faster over him.

“Oh shit, Stop Y/N I’m gonna cum ” He moaned looking down at you seeing you had no intention of stopping. He started thrusting into your mouth meeting your lips in perfect time. It wasn’t long before he exploded down your throat holding your head down to his hilt while he emptied his load straight into your stomach. When he released your head you pulled off slowly then licked his full length clean swallowing every drop.

He watched you in wonder “Come here Y/N” You crawled back up him straddling his hips staring down at him sweetly. “Ya soooo fucking good at that” You brought your lips to his hungrily biting his bottom lip and started to grind your core onto him. You both moaned into each other's mouths enjoying the friction. You could already feel him below you growing harder again by the second.

“I need to feel you baby” You moaned into his lips. Daryl pushed himself upright and pulled you with him as he sat up against the bed head. Daryl put his hands under your hips lifting you up and positioning you over his cock, Swiftly moving your panties to the side he started to lower you on to him.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders holding your weight as you tried to fit more of him into you.

“Yesssss, So tight Y/N”. He groaned trying to push further. His eyes locked yours and saw you were struggling; he held you in place for a moment. “Ya ok?”

“I’m good, You're just so big.The biggest i ever…. It hurts a little” Softening his gaze He kissed you softly. “Let me help ya with that. He brought his mouth to your nipple swirling and nipping here and there while his hand snaked its way to your clit again following the same circle as his mouth, You could feel yourself getting wetter and able to take more of him in. You cautiously tested it out moving your hips slowly up and down until he had filled you fully. You thought he had felt good before it was nothing on this. Pure unadulterated ecstasy. You started moving faster, becoming more confident with the lack of pain.

Soon you were bouncing wildly onto his length screaming his name as he quickly brought you to another earth shattering orgasm. He brought your mouth to his kissing you swiftly “Shh baby ya know how thin these walls are. Carol & everyone on the street will be listening to ya!”

“Mmphh, I don’t fucking care let them hear how good my man is fucking me” You rode your high out enjoying every second when you slowed again Daryl lifted you again standing up with you still skewered on him, Carrying you over to the wall beside the door he slammed you into it. Bucking his hips into yours furiously.

“Y/N I’ve been waiting all ma daym life for a girl like you” He pushed his lips back to yours again. You melted into his lips his words dampening you for the third time, You hadn’t even known it was possible for someone to turn you on so much, To make you want them with every fibre of your being.

Daryl started panting faster now sweat dripping off of his glistening muscles, You could feel his cock twitching inside you as he jackhammered into you harder and harder each time.

“Ahhhh” You screamed “That’s it baby….Right there....Your cock is filling me so fucking good. Cum in me Daryl i need it”

“Oh fuck Y/N Ya so fucking tight, Ya fuckin incredible, I’m gonna cum for you Y/N”

You both hit your highs at the same time, You screaming his name into the air, eyes rolling backwards and him sinking his teeth into your shoulder exploding deep into you. You collapsed into his chest seeing stars as you felt him pulsing inside you, Your tight pussy milking him of every drop.

Panting Daryl carried you back to the bed laying you down gently and collapsing with you, He leant forward and pressed sweet loving kisses on your lips.

You curled into his chest exhausted, Looking up at him with pure love in your eyes.

“By the way, What you said that day….” He looked at you puzzled brain still cloudy coming down from his climax. He murmured into your hair. “What baby?”

“Well...I love you too. I always have” Daryl smiled into your hair. He chuckled “Well what a relief, How could i have ever known otherwise”

You jabbed him in the ribs gently “Hey, Not fair!” He pulled your face up to his and stared lovingly into your eyes.

“Ya know i love ya Y/N” His eyes grew serious. “I’d do anything for ya, I’d die for ya even”

Your lips met his in a sweet kiss. You couldn’t believe he was finally yours, Allll yours.

You snuggled into his chest feeling him tighten his arms around you and fell into a relaxed deep sleep.

Next Chapter ---->

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

“They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

“Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

“I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

“I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

“Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

“Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

“Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

“It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

“I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

“But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

And you woke up.

The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

“How long have you been talking to Dean?”

He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

“Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

“It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

“I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

“The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

“Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

“Can I help?”

After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

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mxvladdy · 4 years ago

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True Form- Leviathan

Here it is. Sorry for the delay! I hope you like it!

True Form- Leviathan

In the celestial realm, he loved the waters and was gifted a body that was best suited for it from his father. It was beautiful, so sleek, shiny, and fast. When he was in the water even Mammon had trouble keeping up. But, the best part of it all was that some angels were envious of it.

He was pretty close to Asmo during this time too. Asmo would help him dry brush his scales and moisturize the harder to reach areas across his body. In return when Levi would shed Asmo got to keep his pretty scales. From there Asmo would make makeup and jewelry from them.

When he would visit the human realm with Lilith and Belphie they would play near any body of water that tickled their fancy to teased the mortals with his splendor. They would get a good laugh out of the stories of mermaids and great sea beasts that were created around him afterward.

During the fall he was separated from the rest of the brothers. His unconscious body flung away from the pack to careen into the parts unknown while his brothers plummet into the Devildom.

He comes to briefly to the feel of his blistered flayed skin hissing on impact by the cool ocean waters of the human realm.

He slumbered for a long time down there. His body recovering from the war in the quiet. It adapted without him, working overtime to survive its new environment. His broken halo’s edges dull out, the deep trench’s currents buffering and polishing it down to horns. They grow out slowly into a large coral reef for the deep-sea inhabitants.

The lack of light turns his skin a translucent grey color, the warm glow from the celestial realm leached from him. While his scales and hide turn dark and take on an oily sheen. Great clumps of basalt rock grow over the burns from tearing through the earth's atmosphere. The rapid heating and cooling of his skin formed iron-rich patches around his flaking scales.

When he wakes he is distraught. His once illustrious serpentine tail and radiant body were now battered and stained in his eyes. He stays down there in the depths out of shame for a few more years.

The rest of the changes to his body were of his own making. A grand mixture from the creatures that he observed around him. His bright celestial markings now took after the bioluminescent creatures that would flock around him. He grew his hair out, enchanting some strains to take after the jellyfish he ate. Absorbing their toxins to imbue into his hair and blood.

He finds the fish with razor sharp teeth and large net-like mouths fascinating and takes after them too. Once he is satisfied (and has pulled himself out of his little self-pity party) he moves from his den, traversing the ocean floor and migrating with some of the other larger sea beasts.

The years of separation from his brothers did a number on his mental health and social skills. Being trapped under the water for so long healing has stunted that part of his physique. The years before his brothers found him have dulled his social skills with higher beings and humans. Making him antisocial as well as paranoid.

His communication skills with sea life are much better. During his travels, he bested and then befriended many mythical creatures. But his greatest ally has to be the legendary sea beast Lotan.

The older beast taught Leviathan a lot about the human realm and what has changed over time. Took up a bit of a parental/ mentor role for Levithan. They settle together in the waters of the east sea.

Leviathan was drawn to this particular patch of water because of the pretty boats, atakebune Lotan called them. For years he watched the coastal regions of China and Japan grow and prosper and more ships entered his territory.

He became somewhat of a local legend. Sailors and warriors would bring him offerings of food, gold, people, and other valuables for safe passage through his waters or help in an upcoming naval battle. He sometimes helped but most of the time he just observed.

He did take great joy in battles. It was a great game for him. Something different from the boring year among the fish.

Contrary to belief, he can’t control the weather or the seas but his massive body can create devastating waves and his control of sea life is deadly to sailors. His fishy friends eat well when he emerges for a battle. He keeps the bloated and rioting corpses of fallen soldiers. They feed his smaller friends and help him maintain his coral horns

His brother’s eventually find him and bring him to the Devildom after they hear rumors of a mischievous sea serpent.

Whether it was because of his old injuries or just all his time under the sea with a tail he doesn’t have great control in his bipedal form. Both his human and demonic form have a slight limp and no aptitude for physical activity. 100% has a pass to get out of P.E.

Moving back in with the brothers really brought out his cardinal sin of envy. He used to be so close with them all and then he was separated for so long he feels like he will never catch up. Between their new forms (that he finds much more practical and prettier than his) and his inability to adjust to their new lifestyle, he cemented himself in his envy. He tucks himself away in his room and surrounds himself with distractions and stories.

Diavolo gifted him his enchanted aquarium after hearing about his struggles to adapt from Lucifer. Levi was appreciative but will never say it. When he gets overwhelmed by life and his video games can’t distract from his racing thoughts he likes to go in for a swim and tend to his aquatic gardens.

Mini Fic

Warm water laps at your toes. The salt of it clinging to your feet in thin crusty layers. You wiggle them, washing away some of the grime and to propel yourself deeper into the water. You take joy in disrupting the mirror-like finish of the once still water. Smiling up at the giant sun lamp mounted over you, you adjust your sunglasses.

Sunday lounge days were the best. Just you, a cold bottle of soda, and a new swimsuit. You missed the beach and waters of the human whelm but not the crowds. Ugh, screaming kids and impolite beach guests were the worst. This was the best alternative you could have imagined. Between the warmth of the heat lamp and the slow motions of the water underneath you, you felt the stress of the week slowly washing away.

Dipping your hands in the water you begin to push your floaty further away from the edge of the thick aquarium wall. The light blue water underneath you deepening to an emerald green when you reach the drop-off point of Levi’s tank. The water is cooler here, but still comfortable as most of your body is still dry and safely nestled in his oversized pool float. Little surface fish and aquatic animals swim by, splashing your floaty and nibbling at your toes gently in greeting. They all knew better than to actually bother you.

Letting the gentle current of the water pumps push you around in lazy circles you pull out the manga Levi had bought you (magically coated to make it waterproof) and flip back to your last bookmark. Enjoying the peace and quiet you immerse yourself in his latest hyper fixation.

A few chapters in and three empty soda bottles later you notice your idle turning had stopped. Leaving you at a complete standstill. The water around you was still. The little fishies that had been following you had disappeared to the devil knows when. Yet despite the sudden abandonment of your aquatic entourage you still felt a presence. The heavy aura of a predatory gaze makes the fine hairs of your neck stand on end. The self-preserving part of your mind kicking into fight or flight mode. Best to just ignore that for now...Peeking out from behind your sunglasses you lean over your floaty to see what had stopped you. A gargantuan milky white eye stares back up at you.

When you had first been introduced to this side of Levi his pearly gaze had been so guarded. It had been by complete accident that you saw well- him. So that couldn’t have helped much with his confidence. You had come by to drop off a few handheld consoles that he had lent you to see if you would like one as a gift. You remember being by his desk trying to find a noncluttered space to put them all when the blue glow of his room was suddenly thrown into darkness.

That was the first time you had been face to face with The Leviathan. It was magnificent. Even your textbooks in your Introduction to Demonology didn’t do him justice. It was breathtaking and bone chilling all in one. You remember locking eyes with him and the both of you freezing. His reflexive gaze boring into you a mixture of betrayal and fear fighting for dominance. A wordless dare for you to scream or curse his appearance. They had been closed off to all your kind words and encouragements at the beginning.

Now they are open and warm. If not a little mischievous. Scratch that-very mischievous.

“Don’t you dare.” You warn with a dawning realization. “Levi!” You shout over the edge of your float after him. He sinks down without even making a ripple. The shadow of the beast's body turns the green waters black as he jets underneath you. The little flicks of bioluminescence on his hide blink in and out of focus as he moves. Distracted as you were leaning over the side you didn’t notice the slim tip of his tail rise from the other side.

It happened quickly, a slight jerk on your ankle and then a shock of cold water. Coughing and sputtering you breach the surface. Floundering about blindly for your floaty, your hands rest on something thick and sturdy. He chitters and laughs at his little joke. “Ya-ya laugh it up.” You grip his tree trunk sized tail like a lifeline. He keeps still giving you time to blink the water out of your eyes. “Ok. You got me in the water now what?”

HAvE- sUrpiEssss. Levi’s large mouth clicked clumsily over the syllables. His long thin teeth always made it hard to shape his words. It had taken some time and effort to get him to loosen up enough to talk. He was very self-conscious of the phlegmy- waterlogged sound of it. The years spent under the sea having permanently filled his lungs with briny saltwater. Each breath of air rattle deep in his barrel chest.

Schooling your expression you shot him a scowl Lucifer would be proud of. “What, a mouthful of salt wasn’t enough?” He scoffs white eyes narrowing, seeing right through your false agitation. This wouldn’t be the first or the last time he got your attention like this and he knew you were fine with it. “Alright you oversized guppy, how far down is it?”

Levi beams, wide mouth stretching to flash you his blood-stained fangs. His gills flaring up in excitement down his large neck and rib cage. Careful of his more toxic strands of hair and the abrasive patches of rock around his neck, you swim closer accepting help from his long pale fingers. Clutching onto his strong neck you give him a small thumbs up.

He dives into the water with practiced ease slowly descending to give your body and the magic protecting you time to acclimate. It was bone-chillingly at first, your whole body seizing as you are submerged. But soon the magic of your pact began to work warming you and making you able to breathe underneath the artificial currents. Eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light you nestle into the crook of his neck for the remainder of the ride.

He takes you to an underwater cave. The mouth hidden behind flowing purple and green water weeds. The entrance of the cave was like nothing you’ve seen before. Other caves in his habit were filled to the brim with coral and little crustaceans. Sometimes even an elusive mermaid or capricorn nursing injury. But this one was- empty. Warmer too as you swam deeper. The great sea beast dragging himself through the cave with his needle like claw above you. A defensive stance if ever you saw one.

You catch his eye and raise a brow. Don’t worry- itss ssafe...I think.

“Wait? You think?” You stop in your tracks only to have a massive hand nudge you along. He pushes you through the last of the tangled seaweed and kelp you look up into a- “nursery?” Levi smiles and nods twitchily.

Do you like it? I’ve spent months getting this place ready. He leaves you to look around freely, instead slithering up to a slightly less floral. You gape turning slowly in circles to take in the beauty around you. The cove simmered with the lights from his heat lamp pushing through the cracks in the rocks from above. The yellow warmth makes it easier for the crazy amount of plants and sponges to thrive. But the vast majority of the light came from the jellies and fish that had probably never been seen by human eyes before floating around you.

They were busy, grooming the anemones and rainbow colored corals, eating and pushing bits of waste away from large lilac colored eggs. The larger of the sea creatures swim above you checking on some of the moving eggs completely ignoring you and Levi... “Are they-”

Sirens. Lotan found a broodmother and her clutch last winter. We thought they had been wiped out centuries ago. He chitters at one of the eggs and scratches at his coral horns. She needed a place to nest so we made a deal. Taking great care he pulls at a large clump of sargassum from the base and pats it into a bare patch of rock. You watch him with a growing smile as he pulls more plants and critters from his horns. Once satisfied he scoops up a few of the larger eggs below him and nestles them into their new home.

You peek over his shoulder to look into the nest. Hauntingly beautiful babies look back up at you. Cherub sweet faces follow you and Levi’s movements. Levi grins proudly as one of the girls stretches out in her small space. They should be hatching soon. With some prompting from Leviathan, you accepted an egg. The inhabited squirming and clawing at its elastic membrane. It looked too small for its leather confines. The baby siren opens her tiny mouth and screeches, little needle teeth biting and ripping at the egg.

“Should I help it?” You ask. She was squirming so hard it was a fight to keep her in your arms. Levi looks over and emits a little series of clicks and coos at the fussy babe. The babe stops wiggling as hard but begins to claw at a thinner part of the shell. He turns after that to tend to a few squirming eggs himself. His claws were much more helpful than your blunt human fingers. Well then... You wait until the little beast has punctured the shell itself before helping it widen the breech.

Once freed the siren floats to the soft cave flooring. The kelp and anemones cushioning it, covering her body almost lovingly. A swarm of little crabs and shrimp descend on it picking and eating away at the remaining goo and membrane clinging to the infant. She giggles at the tiny pinches and mouths nibbling at her tail and claws. With a squeal of delight, she crawled after them and began to devourer them. Blue and green blood coming up in clouds from her mouth.

Levi laughs at your look of disgust momentarily distracted from freeing a few more babies. They will grow to bring the bodies of sailors to me for Diavolo’s navy. This is but practice.

“Oh-” You blink down at the monster now enraptured with your toes. The mood changed quickly.

Oh no. Levi buries his face in his hands instantly regretting opening his big mouth. That’s gross, isn’t it? Of course, this whole thing is disgusting to a human. I should have never shown you, nobody likes this stuff. He coils in on himself sinking to the bottom, eggs forgot to his misery.

“Now what a minute! I didn’t say that.” You sink down after him. “I don’t think it’s icky. Just another learning curve for us normies right? Honestly, this is kinda cool.”

Really? He peeks out from behind his hair and fingers.

You grip his hands, struggling to pull them away from his face. “Yeah!” You beam. “I mean you built all this? It is beautiful. Totally reminds me of that anime you watched with me last month.”

I think my roommate is a sea god and almost drowned my ex? He brightens tailing wagging.

“Exactly! You’ve really outdone yourself this time. Plus think of all the cool names you can come up with for all these sirens.” His gills flare again with a shrill screech.

Henry’s!

Ah- well maybe it would be better if someone else named them.

#obey me fandom #obey me leviathan #obey me fanfic #my writing #leviathan

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thearvariblues · 4 years ago

Text

Too Much of Damn Peace

“I just want some damn peace!”

“Well here’s your peace!”

The bottle smashes on the ground and Geralt growls. Jaskier is almost about to apologize – he really shouldn’t have broken the bloody thing, he didn’t even want to, he was just angry and Geralt was shouting…

But then the wind rises and Jaskier feels an invisible force close around his throat, a horrible pressure…

He doubles over and clutches his throat.

“Geralt!” he hears himself croak, instinctively reaching for the Witcher.

It hurts, it hurts so fucking much…

And then something snaps. The pain goes away, but something is missing. Something is wrong. Horribly, terrifyingly wrong.

“Jaskier?”

He doesn’t know what is wrong until he opens his mouth and tries to say something… and nothing comes out.

His eyes go wide and he gestures at his throat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, hoping that Geralt will understand. And he does.

“Oh,” the Witcher mutters. “Fuck.”

Yes, Jaskier thinks. That sums it up quite nicely.

They find a healer, and with his help, they find a mage, Yennefer. She is currently holding an orgy when they do, and if the circumstances were different, Jaskier would absolutely join in, but he’s not in the mood tonight. Maybe when she heals him, though…

“There’s nothing I can do,” the mage says. “His voice is gone.”

Jaskier’s lips are halfway through “excuse me?!” when his brain catches up. He shuts his mouth and looks at Geralt.

“What do you mean nothing?” Geralt frowns.

“I mean,” the mage sighs, “that even though his injury is magical in its nature, there is no magical way to remove it. Well, except for the force that inflicted it in the first place.”

“The djinn,” Geralt nods. “Yes, that could…”

Jaskier points at his throat and shakes his head.

“But he can’t make his last wish if he can’t speak,” Geralt says.

“That’s the problem, yes,” Yennefer says, unconcerned.

“So what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Try the true love’s kiss?” she smirks.

Jaskier snorts.

“I don’t think so,” Geralt mutters. “Well, thank you, I suppose. We’ll be on our way.”

“Wait. Maybe I could… think of something,” she says, smiling a little. “If you stayed for the night. Give me some time and I–”

“I don’t think so,” Geralt shakes his head. “Come on, Jaskier. We’ll find a tavern to sleep in.”

It’s not hard for Jaskier to come to terms with losing his voice. The reason is simple – he doesn’t believe he lost it for good. Not for one second. He trusts his friend, he just knows Geralt will find a way to make Jaskier able speak again, no matter the cost. This whole affair is just a tiny bump on the road, a minor inconvenience that will go away within a few days.

Or weeks.

Maybe… Maybe months.

As the days pass, it becomes harder and harder not to stop believing, but Jaskier is an eternal optimist and he’d rather die than lose hope. He clings to it, just as much as he clings to the Witcher himself. He doesn’t have much of a choice, really. A mute bard can hardly take care of himself, can he?

“It’s my fault,” the Witcher mutters one evening, weeks after the incident, as they sit by the fire in their camp. “I should have… protected you.”

Jaskier reaches for his notebook, scribbles a single word in it and shows it to Geralt.

“Bollocks,” Geralt reads out loud and smirks. “As you wish. But you know it’s true.”

Jaskier turns the notebook back to himself and scribbles another word.

“Bollocks,” Geralt says. “But the letters are bigger.”

Jaskier shrugs.

“We really need to find a better way to communicate,” Geralt mutters. “It takes you too damn long to write what you want to say, and then you get all impatient and your writing becomes illegible.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, clutches his chest and gasps, clearly offended.

“You know, there’s a… sign language the deaf people use, right?” Geralt asks, biting his lower lip.

Jaskier nods.

“I just thought… I know we’re both hoping we can somehow bring your voice back, but until then…”

Jaskier sighs and starts writing.

“I know a guy,” Geralt reads. “Did you sleep with his sister, though? Mother?”

Jaskier shakes his head, writes a single word and shows his notebook to Geralt.

“Him. Oh,” Geralt blinks. “And you think he would be… willing to help?”

Jaskier nods.

“Right. Where can we find him?”

They go to Jaskier’s ex-lover. They learn a few things about sign language, Jaskier fucks the guy and they leave in a bit of a hurry with a stack of books that are technically not quite theirs.

Geralt tries to pretend to be mad, but Jaskier sees right through him. As he always does.

They hide in a small town for a few days and Geralt takes a few easy contracts while Jaskier buries himself in the borrowed (well, stolen) books.

“Did you learn anything new today?” Geralt smiles as he enters their shared room, already tugging at the straps of his bloody armor to take it off.

Jaskier beams and lifts his hands.

“Something that isn’t swearing or asking for sex,” Geralt specifies.

Jaskier frowns and lets his hands fall down.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Geralt chuckles. “You should really try to learn something useful, Jask.”

Jaskier makes a brief gesture.

“Okay, I understood this one. And it’s not a nice thing to say, you know?”

This time, there is a whole series of gestures.

“That’s just more swearing, isn’t it?”

Jaskier nods.

“Would you… Would you like to learn… together?” Geralt offers.

Jaskier blinks before nodding again, more slowly this time.

“Fine. Pass me a fucking book that does not contain new swearwords…”

The weeks, as Jaskier was afraid, turn to months, and his voice still doesn’t come back. He desperately tries to hold onto his hope, but he’s starting to feel like he’s grasping at straws. If there was anything to be done, surely Geralt would have done it already?

Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try the true love’s kiss route – the only problem is, it would also require Geralt’s assistance. And Jaskier isn’t ready to try and explain that.

And perhaps it’s for the best, he concludes. Because Geralt seems much better off without Jaskier’s voice bothering him all the time. He’s been smiling more lately. And talking more. Almost as if he tries to compensate for the silence left by Jaskier’s muteness. He tells Jaskier stories about his adventures before the two of them met, his childhood at Kaer Morhen, his brothers. It’s more than he’s ever told the bard, more than Jaskier could ever ask for.

And Jaskier finds that he would be willing to listen the Witcher’s deep voice for the rest of his life.

“You’re coming with me to Kaer Morhen this winter,” Geralt announces one day, as winter draws closer and closer.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows and makes a gesture.

“Because I can’t leave you alone when you’re like this,” Geralt says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. “You can’t earn money singing in taverns, you can’t even teach at Oxenfurt as you usually do during winters.”

Jaskier signs furiously.

“I’m not saying you’re useless,” Geralt sighs. “I’m just saying… It’s gonna be hard for you to make a living this winter without your fucking voice.”

Jaskier signs again.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not gonna freeze to death in Kaer Morhen. Lose a few toes, perhaps…”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he makes a few more gestures.

“No, of course it’s not funny,” Geralt chuckles. “Well. Maybe a little…”

Nevertheless, Jaskier joins Geralt on his way to Kaer Morhen before the winter comes. Not because Geralt was right and Jaskier is finished as a lecturer and a bard, just because he’s been waiting for years for this invitation and he’s not going to ruin his chance by being offended. He just wants to spend a few contractless months with Geralt and meet his famous brothers – and if he needs to sacrifice his toes to do that, then so be it.

And maybe, just maybe, he will be able to convince Geralt to cuddle with him a little… Just to warm him up, of course. Nothing more.

He would never dare asking for more…

“It’s just typical, isn’t it?” Geralt’s brother Lambert snorts one evening and stuffs a piece of meat into his mouth. “You keep promising to bring the bard for the winter… And when you finally do, he’s fucking mute.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier smirks and makes a sign that’s pretty understandable even for the younger Witcher.

“Honestly,” Eskel shrugs, “I was also looking forward to hearing the songs you’ve kept praising for years.”

Jaskier blinks and signs at Geralt.

“Yeah,” Geralt mutters and his cheeks absolutely don’t go slightly pink. “Praising. Don’t make too much of it.”

Jaskier gestures.

“Well… Yes, I guess you could still at least play.”

Jaskier grins, jumps to his feet and promptly disappears. When he comes back, he’s holding his lute and Geralt can’t hide his smile.

Jaskier sits down, impossibly close, winks at Geralt and starts to play a song that the Witcher knows almost too well, because it’s been following him ever since he met Jaskier all those years ago. That’s why he finds himself quietly humming the melody. And that’s probably why, as the chorus comes, he starts to sing.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty…”

He opens his eyes to see Jaskier smiling wider than Geralt’s ever seen him, and he can almost feel his heart melt. Jaskier looks so beautiful like this, and Geralt wants…

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, almost inaudibly over the sound of the lute, and then he reaches out, grabs the back of Jaskier’s neck and kisses him, long and deep. He hears Vesemir’s sigh, Eskel’s laugh and Lambert’s disgusted groan, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted to do this for so, so long…

When he pulls away, Jaskier is staring at him with his blue eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth, realizes it’s futile and closes it again.

And Geralt… Geralt just can’t take it. He jumps to his feet. He runs away from the room.

He hears the footsteps that immediately start to follow him, of course, but he just cannot face Jaskier right now.

But then a hand closes around his arm and yanks him around, much stronger than he would ever expect.

This time, there’s pure fury in Jaskier’s gaze as the bard starts to gesture wildly.

“Gods, will you just slow down?” Geralt groans. “I don’t understand half the things you’re trying to say!”

Jaskier huffs and starts again, more slowly this time.

“No. Wait. No,” Geralt says a few moments later. “I don’t think you’re not enough.”

Jaskier frowns and his hands start moving again.

“I… You don’t get it, do you? I feel like it’s my fault. This… Injury of yours.”

A simple gesture.

“Why? Why? Because you were with me when it happened and I couldn’t stop it. Because I can’t find a way to cure it. Because I know I wanted some damn peace but this is… Too much of damn peace.”

Jaskier shrugs and signs a single sentence.

“What do I want?” he blinks. “I… I just want you to have your voice back.”

A sudden gust of wind billows their clothes and hair and Jaskier, to Geralt’s horror, clutches his throat and gasps for breath.

“No,” Geralt mutters and grabs the bard’s arms to support him. “No, no, no, please, not again…”

The wind stops just as abruptly as it started and Jaskier meets the Witcher’s gaze. His lower lip is trembling.

“Geralt,” he croaks weakly.

“Jaskier?” Geralt whispers, unable to believe what’s happening. “What…”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says. “What the everloving fuck… So it was your fault, you asshole!”

“W-what?” Geralt blinks.

“You were the one with the wishes, you dick! You wished for some peace, and you got it! You wished I had my voice back, and you got it! It means that it was never me, it was you! And it means you could have brought my voice back months ago! And it means… Fuck, it means Valdo Marx is still alive, isn’t he? Damn it. But oh, it feels so good to be able to talk again. It feels awesome. Oh, dear. I’m never shutting up again, ever. I’m gonna talk and sing and… Yes, sing! Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of–”

But he does shut up when Geralt presses a kiss against his lips.

Geralt hums quietly against Jaskier’s skin, burying his face into the bard’s shoulder.

“Jaskier,” he sighs, but there is no reply. He lifts his head and looks at the bard. “Jaskier?”

“Mhm?” Jaskier smiles. “Oh, sorry, dear. I got lost in my own head, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” Geralt mutters, letting his head fall back down. “I guess it’s gonna take a while before I stop getting nervous when you suddenly go silent.”

“Understandable, I guess,” Jaskier chuckles. “You do realize that you’ve wasted two wishes on me, right?”

“If this is where it got me, I don’t care.”

“Also understandable.”

“Asshole.”

“I know, I know,” Jaskier laughs. “So… What’s your last wish gonna be?”

Geralt closes his eyes and breathes in Jaskier’s scent.

“I wish you were as immortal as me,” he whispers and braces himself against another gust of wind… Which doesn’t come.

“Hm,” Jaskier hums. “Oh, right. Remember two months ago when we got lost in the woods and we didn’t have anything to eat and you said I wish I had a few apples for Roach at least and then I, a humble bard, suddenly saw a fucking apple tree that you, the mighty Witcher, somehow completely and totally missed?”

“So… Your voice was my last wish,” Geralt sighs. “Well, at least it wasn’t wasted.”

“It’s a shame, though. I’d really, really like to spend the rest of your life with you, darling.”

Geralt smiles and places a kiss right next to Jaskier’s nipple.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to enjoy the time we have left, right?”

“Oh?” Jaskier laughs. “You have anything in mind?”

“I might have an idea or two…”

Their lips meet.

Somewhere above them, a djinn takes something similar to a deep breath… And grants the Witcher his fourth wish.

#the witcher #jaskier/geralt #geralt/jaskier #geraskier #angst with comfort #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #my fics

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sodone-withlife · 4 years ago

Text

human

@yourlocalheartbreaker thanks so much for your post about Nelson’s Sparrow. I had already started a blurb exploring Hotch’s response to Gideon’s death, but you brought up the fact that he very likely had to ID the body, and I just had to include that in this blurb.

I’ll be honest: I have done little to no proofreading, and it doesn’t flow as smoothly as I’d like, but I just needed to get this out.

warning: canonical character death

word count: 2.08k words

“Where did Hotch go?”

Rossi looked up at Morgan leaning against the doorway. “He’s taking some personal time.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now? It’s barely after lunch, what does he need it for?”

Rossi shook his head. “Didn’t ask.”

“And you aren’t at least a little concerned?” Morgan asked skeptically. “Has he ever up and left in the middle of the workday?”

“Well, I’d ask, but he said that he’s cutting communication and that if he is needed he’s only answering Penelope or Jessica’s call.”

“Jack’s not with him?” Morgan asked, taken aback at yet another out-of-character decision. He couldn’t remember if Hotch had ever taken a personal day without Jack.

Rossi shrugged, though his concern was also obvious. “Even Hotch needs a break sometimes.”

The crisp winter air of the Virginia wilderness was filled with silence, only cut by the sounds of nature. Hotch stood in front of the cabin, staring blankly and letting the ambiance of the place that had been Gideon’s chosen safe haven wash over him. It was a far cry from his once-daily forays into the mind of the scourge of humanity.

Only now it was tainted with blood, with the murder of the man who had found a refuge in the peace of this forest.

Is there really a place on the planet that hasn’t seen the vileness of man?

How could he possibly articulate the sheer depth of the grief and resentment that he felt towards the man who had once been one of his mentors, who had left him floundering in the dust to clean up the mess that was left behind?

Insomnia had been keeping Hotch up way past midnight and he was going through paperwork with the hope that it would bore him to sleep when he got the call. Years of getting cases in the middle of the night had left its mark, as the sound of his ringtone cleared his head as it had done so many times in the past. Reaching for his phone, he anticipated the multiple trips to the coffee machine that had replaced the old, faithfully crappy machine that had been there when he first joined the unit.

And he was right—he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

Or the next night, for that matter.

Hotch remembered feeling strangely detached from his person as he put on a coat and, on a whim, pulled out his service weapons from the safe, grabbing his work bag as he left the apartment and headed towards his car.

In any other situation, he would have worried about falling asleep at the wheel during the long drive.

In any other situation, he would have called the team to assemble.

But this was not any other situation. Seeing the flashing red and blue lights from an emergency vehicle illuminating the cabin and the surrounding clearing proved that something was wrong, and when he approached one of the EMTs, he knew this was something he had to do for the sake of the team. As he always does.

For the sake of the team.

They had gone through too much.

It was a surprise to see his contact flashing on his phone screen after over seven years of no contact, but it was alarming when he heard pained groans and then a series of gunshots from the other end.

And that was when the terrible thought came into his mind.

And even though Hotch knew what he was going to see when the EMTs exchanged a look and let him into the cabin, it certainly wasn’t less of a shock, wasn’t less of a punch to the gut to see the body, crumpled on the ground with blood pooling around it like a grotesque puppet with its strings cut.

Hotch remembered staring blankly at the man who had left the job that killed his fire in search of himself, but whose fire was now extinguished. Permanently.

For the sake of the team.

He remembered snapping back to himself to find that he had knelt down with his own hand near the neck, having just checked for a pulse in hopes that it would make it—real? fake? He cleared his throat before standing up and turning to the waiting EMTs. At the sympathetic looks he was getting, he felt a faint annoyance rising through the ice that froze through his being.

He wasn’t the floundering, young, ambitious agent that probably would have been giving some indication that he was barely holding himself together at the seams

He wasn’t the friend—were they really friends, though?—who hadn’t seen or talked to him in years and would probably be giving some indication that he was grieving.

His name is—

His name was Jason Gideon, he’s a former FBI agent. I will be calling in federal law enforcement to investigate this, please make yourselves available in the next few days to give your statements…

He had to be the uptight hardass that didn’t let anything affect him. He had to retreat into the cold mechanical mindset that protected him, for the team.

It didn’t feel right, however. How could he put on such a facade in a place that was supposed to be safe? How could he, in the place where Gideon could be totally himself without fear of the demons that haunted him?

How could he treat this like any other crime scene?

For the sake of the team.

The first call he made was to Stephen. It wasn’t the first time he had made a notification of death to family members, and he didn’t let it be any different this time.

(oh, it was so different.)

It’s Aaron Hotchner, I worked with your dad in the FBI. I apologize for calling so late…

And then calls were made to the team. They were short—there was no way Hotch could possibly tell them about the murder over the phone, but the team was smart. They all knew something was wrong.

I need you to come to Gideon’s cabin as soon as you can. I texted you the address.

The same thirteen words, repeated six times to six different people, with his same detached, precise tone of voice.

Emily. I, uh, just wanted to let you know that Gideon was murdered. In his cabin a few hours ago. I’m there now, I’ve called the rest of the team, and… Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. I hope everything is going well in London.

Emily hadn't picked up, but she called Hotch back a few hours later. It doesn’t feel real, he had said when she asked after him. He was never really able to lie to her, the woman who he found was just as broken and yet fiercely protective as him, and he knew that as he changed the subject and started updating her on the status of the investigation.

I’m not sure if you’re even going to listen to this, but I thought it would be better if you heard it from me than from an email, or text, or… yeah.

I just wanted to let you know that Gideon was found shot multiple times in his cabin early this morning; he was murdered. The team worked the case and solved it, the unsub was killed along the way, so… there’s going to be a funeral, and though I’m not sure who his son is planning on inviting, I'll tell you where he is buried when that happens, and… yeah. Just thought I should let you know. Hope you and your family are doing well.

The words had come surprisingly easy to him when he left a message for Elle. Their correspondence over the years was never constant and never for long periods of time, mainly consisting of pictures that kept the other updated on their lives, and they never called.

Now, he wondered how she reacted to getting the message. Did she curse him out for calling for the first time in years only to tell her that her old colleague had been murdered? Did she confide in her partner?

Dave had been the first to get to the cabin, and Kate and JJ followed closely behind. Reid, Morgan, and Garcia came shortly thereafter. Hotch watched as all of them took in the state of the cabin and the sheet-covered body he was standing sentinel over, and no one said anything until Garcia took the first step.

It’s Gideon.

Grief was a terrible feeling, and it cut right through people’s masks and shone a light on the good and the ugly that was within a person. It was a feeling Hotch was intimately familiar with, many times over now, but the team had only seen him ripped open once. He was well aware that he didn’t make for a pretty sight when they got to the house he had lived in with Haley. They had walked in on a fit of explosive, murderous anger that had been immediately followed by pure, unadulterated grief.

He was well aware that the shattering of his infamous control had scared the team.

And so, just like a few years ago with Emily, Hotch watched over his team as they rushed to solve the murder, all driven by the pain of loss.

He watched as Rossi gave everyone an insight into how the BAU started when it was just him and Gideon before Max Ryan had taken them under his wing.

He watched over them over the next few days and weeks as they all grieved in their own ways, keeping an eye out for red flags.

But now, when he wasn't even trying to keep up the facade, he still felt numb. For how could he articulate the so many complicated feelings he had regarding the man who had guided him, who had taught him to be sure of himself, who had abandoned him without a word?

Hotch looked around, faintly surprised to find that he had walked into the cabin and was simply standing in the middle of the living room. He had only been to the cabin once prior that night, and there was a palpable difference in the air.

Tainted.

A few weeks has gone by since this cabin had actually been lived in. Everything was still in its place, perfectly preserved like a museum exhibit.

Like a crime scene.

Unable to remain any longer, he turned to walk back outside when something on the wall caught his attention. He walked over, only to stop dead a few feet away.

There were multiple photos and drawings of birds pinned to the wall, and near the edge of the collection was a single picture of the team that had been when he had left. Peeking out from under it was a single slightly yellowed envelope.

It was with caution and slight guilt that he moved forward and carefully unpinned the photo to get the envelope. As he walked over to the nearby dining table and sat, he carefully pulled out the contents of the envelope—a single, folded sheet of paper.

When his eyes landed on the first line of that painfully familiar handwriting, he could only be glad that he was sitting, else his legs would have given out from under him at the sight of his first name.

This was written years ago, he thought with startling clarity, why didn’t he send it to me?

If anything, he felt even more numb as he read through the letter. And when he finished, there was still nothing.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to feel—anything.

But he felt nothing—nothing but exhaustion.

You’re going to go weeks—months, even—feeling fine. And then you’re going to have a bad day.

He’s had many bad days before. He never wants to have one again.

He’s spent years chasing after unsubs—psychopaths, rapists, terrorists. He’s spent years trying not to lose himself along with the people who’ve left because the darkness of this job finally caught up to them.

Elle, Erin, Alex, Gideon, Emily… Haley.

But maybe he did lose himself. Why else can’t he bring himself to feel anything, even after finding out that Gideon still remembered that young ambitious agent that shadowed him and Rossi like an eager puppy?

And if he did indeed lose himself, maybe it’s for the best.

The alternative is too painful to imagine. And despite outward appearances, Aaron Hotchner is fragile.

He is human.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hurt aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner whump #jason gideon #david rossi #bau #sodone human

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poliel · 3 years ago

Text

Surprise Egg 10/13: They're Parasites

Filbo glanced up towards the mountain for the umpteenth time since Buddy had left town with Triffany and Eggabell. He’d already been worried but… could there be any worse place to be during a bad earthquake than on a snow-covered mountain? Probably there were a few places but not many. How far up it had the three of them been when it hit? At the top? Maybe already inside the stone doors and thus perhaps safe? An earthquake that big had to have caused an avalanche, right? So what if… No, worrying about them in general but especiallythat wasn’t helping so also for the umpteenth time, Filbo forced those thoughts out of his mind and looked away.

Having saved what had survived of Buddy’s extra store of sauces from the wreckage of the cabin – as well as his one surviving frog plushie – he turned and resumed his jog for the airship instead. Chandlo was working on fixing the hull and balloon of it while Snorpy worked on fixing engine. Everyone else had already settled into going back and forth loading the airship up with useful stuff found amongst the wreckage of the town. It didn’t feel like a lot or enough but…

“Filbo.”

He stopped turning to face Wambus as he approached.

“I’m ‘bout to head up the mountain to look for Triffy,” he continued, gesturing back towards it. “Since Buddy’s up there too I figured I might as well invite you along as well.”

Filbo would’ve loved to jump on that invitation but… “We can’t go up there. It’s too dangerous and they’re going to be trying to come back here to us. What happens if we go out and get in trouble and then they come back here and we’re not here. Then someone’s going to have to look for us and that’ll just be time wasted when we could be getting out of here. Plus we don’t know where exactly they are so if we have to search for them it should be as a party with a plan and… and a way to communicate with everyone back here.”

Wambus growled, low and deep, but it was probably just out of frustration and not actual anger at Filbo… hopefully. After a few seconds he let out a heavy, defeated sigh. “I hate it but… you’re right. We should focus on getting ready to get out of here first.”

Filbo nodded to hide his sigh of relief because he had no idea what he’d have done if Wambus had insisted on going with or without him. “If they’re not back by the time the airship is ready to leave, I’ll go with you to look for them along with whoever else wants to help us. But Triffany, Eggabell, and Buddy are some of the strongest grumps I know so I’m sure they’ll get back here probably long before we’re even ready to leave.” Because it was clearly going to take a while. “And they’ll bring Liz with them too I bet.”

“You’re awfully optimistic.”

“Yep! It’s the one thing I’m good at other than uh… messing stuff up. So it’s the only good thing I’m good at. Anyway uh… I got to go.” He turned and jogged up the hill and over to the airship.

After dropping his haul off with the other supplies, he went over to the engine which Snorpy was currently fixing. “I can uh… help with that. … Or at least should be able to, I think.”

Snorpy looked up from it to give him an understandably skeptical look. “You can?”

“Yeah. Uh… I got an airship license a while ago and while getting it I learned some basic repair stuff. I probably couldn’t uh… fix it all the way on my own or anything but I should be able to help.” Hopefully anyway.

“Hmm… very well. It’s more busted up than I thought anyway. It looks like someone rigged it to explode upon taking damage. So we’re lucky it was almost out of fuel when it did otherwise it would’ve been a lot worse.”

Surely it couldn’t actually have been rigged to explode. That was just Snorpy being Snorpy, right? … Well, it wasn’t worth dwelling on right now, fixing it was much more important. So Filbo settled down on the deck next to him. “What’s with the radio though?” he had to ask because Snorpy had set it up right next to himself and the light on it indicated it was on but… it was silent.

“It’s connected to the radio tracking device I planted on Buddy. It lets me listen to what’s going on around them.” Snorpy’s tone was casual and he didn’t even glance up from his work.

“You… planted a tracking device on Buddy? When?”

“Shortly before they convinced me to return to town.”

That was a while ago now. How often did he listen in? What all had he overheard? Did Buddy know about it? … All important questions for later. Right now though… “Can you talk to them through it? Or uh… have you heard anything from them yet?” Surely if either was the case he’d have told Filbo and everyone else by now, right? But then again it was Snorpy, he had a tendency to be weird about things sometimes so… it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I have not heard anything yet even though I’m still receiving a signal from it. My attempts to reach them have all failed as well. So either the receiver is damaged or they can’t respond.”

Filbo’s heart sank even though that didn’t have to mean anything. Snorpy had also said the receiver might be damaged. So… Buddy could still be all right. And probably was because if anyone could survive an earthquake and probably an avalanche too, it was them… right?

***

Buddy woke with a jolt as something cold and wet plopped onto their upturned face. Instinctively they shot up right, ready to spring if there was danger.

Which while there was no immediate threat… where the fuck were they? A cavern for sure. High above them was a hole clogged up with what looked and could only be snow – which was probably what had fallen on them, waking them. But… the walls, they were made of… food? A hallucination brought on by starvation? … No, Buddy didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry at the sight of any of it and the way they seemed to move, almost as if the walls were breathing, made them uneasy instead.

They were sitting a shallow puddle of pinkish water but it was clear the floor was made of food – or what looked like food – too. And of course it was also ‘breathing’. They could feel it rise and fall slightly underneath them, taking away any doubt about whether or not it was a hallucination. Ugh! What the fuck?

How had they even ended up here? … The avalanche! Had to be right, that was the last thing they remembered. And it would certainly explain why they felt like they’d been pummeled.

All right, strange unsettling surroundings or no, they needed to check if they had any real injuries. Carefully they moved every part of their body. All of it hurt but they were pretty sure nothing was broken. Next, they checked their camera, still hanging from around their neck. Its screen was cracked but… it turned on! Yes! Spending all that money on it was paying off once again, everyone who’d doubted and criticized them for spending so much could suck it.

Next, they carefully extricated their arms out of their backpack loops and pulled it around to their front. Unfortunately, all their bugsnax hunting equip was smashed to bits and barely hanging onto the hooks or gone entirely. But what about… they slid a paw into their pouch and… yeah, Sprout’s buggy ball was still in there. They pulled him out just to make sure and, yep there he was. They put him back before pulling the backpack on once more.

Now came the hard part; standing back up and finding a way out of here. Or finding Triffany and Eggabell, assuming they’d ended up down here too. Hopefully they had otherwise they were probably dead, right?

Using the nearby wall for support, Buddy carefully stood up. Even so though a wave a dizziness washed through them, blackness eating at the edges of their vision. Thankfully it passed after a several long seconds.

With a groan, they shook themself a little and looked up and around again. They were in a dead-end area, leaving them with only one tunnel to go down. So, keeping one paw on the wall even though it felt gross, to help steady themself, they started down it.

Quickly it became obvious that this was a whole cave system. With branching tunnels of various sizes, some leading to dead-ends, requiring Buddy to turn around, others seeming to go on for a while. Without any hint on if there even was a way out of here at all, let alone which direction it might be in, Buddy just kept going down any tunnel that wasn’t a dead end and didn’t taper off to be too narrow for them to easily fit. They were going in the general direction of uphill though which was either good or bad depending on if there was more likely to be an exit towards the top of the mountain or the bottom. Buddy didn’t know enough about how cave systems worked to even make an educated guess so they didn’t think too much about it – or anything else really – and just kept forcing themself onward.

Both the ground beneath them as well as the wall they were leaning on for support suddenly weren’t there anymore. They fell, landing on and sliding face first down a small incline. It was softer than normal ground and smooth but was still thoroughly unpleasant.

They lay stunned at the bottom of it for a few seconds before a sound of something came from somewhere above them. With soft growl they pushed themself back up, first to their paws and knees, then unsteadily to their feet.

Somehow they’d ended up in a large cavern. Bugsnax of various sorts gathered around and lined alcoves in the walls to either side. They all centered around what could only be the Queen of Bugsnax, as Wiggle would’ve declared it.

With a shiver of excitement, Buddy pulled their camera and snapped a photo of it. And then a few more as they inched closer. How dangerous was it though? Maybe they shouldn’t be…

“Ah so you’re Budlegard Fuzzypaw, the journalist, right?”

Buddy froze. It spoke and knew their name somehow! “Yep! Just call me Buddy though.” They zoomed their camera in on the Megamaki like neck and the grumpus shape they’d been a bit too distracted by the rest of the being to notice before now at the end of it. “How’d you know…” Wait was that…

***

“Lizbert!” Filbo said at the same time as Buddy over the radio because he’d recognize her voice anywhere. Hearing both their voices confirmed once and for all they were both okay! That was the best news Filbo had heard in what felt like forever. Now if only they could hear him but Buddy hadn’t responded to any of his and Snorpy’s attempts to reach them, indicating their receiver wasbroken. But being able to hear them and know they were both alive was more than enough for Filbo for now.

“Yep,” Lizbert said with what almost sounded like a sigh. She went on but…

“Yo, is that Lizbert on the radio?” Chandlo asked, his loud voice drowning her out as he stepped closer to the radio and Filbo and Snorpy kneeling it. Filbo was almost a little tempted to growl at him.

“Yes,” Snorpy answered. “Now hush please, we’re trying to listen. But tell the others, I suspect we might be about to get some important information.”

“Got it,” Chandlo said in a whisper and salute before backing away. It wasn’t long before everyone was gathered around to listen to Buddy’s conversation with Liz.

***

Buddy almost couldn’t believe they’d finally found Lizbert. Surely it had to be a starvation combined with sleep deprivation fever dream of sorts, right? Perhaps they were slowly suffocating under a mound of snow and this was just their mind taunting them with the goal they’d suffered so long searching for before it shut off.

Though did they even care if it was a dying dream? … Probably not as much as they should’ve. Regardless… “I need to interview you.”

“Are you joking?” She asked, her voice incredulous.

“I didn’t come all the way here for nothing.” Regardless of the danger, they’d been through far too much to get here; starvation, sleep deprivation, unknowingly carrying the egg and then birthing it alone in the middle of Sizzling Sands, all the various beatings, bruisings, and burns they’d taken from the aggressive bugsnax around the island and now they’d survived being run over by a dang avalanche too. Far, far too much for them to leave off here.

Liz sighed and opened her mouth to respond but before she could something behind Buddy drew her attention. The Megamaki tendril holding her grumpus form shifted upwards. “Triffany?”

Buddy turned to see that Triffany had indeed found her way in into the cavern. Awesome, she was still alive which meant Eggabell likely was too. Naturally she was looking around mystified with a dawning look of excitement on her face as she came closer. “Oh wow, this place is… Lizbert!? Is that really you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“How did… Oh, hi Buddy!” She smiled as she reached them. “It’s great to see you’re okay. Or… still alive if nothing else. Anyway Lizbert! What is this place? Why are you…” She looked Lizbert up and down, “like that?”

“I don’t have time to explain. You two need to get out of here. I can…”

“Nuh-uh,” Buddy interrupted. “Interview first.”

“Are you serious?” She glared at them, visibly exasperated. The fact that she was currently inhabiting the body of a very large bugsnax would’ve made her annoyance with them rather intimidating if Buddy were still able to care about such things. But they didn’t so…

“I swear to every nonexistent god grumpkind has ever come up with, I’m not leaving this cursed island until you’ve answered my questions.” Or until they were physically dragged off it, fighting every step of the way, or until they were dead.

Liz growled but… “Fine. Make it fast.”

Quickly they pulled out their notebook and recorder. Taking as deep a breath they put on their calm and friendly interviewer face before pressing record.

***

“Uh… guys we got some pretty some pretty major problems.”

The undisguised note of fear in Beffica’s voice was pretty much the only thing that could’ve drawn Filbo’s attention away from the radio right then. He looked over to see she was pointing out past the bow of the ship and down towards town.

He was loathe to leave the radio even for a moment but… along with everyone else he stepped over to look out over the ship’s railing at the town below. … Bugsnax were swarming into town from all the entrances, slowed by the destruction the earthquake had caused but not by much.

“They’re parasites,” Liz’s voice came over the radio in response to Buddy’s question. “They get inside you and they... change you. Your body and your mind. They make you want them and before you know it... you become them.

“We need to get out of here right grumping now,” Cromdo shouted, breaking everyone’s paralysis.

“We can’t,” Beffica countered before Filbo could.

“Yeah,” Wambus agreed with a growl. “Triffy’s still out there.”

“So is Buddy, Eggabell, and Liz,” Filbo said. “We can’t leave without them.” He certainly refused to especially since this was Buddy’s airship.

Cromdo growled but before he could say anything though Snorpy cut in. “And I’m not done fixing the grumping engine yet!” He was already rushing back over to it.

“Don’t worry Snorp-dawg, we’ll hold them off!” Before he’d even finished speaking, Chandlo was off, giving everyone else little choice but to follow. Filbo would’ve too but…

“Watch the egg for me for a bit,” Beffica said as she pushed the egg into his paws.

“W-why me?”

She didn’t even look back at him as she answered. “Cause you’re helping Snorpy fix the engine.”

With a grimace, he shoved it into his pouch again instead of following everyone else off the boat. It did make sense though to have one of people not fighting off the bugsnax be the one to watch it. So… no use worrying about it, he had a job to do, or more like help with.

#my writing #bugsnax #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist

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detroitbydark · 4 years ago

Text

Fox and Mouse Finale 2/2

Chapter 14

Part 1/2 can be found here

Characters: Commander Fox x Mouse (reader), and more Jedi/clones/politicians than you can shake a stick at.

Summary: Yearning and Fluff and SMUT! Oh my!

Rated: M 18+

A/N: Ladies and Lads this is it! A chapter so stupid long it required it be split in two pieces. I'm not going to make you wait and I'll be posting both this evening. I'm feeling really sentimental because this is the longest thing I've ever written and completed. I couldn't have done it without y’all. Your support and comments have helped me get through the tough periods of writing and the stress in my life as of late. This is for you guys! Thank you. I love you!

Special thanks as always to @skdubbs and @crimson-dxwn for being there to listen to me and help me every step of the way. You are both absolutely amazing!

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

Fox’s head is reeling, but he feels like he’s holding it together well. He’s pretty sure she can’t feel the shaking in his hand as she takes it and drags him to his feet. Her smile is soft and comforting. It’s home. Mouse is home.

His bucket is left on to rest on the blanket as she leads him through the grass. Wildflowers press into the plates of his armor, leaving yellow smears of pollen in their wake. Mouse looks over her shoulder as they go. Fox wonders if she feels the same way he does, like this is all a dream that will be over the second he wakes. That he’s desperate to stay under its sway just a little while longer.

“Come on Al’verde,” she teases, “I feel like I’m dragging a ton of duracrete. Pick up your feet.”

Fox yanks her hand and she stumbles back toward him, hands colliding with his chest as she breaks into a fit of laughter so honeyed and sweet it would make the bees jealous. She rolls up onto the balls of her feet and kisses his chin, then the tip of his nose. If the boys could see him now, grinning down at her like a fool in love, like a man who didn’t have the weight of a thousand suns on his shoulders.

“Stop trying to distract me. I told you I want to show you something,” she says, pulling away before he can get his lips on hers.

She leads him toward the small pool of water he’d passed coming to find her, where twin waterfalls keep the water bubbling and a fine mist of droplets in the air. They cling to her hair and weigh down the thin fabric of her dress, highlighting the soft curves he was denying himself.

“Where are you taking me, little Mouse?”

She doesn’t answer, instead flashing that enigmatic smile again and leading him to a rock wall that shot up suddenly from green pasture and up into the sky. The sound of water is loud, not quite deafening but definitely distracting. Mouse lets loose his hand and slips in between a gap in the slab wall. He is a far bigger fan of his cyar’ika than he is of tight spaces, but it still gives him a moment's hesitation, finally broken by her teasing voice calling his name.

It’s dark, damp with moisture clinging to the walls that press in on him, but again, before they begin to close in around him, he hears her voice call to him and he follows it like a beacon. In reality the passage is short and opens quickly into a larger cavity. Light spills in and his eyes have barely adjusted before Mouse is pressing into him. Fox stumbles back a half step and laughs as he leans down, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Mouse rests her head against his shoulder as he takes in his surroundings.

“I found it my first week here” she says softly. He nearly doesn’t hear her over the sound of rushing water. It wasn’t a true cave so much as it was an alcove behind one of the twin falls. “The flow has eased off as the rains have. When I first came I couldn’t even hear myself think. I think maybe that’s what I liked about it.”

Fox knows the feeling well, remembers throwing himself into his work to try to forget.

“Did it help?” Work hadn’t helped for him, nor had sparring with Hound, hitting the blaster range with Ryk, or any of the other half dozen things he’d done to push thoughts of her away.

Mouse offers him a sad smile before turning and walking toward the edge of the cave and reaching out letting water splash over her finger tips. “No.”

He can’t hold her gaze. Instead his eyes rove, search for something to focus on other than her and the feeling of failure that wells up on him. Mouse hadn’t been the only explorer to find the secret cave. Names are etched into the rock walls. Sets of initials added together, hearts and promises and small bits of flowery poetry of different ages. Generation upon generation of infatuations, puppy loves, lust, and tenderness written into stone for all eternity.

“Fox? You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

The nearness to the falls has only made the cling of fabric to her skin worse. The pale blue is nearly sheer in parts and Fox tries not to focus on the way it sticks to her legs, outlines their shape. “Do what?”

“Feeling bad for me? Feeling bad for you? Take your pick.” Her voice is teasing but her eyes belay the seriousness underlying her words. “Don’t. It’s as easy as that, right? Just stop.” She beckons him with a small wave of her fingers.

“Come here so I can show you what’s so special.”

Fox closes the distance between them as she turns back to the rushing water. His body slots in behind hers. His hands circle her hips and he frowns again at just how much weight she lost.

Her fingers, cooled by the running water, reach back over her shoulder and cup his cheek. “I know it’s hard,” she says, all teasing gone, “but we’re going to do this together.”

“Communication,” he whispers quietly. “It’s important,” he clarifies. Mouse nods, her head falling back to rest against his chest.

“I’m going to communicate this then -I don’t now, nor have I ever blamed you for what has transpired. You’re no more at fault than I am.”

“But you’re not at fau-“ he stops abruptly. “I see what you're saying, but it’s easier to say than to believe.”

“Fake it until you make it.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh working its way past his lips before he leans forward and kisses the hair at the top of her head.

“That easy?”

“Was anything worth it ever easy?” she asks softly.

The simple answer was no. It all took work. It had taken nearly a year for him to kiss her for the first time, hadn't it?

“Fake it ‘til I make it,” he repeats, and he can feel as much as he can hear the contented hum she makes.

“Exactly. Now, what time have you got?” The sudden change of subject has him raising a brow and his vambrace up to look at the built in chrono. He rattles off the time and she makes another contented sound.

“Perfect timing. Now watch.” She stares out into the falling water. He’s nearly ready to ask what he’s watching for when a change in the light hits the droplets just right. Rainbows are thrown across the inside of the cave. Some steady, like the continuous fall of water, some here and gone as the stream is broken. He’s never seen anything like it. It’s stunning. Mouse leans back into his chest. The armor isn't comfortable to rest on but it doesn’t seem to bother her. He wishes it wasn’t between them.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

It is.

A small laugh bubbles from her lips as she turns and her fingers trace the strays colors flickering at his temple. One hand rests over his heart. She’s happy and in his arms and the moment is perfect.

“Marry me.”

The words slip from his lips faster than credits from a gamblers hands on Canto Bight.

Mouse startles, pulls back and then her foot is coming out from under her and her arms go to grabbing, finding purchase on one of his. Her weight, however slight, combined with his surprise are enough to drag him forward with her as the pair falls through the rushing water and immediately into the pool below.

Mouse comes up laughing and sputtering. Her teeth set to chattering almost instantly. Fox doesn’t find it nearly as funny, even less so when Mouse’s eyes fall on him and peals of laughter escape her til she can barely breathe. He’s cold and he can’t believe he asked that question.

“You look like an angry tooka!” she barely manages to get out as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m all wet.”

Mouse rises to her feet. The pool is shallow and only comes up to her hips. Her dress has gone sheer and leaves nothing to the imagination as she splashes water at her grumpy paramour. “So am I.”

His hair hangs nearly to his brows, pasted down against his forehead. Mouse squeals as his eyes narrow and he lunges for her. She barely gets away from his first attempt, but is far to slow for his second. He hauls her into his arms and holds her close.

“Gotcha.”

Mouse squirms and laughs in his grip but she isn’t really trying to get away. She only manages to give him a better look at the curve of her breasts and the pale shadow of peaked nipples through it.

“Don’t do it,” she warns.

Fox smiles, aiming for innocence but failing miserably. “Do what? Do…. this?”

He falls back, dragging her with him into the cold clear pool. Water clings to her lashes as they both come up gasping and laughing. He nearly apologizes but Mouse’s lips are on his, her hands at either side of his head.

Where her lips are cold, her tongue is warm and welcome as it strokes along his own. Suddenly the water doesn’t seem so cold, his soaked blacks underneath the layer of composite armor doesn’t chafe so much. It’s easy to forget the world exists outside of the pair of them and the soft sounds she’s making at the back of her throat and the equally needy moans she’s pulling from him.

He buries his face in her neck when she pulls back, nipping and sucking to reacquaint himself with all the sweet spots and equally enticing sounds they produced.

“Are we going to do this here?” She pants out his question from earlier. The want in her voice mirrors the one he felt.

“Kriff…” He manages to drag his mouth away from her wet skin. One arm around her waist secures her to him as he lets the rest of her body slide back into the water. He chuckles at her hiss as the cold envelopes her again.

“Ok. New plan-“

“Your room or mine?”

————

There’s going to be tiny puddles of water leading from the garden all the way up to the guest rooms. Mouse can look behind them and see them forming, falling between Fox’s armor and skin. They get particularly bad every so often. Like now, where the urge has overwhelmed one or both. Fox has her back pressed firmly against the wall, a tapestry on either side of them whose beauty is going completely unrecognized as she hikes a leg up over and around his hip. Fox’s mouth is fused to hers as a free hand massages her breast through the damp fabric.

“Going to make you scream my name.” Fox comes up for air, pressing his forehead into hers as they both pant. She squirms against him seeking friction that will ease the building tension.

Neither of them sees the Chancellor until he is clearing his throat.

“Well, it’s good to see that you two have made your amends.” She can feel Fox’s spine go rigid as her leg falls. He puts only a hair's breadth of space between them, stepping slightly between her and Bail Organa.

“Sir, I was just showing the lady back to her quarters.”

Mouse stifles a laugh, and Chancellor Organa seems to be holding back one of his own. Mouse presses into Fox’s back and peers around to the Chancellor.

“We’ve been having a very heated discussion on the personhood bill, Chancellor.” She offers.

Fox glances back at her with a filthy smile. “Very heated sir. It may take us the rest of the day to come to terms with it.” He glances back at the Chancellor and Mouse notes, not for the first time, the friendship that has blossomed between the two. He’d never been so relaxed when talking about Palp- He’d never dared an ounce of impropriety before but now he was blatantly flaunting his highly inappropriate relationship without the least hint of shame.

Bail let’s his eyes roam between the pair for half a second, “As you were Commander, who am I to get in the way of aggressive negotiations? I expect a full report at breakfast tomorrow.”

Fox bites back a smile. “Breakfast will be fine sir though my report may be heavily redacted.”

Bail shakes his head with a laugh, finally giving in. “So be it.” He takes a half a step to move past them before stopping. “I would take the back way upstairs. Your vode and their generals are having an impromptu Sabaac tournament in the parlor and you won’t get away from them as easily as you will from me.” Fox nods.

“Also Commander?”

Fox cocks his head in question.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Bail gives his pauldron a quick pat as he walks by. Mouse watches as the Chancellor moves down the hall without a look back. When her eyes do move back to the man in front of her, a new heat is burning in his eyes. She stifles a laugh as he scoops her up.

“You're taking far too much time cyar’ika.”

Mouse finally does laugh as she points in the direction of the back stairs. “Me? I believe it was you who said this seemed like as good a spot as any.” She pitches her voice low in mockery of his own.

“You do a horrible impression,” he mutters, taking the steps two at a time. He’s not even breathing heavy by the time he reaches his room and eases them through the door.

Mouse’s feet have barely hit the floor before she starts helping pull off bits of armor. His bucket, attached to his belt for safekeeping, is carefully shucked into the small corner table as a pile of drippy plastoid begins to take shape on the floor. When he’s down to just his clinging Blacks he moves on her.

“You have too much on.”

Mouse grins as she bends, grips the hem of the dress, before pulling it up and over her head. She tosses it lazily to the side.

“Still too much,” he says slowly, as his eyes rove over her. Mouse laughs as he closes the space between them.

“I’ve got panties on Fox. That’s it.” She makes a small surprised sound as he drops to his knees in front of her. A surge of excitement catches her off guard as Fox’s hands grip her hips and pull her body close. She can feel the scratchy stubble along his chin as he nuzzles at the small dip where her thigh meets her hip.

“Still too much.”

He’s looking up the line of her body and Mouse feels something like power flowing through her as he leans in and places a soft kiss over her hip bone. His thumbs hook in the band of her simple panties and push them down over her sex, below her knees, to her feet where he gently encourages her to step out of them.

“Better?” He’s barely touched her but she already feels breathless.

He leans in, rests his head against the flat plain of her stomach, his warm breath tickles as his hand strokes up and down her thighs. “Yes. Much.”

A glint of silver flashes at his temple as Mouse brings her hand to stroke through his hair. Fox’s eyes slip shut. All the rush to arrive has led to this, a serene moment. A moment that leaves Mouse feeling more connected to him than any kiss on their way back to the estate.

“I see you have a perfectly lovely bed waiting for us.”

Fox turns into her body and presses his lips along her tummy then to her hip. “Can’t lie,” he murmurs against her skin, “I’m pretty content right here.” His eyes flutter shut once more as her nails gently rake across his scalp.

“Cyare,” she whispers softly, “take me to bed?”

Rising slowly to his feet Fox doesn’t let himself lose contact with her body once. His motions are unhurried. “Your accent is getting better.”

“I’ve had some help.”

Fox doesn’t ask who. He has an idea and he’ll probably have to thank them at some point, but he’d rather not think of the Marshal Commander while he makes love to his girlfriend.

Mouse steps away, smiling coyly over her shoulder as he reaches after her. The soft sway of her hips makes his mouth go dry.

“I feel like you’re the one with too many clothes now, Al’verde.”

There’s an underlying confidence to her that he doesn’t remember, a way she moves, a way she holds his gaze. It makes him want. It makes him need.

Just like she had with her dress, he is quick to pull off the black under armor top he wore but the reaction as her eyes trace over him isn’t quite the same as when she’d performed the same maneuver.

Mouse’s eyes go wide as she focuses on his chest.

“What is that?”

Why has her voice gone so quiet? He glances down and realizes-

“Oh Fox…” her hand is warm against his bare chest as she matches it up with the tattooed replica of her print.

“We’ll talk about it later, cyar’ika.” He tries to sound persuasive but the petite creature in front of him is not having it.

Fox allows her to drag him the last few steps to the bed. He plops down with a tired sigh.

“We’ll talk about it now.” It’s a gentle order but an order nonetheless.

“Communication?”

Mouse nods as she slides into his lap, a leg falling to either side of his. Fox’s hands come up automatically, one on her lower back and the other with fingers flexed over her bottom. “That would be a good start,” she encourages. Leaning in, Mouse presses her forehead to his.

“Now, why?”

It’s the most arousing interrogation he’s ever been a part of. One part of his brain says to kiss her and make her forget she ever had a question in the first place, but the other reminds him of Bly and General Secura.

Promises could be made ‘til the end of time, but if he didn’t follow through, if he didn’t show her that he intended to hold himself to that standard than everything he said, no matter how poetic or romantic, meant bantha shit.

“I didn’t want to forget you.”

“Oh Fox…”

He wishes she wouldn’t say that. He doesn’t like the sadness that fills her voice, like it’s not for herself but for him. Fox tips his head away ducking around her until he can press his cheek against the smooth expanse of her neck. Nothing about this came easy and she seems to give him the simple gift of a small escape.

“I failed you. I couldn’t let myself forget that,” he continues, his lips moving against her skin. His lips brush over her pulse and Mouse inhales so sweet and soft it nearly shatters him.

“Didn’t fail,” she manages out. Her hand slips between them and traces over the inked lines. “You could never.”

“Your faith in me is moving, cyar'ika, but I’m afraid your love for me has left you blind.”

Mouse laughs as his lips brush butterfly soft under her ear. Goosebumps erupt over her body. “So be it ner darasuum. Let me be blind and happy. It’s much preferable to being alone and sad.”

Fox freezes and draws back. Mouse looks so serene and at peace even though there’s no taking back what she’s just called him. My Forever.

Mouse’s hands gently cradle his cheeks. Her mouth curls into a smile, beatific and knowing. Fox feels like his chest is going to explode.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” The words slip from her lips with the smoothness of a nonnative speaker who is only becoming proficient. “Apparently, it was important for a silly little Mouse to learn more Mando’a.”

Words fail him. Even if he wasn’t saying the right thing he usually had something to say, but not to that. Not to her declaration worded in his preferred language, not when she was perched naked in his arms. Not when she looked down on him like she saw all his sins and cared for him in spite of them.

Fox leans in and captures her mouth with his own, cherishing the feeling of plump wanting lips under his own as he pulls her in close and presses his body against hers. Mouse goes pliant in his arms, moulding to his body as her arms snake around his neck. Her hips rock lazily, grinding against the hard line of him without any real intent just yet. He wishes he would have taken his pants off first. The telltale heat of her center is painfully close, the fabric already becoming damp with her arousal.

A quiet, needy sound rises up in her throat as his tongue strokes along hers. Last night had given him a none too gentle reminder of what a pleasure it was to touch her. Earlier in the cave, it had been a tease of what was to come. Now there was no chance she was getting away from him. No ultimatums, no di’kutla proposals to ruin the moment. It was just them and the sunlight soaked day stretching out ahead.

Mouse’s tongue slides along his own. She’s less languid now. Her body rolls against his with intimate purpose. Each time she grinds down on him her breasts press against his chest. He's lightheaded from the press of her skin, hot against his.

His blacks feel constricting.They're irritating and uncomfortably tight. Fox attempts to push them down with one hand but there’s no room between them. He lifts his hips and she lets out a needy moan into his mouth that makes the aching hardness pressing against his thigh that much worse.

One hand slides up the bare expanse of her spine, feels the little ridges as it goes. Fox’s fingers tangle in her loose hair and pull her away. Mouse whines at the loss.

“Cyar’ika, precious one, sweet love of my life,” he starts, “if I don’t get these pants off I’m going to cum in them like some shiny cadet.”

It takes a moment for her to swing her leg over him, kneeling to the side. His focus shifts to getting his no good, kriffing blacks off his legs while Mouse seems to want to challenge his ability to complete any task. He watches as she leans. Starting at the edge of his shoulder, she begins laying trailing kisses. He falls back onto the elbow nearest her to keep his body propped, allowing her easier movement while his other hand grips at the waist of his blacks and yanks them down as he lifts his hips up. It’s such a relief when his cock bobs free that he nearly groans.

He does groan when Mouse’s smart little mouth moves from his collarbone down to his tattoo. It’s fascinating watching as she kisses each red inked finger. He reaches down and grasps the hardness between his legs and pumps it lazily.

From the tips of the tattoo she trails her tongue over his heated skin, moving down until her mouth opens to envelop his nipple. Fox can’t help but arch at the sensation of her hot mouth as she gently alternates between nipping and sucking..

“Fierfek,” he curses lowly as she continues to heap attention on him. Her other hand slips down his body and shoos his own away from his cock. It’s heaven to watch her wrap her delicate fingers around him and pump, gathering beads of precum to aid in lubricating each stroke.

He curses again as her thumb sweeps over the weeping slit. Mouse’s mouth comes free from his nipple with a soft ‘pop’ of release and she places one more kiss in the center of his tattoo.

“Cyar’ika, I want to taste you.” His cock comes to rest, hard and leaking into his belly as she lets go.

“I think we’ll be discussing the logistics of the bill all night, don’t you?” Mouse offers him a heavy-lidded smile as she pushes on his opposite shoulder until he gives in and falls back onto a matching elbow.

Fox can only nod mutely as one leg is draped back over his lap. “Right now I don’t want to play anymore.” She says softly, taking his cock in hand and lining it up with her center. “I need you, Fox.”

A low groan escapes them both as the angry red tip of him comes into contact and swipes along her drenched outer lips. She moves him back and forth, collecting her slick along the tip of his cock as she goes. Her mouth falls open in a quiet moan as she uses his weeping tip to rub her clit. The teasing is exquisite torture. Months of longing and desire build with each touch of her skin to his.

One hand shoots forward and steadies her hip as she slowly begins to take him. Usually he’d have used his fingers to help prepare her body, but she’s not having any of that right now. He watches her move, taking little bits at a time. Her head falls back, her eyes shut and her lips parted. That possessive little part in his soul purrs at the sight of his woman, his partner splitting herself open, desperate for him.

“Say it again,” he demands, fingers digging into the flesh of her hip.

Mouse feels drunk on sensation. It’s been too long since she’s had him and each inch she takes stretches her body deliciously.

“I need you, Fox,” she repeats. Her eyes flutter open to meet the soft golden brown hues of his own locked intently on her.

This is better than any dream, any late night with her fingers working furiously pretending they were something they weren’t, better than the discreetly packaged toy she’d purchased off the holonet. All were poor facsimiles for what she felt now as she comes to rest against his body feeling overwhelmingly full.

“Feel so good,” Fox praises, his voice gone rough, drawn tight like the muscle straining in his neck, “Missed touching you.”

Fox’s hand strays from her hip, thumb skimming along her belly as he slides it up her body. Mouse moves her hips tentatively as his rough fingers skim over her breast and capture the pebbled peak topping it. He rolls the dusky tip of her nipple between his fingers, drawing a ragged moan from her.

“You ready to move, cyar’ika?” he purrs as he plucks gently. The sensation travels straight to her center. She can’t help but arch into his touch, crying out softly at the combination of stimuli. Fox’s hips jerk seemingly against his own will, just a micro movement, but it makes her head spin all the same as she slowly begins to rock her body, rising up oh so slightly before sinking back down fully. Mouse watches as his head falls back and his hand falls back to her hip in a desperate grip.

Soft sounds spill from her lips, a constant flow of pleasure for him to hear.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly as her eyes fall shut again. His hips cant up to meet her, their bodies rolling together in a sinuous motion.

She hears his name fall from her lips, full of love and desperation. In a smooth movement Fox is pushing himself into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around her, tight bands of muscle she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. Her rhythm is lost as he moves them back, until his back is against the headboard. His knees angle up behind her. An arm stays banded around her as he uses the leverage to begin to fuck up into her willing body. It takes a moment for her to find her rhythm again as bright beams of pleasure shock her system each time the head of his cock brushes against her sensitive walls. He chuckles as she makes a frustrated sound.

“There, there, precious. I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises, nuzzling against her throat. His breath is hot on her skin and she struggles to ground herself among the sea of emotions swirling around her. She feels his teeth graze along her collarbone and her body clenches around him. Fox growls low against her skin. Mouse holds tight to one shoulder, nails leaving angry half moon marks, as her other hand grasps for the short hair at the back of his head.

Dark marks are sucked into the skin on the column of her neck, her shoulder, the soft spot just below her jaw. She shouldn’t enjoy his possessiveness as much as she does, but Mouse can’t help the way she rocks just a little harder against him thinking about what she’ll see in the mirror tomorrow. A feeling, tight and winding, begins to build low in her belly leaving her feeling like she was in a race to catch up.

Fox feels it too, the telltale seizing of muscles as her body began its hunt toward climax. Her nails dig sharply into his skin as he finds her mouth. It’s sloppy and needy. Mouse’s teeth nip at his lip and he feels his own end threatening, a telltale tingle starting at the base of his spine. Not yet though.

Their bodies move together, finally finding some semblance of familiarity after so long apart. The quiet whimpers that have been slowly spilling from her mouth become louder echoing pleasantly in his ears.

“You’re close, aren’t you? Me too.” Her hips stutter at his observation. “I want to feel you first. Can you do that for me?”

“Fox- please.” There was something about the way she asked, so polite with her “please” that strokes his ego, bringing a self-satisfied grin to his face.

“What do you need, little Mouse?”

“Ask me again,” she demands breathlessly, “Please ask me again.”

Ask? Ask what? At this point he’d honestly do anything she asked of him. His brows knit together and she must see his confusion through the fog of her desire.

“Earlier. Under the falls- you asked-“ Fox’s hand drops between them, finds her clit and begins rubbing it in smooth circles. Mouse’s back arches and her head falls against his shoulder.

“Again. Ask again.” She begs softly.

Did she mean-?

“Cyar’ika, look at me” he demands, slowing down just enough to turn his head, nuzzle his nose against hers until he’s sure her lust darkened eyes are focused only on his. “Marry me?”

“Fox… Fox… Fox…” she so close he can feel her body pulled taut like a bow. Sweat drips between their bodies as they chase release together. “Yes. Maker- yes.” She manages out seconds before waves of pleasure wash over her. She calls out his name in basic and again, softer, in Mando’a. It comes out as a sweet Fox’ika he’s never heard her use before.

He holds her close, working her through her high until he can no longer keep his own pace and his body coils tight and snaps. The world whites out as he finds his end in her, each pulse of his cock met by the vice grip of her body around him seemingly working in tandem with his to bring about an orgasm that leaves him overwhelmed and disoriented.

Mouse trembles in his arms. It’s the first thing he’s able to note as he comes back into himself. The next is that her lips are peppering his skin lazily with feather light kisses, murmuring soft words against his neck.

And then it hits him.

He nearly jostles her from her position straddling his lap with the sharp movement he makes. She wraps her arms around his neck and has the audacity to laugh at his stunned expression

“You want to marry me?”

Mouse leans in and kisses the very tip of his nose. “You already asked me that, silly.” Her fingers tease gently at the short hair at the back of his head.

“I- Kriff, you know what I meant.” He slips his hands up between her arms and holds her face. Her eyes are soft and relaxed, her cheeks still painted with a flush of pink, a small smile tugs at her lips. She looks perfectly content and… in love.

With him.

“Of course I want to marry you, taking care of you is a full time job-“ He drags her in for a kiss, slanting his mouth over hers. When she pulls back she’s laughing. “-at least this way I can collect the fringe benefits.”

He feels a smile split his own features in two.

Mouse squirms in his grip. The fading blush returns with a vengeance as he slips from her body, an unquestionable wet trickle following. While she may be embarrassed, he finds it sinfully hot to have his seed marking her thigh. He takes pity though and lets her escape to the ‘fresher. He lets his head fall back against the headboard. He can’t wipe the smile from his face. In his wildest dreams he never saw this playing out like it had.

The sound of the door opening has him turning his head lazily in her direction. He’s pretty sure she’s a goddess. Nope. Strike that. He was positive she was a Goddess and somehow she was his.

She tosses a warm washcloth his way and averts her eyes as he cleans up. It makes him chuckle as he does. She crawls back into bed as he finishes and attempts to lay next but that wasn’t going to work. Instead he drags her back into his lap. She curls into him as soon as she’s in place, legs off one side, head resting on his opposite shoulder all the while looking like she was made to be there.

“When do you think we could do it?” she asks softly,”It’s not exactly legal.”

He’s already thought of that.

“We could do it anytime you want. The old Mandalorian way. Exchange some vows and bam! Married.” Her brows furl in thought “unless you want to wait for-“

“I’m not Mandalorian.”

“And I’m just a poor facsimile of one,” he huffs when her frown deepens. “It’s the vow that matters. If you believe in the words you're saying, the vow you make, what does it matter?” Her hand feels so soft and so fragile in his own as he brings it up to his lips and gently kisses along her knuckles.

“So we could do this?”

“We could do this.”

“When?” There’s an excitement stirring in her voice and he doesn’t try to hide the matching energy on his own.

“Whenever you wa-“

“Now. I want it now.” She slips off his lap and turns to him, kneeling. Her eyes are as bright as the stars in the sky and far more captivating as far as Fox is concerned. He sits up a little straighter.

“You’re serious? Just like that?”

Mouse nods. She’s never been so sure of anything in her life. When he’d said it earlier today she was scarcely sure she heard him correctly, and then the icy bath in the pool had worked wonders in rearranging her priorities.

“Stop questioning me. You’d think you’d be happy to-“

He steals the air from her lungs and the words from her mouth with a kiss that, had her panties not already been on floor, would have surely put them there. His hands cup her face and she’s thankful for the anchor they provide as she whimpers into his mouth. She lets out a ragged breath as he pulls back just enough for her to focus.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."

Maker bless Cody because she understands every word Fox says. The Marshal Commander hadn’t even blinked when she’d posed her question.

“You have to breathe Cyar’ika,” Fox whispers and Mouse lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Fox’s brows bunch together as her silence stretches. “We don’t have to-“

Mouse presses a finger to his lips and he quiets.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."

Fox leans in, presses his forehead to hers. Her heart is full. Her soul is light.

“Mine,” he promises softly.

She smiles at the claim.

“Mine,” she makes her own assertion.

His thumb strokes along her jaw. “Precious…” He pulls her back into his lap and Mouse’s eyes grow wide as she looks down as giggles begin to bubble up in her chest.

“Again already?”

“We need to get to work on those little warriors.”

——-

Mouse really hadn’t wanted to get out of bed. Strike that. She had adamantly refused to get out of bed. She was nowhere near Fox’s level of ‘morning person’ and the pleasantly dull ache between her legs left her even more certain that bed was the perfect place for her.

Unfortunately, her newly minted Riduur had other ideas. Mainly to watch the sunrise - just once - over Naboo’s famed lakes. He’d seemed so hopeful that she had begrudgingly crawled from her bed and slid into a pair of leggings before stealing one of the black under armors he’d packed. He seemed to approve as she tied the overly large shirt off just below her navel, his eyes lingering on the bare strip of flesh as he’d pulled his own clothes on. It had been fascinating and almost jarring to see him in something other than regulation GAR issued clothes, instead having opted for the simple pants and tunic that Padmé had left for all her guests in their rooms.

“You know, we could still go back to bed and discuss the little warriors some more,” she teases lightly as she reaches across the table and retrieves an insulated carafe. She pours two mugs of rich black caf and then begins doctoring them accordingly.

The light is slowly beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the lake when the patio doors open and the rest of their party ease into the cool morning air.

Fox huffs, “First we eat and then we’ll discuss what pops up.”

“You’re talking about sex right?” Bly’s voice echoes over the patio, “because honestly, bravo. Amiright?” He looks to an exasperated General Secura and an equally unamused Cody. “Because wow, you two give Aayla and I a run for our credits.”

“Bly!” The Commander winces as Aayla cuts her eyes at him. Mouse hides her embarrassed smile in the hot mug of sweet caf.

“Come on, look at him!” Bly points to Fox who sips at his own caf. “When was the last time he looked so much like himself?”

“You mean a smug asshole?” Cody cuts in straight faced, but eyes dancing with amusement.

“Exactly!”

Mouse glances at her husband and the way he’s relaxed back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, the sleeves of his cream tunic rolled up just below his elbows with strong forearms on display... stars above! And that grin…

He did, in fact, look like a smug asshole and it did things to her.

“Don’t be jealous Bly. It’s not becoming.” Fox baits his vod happily.

“Why you little mir’sheb-“

Cody rolls his eyes and physically moves Bly out of the way with a straight arm to find his spot at the table.

Aayla slides in next to Mouse. The Jedi gives her a knowing smirk before gently touching a spot just behind her ear. The twi’lek’s voice is conspiratorial. “Our boys like to make it appear as if we’ve done battle with octopi, no? Bacta gel and high collars are going to be your best friend.”

Mouse can feel her cheeks heating up again as Bly’s head appears over Aayla’s shoulder. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s never worn anything high collared in her entire life.”

“Are we starting in on the armor argument again this early?” the blue skinned woman asks with a huff.

“Now that you mention it…”

The pair dissolve into playful bickering while the doors open and Padmé and Anakin make their way onto the patio, each with a baby in tow, while General Kenobi takes up the rear. The atmosphere is lively as everyone settles in. Babies are dispersed and fawned over. Bly smiles widely as Luke fumbles to touch and grab at his face. Obi-wan has a placid watchful Leia in his arms. Both look serene to a point where it’s nearly comical.

The Chancellor makes his presence known as the food is being spread out.

“What a strange group we have here,” he notes with a smile.

“Ah yes, it would seem you have stumbled on the inaugural meeting of those who don’t believe in fraternization regulations.” Obi-wan’s eyes sparkle with mischief while at his side Cody rolls his.

A small laugh rises within the group and for a moment there is no war, no separatists, no strife or heartache within the Republic. For a moment everyone is allowed to just be, without making decisions or worrying about repercussions.

Mouse tops off Fox’s caf before pouring one for Cody, who thanks her with a knowing smile and nod. Fox is busy piling a plate with food. Colorful cut fruit, fresh meats, and rich pastries fill it as he sits back.

The babies are making their rounds. Anakin has managed to wrangle his daughter back from the child’s Grand Master and Luke is plunked into Mouse’s arms while Padmé seems to enjoy the moment sans child.

When she glances at Fox, she can’t help but notice the way he looks at the infant in her arms. His eyes soften at the little boy as he gurgles and tries to grab ahold of Mouse’s braid hanging over her shoulder.

If he had his way, they’d have a tiny one of their own in nine months. Not that she was complaining. If they could use their contacts to rush Me’kar’s adoption through, they could have two before the next Festival of Life. Of course, until Padme’s bill became law, Fox wouldn’t be the father of record for at least Me’kar - possibly either child - but they’d already talked about it and they would do it the Mando way until they could-

“Cyar’ika? You’re thinking very hard about something,” Fox notes softly, holding his hands out for his turn with Luke.

“Yes, I hope you're feeling well,” Padmé adds as Mouse admires the tiny child tucked comfortably into the crook of his elbow, “I hear that you may not have had much sleep last night.” Mouse’s head snaps to her friend who - for being an amazing politician - is doing an awful job of hiding her smile behind her cup of juice.

Mouse glances sideways at the snort her husband makes. He pushes the plate of food in front of her and eyes it. “Eat, precious.”

He ignores the way her eyes roll and maintains his stare until she takes the first bite of fruit.

“Commander Fox.” Bail eyes the pair of them as he speaks, “I wonder if you had the report on those aggressive negotiations we’d spoken of yesterday.”

“As I stated, they’re likely to remain heavily redacted.” The grin that spreads across Fox’s face should have warned her he was up to no good. “But my Riduur and I came to a perfectly reasonable agreement in the end.”

Bastard.

The table goes silent as Fox looks down and coos something to Luke. Mouse puts her head down and chews longer than necessary. Someone drops a fork. Then, all at once-

“As someone experienced in secret weddings-“

“Can he do that? Legally speaking-”

“Leave it to Fox-”

“I have a sister now?! Cody we have-“

“This is going to go over like a-“

“There’ll be no living with him now. Does this set a-“

Mouse takes another bite as she looks over at the satisfied grin on the face of the Coruscant Guard Commander. “Are you quite happy now?”

“Very.”

She can’t argue with that.

#fox and mouse #commander fox #cc 1010 #commander fox/reader

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nekolatte · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4: Pursuit

Preview: Dante noted the color of his hair, the curve of his nose and set of his jaw― Leon was pretty, and more so when he turned red with embarrassment. “What do you want?” Dante blinked, not realizing immediately that question was for him― instead captive to the show of snarling teeth and an eye color that looked more green than blue under the dingy bathroom light. “To help you”

Oh, Dante was in trouble.

Well, he was always in some form of trouble. Either with his landlord, his local government. Lady, Trish, the world in general. The demon world in generalー

Pausing his increasingly derailing train of thought, Dante picked up a discarded shirt and moved on, both literally and mentally.

Point was, he was having feelings. Soft, playful feelings like those first few weeks when Lady blushed and stuttered at every other innuendo out of Dante's mouth or when Trish would smirk and tease at his attempts to make her laugh. Flirting came second nature to Dante, but other than getting an amusing reaction from the other party, there wasn’t much else he gained from it. Contrary to his public persona, he wasn’t interested in getting laid with a revolving door of men, women and miscellaneous.

Dante enjoyed the attention, not the intimacy.

But with Leon, some stranger he scraped up off the sidewalk and stitched back together? There was something there that Dante wanted to tentatively pursue, and the only person he ever actively pursued in his life was a brother he couldn’t confidently confirm was dead or alive at the moment. This was new and strange and Dante didn't want to stop despite the alarm bells ringing.

He tried telling himself that it was all in good fun, that even if he did get stupidly attached, Leon certainly wouldn't reciprocate. Wariness and hostility wafted off the man like the demon guts he had bathed in prior, and seemed oblivious that he gave off either stench. Dante wouldn’t be entranced forever at chasing after someone that wasn’t interestedー he may have been foolhardy but he wasn’t masochistic. Not entirely. Enjoying Lady’s company made him doubt that part of himself sometimes, but no.

In any case, maybe Dante shouldn't have hinted at the threat during their first little talk, been more open and friendly to a human side-stepping into Hell’s door― it had just felt urgent that the man understand the circumstances he was suddenly in. Too late for it now.

Preferring to confront problems with a sword and gun, of which neither was good in this particular instance, Dante decided to just ignore everything and get Leon some pants.

He knocked on the bathroom door just to be polite and let himself in without bothering to wait for a response. Leon looked irritated, to put it mildly, but had nothing to say when Dante presented the clothing he found.

“What, no leather?” Leon quipped, though seemed to regret it immediately as he took a sudden and all-consuming focus in squeezing and flicking off every bit of water on his person. Probably would’ve kept on going if Dante didn’t toss a towel at him, even if it was amusing to watch a grown man sulk in a tub with a shower curtain wrapped around his waist.

“You can’t pull it off like I can.”

Leon grumbled something under his breath that even Dante couldn’t pick up, and yet Dante didn’t move from his comfortable lean against the vanity despite how obvious Leon was at dragging this whole ordeal out. He wasn’t going to ask for help, despite having it allowed it before, obviously waiting for Dante to take the hint and leave but Dante wasn’t going to take it. He really did want to help, plain and simple.

Humans were so damn soft, so damn fragile. Dante left Leon alone for all of ten minutes and the guy nearly cracked his skull on the bathroom tile. Both too stubborn to concede, the minutes dragged like hours― Dante watching Leon for every second of it. Head tilted like a curious cat, he noted the color of his hair: darker, when wet, though the tips and the wispy hair that made up his fringe were starting to lighten already. The curve of his nose and set of his jaw, light stubble pushing through. Severe eyebrows at contrast with bow lips― Leon was pretty, and more so when he turned red with embarrassment.

“What do you want?”

Dante blinked, not realizing immediately that question was for him― instead captive to the show of snarling teeth and an eye color that looked more green than blue under the dingy bathroom light. He recovered quickly, though.

“To help you, what I’ve been trying to do this whole time.”

Something in Leon seemed to break, maybe his pride, because he slumped in place, face gone dark and pinched, and looked about ready to accept his death rather than a helping hand up. Dante frowned, the victory leaving a confused, bitter taste in his mouth, and failed to come up with a comment to lighten the mood.

All he could do was step forward at Leon’s quietly raised hand, ignoring it entirely to lean down into the tub and scoop the stubborn man right up. Since he was already feeling guilty over the whole debacle, not realizing how far he pushed Leon past his comfort zone, Dante went right ahead and took more liberties than given.

Leon, worryingly, said nothing, though Dante found some quiet solace in the bright red of his ears that stuck out almost endearingly from flat hair. Clothes snagged on the way to Trish’s room proper, Dante cleared out a space for Leon on the bed before setting him down. The man in question did everything imaginable to avoid Dante’s line of sight, and Dante still felt too thrown off to do anything but respect the man’s privacy as best he could.

It involved a lot of looking to the side while going off muscle memory to bandage Leon up and help him into a shirt and sweats, a few pained hisses here and there, but the lack of communication was wearing. Dante wasn’t much for silence, especially when he was responsible for part of it. He still didn’t know what he did― the way he saw it, it was the same back and forth they had just a few minutes prior. Except, well, he was ogling a man that couldn’t get away from the unwanted attention, that was his implied prisoner. Offered to help when Leon obviously had issues with it.

That last part Dante didn’t understand.

Still, he didn’t want either of them to tiptoe around each other for however long Leon was forced to stay. Dante rubbed his forehead for just a few extra moments to collect himself before he got down to kneel between Leon’s parted legs, an attempt to be in his line of sight― feeling chastised despite Leon not having said a single word. He didn’t dare look up, didn’t want to know what face Leon was making because Dante knew his own was scrunched up with guilt and embarrassment. This was not a good look for him, and one he knew anyone in his immediate acquaintance would never let him live down.

“Listen, I know what this all seems like― I know you’re feeling cautious, and with good reason, but I really am just trying to help. You’re better off not knowing the things I know, and I just need you to trust me that I’ll tell you if that changes. This… It screws up people’s heads, makes day-to-day life just a little more harder to deal with. I don’t want to put you through that.” Dante dragged a hand through his hair and disrupted the slicked-back style so it fell back over his eyes.

Dante was forced to look through them when Leon made a noise that sounded like a question, catching a gaze that was focused on Dante and Dante alone. It felt different, something he could sink into, and a baser, more primal part of his mind wanted to nudge in those last few inches forward and rest his head on Leon’s knee. He reeled from it.

Leon rubbed at a shoulder, careful with the bruising under the borrowed t-shirt. “Why. That’s what I want to know. Providing first aid, giving me a place to recuperate, is one thing. Everything else is another. Making sure I’m not infected,” Leon flinched at the word, though didn’t seem to notice his own action, “doesn’t mean you have to… help me bathe.”

“Because I like you.” The answer came easily, far before his brain could catch up to his mouth after its earlier reprimand. He hadn’t meant to admit to it― they knew each other for three days, at best, and Leon was unconscious for most of it.

But all Dante could think about was how Leon fought for survival against something that was far beyond his capabilities, refusing to back down despite having the opportunity to turn tail and run. The grit of his teeth and the glare of his eyes when cornered, bloodied but not broken. How he sunk into Dante’s arms as if he was a safe haven, a comfort against the quick torment Leon had been subjected to. The many hours Dante spent watching the man sleep, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest― listening to the steady beat of his heart and losing precious moments of peace when it stuttered. Wanting nothing more than the ability to make Leon better instead of his arsenal of slaughter and destruction.

Maybe his pursuit wasn’t quite so tentative.

“What I mean is―” But he didn’t have to actively admit it. “―I can tell you’re a good person, Leon. I want all this to be easier for you. I know you don’t believe me, but it isn’t going to stop me from trying.”

Feeling all manner of wrong from admitting to so much emotion without a sarcastic or stupid comment, Dante got to his feet and moved around Leon to get to the bed. He grabbed at every scrap of loose clothing and tossed them into the pile by Trish’s closet, anything to make the area a little more inviting, and gestured to it.

“You should get some more sleep, probably on a bed this time. I’m gonna go and find some food for you.” Dante fled before Leon could get a word in otherwise.

#guns and roses #devil may cry #resident evil #dante x leon

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elvendara · 4 years ago

Text

Mysme RBB

My second piece I did for the @mysme-rbb ! A little Jaehee X MC angst.

My partner for this was @lonely_weeb_art (will post link when available for the art)

It was such a blast to do this, my first ever BB! I met many new friends and reconnected with some old ones! I love Mystic Messenger and hope to have many more years of fan content!

Thank you @mysme-rbb for putting this together. Nod to the mods! Who were super awesome!!

MC giggled, her long brown hair fluttering around her shoulders. She was glued to her phone, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

“What’s so funny?” Jaehee asked as she wiped the counter down in her kitchen. A little too roughly perhaps.

“Oh it’s just Zenny!” MC said as she waved at Jaehee.

“You’ve been texting a lot with Zen lately.” she said off handedly.

“He’s entertaining.” The brunette said, not taking her eyes off her phone, her fingers flashing across the small keypad, a smile from ear to ear.

“I... thought you were here to see me.” Jaehee stated, trying to be lighthearted.

“Aw, are you feeling jealous?”

“No. Just, well, like I said, you’ve been getting pretty close to Zen lately, is there something I should know?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” MC’s smile was completely gone as she stood from where she had been comfortably laying on Jaehee’s sofa. Her eyes flashed angrily.

Jaehee sighed as she swept her coffee brown hair behind her ear. Since leaving Jumin’s employ she had begun to grow it out again. “It doesn’t mean anything.” she leaned into wiping the counter with her sponge even harder, not meeting MC’s eyes.

“I think it means something. Go ahead, say it.” MC put fists on her hips and the look on her face suddenly broke Jaehee.

“OK, fine.” she stopped scrubbing, throwing the sponge into the pristine sink and placed her own fists on her hips, mirroring the shorter woman. “You text and talk to Zen a lot. Even when we’re supposed to be doing something together. Last week when we went to the street fair your phone pinged continuously. You even kept taking your hand out of mine so you could text him back. Look, I like Zen, I always have, but I think you two are too close. Am I jealous? I don’t know, should I be?” she finished, her voice rising steadily.

“You are unbelievable!” MC stormed towards the door, kicking off her slippers and shoving her feet into her shoes aggressively.

“Am I? You came over today to spend some time with me, we were supposed to watch a movie and maybe just cuddle on the sofa, but all you’ve done the whole evening is stay glued to that phone! Talking to him. Him! Not me!”

“You’ve crossed a line Jaehee, and I can’t believe you don’t see that.” MC’s words were muffled by tears that began to fall.

“Go on then! Go! I’m sure Zen will have a ready shoulder for you to cry on!” Jaehee could barely hold her own tears back. She had never raised her voice this way. There was so much anger in her at the moment and it frightened her. Perhaps it was better that MC was not around her now.

“I am!” MC screamed as she yanked the front door and slammed it behind her with a loud ring of finality.

As the door closed Jaehee’s body trembled and she fell to her knees, body wracked with sobs. She was terrified that she would never see MC again, that she had just ruined her relationship. It was still so new and maybe she was overreacting? But no, maybe she could have brought up the subject a little more delicately, but the constant texting and calling with Zen had begun to interfere with their time together.

^^*^^

MC strode down the sidewalk, jaw clenched, brown eyes glaring so hard people jumped out of her way. Her long hair flew behind her as she ran through the first argument she and Jaehee had ever had. How dare she! Was Zen only supposed to be friends with Jaehee? How many nights had they stayed up together and watched Zen, giggling like schoolgirls at his amazing acting ability? Shaking their heads at all the fangirls who threw themselves at him on social media?

Did she really think that’s what she was doing? Fangirling over Zen? Or worse? Actually believing they could have a relationship? How hard had MC fought to convince Jaehee of her feelings for her? And she was jealous of Zen?

Her muddled thoughts went round and round. Recounting each and every communication she’d had with Zen. Jaehee talked to him too! But did she talk to him as much as MC? As she thought about it, she realized that while Jaehee was a religious cheerleader for Zen and his career, she never took it to the extreme. Her conversations with Zen were about his career and his plans. They were friends, but first and foremost she was a fan who held Zen at arm’s length. Something, someone, to be admired.

MC choked up as the realization hit her. She had been spending too much time talking to Zen. Calling, texting, hanging out. Even tonight. Jaehee had cooked for them and all she could think of was listening to Zen’s drama about his current acting partner. About her not-so-subtle attempts at seducing the man. As soon as dinner was over, she took herself to the sofa and plopped down to get the low down on the day’s events from him. She hadn’t even thanked Jaehee for the meal, the candles, the romantic lighting and music. Jaehee had fled from her thoughts.

This led her to other times in which she had ignored her girlfriend in preference of Zen’s company. Of course Jaehee saw it as a threat. Although MC had no romantic feelings for the man, she hadn’t been acting like a loving and caring girlfriend. She sighed as she realized what a giant ass she had been and an even greater one with her defensiveness tonight. She should turn around and go apologize immediately. But first, she would go to the flower shop and buy a bouquet. Maybe some wine. And she would spend the rest of the night, no, the rest of the week making it up to her gorgeous girlfriend.

She pulled out the phone from her back pocket and muted it. No more Zen, or anyone else, for a while. She had some amending to do. Screeching tires reached her ears and a cacophony of screams. Startled she looked up, but too late. She was in the middle of the street, her feet taking her towards the flower shop without actively thinking about it. The car tried to stop, the driver wrenching his wheel to the right but it was too late. Its front end slammed into MC, sending her flying up and over the hood, smashing into the windshield. When the car came to a stop her body was flung forward, tumbling onto the road, she was narrowly missed by oncoming traffic. The sounds of striking metal rang through the air, the smell of burnt rubber and gas mingled together, the atmosphere becoming hazy with thickening smoke. MC lay, broken and battered on the ground as a crowd gathered around her.

^^*^^

Jaehee heard something that sounded like a crash, but she couldn't’ be bothered to care. She lay on the sofa and wept. How could a simple fight hurt this much? Had she just lost her lover? Over what? Zen? Of course MC didn’t care for him like she cared for her, but it was still difficult to share her girlfriend with someone that much. Was she wrong to feel this way? She had hoped they could have a romantic evening and was going to ask MC to stay the night. She berated herself but was conflicted. One second she wanted to take it all back, beg Mc to come back and forget everything she had said, the next she felt self-righteous and justified in bringing up the wall that seemed to come up between them lately.

As the glaring of the sirens in the distance grew closer her muddled mind began to work again. Whatever had happened it was close. She began to worry. It hadn’t been that long since MC left. In fact, the sounds of an apparent accident could very well have happened near her, depending on which direction she’d gone. Worry getting the better of her she reached for her phone and dialed her number. It rang and rang. Nobody answering. Maybe it was just because she was still mad at her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she had to move.

She leapt to her feet and ran out the door. It wasn’t difficult to determine where the accident had taken place once she hit the street. There was a large cloud of smoke to her left at the closest intersection to her apartment. A large crowd of people were gathered around three vehicles. There were several police cruisers and an ambulance at the sight. She looked around to see if she could spot MC but found nothing. Desperately she ran towards the crowd, needing to make sure that her fear was unfounded.

As she broke through the crowd, she saw paramedics lifting a body from the ground. The brown hair with red highlights shining in the sun looking all too familiar. She shook her head, it couldn’t be, lots of people had that hair. Making it into the center she could no longer deny what she saw. Those were MC’s clothes. That was her hand hanging off the stretcher. She screamed and ran through the barricades. A police officer stopped her, tried to restrain her but she stomped on his foot and reached MC as they were putting her in the ambulance.

“MC!” she cried. She tried to grab a hold of her wrist, but she was once again denied.

“Do you know this woman?” an officer, a different one than the one she had assaulted, asked her.

“YES! Please! Is she...is she...” she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to know if it was true.

“She’s alive.” One of the paramedics answered right before closing the door.

“Please!” she wanted to go with her, but the ambulance was already gone. Her heart raged at a hundred miles a minute. Blood pulsing so loudly that her ears heard nothing but muffled sound. The policeman was asking her something and she had to try and clear her head before she could hear accurately.

“Ma’am. Can you tell us who she is? Are you alright?”

“No! No I’m not alright I need to go with her!” she tried to yank herself free but there were more officers now.

“Someone will take you to the hospital I promise. Right now I need you to give me some information.”

“What...what happened?” she was delirious, looking around, there was a red car behind her with a broken windshield and two other cars that had been going in the opposite direction. The white truck had hit a light pole and the blue car had hit it from behind. It all made no sense and still she was unable to leave. Every car was empty but there didn’t seem to be any other injured people, only the love of her life.

“Is the woman your friend?” this time it was a female officer who asked her. Jaehee blinked at the shorter woman and shook her head.

“N... no... she...she’s my girlfriend. Please, I... I need to be with her.” she pleaded.

“Alright.” The female officer nodded with understanding. She spoke to a few other officers and led her to one of the cruisers. She opened the door to the back of the vehicle and Jaehee climbed in, numb and terrified.

During the ride she had the presence of mind to call Jumin and let him know what had happened. She'd had to ask the officers which hospital they were going to. Once they arrived, they showed her to a waiting room and informed the staff who she was there for. It didn’t take long for the rest of the RFA to join her. Jumin spoke to the nurses and took control of the situation, giving the officers the information they requested about MC. She was grateful.

The night was long and stressful, Jaehee still felt fuzzy and not all there. She began to cry when she saw Zen and remembered the ridiculous fight they’d had. The man was no threat to her relationship, he wasn’t that kind of man. It had been her own jealousy that was the threat. How would she ever forgive herself if MC didn’t make it? Zen held her and let her cry, telling her that everything was going to be alright. That MC was a fighter and she wouldn’t want Jaehee to give up.

It was early morning when the doctor finally came out to give them an update.

“How is she?” Jumin asked, his grey eyes etched with worry.

“The next few days will be important. She’ll have to remain in ICU so we can keep an eye on her progress. There was extensive internal bleeding, her spleen was ruptured and there are several broken bones. It will be a long recovery but she’s young and strong. We’re hopeful.”

Jaehee breathed a sigh of relief as did everyone in the room. Yoosung’s sobs subsided and Saeran held onto him tightly. Saeyoung took off his glasses and wiped them absently, his eyes still red-rimmed. Jumin put an arm around Jaehee and gave her a gentle and encouraging smile. Zen did the same.

“Can I see her?” she asked through a tear-stained face.

“Of course. Unfortunately only one person is allowed into the ICU room at a time.” They nodded in understanding, knowing Jaehee would be the only one to be with her until she was moved to a regular room. “One of the nurses will take you back.” he nodded to them and left.

A nurse took Jaehee by the arm and led her through the locked double doors. The whoosh startled her and she blinked rapidly, trying to gain her bearings. She’d never felt so out of sorts. She had always been strong. She’d had to be most of her life. She never let anything keep her down no matter what. But this was not something she could power through. It was taking all of her self-control not to run down the sanitized hall screaming for her MC.

They made it to the room, and she felt as if she was going to faint at the sight of the beautiful woman who lay broken and battered on the hospital bed with tubes coming out of her from both arms. She fell back but the nurse was there to steady her and help her to a chair.

The woman pulled the chair as close as she could and reached out to hold MC’s hand. It was warm and that was comforting. She was breathing on her own and that was also comforting. The sheet was pulled up to her chest, her arms above it. She couldn’t see what was underneath but perhaps that was a good thing. There was a cast on her right leg and on her left arm.

“I’m so sorry MC. I was an idiot! I know you love me and would never hurt me on purpose. I should have tried to discuss how I was feeling instead of assuming you were doing something wrong or inconsiderate. I should have...I... please don’t leave me!” she sobbed and clutched at her hand begging and pleading with God to keep her alive. She felt pathetic but she couldn’t help it! She clutched at the cross around her neck and prayed. Pleading for healing. For a chance to make it right. As she prayed, she felt MC’s fingers close around hers.

#my posts #mysmerbb #JaeheeXMC #angst #accident #Jaehee Kang #RFA #MC #jealousy #lonely_weeb_art

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painless-innit-colourful · 4 years ago

Text

‘Weeping Headstones - Prologue’

The beginning of a Doctor Who AU I’ll never finish: Tommy and Tubbo are all set to hang out and go stargazing when- Well, they never can get a bit of peace, can they? Feat. some suspicious statues in the shape of Weeping Angels...

It promises to be a beautiful starry night. That’s what Foolish apparently told Tubbo earlier that day as he hung around Snowchester. Tommy doesn’t know how he knows that or how far he trusts it to be true, but if he’s right, he’s glad Tubbo’ll be here to spend it with him. It’s been a good week or so since they’ve had the chance to go stargazing; between bad weather, Tubbo’s responsibilities in Snowchester, Tommy’s new hotel project and yesterday’s nuke test, they’ve both been rather busy lately.

Just the thought of it makes him clear his throat on reflex, and it brings a smile to his lips. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have radiation poisoning. Like, eighty percent. Okay, maybe he should’ve been more careful, but since he and Tubbo emerged from Dream’s creepy-ass vault with their lives Tommy’s been feeling rather indestructible. Not to bring Hamilton back into it, but he couldn’t seem to die. Besides, they had medicine, he hadn’t been accidentally hit by a nuke, and Dream was in the prison. Nothing could possibly pose him any threat right now.

As if to immediately prove him wrong, there’s a sharp ‘TWANG’ from only a few feet behind him, accompanied by a sharp whistle of air. Tommy’s reflexes from fighting a dozen wars and never knowing who to trust kick in, and he sinks down on the bench as an arrow sails through the empty space where his head just was. He has no armour and only a random sword on him: on the other hand, it’s just a skeleton. He draws his sword, dropping to one knee using the bench as a shield. The skeleton stands on the path outside his house, nocking another arrow on its bow. Tommy takes advantage of that brief moment, vaulting the side of the bench to run at the skeleton. He lands one hit on the wretched thing’s shoulder when he hears a familiar hiss from behind him to the right. He lets out a cry of surprise and swings in a wide arc, striking the creeper that had also snuck up on him and sending it back a couple metres or so. He scrambles back in the direction of L’Manberg, watching as the creeper shuffles forward and the skeleton fires a lazy shot to the side of it.

“You okay?” Tubbo sticks his head out of Tommy’s doorway, obviously alerted by Tommy’s surprised squeaking. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He says quickly, darting forward and delivering a second strike to the creeper, sending it reeling back again. Tubbo appears to disregard his statement, levelling a loaded crossbow at the skeleton and pinging a bolt off its skull. It makes a dull thudding sound and leaves a sizable dent. Tubbo reloads again, but the skeleton shoots first. Tommy doesn’t even need to dodge, as the arrow sticks in the creeper with a sound like someone stepping on a stick of TNT - don’t ask how he knows what that sounds like. There’s another hollow thud as Tubbo cracks another bolt off the skeleton’s body, and the magic holding its bones together disintegrates along with its form.

“We can call that one a team effort.” Tubbo shoots him a wink and goes to retreat back inside when he’s stopped by a small gasp from Tommy. He turns back, “What is it?” The blonde boy is sifting delicately through the pile of ash left by the creeper, revealing a round of black shellac like a palaeontologist uncovering a precious fossil. Neither boy can suppress the grin that forms. “Which is it?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy lifts up the disc to show the red centre. “Blocks again.” He leans back and gets to his feet. “You want it?”

“Sure.” Tommy passes it to Tubbo with a gentleness reserved only for discs and injured friends, and Tubbo gives him a genuine smile as he goes to put it in his ender chest. As he carefully puts it away, a warm feeling spreads through him. Contentment. He keeps an ear out for any more Tommy mishaps.

The boy in question is currently messing with the jukebox, resetting Cat since it had stopped playing since his encounter with the skeleton-creeper duo. The familiar synth melody begins to play, and Tommy’s about to recline back on his bench when he hears a series of small crashing noises, like someone’s dropped a frying pan down a flight of stairs. Furthermore, the noise came from the opposite direction to his house. He looks in the direction of the downtown SMP but sees nothing- No, wait.

Sticking just above the footpath is the top of a head. Someone’s crouched on the Prime Path stairs up to his house, and they’re watching him. Tommy maintains eye contact while getting up, going for a staring contest to psyche them out, whoever they are; he hasn’t figured that part out yet. They’ve got grey hair and a very stony gaze that turns his stomach over, but apart from that, he can’t make out anything since their body is out of his sightline. He makes his way over, head whirling with thoughts. Is this the apparently infamous Addison Rae??

Tubbo’s communicator buzzes unexpectedly. He yanks the microphone down to his mouth with two fingers, hands full of cr*p from Tommy’s chests. “Tubbooooo…” From the sound of Tommy’s voice, he’s making a regretful face and has just done something stupid. “On a scale of one to started a war, how bad is it?” A loud sigh is transmitted through the headphones in regrettably crisp quality. “Different scale. This is like that time I mistook a scarecrow for an attractive woman.” Tubbo sniggers. “What happened?”

“I feel like a foolish man, Tubbo.” “What did you do?” “I thought someone was watching me from the stairs, right? But it’s just this creepy-ass statue.” He plows through Tubbo’s giggles, kicking the statue with his foot in irritation. Part of its arm goes with it. “I’m being trolled with an oversized garden gnome.” “Weird. What’s it look like?” “It’s- It kinda looks like it belongs in a graveyard actually. It’s an angel, but its hands are on the stairs and everything, like it crawled up here to get me.” “Ah yes, angels. The most terrifying of monsters.” “I’m gonna ask Foolish if there’s a family relation-” “Oh god don’t-” “Or if I can kick it off the stairs like the other one. There’s a broken one down there.” He relayed, peering down at a pile of grey limbs and ash on the ground far below.

“I say pay it no mind. I’m nearly done.” Tubbo passes on, dumping an armful of saplings into a corner of the appropriate chest, inventively named ‘nature sh*t’. “How long does it take to find drugs in my chests? If it’s that hard, we have a serious problem, and not just with your eyesight.” Tommy complains, putting on a show of frustrated gestures to no one as he makes his way back to the bench. He flops down, ignoring the acute feeling of being watched sourcing from the statue on the stairs. “Tommy, looking in your chests is like trying to find the button in Pogtopia.” The blonde boy sits up straight, his back cracking in several places. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy can hear the smile in Tubbo’s voice the next time he speaks. “Lot of stuff that looks about right, but none of it actually does what you want it to.”

Tubbo hears the beginning of a reply masked with an undignified splutter, and he’s about to shoot something back first when the scream rips the sarky comment out of his mouth. He sprints up Tommy’s stairs and throws himself out the door, crossbow levelled… But there’s nothing there. Also, there’s no Tommy.

Panic starts to rise. He scours the immediate area, peering over the edge of the hill, along the path towards the hotel, all the way to the stairs down to L’Manberg, checking the houses opposite Tommy’s and down the stairs where Tommy said the angel statue was. And while there’s a broken pile of stone far below as he described… Whatever Tommy saw on the stairs is gone.

There’s no time to worry about that. “Tommy!” His thoughts race. What could’ve happened? The wind starts to pick up, and it brings a whirring sound only just obscured by the dying strains of Cat. “Tommy?! C’mon man, this isn’t funny!” It can’t have been a mob, there was nothing there. There’s no one else in the area; even so, Tubbo loads his crossbow and keeps it handy. He hasn’t been killed: there’s no blood and no body.

Could Dream have escaped the prison?

The thought sends a chill through him, rivalled only by a frigid Snowchester morning. Tommy hasn’t told him, properly, about his exile yet. There’s still a lot of leftover feelings involved for both of them. Even so, it’s plain to see: Dream hurt Tommy in ways neither of them had dealt with before: ways they should never have to deal with. If Dream were to get out of Pandora’s Vault and then go for Tommy before anyone could warn them…

Tubbo has his phone out and is halfway through typing Sam’s number when a small noise behind him causes his danger sense to start blaring like a nuclear siren. He turns, standing near Tommy’s door again, just in time to see a figure pass overheard, leaping from the roof of Tommy’s house and landing ahead of him. The figure makes a beeline for the bench, or more accurately the jukebox, and Tubbo watches dumbfounded as the figure lifts Cat from where it’s playing with practised ease and places it into their coat. The mystery thief is facing the wrong way for Tubbo to see their face, but he does take note of the pink hair tied back in a small ponytail, the ruby-red, fur-lined cloak and the sturdy boots leaving tread marks in the grass before they hop over the edge of the hill. He runs forward to perhaps get a shot in as they escape, only to be met with an empty landscape and the beginnings of a very pretty sunset.

He drops his phone to his side, jaw slack and nerves shaking. Someone’s trolling him and Tommy by moving an angel statue around. Then Tommy suddenly vanishes with a scream. And the icing on the absolute disaster cake: a possibly very powerful enemy’s just made off with one of the discs.

“Oh, f*ck me.”

#do you know how long i've had this sitting in my google drive #since February #and it's june now!! (i keep forgetting how far through the year we are)#anyway i lost motivation for this but why not show off what i have?#who knows #maybe one day...#dream smp #crim writes #tommyinnit #tubbo #clingy duo #dsmp fic

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shattersstar · 5 years ago

Text

i love you and we’re inventing a new way to hold hands

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

excerpt: You smiled, you always smiled at him when no one else did. You let your hand fall over his, slowly pushing him off, knees tucking underneath your body as you leaned forward, a hand falling on his chest, nose nudging his and you were so close Jason almost had to go cross eyed to look at you. You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shirt before you kissed him.

warnings: canon typical violence, fluff, good communication™️

a/n: teehee a little break from requests because @dukethmas commented “i love you and we’re inventing a new way to hold hands” on this fic and i thought it was very pretty and resonated something deep in me so i thought i’d write something for zohra. It’s mostly a thank u for all ur wonderful comments i could be having the worst day or be tired of writing then u sweep in and just say the sweetest and point out such great things and it makes me love writing so thank u ily

—

He knew he loved you, it was one of the only things he was sure of. It wasn’t as jarring as he expected it to be, everyone in books and movies were jolted by love—shot by arrows or struck with realization or the words shouted so clearly in their direction—it was meant to catch you off guard. But for him, it crept through his apartment door, nestled on his couch and hung around during movie nights or study sessions, danced through the air when you’d sing purposely loud in the shower and sat on the counter in the kitchen when you bickered over breakfast about coffee or almonds or sleeping in socks of whatever.

So when you kissed him, hard—daring even—the love that had moved into his life was still there and it only smiled. Just like you, smiling wide when he kissed you back, fingers curling into his shirt, wrinkling it even more as he grasped your waist. He never wanted to stop kissing you—that thought was a bit more jarring, but he also hadn’t expected to kiss you, ever. Jason hadn’t really expected to kiss anyone in truth, he wasn’t good at romance, he didn’t even try to be. Sure he could flirt until his tongue fell off, and often shot far more than kind smiles to strangers when out, but romance, love, dating? That was a pipe dream, something he’d ignore in the early mornings when he’d return from patrol battered and bruised and still so fucking broken.

Then you showed up and maybe it was more than a dream. It was a goal. You treated love like that, something to be worked at, achieved, and worked at until your fingers bled and tears stained your cheeks. “Everything is a work in progress.” You’d mutter, half asleep and oddly philosophical at four in the morning. He laughed when you first said in, cheek pressed against his broad chest, the vibrations were warm and made you smile as you blinked up at him, half dazed and eyes glassy. He smiled down at you, nose nudging your forehead, eyes unable to stop themselves from dropping to your sleepy grin before you pressed yourself back against him. You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked underneath you while he sat next to you, Jeopardy muted as you dozed. He watched the show in silence, listening to the shift in your breathing, although it only lasted a few minutes as you head lulled forward unexpectedly, startling you both and waking you up out of your nap.

“Jesus Christ—“ You huffed, as you came to, once again making Jason laugh. You both didn’t comment on the way his hands jumped, ready to catch or hold or whatever, you before falling against his thighs.

“Enjoy your nap?” He teased as you shifted away, palm digging into your eye.

“Shut up. How long did I—“

“Few minutes.”

“I’m probably gonna go home then, I think if I fall asleep here again I won’t like—get up.” You shrugged, swinging your feet to the ground when a hand shot out, resting on your knee.

Jason hadn’t thought before doing, and he was acutely aware of the way his fingers flexed when your eyes dropped to his hand, gripping the fabric of your jeans, fingers long and cold.

He was always cold, even if you never asked you knew why, why he tensed when your shoulders bumped and you’d shudder, or how holding your hand was never an option because of how you’d shiver—arm prickling in goosebumps. You didn’t blame him, why would you, but you knew he didn’t like this odd quirk of his, didn’t like to address, notice it, have it happen. So you ignored it with him.

Until now, until you shuddered for different reasons.

“As comfy as your couch is—“

“No.” He breathed, your eyes moving from his hand to his face, uncertainty hung in your expression.

“No?”

“You can sleep in my bed. With me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

You smiled, you always smiled at him when no one else did. You let your hand fall over his, slowly pushing him off, knees tucking underneath your body as you leaned forward, a hand falling on his chest, nose nudging his and you were so close Jason almost had to go cross eyed to look at you. You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shirt before you kissed him. He often revisited this moment, when he’d be out of the city, even when it was just a long night and he missed you. Missed you looking at him with so much adoration, letting your lips meet and not flinching away when his hands found your sides, pressing into the soft curves when you let his tongue explore your mouth, both of you pulling away, chests rising and falling visibly. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

And you did, you slept in his bedroom almost every night, even when he moved, the safe house you were used too suddenly a little less safe. You didn’t really move in though, he knew that was never really an option. You couldn’t not have a place to go when you argued or be responsible for it all if he died on patrol, and you needed your apartment so you could put photos of him. He didn’t like them, he never liked looking at himself—he always looked so off.

He was too thin as a kid, even as Robin he was all skin and bone, arms a little too long and hair an unruly mess of curls. Then he came back, tall and broad, but now his hair was streaked in white and his eyes weren’t brown anymore. They were a vivid green, another effect from the pit and he hated them. You had seen photos of him as a kid, the difference was quite stark, the deep auburn they once were now replaced with a gemstone sort of green, sharp and intense. Sometimes you wondered if his eyes were still brown, if they’d bore into your soul the way they do now. You once suggested contacts, the most you ever dared to touch upon the subject, you earned a half scoff, half laugh and shrugged it off.

Although, it was hard to hate his eyes when he got to look at you like this, sleeping in a chair beside his bed as the morning rolled over. It was still blue—everything; the sky, the clouds, the light streaming in, the rain hitting the pavement, the sadness in the air. He had come home half dead and your tears were blue too. Your arms were folded on his mattress, head turned and resting on them. He shifted, recognizing the space as Leslie’s clinic, your blood stained jacket tossed on the small table, his gear next to it. He let his head fall into the pillows, a long breath pushing past his lips. You weren’t ever supposed to see him like this, weren’t supposed to deal with these parts of his life, the parts he kept hidden and stored away, stacking atop of shoulders.

“Jay?” He hadn’t realized he closed his eyes, until they blinked open to find you staring back at him, expectant and so fucking scared.

Suddenly, it was hard to appreciate his sight, appreciate your face.

And still, because you’re you and you’re so good compared to him, you smile. Bright and warm—too warm for this blue morning.

“Are you okay?” You both asked, a moment of silence falling afterwards as you let out a sharp exhale.

“Of course I’m fine.” You dismissed, and he couldn’t help, but knit his brows, jaw clenching because there is nothing of course about this. The words slipped from his mouth, still too drugged out and exhausted to stop himself.

“This isn’t—you’re not supposed to have to deal with this. Its ‘posed to be hidden.”

“Jason, everything with you is hidden.” You sighed, carefully climbing onto the bed, head resting on his good shoulder. You kept your arms tucked close, willing yourself to not reach out and pull him into your embrace—scared to hurt him and scared to let your words die in the air. “And it’s fine, we aren’t exactly living normal lives, and you’re still allowed normal things. You’re allowed to be closed off or secretive or touchy about subjects, that’s all fine. It’s when they start getting too much is when its not and I think they’ve been too much for a while.” You explained, voice wavering and quieter than you planned. He closed his eyes again, love sitting at the edge of the bed and waiting with you. He wanted to kick it out—you out, wanted to push you away and let himself be cold and avoid his reflection because you’re not smiling over his shoulder as he stood in front of the sink anymore, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to hurt you, or himself anymore because maybe deep down he knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to live a life where he pushed your kindness and patience away.

“You don’t have to say anything, now or ever, but you also aren’t alone Jay. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” You confessed, lips meeting his bare shoulder, noting the way he tensed. Now love was in your throat and on your tongue and he didn’t know how to say it back, how to love you like you wanted—needed, but god, he’d try until his lungs heaved and blood poured from his body. So he looked down at you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he carefully shifted, turning into you and bringing a hand to your face, ignoring the way his hurt shoulder hissed in pain.

And he knew the words would get choked up in his throat, so he found the love you stored in your mouth, in your hands, in your eyes, in yours voice, in your care, in everything about you and filled it up with his kisses. Lips meeting slow and heavy, breathing you in and tasting you. Jason knew this wouldn’t be easy, his life wasn’t meant to be, but he did know he was meant to be with you.

And it wasn’t jarring.

It settled into his bones and stayed with him—always.

#i hope you like it ahh #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #dc x reader #dc imagine #writing #dont disturb the ghost of queue

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