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liv45no · 2 years ago

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Frank stepped into the kitchen through the garage door, careful not to make a sound. He had already taken off his shoes for that task; they were in his other hand, the one that wasn’t carrying his keys.

But he didn’t even make it past the doorway to know he had screwed up. The kitchen wasn’t as dark and empty as he had expected, instead, the small ugly milky lightbulb that was hanging from the ceiling above the kitchen table was bravely spreading white light. Sonia’s face looked like the white face of a ghost. A drained-out ghost.

Frank bit his bottom lip. “Why are you still up?” He asked shyly.

Sonia turned in her chair, causing Frank’s eyes to fall on the all too visibly baby bump, his wife’s floral nightgown covering it, like some sort of protection. According to the doctor the baby would arrive in between late October and beginning of November, and it would be a little boy.

“Why are you still up?” Sonia replied to Frank’s question. She had cried; her lips were pressed upon each other to a thin line. Her breath was shaky as she spoke again, “it’s three am in the goddamn morning. Where were you?”

“At work,” Frank blurting out, the thought are you serious?! crashing over him right after. Stupid answer, unbelievable answer.

Sonia scoffed loudly. “My goodness, how stupid do you think I am? No chef keeps their employees until after midnight in the operation if they’re not on a Night Shift. Where were you?”

Frank fell silent, staring at his grey socks on the black and white patterned kitchen floor. He needed to think of what to say next.

“You won’t like it,” he mumbled.

“What I dislike much more is my husband disappearing over the night and then sneaking into our bed as if nothing ever happened.”

Sonia’s voice was teary, close to break. In her fist she had captured a tissue which she now brought up to her eyes to wipe them clean. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“You know, stress isn’t healthy for the baby,” she added.

Frank looked back up, their gazes locking. He stared into Sonia’s brown eyes, those eyes that always reminded him of caramel, and he wondered whose’s eyes the baby would end up with.

“When I was done at eleven, Jim from worked asked me whether I wanted to go drink something with our friends from work. I thought about what you told me about being more social and said yes. I lost track of time and I didn’t have a charger for my phone.”

That sounded believable.

Sonia threw her hands in the air. “That’s not what I meant!!” she cried, “I told you instead of working all the time I’d much rather have you go out with some friends and be home at a humanly hour! You didn’t do either of those things!”

Frank opened his mouth, but his wife wasn’t done yet.

“I sit here all day along, sometimes I even have friends over for tea. I am carrying your child, I’m in the eighth month for gods sake, there’s not much I am allowed to do! And you work every day from eight to eleven and then go out with people I don’t even know and crash back here in the middle of the night!!!”

He felt tears entering his eyes. He felt that familiar guilt in his gut, that nasty guilt that was slowly but surely eating him up from the inside.

Everything was going downhill. What had Frank ever done so wrong to deserve all this? Was it because he hadn’t left Sonia before she got pregnant and they got married? But he stayed, he knew he had a responsibility, if he could do this to her, he couldn’t do this to his own kid.

And how the hell was he supposed to explain to her that his cancer symptoms from his childhood had reappeared?

He had to end this. He couldn’t let this escalate.

“I don’t wanna fight,” he spoke up, his bottom lip trembling strongly, “we always fight. I’m sorry I went out with the others, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry I didn’t check the time. That was unfair from me. But I can’t change anything about my work schedule.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down across from Sonia, taking her little hands into his. He looked her in the eyes, smiling slightly.

“I know work hard enough so our kid can live a good life. And then, when he’s here, I’ll watch him and you go to your reading club, your tea time and you can go work for your sister again so we’re safe for a while.”

He squeezed her hands. “We’re gonna make this work. It’ll all be worth it in the end, I promise.”

Sonia began to sob quietly. Frank crooked his head. “Please don’t cry, honey, if you cry, I’ll cry too.”

Now she laughed softly. Sonia wiped her teary eyes as she said, “fine. Let’s do it like that. But please, Frank, come home in your lunch breaks. Come home after work, I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Frank scooted a little closer and put their foreheads together, placing one hand over her belly.

“I swear to you, I’m gonna be here with you and our little boy whenever I can.”

#something about writing frank’s character calms me down idkw #i just like those kind of flashbacks ig #itmovie #sonia kaspbrak #frank kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak #it writing #my writing #random writing #reddie

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casspurrjoybell-32 · 1 year ago

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Taken - Blue Moon Series - Chapter 18b

*Warning Adult Content*

Prince Gale Dartanyanoff

At blurring speeds I carried Lakota to the pack infirmary, Cyrus was behind me keeping up with every step I took.

Kicking the door in, I rushed into the room making the doctor jump from his seat.

The chair crashed to the floor as he took in the situation in record time and instructed us to place Lakota down on the small bed.

"What happened?" he asked.

The man looked to be in his late forties I would say.

Starting to grey at the temples a clear sign he was much older than he looked.

I watched him pull out a stethoscope and place it over Lakota's heart.

"That's a really good question," I said looking down at my unconscious mate.

Cyrus came up beside me and answer the doctor to the best of his abilities.

"He was in the middle of an argument with some stupid kids. I guess and they started fighting. Both Gale and I saw him somehow mentally push his opponents away. He threw them into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway without touching them."

"He's an Elder then?" the doctor asked, pulling his stethoscope from his ears and letting it hang around his neck.

Cyrus and I glanced at each other before shaking our heads.

"No, he's not."

The doctor frowned now.

"How are the others he was with?"

"Who cares about those little shits," I growled causing him to purse his lips in disapproval but he never stopped checking Lakota.

He lifted his lids shining a small light in his eyes.

Checked his pulse at his neck, keeping his eyes on his watch.

"I'm going to find Jim. I think he's still in the house," Cyrus told me before running out of the room.

Pulling up a chair, I sat at Lakota's bedside and held his hand tightly.

'What happened to you?' I asked silently, reaching out with my other hand and pushed his hair from his face.

Not soon after the door to the infirmary opened and Cyrus and Jim came rushing through.

"Alright, I'm here now. Tell me what's going on?" Jim came up to the bed staring down at Lakota.

"That's why we called you," I answered and Cyrus continued.

Just as we were about to tell him what just went down back there Lakota started thrashing around.

"Lakota," I shot to my feet and reached down to him.

Cyrus was there on the other side of the bed and holding him down.

"What is this?" I growled glaring at the doctor for answers.

He was just as shocked as all of us as he was writing something over at his desk before he jumped up and raced over.

But it was too late though as Lakota's eyes shot open, those beautiful golden orbs were full of such painful anguish it broke something inside me at how much suffering he was going through.

"Make it stop," he screamed.

And then the next thing I knew I was sliding down the wall with pain vibrating through me from head to toe.

It was then I found myself, with my head swimming, on the other side of the room as I struggled to get to my feet.

Glancing around I saw that everyone had suffered the same fate.

The room hadn't fared well either.

Groans sounded throughout the room from everyone as we all staggered.

"What the fuck was that?" I recognized Cyrus's growl.

Glancing around my eyes instantly found Lakota and what I saw defied all logic.

Hovering a few inches from the bed was my once again unconscious mate.

There was a pulsing wave of gravity that seemed to be emitting from his body, it was so strong you could actually see it in the air around him.

It was pushing against my body almost like it was keeping everyone away.

"How is he doing this?" I asked never blinking away from him.

"I-I don't know," this time it was Jim who answered.

"He's not an Elder he can't be able to do this... can he?" Cyrus demanded.

"No, he can't. We already know his brother, Teagan is an Elder and there can only be one Elder born from an Alpha each generation... if that. So that would make his sibling either the Alpha, Beta or just a regular wolf and we already know that Lakota doesn't have any traits to make him an Alpha."

"Okay, then how the hell is my mate levitating like that?" Cyrus growled.

"It's Gravity manipulation," this time it was the doctor that chimed in causing all of us to snap our heads towards him.

"What makes you say that?" Jim asked glancing back at Lakota with a frown.

"Because he's floating and just when we were all flung I noticed that my body felt weightless before something heavy forced me into the wall just now," he explained and we all became quiet.

"But where the hell did he get it?" I voiced my thought out loud.

Just then there was a strange sensation was tingling in the back of my head almost like a hum, glancing around I was sure everyone else felt the same because we all reached behind our head.

The vibrating humming was getting worse and worse till I was gritting my teeth.

"What now?" I hissed, the pain forcing my instincts to go on the defensive and causing my fangs to descend.

A thud caused me to snap my head over to see Cyrus collapse withering on the floor.

Concerned I ignored the pain to the best of my abilities and dragged myself every agonizing step towards Cyrus.

When I reached him, dropping to my knees I pulled him close and laid his head in my lap.

"Hang in there," I gasped.

His blue eyes looked up at me then and I could see the agony.

"It's Lakota, he's trying to tell us something," he struggled breathlessly before his face scrunched up again and he curled into himself.

My eyes traveled back over to my levitating mate to find the same painful expression etched on his face too.

'What Lakot? What is it that you want to say to us?'

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rottingformerfirstmate · 2 years ago

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Confessed with Lucius and Izzy

Spiritual successor to (this), but is mostly stand-alone. All you need to know is that Jim fell overboard in a storm, Izzy rescued them, and both had to be pulled back onto the boat. //

After the sunrise comes, chasing away the evening's storm with clear rays of light through puffy white clouds scattered across the sky, everyone goes for a rest. Edward offers to take the first watch, too wound up to rest, and remains on deck with his leg propped up on a barrel and his red silk robe open over his chest. Lucius leaves him to it almost immediately, returning to his bed below deck and trying to figure out how to strip off his wet clothes without aggravating his poor rope-burned hands, the palms of which are raw, swollen, and bleeding on top of being waterlogged from the rain and spray. Blisters have already formed, some of them already popped, and without the adrenaline rush to carry him through the danger, it really hurts.

He's about to go get Pete from the Galley, where he's stopped for a quick breakfast, when a soft knock gets his attention. "Come in," Lucius says, not bothering to turn to look. Whoever it is, maybe they'll help. The door opens slowly and shuts softly. Before he can look, Izzy speaks.

"You shouldn't have dropped the fucking sails for me. Blackbeard could've gotten me close enough to leg up the ship."

Lucius thinks about the strain in Edward and the Swede's muscles, especially after they'd needed Olu's help to pull up Jim first from the tempesting sea. If he hadn't helped, hopefully someone would have, but maybe it would have been too late, then.

"Didn't you scream at Stede once about how the perfect ship isn't worth shit without a good crew to run it??" Lucius counters.

Izzy doesn't say anything in response. Instead, he rounds the room to stand in front of Lucius, revealing a small sack in his hands. "I'm helping you with your burns, even if they serve you fucking right. Do you need help getting dry, first?"

Even with such sour words, there's softness in Izzy's tone, and so Lucius nods. With an almost painfully gentle touch, Izzy peels away soaked layers of cloth, letting them plop to the floor in a sad, sopping heap. His small clothes are soaked too, but Izzy doesn't acknowledge the ways it's different, to strip away this. He simply helps Lucius step out of them the way he did his trousers, and grabs the towel Roach brought from the corner of the bed to help him dry off. It's vigorous and efficient, but careful, and when he's satisfied that Lucius is dry, Izzy nudges him toward the bed and wraps a sheet around him.

"Now give me your hands."

"No foreplay with you, is there?" Lucius deadpans.

A ghost of a smile flits across Izzy's face before vanishing. "Don't be an idiot. This is serious."

He attends the task of caring for Lucius with every ounce of levity that his words implied. Izzy is tender but firm where he touches him, mindful of the pain of too much pressure on his damaged palms when he rubs a soothing balm that smells like menthol into the angry flesh.

"It's supposed to be for burns," Izzy says. It doesn't shatter the silence, merely envelopes it and only lets it out in the spaces between syllables. "But it's really damn good for them, and it works on a lot of things. At the very least, it'll help with the pain."

"Feels better already."

And it does, but the cooling pain is only half-responsible for how much more relaxed and at ease Lucius feels. He realized a long time ago that Izzy doesn't genuinely hate them anymore, but it's a different beast entirely to see him risk his life to save Jim and now come here to play nursemaid.

"Why are you here?"

Izzy picks up a roll of gauze, too white for the grungy ship, and begins to wind it around one of Lucius' hands. "Practicality, Mr. Spriggs. You're one of three people on this ship who can read and write, and you proved a little storm won't break you last night. It'd be fucking stupid not to at least make sure you look after your wounds properly."

"But you didn't just come here to make sure I was doing it right," Lucius argues. "You came here to do it yourself. To offer me this really fucking great goop that takes away the pain. Izzy-"

"It's just my duty," Izzy interrupts.

He looks away, and Lucius studies him. Izzy is still a little shaky himself, and while his lips are no longer that frightening blue color, he's still pale beneath a weather-beaten tan.

"Okay."

It's easier not to argue. But Lucius scoots back against the wall, making space in his bed for a second body, and looks at Izzy.

"Stay? I've been to your cabin, and it's really drafty in there. You should really get a carpet or something."

"Piss off."

But Izzy still joins Lucius in bed and makes sure his sheet is secure around him before drawing the wool blanket over them both.

#ofmd #our flag means death fic #our flag means death #ofmd fic #izzy hands #israel hands #lucius spriggs #lucius x izzy #emwrite

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blackrosesandwhump · 3 years ago

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Treasure Planet AU, Part 1

(Whump Drabble 24)

I felt like writing some Treasure Planet fanfiction because 1) I love the movie, and 2) I've never encountered fanfiction about Jim Hawkins, and he's a perfect whump candidate. So here you go!

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Stranded/Lost

CW: breath whump, difficulty breathing, thinking about death

Even breathing had turned into a struggle.

Jim wheezed in a breath. It hurt. Everything hurt now: his back from lying against the rock for what felt like eons, his shoulder from where he landed after falling through the earth, his lungs. Pain. He examined his own hands in a daze, the cold light from the giant glowing mushrooms just enough to see by. Stupid Morph. It was all Morph’s fault. If the little devil hadn’t scooted off the moment they landed on the surface, he wouldn’t be down here right now. He wouldn’t be struggling to breathe. Why was it so hard? He glanced around, panic rising in his throat. Maybe there was something poisonous in the air—

There. That mushroom a few feet away. As he watched, pulling the neck of his shirt up over his face, another puff of spores filtered into the mushroom’s glow, miniscule black specks against the light. That had to be it. And it meant that…that if a tunnel had light, it could also kill him.

He heaved in another shuddering breath. Time to get up. Time to move. The dark would be safer, and he had the pistol Silver had given him before they disembarked. Its weight against his left hip reassured him a little. Just focus on that. Focus on that, he told himself, and got to his feet.

The tunnel wavered and spun. Jim leaved heavily against the rock wall, his head fuzzy from lack of oxygen. No. No, he couldn’t let himself pass out. That would be a death sentence. As if on cue, another mushroom on his other side let out a faint Morph-like noise and shuffed out a large spore cloud. Jim held his breath and took off in the opposite direction, walking as fast as he could without losing his footing. The tunnel floor was slippery with loose gravel and a strange green substance that looked like overgrown moss. It smelled too; he dared to take a breath in the darkness and immediately regretted it. Damn that Morph. Jim wanted to kill him. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to—

His foot slipped on a rock and he went down, faceplanting in the smelly moss. His nose filled with its stench, and he raised his head, gasping for breath. He’d fallen on his other shoulder this time. His body throbbed, the pain concentrated in his chest. It was still hard to breathe. He waved a hand in front of his eyes. Nothing. Just alien blackness, no light. No Morph, no Silver, no one and nothing, except the slimy moss and deadly mushrooms. And he still had to fight for breath. Maybe he’d die down here. At least Silver would miss him.

“You are lost, human.”

Jim started and scrambled upright, his heart pounding. He clamped a hand around his pistol.

“Who’s there?” he gasped. “If you attack, I’ll shoot you—”

“No need to fight. I will help.”

Slowly, almost painfully, Jim’s surroundings came into focus: the outline of the tunnel, the strange rocks lining the ground, a distorted silhouette standing a few feet away. The silhouette moved. Jim snatched his weapon from its holster and cocked it. The click echoed, stopping the alien in its tracks.

“Will help,” it repeated, confusion tinging its deep-mawed voice. “Human will die without help.”

Jim’s head spun. How did the thing know he was human? Had it met humans before? And if so, did it actually know how to help a human survive down here?

His head kept spinning, and he found himself on his knees again, fighting to breathe. His lungs burned. The air felt thick and cottony, like it was withering him from the inside.

“Help me,” he whispered. His consciousness started slipping away.

The last thing he felt before he passed out entirely was a pair of sinewy, skeletal arms lifting him and carrying him farther into the darkness.

Tagging: @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-out-of-time @whumping-to-conclusions @badthingshappenbingo

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cacoetheswriting · 4 years ago

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for you and i

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: honestly just pure fluff, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, implied smut (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.2k Summary: A small collection of moments throughout reader’s and Spencer’s evolving relationship that features their song. A/N: this symbol ~~ signifies a time jump.

A/N: i finished my rewatch of bones last night (im hella emotional), and one of my favourite “running gags” from the show is hot blooded being booths and brennans song, and how the writers reminded us of that from season to season. it definitely definitely inspired me to write this. also i did this instead of working on my assignment as a birthday gift from me to me lmao ENJOY

The plane trip back home was completely silent.

Morgan and JJ were catching up on much needed sleep. Emily, lost in thought, observed the night sky through the small window. Rossi was reading, as Hotch worked his way through some case files.

Spencer sat next to you at the far end of the jet. You were listening to music while his nose was buried in a book. Although you could tell he couldn't really concentrate on the words as the page remained unturned for the last fifteen minutes.

“Why don’t you let your eyes rest for a minute?” You suggested, carefully taking out one earphone. “A short nap could be good for you. It doesn’t look like you’re retaining any information anyway.”

Spencer nodded slowly, agreeing with you. He shut the novel in his lap and tilted his head to look at you, his lips pursed into a thin shy smile. “You should get some sleep too Y/N.”

“I’m okay.” You replied. “Plus someone has to keep watch in case the jet gets abducted by aliens or something.” A sly grin appeared on your face as Spencer chuckled softly. He rested his head against the chair and gradually closed his eyes.

You watched him for a moment. Examining his perfect features. Your innocent crush growing by the second - something you would never admit out loud in fear it would ruin your friendship.

When you were about to place the earpiece back in your ear, his eyes shot back open. He sighed heavily.

"I actually don’t think I can.” Spencer said quietly and once again turned his attention to you. His gaze briefly landed on the phone in your hands before travelling up to your face. “Did you know that in addition to aiding relaxation and helping with falling asleep quicker as well as improving sleep quality, playing music before bed can improve sleep efficiency? Which means more time you are in bed is actually spent sleeping.” You raised a curious brow waiting for him to continue, but he just asked: “Can I ask what you are listening to?”.

Instead of answering his question, you wiped the dangling earphone against your blouse and handed it to him. He took it, a little hesitantly, and placed it in his ear - the two of you unconsciously shifting closer to one another.

You could tell by the expression on his face that he didn't know the song currently playing, nor did he particularly like it, but he didn't protest or ask you to skip it. In his eyes, you were kind enough to share your source of entertainment therefore he would never push to change what you were clearly enjoying.

The song ended, another began, and another, and another. Eventually Spencer closed his eyes again. The two of you continued to silently listen to the various songs on your playlist - a wild mix of different artists and genres, definitely showcasing your weird music taste.

Touch Me by The Doors began to play.

“I like this one.” Spencer muttered, eyes still closed. “I didn't peg you to be a rock fan.” You stated curiously. Spencer chuckled softly. “I wouldn't call myself a fan per se, this is just a very good song.” “This is actually my favourite song of theirs.” You proclaimed.

Sinking deeper in your seat, you quietly sang along. “What was that promise that you made?” To your pleasant surprise, the young doctor joined in. “Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?”

Lost in the pure bliss of the moment, you gently rested your head against Spencer’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at you and smiled to himself. Yes. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

“Watch it!!!” You shouted and rudely gestured after the vehicle that overtook you out of nowhere, almost sliding right into your car. Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair before placing them on the wheel again. A deep sigh escaping your lips in the process.

Spencer chuckled next to you. “Maybe next time I’ll drive.”

“Sorry.” You muttered, tone of your voice changing completely for a moment. “People are just so fucking stupid.” The groan was full of annoyance, and it only made the young doctor snicker louder.

“How about we turn on the radio?” Spencer suggested. “Cool you down a little since we have another hour drive ahead of us, and I would preferably like to get there in one piece.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but didn’t protest.

Taking your silence as a yes, Spencer fumbled with the car radio.

‘Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe’

Voice of Jim Morrison blared through the speakers. Instantly, your whole body loosened up. No longer feeling annoyed or angry. Driver’s rage dissipated. The frown circling your features was replaced by a happy smile.

‘Can't you see that I am not afraid?’

Stopping at a red light, you looked at Spencer who was lightly bopping his head to the beat of the music. His gentle curls bouncing with his every move.

“You know, the universe is telling us that this is our song now.” You noted. The young doctor met your gaze, and the grin present on his face made your heart skip a beat. A faint hit of nerves cascaded through your body as you anxiously waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It’s a good song. The universe could have wished us a lot worse.”

As the light ahead turned green, and you were driving once again, the two of you burst into the chorus as loud as you possibly could: “Now, I'm going to love you! Till the heavens stop the rain!”.

The bar was filled to the brim with people wanting to unwind after a long week of work. That included the BAU team.

“One more for the road!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. He motioned to Hotch for assistance and the two of them briskly walked off in the direction of the bar. “While they’re gone, I’m gonna hop to the loo.” Penelope chimed. “I’ll join you.” JJ spoke up and they hurried off.

Spencer sat beside you, shoulder pressed lightly to yours. He was sipping on the remainder of his drink and you were about to open your mouth to say something, engage him in conversation, when you heard it. The song. Your song.

Your head instantly snapped up at him and a mischievous grin spread on your face. By the time Spencer realised what was going on, you were up on your feet grabbing him by the arm, and pulling him onto the self-made dance floor.

You began to sway along to the music. The alcohol currently flowing through your veins definitely made you that much braver. It also gave Spencer the confidence boost he needed to join you with no objections.

Despite the questionable looks you were undoubtedly receiving, the two of you jumped around like kids. Singing the song out loud to one another. It was as if the world around you disappeared. Like you and Spencer were the only people left in the bar.

‘Till the stars fall from the sky’

And when the night concluded, when everyone said their goodbyes, Spencer continued to hum the melody of your song as he waited with you for the taxi. It was then you chose to make the first move - colliding your lips with his in a carefree kiss.

They were softer than you ever imagined.

All at once, the attraction between you two and the tension that built up over the years burst. You grabbed onto his jacket pulling him even closer. Suddenly, the cold night air didn’t feel so cold anymore. It was hot, burning like a flame. Your body was on fire and so was his.

Spencer’s long arms wrapped around you, trapping you in the fire. One of his hands moved lower down your back, while the other tightly gripped your hair. The sensation that he felt was unimaginable. He always imagined what you would taste like, although he never expected anything would happen. He imagined how your body would feel against his. How your lips taste. But this, this exceeded all expectations.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He said in a smoky voice after pulling away, his hands now holding your face. “That’s what I was going to say.” You managed to whisper before his lips landed on yours again. Your heart pounding hard inside your chest, it felt as if it was about to explode.

Spencer huffed as he placed a heavy cardboard box down on the ground. He straightened himself, flattened down his crinkly t-shirt, and turned to you with a smile. “That’s the last of it.” He stated proudly, placing his hands on his hips.

“My hero.” You ambled towards him and pecked his lips. “Thank you.” His arms made their way around your waist, pulling you in close. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead before glancing around the room.

“I can’t believe we’re officially moved in together.”

“It’s been a longtime coming.”

“That it definitely has.” Spencer smiled kissing you. He let his arms fall and shuffled around to start unpacking.

Having planned ahead, you removed a speaker from your handbag. You quickly set it up, connecting it to your phone, and pressed play to ease the process that would carry on into the night.

Starting with the kitchen, and the more fragile items, the two of you made your way through the new apartment.

Hours passed. It was getting quite late as tiny yawns continuously escaped your lips. However, the hard work was paying off because space started to feel more and more like home.

You decided to finish up for the night - tomorrow was another day. Yawning, you leaned into the arms of your boyfriend. Spencer kissed the top of your head and began to sway you slowly from side to side.

Right on queue, the guitar intro you both recognised well began to play through the speakers. You smiled into his chest before breaking free from his embrace.

‘Yeah! Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe Can't you see that I am not afraid’

Sharing a knowing look, you both started to dance. Not wanting to disrupt any neighbours you both chose not to sing along like you usually did. Instead, you mouthed the words in sync as if you were competing in a lip-sync battle.

‘What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?’

The two of you circled happily around one another. It wasn't long before the air guitars came into play.

And as the song concluded, Spencer cupped your cheeks. “I love you.” He muttered, gazing deep into your eyes. “I love you too.” You replied smiling.

Without another word, Spencer’s lips crashed against yours. Both your heads tilting hungrily from side to side to vary pressure. Hearts hammering loudly. Your hands made their way up his muscled back as his hands traveled down your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Why don’t we move this party to the bedroom?” He suggested, his face still only inches away from yours. You lifted your hand, and brushed some of his light curls away behind his ear. “I do believe I read somewhere that it is considered bad luck not to christen the bed on the first night of living together.” You stated giggling.

Spencer raised an interested brow. “What else does the article say?”

“How about I just show you.” And like that, your lips were on his once again as he blindly led you to the bed.

“And now ladies and gentlemen we would like to bring out our newlyweds, Dr. & Mrs. Reid, to dance their first dance as husband and wife. Let’s give them a hand.”

Spencer turned to you, that warm kindhearted smile you loved so much circling his lips. He offered you his hand. “Mrs. Reid.” You took it gladly. “Dr. Reid.”

He led you to the middle of the dance floor and swiftly wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close, while the other hand intertwined itself with yours. Music started to play and the two of you swayed elegantly from side to side.

“I have a surprise for you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before briefly pulling apart and twirling you around.

Suddenly the music stopped. Sounds of disappointment echoed through the watching crowd as you shot your husband a quizzical look.

A melody you knew all too well filled the space.

Your mouth parted slightly in shock as Spencer let his arm fall from your waist. He spun you around once again and began rhythmically banging his head to the beat of the song. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight before joining in.

Excited screams echoed through the crowd as they cheered on. Even though you heard them, you knew people were watching and documenting this moment, you felt as if there was no-one else around - déjà vu.

Spencer pressed his forehead lightly to yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His lips twirled into a smile. A big smile that you reciprocated. Feeling as if you were on cloud nine, you looked deep into each others eyes and whole heartedly sang along with the song. Your song.

‘I'm going to love you Till the heavens stop the rain I'm going to love you Till the stars fall from the sky For you and I’

masterlist

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out-of-control · 2 years ago

Text

MEMORY

PREV: CELEBRATE NEXT: DRIFTING

words: 3194

warning: suicide ment, car crash ment, injury ment, alcohol, world’s worst parenting

summary: Drunken confessions.

The sheets are cheap and scratchy. Jax’s hands are cold, but his back is sweating.

“I don’t know what my first memory is,” he says. “I mean, I have a few that are old. Really old. But I don’t know what order they come in.” He swallows, traces a crack in the ceiling with his gaze. “Like one is: I’m on a playground. And there’s a green slide. And the sky is grey, like it’s going to rain. That’s it.” He rubs one of his palms against the sheets, trying to generate some friction to combat the late January chill. “Another is that my mom’s sitting on the front porch of our old house. And I’m on the steps looking at her, and she’s smiling, and she’s saying something. But I can’t remember what it is.” He turns his head, looks over at Jim lying on the mattress next to him. Jim keeps staring up at the ceiling. Jax tracks the lines of his profile, feeling a little mesmerized by their intersections. “Stuff like that. Do you have those?”

“I think my memory’s fucked,” Jim says quietly. “I think I see bits in dreams, sometimes, but. I don’t really know if they’re real, you know. If I made them up. I remember some of the orphanage. I remember leaving. I feel like I’m missing something between then and now. I don’t remember my parents. Sometimes I feel like I do, but I know I don’t.”

Jax is silent for a bit. “Maybe you do,” he says, knowing it’s stupid as it comes out of his mouth. He wants Jim to have that. “Maybe it’s just. Hard to tell.” He wants Jim to have something. Jax pulls up a memory of his mom’s face every day, just to stay in practice.

Jim seems to consider it. Or maybe he’s debating how much he wants to say. “I don’t really know my own name,” he admits.

“What?” Jax asks, brain not quite working at one hundred percent. They finished the bottle not too long ago. It’s probably lying somewhere on the floor. He’ll have to be careful when he gets up. If he ever gets up. Maybe he won’t.

“I don’t know my real name,” Jim repeats. “Like. I was too young to remember it.”

Jax has absolutely no idea what one is supposed to say to that. “Fuck,” he tries. “I mean, that… sucks." Good one, Donovan. "But also, like, I mean. Names are kinda bullshit. You’re born and someone saddles you with Jackson, and you didn’t even get a say. And then you’re stuck with it forever. Maybe you lucked out.”

“It’d be nice to know.” Jim shrugs. “Maybe it was cool as hell. I’m pretty sure my middle name was Atlas. But that’s all I’ve got.”

“Atlas is pretty cool,” Jax says, staring at Jim’s mouth as he speaks. “I don’t have a middle name.” He thinks: who names a kid Atlas? Who wants their kid to carry so much?

Jax rolls over, onto his side, and studies Jim’s ear. “What were you like,” he mumbles. “As a kid.” His heart beats in his chest, slow and steady.

Jim squints at the ceiling. “I don’t think I was that much different. Kept to myself. Started shit all the time.”

Jax tries to imagine him. Still tall, but gangly. Big eyes. Same unruly hair– or would it have been shorter? Jax grew up with a regular succession of buzzcuts; his dad wanted to keep him low-maintenance. He can't remember how he got his hair cut when his mom was alive.

Jim wouldn’t have had his scars back then, Jax realizes. He finds that almost impossible to conceptualize, even though he knows, logically, that he’d seen Jim before the accident. He just feels like it didn’t count. Like that was someone else who’d kicked him in the head. Like that unmarked guy is a stranger who’s still out there, somewhere, playing bass and driving at night. Like Jax’s Jim was born from the crash.

Jax was born from a crash, too, in a way.

“I think I was really happy,” Jax says, “before my mom died. Then– I don’t know. I got in trouble a lot.”

“Fucking sucks,” Jim agrees, rather eloquently.

Jax blinks at the ceiling. “It was a car accident,” he says, before he can think better of it. “That killed her. I don’t know if I ever told you that.”

By the silence that follows, Jax supposes he hadn't. Jim lies there, brow creased, as if he's struggling to pick just one response. "Was it quick?" Judging by the slight wince with which he says it, he went a little more morbid than he was planning. Jax isn't really offended. He has her death date needled into his skin; he can't throw stones.

“They said she bled out in about five minutes, so, I guess.” Jax swallows. “But, I mean. I bet it felt long to her.” Ninth and tenth thoracic vertebrae.

Jim shrugs. "She'd have passed out before that, even," he says. Jax supposes he is the expert on these things. "I blacked out pretty quick. My wrist got cut up really bad."

Jax’s eyes cut down to Jim’s arm, lying scar-side up on the bed. “Yeah. It– it looks like it did."

"It was my fault," Jim grumbles. He turns his wrist down and presses it into the mattress, almost involuntarily. "Tried to pry open the fucking door. Dumbass." The scowl he says it with makes him look like he’s trying to bare his teeth at his past self.

Jax wants to reach over, curl his fingers around Jim’s forearm, and flip it over. He wants to see the ruined tattoo. Jim might even let him, he thinks. But he abstains. Touching seems dangerous, right now. He’s not sure why.

“Hey, but,” Jax whispers hoarsely, thinking of crushed glass and twisted metal and the night sky through an empty windshield. “You made it out.”

"Yeah," Jim says. Something about his tone comes off as unnerving. Jax feels the urge to keep talking, fill the space.

"When she died," he starts, "I didn't get in a car for a month. Drove my dad nuts. He yelled, threatened… but I couldn't do it. I'd just start screaming my fucking head off." Even after he got over the terror, he still walked to school alone.

"I think you got the worst part of it of anyone."

That startles Jax, really startles him. "What?"

It takes a second for Jim to organize his thoughts. "The crash is… it's just an instant. Then you hurt until you pass out and either you wake up in the hospital or you're dead and it's over. And then it's just waiting for your body to heal. But you… you're some kid and you barely know what's going on but suddenly your mom is gone and you're never seeing her again and she isn't even there to help you deal with that. I never even had a mom and I'd get hit again over that."

Jax is quiet for a long while. His knee-jerk response is to scoff, because of course Jax got off easy. He's not the one who had his spine snapped in two, he's not the one who felt night air on viscera. He got to keep on living.

But it's hard, isn't it? It's hard to live.

"Maybe," he concedes, though it feels like a betrayal. For a while, Jax had believed that the way his mother had suffered brought her closer to God. It feels wrong to deny her her place as the martyr of the family.

"But that's just my two cents."

The silence hangs in the air after. Jax takes in a breath.

“Most people get it when you’re a kid and your mom dies and you’re miserable,” he rasps slowly. “They can pity that, because you’re, like, small and sad-looking. It was when I got older that people started being, like, ‘Okay, aren’t you over it by now?’ Except for my dad. I think he expected me to be over it by the end of the week.” Jax chews on the inside of his lip. He’s not sure why he’s spilling his fucking guts tonight; he worries it’s putting Jim off. But he can’t seem to stop.

“It was weird, when my mom died, because it was like I suddenly had a father. He wasn’t around much before then, I mean. And then my mom dies and he’s paying attention to me, which should be a fucking good thing, right, only I realize I don’t really like him, and I don’t think he really likes me. I guess I didn’t make it easy on him.” The car thing comes to mind. “’Course, that’s nothing compared to when I was in high school,” Jax adds reflectively, cheek against the bedsheets. “He hated my shit then. That’s when I started getting into, like. Serious fights and shit.” He clenches a fist, then lets it relax. “Drama. You know,” he tacks on.

Jim nods. “I ran away and just lived on the streets. I didn’t know what I was doing, I was just some fifteen year old who’d never had a haircut and never even seen the city before. Wound up with a bunch of skaters. Fucked that up and bussed across the country to go see how much more I could fuck my life up while I was at it. Started fights to get the shit kicked out of me for, I don’t know, entertainment. Whatever,” he trails off, sounding awkward about it.

Jax wonders if that's what this is, to Jim. Entertainment. Then he decides he doesn’t wanna think about that at all. Instead, he pivots hard and opts for the other thing that had snagged on his thoughts, saying: “How’d you fuck up the skater thing?” before he really has time to think it through.

Jim exhales and folds his hands over his bare stomach. “Liked a boy. Told him a little too much about myself and he decided I was a fucking crazy person.”

“Oh,” Jax says, “Uh, fuck. That shit sounds rough.” He shifts a little in the bed, suddenly feeling like an asshole for prying into something when Jim had already said it ended badly. It’s crazy to think that anyone would reject Jim, though. He’s Jim. What kind of guy would be stupid enough to fuck a thing like that up? “Sounds like a dick,” he tries, staring at the crease of Jim's elbow.

Jim shrugs, painfully casual. “He had a point.”

"I punched the first guy I liked," Jax's mouth says, without his approval. "You couldn’t have been as bad as that.” Sometimes he thinks he can still feel the jawbone of Andy Sherwood underneath his knuckles, can still hear a handsome fifteen-year-old boy's tone of measured disgust.

“I don’t think that I like, know how to be around people,” Jim says after a moment.

Jax looks up at him, taken aback. "I don't think that's true," he says, heart rate kicking up a notch. "I mean…" I like being around you. "You seem pretty– socially ept," he finishes lamely. "To me."

“I’m social,” Jim seems to agree. “I can… party. Get laid. Whatever. But I can’t– I’m not… you know, like.” He pauses, for what feels like forever. “Everyone leaves eventually.”

I won't, Jax thinks, a silent creed. I couldn't.

He wants to reach out across the space between them, to fold Jim's hand within his own, to feel their pulses beat in time.

He doesn't do that.

Instead, he whispers, "Yeah, I don't. I don't really like myself either."

Finally, Jim tilts his head to look at Jax, his green eyes just barely glinting in the dark from the light spilling in through the window, as it haloes the hair falling in his face. Only for a moment, before he turns back away, and says, “I like you.”

Jax feels like he might throw up. It's not fair, none of it.

He swallows, and it hurts his throat. "Yeah, well," he rasps, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the sheets. "Ditto."

Then he rolls onto his back again, returns his gaze to the fractures in the plaster ceiling. "Tell me something else fucked up about your life," he says, briefly incandescently furious before it melts away to a low, miserable simmer. Mostly he just wants to steer the subject away from himself.

“I was fucking around with a guy who was married when I was nineteen.”

Jax exhales through his nose. "Shit, that is fucked up."

“He had a daughter,” Jim says quietly. “Has. Whatever.”

"How old was she," Jax rasps. Suddenly, he wants to dig his fingers into the wound.

“Six months or so, in the beginning,” Jim says even quieter, almost weakly. “I used to babysit.”

Abruptly as it had arrived, the vindictive streak leaves Jax's body. It feels like it takes a chunk of flesh with it. "Christ," he says tiredly, passing a hand over his mouth before dropping it on his chest. "That's so fucking sad."

“Your turn.”

"I tried to kill myself when I was sixteen, and my dad kicked me out afterwards." It feels euphoric to say it, in the same sick way that it feels euphoric to get punched in the gut. Jax has always liked self-evisceration as offense, and offense as defense.

“Your dad’s a cunt,” Jim says, without missing a beat.

"I know," Jax says faintly, the words tasting like cardboard on his tongue. "Sometimes I wonder how he would have acted if I'd done it right."

“I’m sorry,” Jim mumbles.

A kind, but trite response. "Don't be," Jax whispers. "'Not your problem. Not anyone's problem but mine." He breathes in, then out. "He let me come back after a couple weeks anyway."

“I might have the least amount of experience in the fatherhood department out of anyone, but I’m pretty sure 'get out of my house' is a completely fucked response to your kid trying to kill himself.”

"True," Jax agrees tiredly, because Jim's right. He closes his eyes. "You ever tried to do it?"

He wields the question like a surgical blade, dispassionate and merciless. He asks not because he wants to know (though he does, in a selfish, childish, lonely way), but because he wants to see how Jim responds to an operation without anaesthetic.

“Yeah.”

Jim’s answer hangs in the air. Jax bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, and says nothing for a while. He refuses to say, "I'm sorry." Finally, he opens his eyes, looking straight up at the ceiling, and says, quiet and unadorned, "You are my best friend."

Jim takes just as long to speak. “You’re my only friend.”

The disappointment settles in Jax's chest like a layer of fresh snow. That's about right, his brain says pityingly. Last resort. No other options. Jax nods, stiffly. "So. Stick around. On this mortal coil," he coughs. "Or whatever."

“I’ve been trying,” Jim says faintly.

"Well," Jax says, "Good. Me too." He feels horrendously uneasy. He feels a little too fucking sober.

The stilted silence that follows gets cut off by a quiet sniffle from the other side of the bed.

Jax freezes. You are the worst person alive, his brain comments detachedly. This is why surgery is supposed to happen under anaesthesia. For a few seconds Jax just lies there paralyzed, before he sits up on his elbows, looks over at Jim, and spits out, "Fuck, I'm so goddamn sorry." The second Jax moves, Jim turns his face away from him and huffs. Jax has never seen Jim cry before. He feels like he walked in on Jim fucking someone.

"Fuck," Jax says again, and, without thinking, puts a hand on Jim's arm. Jim stiffens underneath his touch. "It's fine," Jax says, unsteady, not sure if it is fine. "It's okay."

“Fucking– goddamnit,” Jim whispers, rolling over on his side, away from Jax, and curling up.

Jax wants to scream. He briefly puts his head in his hands before sitting up fully and saying, pathetically, “Sorry.” He twists his hands in his lap, stares out into the dark corners of the room. “I can. I can go if you want.” Admittedly, it's his room, but he has no idea what he's doing.

“Sorry,” Jim huffs. Jax can hear him sniff and wipe at his face. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s happening.”

Jax sneaks a look. Just Jim’s pale back, two spiky little bat wings stretching between his shoulder blades as he hugs himself. “I mean. Not to state the obvious, but. I think you’re just crying,” Jax says, aiming uncertainly for gentle, and Jim drapes an arm over his face.

“Fucking stupid,” is Jim’s response.

Jax isn't sure of the statement's direction. He lies down again, bare shoulder brushing against Jim’s back. “Yeah. I mean, no.” He wishes there were more cracks in the ceiling for him to look at. “I mean, I get you, but, like, don’t. ‘S’my fault anyway,” he adds, wretchedly nonchalant. “For bringing up the heavy shit.”

“Literally none of it is your fault,” Jim grumbles. “You’re insane.”

Jax frowns at the ceiling. “Well. Yeah. I tried to kill myself once. It’s kind of a given.”

After a moment, Jim sits up, bracing himself with one arm as he wipes at his face with the other. Then he leans over Jax, dips down, and kisses him.

At first, Jax is too surprised to do anything. He's almost too surprised to think. Jim's lips are soft and dry on his. Jax can't see a thing in the darkness, but he closes his eyes anyway.

Jim pulls his head back just enough to break the kiss, and Jax surprises himself by inhaling a great, gasping gust of air, like a drowning victim after CPR. He keeps his eyes shut and brings a hand off the bed, first winding it tightly around Jim's wrist, then snaking it up Jim's arm to grip his shoulder. For a second, he just holds Jim like that, indenting the flesh of Jim's arm with his fingertips. He can feel his heart beating in his eardrums. What is this? he wonders, then decides he doesn't care. He sighs out a long breath and tips his chin up, asking for Jim's mouth again. Jim answers with exactly what he wants, kissing him just a little deeper this time. Jax tastes smoke and liquor in Jim's mouth. He slips his hand further up, into Jim's hair. He needs to feel Jim under his hands, needs assurance that Jim's real, that Jim isn't going anywhere. Jim draws his head back then, pressing his face into Jax’s neck instead. Jax can feel wetness on his throat, and then Jim’s body follows the established trajectory, toppling down on top of Jax and settling there. Jax keeps his one hand on the back of Jim's head, wraps the other around Jim's back, and simply holds him there on the bed.

He's sure there's something he's supposed to say, but he doesn't know what it is.

#words

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bicycle4two · 4 years ago

Text

say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 4

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2 || C.3

Chapter Four:

Here’s the thing.

Sam always knew that he and his brother were destined for something great. And, well, he can’t say that greatness didn’t fall on them. Yeah, sure, he spent thirteen years in jail. Who hasn’t? But despite that little hiccup in his life, Sam thinks that he’s done pretty well for himself. He’s discovered a lost city or two, with and without his brother, held some artifacts that were rumored to only be from stories, and tried one of the cigars from Sully’s collection. He even has a place to call his own now, his name on the mailbox downstairs, a doorman who greets him.

Honestly, it’s all he’s ever wanted growing up. More, even. Back in Panama, all he thought he wanted, besides, well, getting out, was to find Avery’s treasure with Nathan. It was that thought that kept him going most days. The idea of finding four hundred million worth of treasure! That was the dream. He and Nathan could finally settle down, or, rather, their version of it. Because they weren’t going to have a normal life. That was never in the cards for them growing up, but it was a nice thought, not having to worry about food or a place to stay.

And Sam hasn’t had to worry about that for a long time. He felt empty after Libertalia, that his story was only just beginning while Nathan’s was coming to a close. There are still things he wants to see, to do.

Time, he realized long ago, was something that he could lose so easily and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

So he went on more adventures, climbed higher mountains, picked up little trinkets (a habit he got from his little brother, starting his own little collection) along the way to bigger, better things. (It’s just a shame that some things were destroyed along the way, like statues and buildings, but what can he say? It runs in the family.)

But tonight, after a long flight and an uncomfortable chair, all Sam wants to do is go to her and crash on her bed.

Because although Sam has a place to call home, a big apartment that’s filled with his stuff, clothes, souvenirs, a fish…it feels empty. Cold. Even if he had all the money in the world, Sam can’t shake off that feeling that he shouldn’t have too much. That in just a blink of an eye, all this could be gone. Because that has happened before—moving from place to place, packing what you can immediately get your hands on.

Sam wants riches, searches for them all over the world, but deep down he knows he doesn’t know what to do with them. That even if he dreams of more, he only knows how to live with enough.

So, he only has one pillow, a blanket. A towel and an extra, shampoo (the kind that has body soap mixed with it. 2 in 1! What a deal) and deodorant. Clothes, he knows to get the sturdy kind, the kind that won’t rip easily, that stains won’t be too obvious on. Shoes, too. He gets the ones that have good traction, that won’t chafe his feet, won’t deteriorate when wet.

The fish, Jim Hawkins—Jimmy was an attempt to liven up the place. To make it seem homey, to keep him company. But there’s only so much you can do with a fish and Sam can’t deck out Jim’s aquarium any more than he already has. He’s afraid that something would fall on the poor thing, that maybe there’s more inside Jimmy’s castle than meets the eye.

“Welcome home.”

“I’m ho…ome?” Sam drops his bag to the floor, more from being too tired to carry it than shock. He’d resigned to seeing her tomorrow, that it was too late to go over now, but there she is, curled up on his couch, toes peeking out from under a throw blanket. It’s hers. Sam recognizes it easily. It’s the same one she has thrown over her arm chair, the same chair Sam likes to lounge on when he’s found a good book to read.

“How was your trip?” She looks so cozy on his couch. Hands wrapped around an orange mug he’s never seen before, book on her lap. She doesn’t look like she going to get up and Sam can’t blame her. He sort of wants to curl up next to her, somehow squeeze his large frame in the remaining space. “Get me anything nice?”

“I, uh,” Sam’s swallows, blinking. “I’m not dreaming, right? Like, I didn’t get knocked out when I fell off the mountain?”

“You fell off what?” She’s moving to stand up, mug thankfully placed back on the table despite her haste, and Sam doesn’t want her to do that.

“No. No, don’t get up.”

She gets up anyway, blanket falling to the floor, and, oh god, she’s wearing pajamas, oranges printed all over her cotton shorts. She’s by his side in seconds, hands reaching up to his face, bringing him down to her height so she can get a better look at him.

“Ouch,” Sam says, the movement too fast for his aching body. His muscles are sore and the trip home didn’t do them any favors. But she thinks that it’s her fault, that she’s hurt him and her hands are in the air, her eyes wide with both surprise and concern. “It’s not you. It’s just…,” Sam hates to say it, makes him feel old, but, “My back. I hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I feel dumb for asking…but are you okay?” Her hands are back on him, her touch gentle and giving comfort Sam didn’t know he needed. She doesn’t seem to know what to do first, how to check for injuries, but the thought is enough, her being here is enough, makes him feel better.

“Well, I’m alive,” Sam brings up his hand to push her hair away from her face. It’s soft, slightly damp from a shower. Oh. He probably needs one of those. “Nothing a hot shower can’t fix.”

“Can you…,” she hesitates, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and Sam bends down on reflex, damn his back, and kisses her. She relaxes, sighs, and pulls away, blushing. “Uhm, I, huh?”

“Can I…?” Sam prompts, smirking.

“Now I’m embarrassed to ask.”

“C’mon, princess, don’t leave me hanging. What is it?”

“Can you, uh, do you need help?”

“Do I need help?” Sam grins. “In the shower? Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

…

Sam mentioned it to Nathan before, when they were in Italy, trying to find their way into the Rossi Estate. When you’re locked up with no hope of being let out, it’s the little things you miss the most.

And Sam didn’t think that there was much to miss anymore now that he was out. He can ride his motorcycle anywhere he wants, go to his own bathroom any damn time he pleases, shower, eat, sleep, drink without permission. He can call Nathan and Sully and Elena without request, without reason. He can stay indoors or go outside without a schedule. He can live. The simple joys of being alive, Sam is able to enjoy them now, in much a greater magnitude than he has ever before.

Citrus, he remembers telling Nathan, he had missed the smell of citrus. The novelty of fresh fruit. The refreshing scent, the taste. The sweetness on his tongue.

“Clementine,” Sam gasps out without thinking, his mind stuck on things he missed and maybe this last trip had gone on longer than he liked.

He’s brought back to earth when the movement stops, even when he adjusts his grip, tries to get her going again, to move her hips the way he knows they both like. He opens his eyes to look at her when she doesn’t budge and she’s frowning at him, there’s a wrinkle between her eyebrows. An angry look.

“That’s not my name,” she says and it looks like she’s going to get off of him and, goddammit, why does she keep doing that?

“What?” Sam’s confused, blood not quite in his head.

“You called me Clementine.” Her tone is upset. Hurt. Sam’s never heard her speak like this before. “Who the hell is that?”

“Shit,” Sam breathes out. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah. No shit.” And there she goes, lifting herself off of him as quickly as she had sunk onto him half an hour ago. Sam lets out a grunt. His ribs are bruised yet she flattens her hands on his chest to support herself. She’s doing it on purpose. She was careful before. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to do this, but I guess I was wrong.”

Sam’s cold without her, for more reasons than one, and he knows that if he doesn’t say something, anything, now, she’s going to be out that door before he can even finish saying Hail Mary. And no amount of prayer, to any sort of god out there, is going to bring her back.

So, Sam swallows down his pride, and says, “It’s you.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that before. ‘Just you.’ How can I-I be so stu-stupid?” Her voice wavers and shit she’s crying, isn’t she? He made her cry.

“And I mean that. Hey, come here.” Sam doesn’t want to hold her too tightly, afraid to hurt her, but he has to know that she isn’t going to leave, that she’s going to stay and listen to him. She turns to look at him, tears flowing down her cheeks, nose red, lips quivering, and Sam’s heart just about breaks. He did that. He’s never felt more like an asshole. “It is just you. It has been since the start. I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just waits. And Sam feels like he’s back in school, standing in front of his class, giving a presentation.

“I, uh, did I ever tell you that I was in prison once?” Sam manages to get out. He always knew he was going to have this conversation with her, knew that with how their relationship was going, he couldn’t keep her in the dark much longer, but he had hoped that he would at least be wearing pants for this.

“No,” she breathes out, wiping her nose with a tissue she got from his bedside table. Huh. Was that tissue box always there? Anyway. “But I figured.”

“The tattoos?”

“No,” she says again and by some miracle there’s a smile on her lips. It’s small, gone with a blink of an eye, but Sam knows what he saw, has all of her smiles memorized. “Someone like you just has the talent of getting into trouble.”

And Sam can’t help it. He lets out a laugh because it’s true. She knows him.

“Well, I can’t deny that. But anyway,” He clears his throat. Was talking always this hard? “When I was in prison. In Panama—that’s important. This was when I was in Panama. I was there for thirteen years and, Jesus, time moves differently there. It’s like the days can’t go by fast enough but next thing you know a year has passed by, two, three, and you’ve lost your youth because some asshole decided to get all stabby with the guard.”

The words are spilling out, like he can’t get them out of him fast enough. Because he needs her to know, to understand.

“It wasn’t my fault. Well, okay, I was there on purpose at first, but those thirteen years were like a punishment for what that asshole did. I was supposed to die there. We were escaping, we were almost there, almost free, but I got shot and I fell. The guards found me and got some ‘doctors’ to patch me up. They made sure that if I was going to die, I was going to die because I rotted in that hellhole.”

Sam can see that she’s listening, that she’s hanging onto every word so he continues, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I was only in my twenties. There was so much I wanted to see, to do. Nathan and I had plans, dreams. We were going to go all over the world. But I was stuck there. Alone. And no one knew that I was alive. It’s like I stopped existing. Sometimes.” The words are stuck. But Sam forces them out. “Sometimes I, uh, I wished it were true, that it would be better if I was just gone. That I had just died back there.”

She’s crying again and Sam wipes her tears for her, brings her closer to him. Because these tears aren’t because of him anymore, but for him. And isn’t that something? Having someone cry for you.

“You don’t realize how much you have until everything is practically ripped away from you. I didn’t have any privacy. I…I couldn’t take a leak when I needed to. You just end up thinking, cuz there really isn’t much to do but think, about what you had. How life was good. And I, I just missed everything. I missed Nathan, of course, he’s my little brother. But, it’s the small things, too. Like riding my bike into the sunset. Grass beneath my feet. A glass of cold water. And…”

“And?” She asks, eyes focused on the gunshot scars on his abdomen, fingers tracing their shape. It tickles.

“And the smell of citrus.” He makes her look at him because this is important. The most important thing. “I missed the smell of citrus. The taste. And when I was in Japan, I thought about it again. The things I missed back here, back at home. And it’s citrus—you. I missed you so much, you wouldn’t believe it. I could have called Nathan. Elena, even. To come over here but I called you because,” Sam clears his throat once more. “Because I wanted you here. I had hoped you would be here when I came back. And you were.”

She’s quiet, eyes searching. And Sam’s poured out his heart and soul and now he’s got nothing else to do but wait and see what she does with it. Is this what being honest is like? Being vulnerable? It’s torture. Sam hates it. But he can also think of worse things and that keeps him rooted in his spot, trying to keep his face as honest as he can. Years of hiding is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

“You must have been so lonely.” Is what she says, hands back on his gunshot wounds. She’s transfixed. Almost like she’s been wondering about them forever. And maybe she has. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Eh. It’s all in the past,” Sam says with a shrug. Because it is in the past. He’s made his peace with it. Mostly. Some things are harder to shake off than others but he’s okay now. He’s built from strong stuff, a sturdy breed. “But, y’know. You’re, uh, killing me here.”

“Killing you?”

“Cuz I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Sam admits. It’s all truth from here on out, huh? “I can’t read you right now. Are you gonna leave? Punch me in the face? Report me? Please don’t report me. I’d really hate to go back to jail. Nathan would kill me. And I still have a few years left to go, y’know?”

She smiles and Sam realizes that he was rambling. He takes a breath, feels himself calm down. Damn. He needs a cigarette. Maybe two. Are his hands shaking? They’re definitely shaking.

“I think you have more than a ‘few years,’” she says, fingers tracing scars. Sam twitches from her touch. Is this what it feels like when he touches her back? “Especially if you stop smoking.”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

“You should start listening.”

“Ah. Someday.” Sam takes her hand in his, mostly to stop her stop her from tickling him, but also to bring them back on topic. Because she still hasn’t said anything. Nothing to give him an idea where they go from here, if there is somewhere to go from here. “So?”

“So…” She leans close, talks in a whisper, like if she speaks any louder, something might shift, break this bubble that they’re in. “So, you have to tell me what you want, Sam.” It’s an echo of what he said to her months ago, a vulnerable, fragile moment just like this. “So I know what to give you.”

But this time is different because she’s always been more generous than him, always been willing to give.

And Sam’s always been someone to take what he wants and he’ll be damned if this time is any different.

“It would be nice if you stayed.”

“Stay? I can do that.”

...

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

...

Sam’s apartment was inspired by @missdictatorme ‘s post

#samuel drake #sam drake #samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #sam drake fanfiction #fanfic #uncharted fanfiction #uncharted #uncharted 4 #a thief's end #self indulgent writing

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spacewizardtrek · 4 years ago

Photo

WARNING: This post will ruin you. Like Medusa; look at your peril.

But here is is. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for.

Kirk bod appreciation #7: The RIDICULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL FACE. A highly technical and academic review.

This is a rather nebulous one. And not, on the face of it (pardon the pun) very philosophical, as it’s essentially about Kirk being stupidly pretty. This post probably will (it will) descend into just screaming and sobbing, but there will be, I promise, *some* meaningful insight into the meaning of ‘beauty’ and textual analysis of its role herein.

Beauty is subjective. But look at him. It’s not just being aesthetic, but it’s the *way* he’s aesthetic. Here I might repeat myself a bit, but stay with me. I may have mentioned before once hearing him described as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is PRETTY. He is indeed often conveyed in the way the women stereotypically (not necessarily rightly) are on screen: perfect, smooth skin; soft, big eyes; luscious lips (his body is sensually curvaceous and furthermore it’s emphasised). He’s not androgynous though. He’s masculine. And yet I still sense what was meant in describing him as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is a rather uncommon form of gender fuckery. He is a form of stereotype-subversion not commonly acknowledged. He seems to be everything at once, ALL THE GENDER; combines whichever traits he desires from those categories, and yet is undeniably a man and masculine whatever the ingredients. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, one might wonder. The fact of the matter is, that it IS. And it teaches us something.

The FUCK. nO. You are not allowed to be that pretty, and you are NOT allowed to look at her like that. We’re trying to have a SENSIBLE DISCUSSION here.

Sorry, that was a non-sequitur / nothing to do with what we learn by Kirk’s embodiment; I was just ambushed by my own gif. Only the control of a Vulcan. ONLY that could possibly withstand this onslaught. And even that won’t hold up forever AS WE WELL KNOW

God.

This is going well, as you can tell.

OK. So, it’s claimed he has Eyes and Stupidly Long Weakness-Inducing Eyelashes. You know, from all that fanfic that goes on about ‘big, sparkling eyes’ and him fanning his ‘long, copper eyelashes’. I mean, yeah right, tropey mc tropeface -

IT’S TRUE. HE IS LITERALLY AN ANIME PRINCESS.

There are some moments where he just BLINKS and, how to describe it...how does a BLINK have that effect. It’s NOT ALLOWED.

...I’m sorry. It IS allowed. All of it. I am not shaming you your beauty. Never change, Jim. Never.

OK. I’m ok. 3 pics down, we can get through this -

Oh you are joking. Stop.

I don’t understand how anyone can be so beautiful. Life is a lie. Reality is fake -

- you did NOT just turn your big anime eyes on Spock. You do know this is why he ran away to PURGE ALL HIS EMOTIONS?

And for that matter, you know when Kirk looks his most beautiful? Literally WHEN HE’S LOOKING AT SPOCK. Spock talks some bollocks and Kirk just sparkles like a fucking angel:

Unbelievable. But utterly undeniable.

Sigh. Moving on.

Oh - someone once suggested I talk about The Lips. Lips are so wonderful aren’t they. So many wonderful things they can do.

And Kirk’s. They’re there in every picture: perfect, rosy, soft and madness-inducing. My advice is just...don’t think about them. But since I’ve been asked to draw attention to them, well, you’ve just sealed your fate. Scroll down at your peril.

I WARNED YOU.

I am pulling NO punches.

I’ve seen this great meme going around:

Excuse me though....CUTE?

That’s the understatement of the 23rd century.

Try impossibly beautiful, mind and body: heart of solid gold, soul deep in love with you. Those eyes and all their passion burned into your memories a thousand times over, along with - maybe, suggestibly, idk I’m extrapolating from all the goddamn tension - even the one unforgettable time he laid between lily-white sheets and gave himself to you; every gift of the mind, body and soul - and your ostensibly-forced Vulcan conditioning, that completely ignored how incompatible one part of you was with it, caused so much dissonance that you thought the only possible course of action for you both to survive was to BREAK UP, tear yourself from this beauty and love and sweetness to PURGE ALL EMOTIONS because nothing, nothing equipped you for this; you were set up specifically to fail, and fail hard in the face of transcendental love and beauty by those who rejected such things and didn’t understand you and could never imagine this for you and who instead of helping your beautiful neurodivergent brain flourish taught you to repress and caused you pain and shame and Gol was so hard and Kirk was so sad, so very sad and depressed and hurt and yet he couldn’t stop loving you with a bond so strong he called to you across the stars and Gol was all for naught yet you still didn’t know how to live like this, it was torture, torture until the mind meld with the living machine flashed your BIOS and you knew, love.exe was suddenly running with no errors and he came after you and held you and you held hands and, and -

*sobbing*

just...give me a moment

YOU WONDER WHAT THE SUBTEXT (FRIKKIN’ MAIN TEXT) OF STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE WAS ALL ABOUT???

The pain?? The angst?? The two logical entities seeking contact, love, THIS SIMPLE FEELING? That fucking moment when spock walks on the bridge and the only way he can control himself is to be SUPER Vulcan, while his love gazes at him with those EYES, fucking huge and glittering and hurt and loving?? Is it so much a mystery what memories these two are carrying, what’s behind the searing tension???????

Love him. Love him Spock. Take him in your arms and love him. He’s for you. All for you. Fucking hell guys. The fuck. This movie.

ok.

ok I can do this

CAN U NOT

those damn eyes I swear

It’s obviously not all just superficial physical beauty. What IS beauty? Narratively we do sometimes find this ‘prettiness’ enhanced and emphasized like the old vaseline lens to set the tone of a scene (he’s vulnerable and delicate, or someone’s indeed in love with him so we see their ‘lens’ on him); but it is somewhat intangible and nebulous and changeable. I don’t think aesthetic beauty, if one deems it so, on its own, would be enough for the likes of Spock (indeed, no woman could charm him thusly); it's about something deeper. It’s about who he is. Who he is inside: the beautiful AND the imperfect. How his good and bad - how his ‘all’ - chimes with Spock’s 'all’. The Enemy Within deals with this, and shows how Spock loves all of Kirk, wants him complete, with both his light and shadow. The beauty of all of us is this totality and variance, not one intangible quality.

I’ll bet Spock’s parents knew immediately. Can you imagine Sarek trying to be a total bitch over Kirk, having heard the rumours and just wanting to have one more thing to reject Spock over, immediately projecting onto Kirk as some blow-up pretty-boy and how Incredibly More Disappointing My Son Is for being Obviously In Love With Stupid Illogical Human Doll Face Bubble Butt Bimbo Captain, and Amanda’s like, stfu, let me remind you Kirk is actually a Fucking Amazing Highly Decorated Starship Captain who Saves Your Life and don’t you DARE resent him just because he’s got tits/ass/tum/lips that won’t quit and is obviously the freakin’ sun Spock orbits. Mr ‘I married a human but that was special because it was logical’ or some bullshit. How is Kirk an illogical choice? I mean literally, Spock is a Science Genius™ on the federation’s FLAGSHIP whose well-matched Genius Captain™ understands him, accepts him, brings the best out of him, helps him fulfil his whole potential and is in love with him in the deepest and purest way and will be his bonded soulmate for ALL OF TIME and that fucking sour-faced bih at the start of that ep, ffs.

Of course Amanda stays in touch with Kirk, adores the fuck out of him, sends him old Vulcan lit on t’hy’la bonds (yes sarek, a T’HY’LA bond, so revered freakin’ poets write about it) etc because frankly her son could do FAR FUCKING WORSE.

FAR. FUCKING. WORSE.

Don’t...just don’t slip the bod into the equation, the face is enough for one post. We’re all in therapy for this already, let’s not relapse.

Oh, what’s the use. I’m gonna die. This is it. This is like the Monty Python joke that is so funny it kills you. This man is lethal. I need to stop this thread and purge all my emotions

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That’s it. I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead.

I hope, however, seeing this post was worth it. See you at Gol everyone.

The Forbidden Texts, DO NOT READ:

Kirk bod appreciation #6: The Curves. The Front. The...chest. AND THE AMAZING GREEN WRAP

Kirk bod appreciation #5: The Paws

Kirk bod appreciation #4: The Curves. The Back. Poetry in motion.

Kirk bod appreciation #3: Season 3 (Part 1)

Kirk bod appreciation #2b: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #2a: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #1: The Tum

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heavenbarnes · 5 years ago

Text

when it’s that time of night

Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings/Contains: swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, fully clothed sex, implied age gap, canon-typical spookiness

Word Count: 3.4k

i finally finished stranger things and i’m just as hot for hawkins chief of police as i was when i started, so here we are x

Gathered around Joyce Byers' kitchen table, your gaze flickered between the comotion unfolding in front of you, and Hopper. Things had undeniably changed since that evening, and those same things had only seemed to get, well, stranger. A silly part of you hoped that if you glared at him hard enough, things would start to become clear.

"I wouldn't normally do this, but you're about one of the only people I can trust."

Jim stood on your doorstep with three of the neighborhood kids, and one young girl you'd not seen before. This was not something you anticipated when you started seeing Hopper, but nevertheless, you stepped aside and let them in.

Maybe that was why he had brought them hear, because it was in your nature to care more about their safety than what made sense. You let the kids have your TV remote and flick through your records, before you turned back to Hopper with a kind of expression that said "you do this with all the girls that let you sleepover?"

And after that, in all hushed tones in your very small kitchen, Jim divulged tales of disappearing children and ones that could move things with their mind.

"I just need you to keep them safe for a few hours, then I'll explain even more."

As much as he did explain, you felt like the more you saw and heard, the less you knew. Listening to these kids, try to tell you that Joyce's son had been kidnapped by the monster from their boardgame? You felt like you needed to lay down a while.

Your skills ranged from serving diner meals on rollerskates, and driving the neighborhood boys crazy in the process. You weren't sure how you'd fear as a monster hunter. Young Jonathan Byers snapped you from your thoughts by throwing a theory out to the group.

"So for us to strike whilst the iron is hottest, we'd just need to know when it will all start happening again?"

Everyone murmured in agreement but Hopper wasn't having it.

"Ok, so when exactly would that be? Are you going to tell me there is just a time that these things are all going to kick off?"

Your ears pricked up and suddenly your mouth was opening before your brain could catch it.

"Three in the morning." That had everyone's eyes on you.

Not used to hearing you join in on these things, Hopper prompted you to carry on.

You pushed up off the wall you were leaning against and spoke again. "Three in the morning, the witching hour."

"What is the witching hour?" Jonathan pressed you further.

"My Grandmother used to tell me about it, in folklore they say that three in the morning is the witching hour." You stepped further towards the table where they had all congregated.

"It's when the veil between this part of the world," One of your hands lay flat beneath your chin, whilst the other lay palm turned up in line with your belly "And this part of the world,"

"Like Australia?" Dustin questioned, receiving a smack in the arm from Mike.

"No, like the underworld or what you guys call the upside down, it's when the veil between the two is at it's thinnest allowing the unforgiving to travel through."

They all looked from each other and back to you, beginning to fear that you might be onto something.

"Believe me, I work in a 24-hour diner, if things are going to get strange it's going to be at three in the morning."

"What kind of strange?" Joyce spun round at that comment, a sort of pleading in her eyes.

"The lights will pulse, and the machines will start to get these electricity surges, I hate working the nights in there." The look she gave you began to prick the hairs on the back of your neck. "Why are you looking like I've just laid the last piece in your puzzle?"

"Because I think you just have."

Ever since you spoke the witching hour theory into existence, you hadn't been able to get it off your mind. That very next day, your boss called the house and told you that you'd be on the night shift, and Veronica's kid had mono so you'd be doing it alone.

Something told you that you'd made a mistake speaking it outloud, that now this- well whatever this was, but now that it knew you knew it's secrets, it was onto you. However that could've all been crazy, and maybe Hawkins was getting lazy with it's electrical and it just got screwy when they thought everyone was sleeping.

Regardless, it was now 1.41am and there wasn't a customer in sight. It was just you, the empty diner, and the fast approaching witching hour. For the first time in your life, you actually wished one of the town's teenage boys would come in and hound your for a date, just so you had some company.

You resorted to wiping down the counter for about the 30th time that night, a spot of mess at the one of the back booths catching your eye. Leaving the counter, you roller-skated down the back of the store and cleaned up the leftover baskets and napkins. You were bent over the table, flicking the the cloth over the surface when you heard it. The bell on the door.

Your blood rain cold and just about every hair on your body stood on end. An unexplainable feeling drifted over you, that feeling when you know it's all gone wrong, but there just isn't anything you can do about it. That feeling enveloped you and it took over you, you couldn't even bring yourself to turn your head.

Heavy, heavy steps were heading your way and you knew it was do or die. You could try shoot the gap to the backroom, that or beat whatever it was with your bare hands. As it got closer you geared up all your strength and spun around on your skate in an instant.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU STUPID FUCKING-"

"GOD, PUT YOUR ARMS DOWN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

Hopper gripped your wrists and stilled you moments before you lay your fists in his eye sockets. Your breathing slowly came back down to a normal pace, but you could still feel your pulse rattling around in your body. Of course it was just Hopper, of course it wasn't a boardgame monster stopping by for a snack.

"What are you doing here?" You still sounded exasperated as you pulled your arms from his grip and threw yourself into his chest.

He brought both his arms around your shoulders and pulled you further into him, giving you a moment to calm yourself down. "I came in to keep you company, I know you've been a little on edge since you brought up that shit at the Byers' house."

"God, thank you so much, I'm sorry for trying to beat you to death." Voice muffled by his chest, your sentiments were still appreciated.

He brought you back down to the front of the shop and you took one side of the counter each. Fixing him a coffee as a half-hearted apology for the near miss, you slid it across the counter to take place of an olive branch. He accepted with a grin, unable to stay mad at you, even when you're trying to knock his teeth out.

"I am actually so sorry, I really have been on edge, I don't know why." Your head fell into your hands, gently tugging at your own hair.

"Hey, hey come here." He called you around the counter, turning around in his stool as you got closer.

Pulling you between his spread legs, you settled back into his hold, allowing those big hands to rub down the spanse of your back. Even his touch alone could soothe you, even when you were still a little terrified of a time on the clock. His hands moved to your lower back, gently rubbing away all the tensions you'd held inside you for sometime.

There was something about Hopper, from the moment you finally let him drive you home after a shift, giving in to his multitudes of compliments about your roller-skates and your coffee pouring and your little uniform. He was warm and he was kind, he made you laugh and he felt good when he wrapped himself around you. Oh, and it couldn't be forgotten that the Hawkins Chief of Police was unbelievable in the sack.

"You got any customers tonight?" His voice rumbled against your whole body, sounding from deep insdie his chest.

You pushed back from him, letting his hands fall to your waist and your eyes meet, your fingers played with the buttons of his uniform.

"Not since 11.30, and I won't see anymore, I never do." You sighed, tipping your head back with a petty groan. "I still don't know why they have me here so late."

Hopper's hands drifted lower, ever so slightly, until his fingers were toying with the hem of your dress. The gentle touch pricked your skin up, understanding from a touch alone exactly what his intentions were. You kept your gaze fixed on his, a look in your eye that almost seemed to say "go for it."

One of his hands took yours, long fingers slotting between yours as he pulled you out from between his legs. Your roller-skates glided you easily along the linoleum floor, putting you out in front of him.

"Do a twirl for me?" His mouth quirked up into a smirk, making a heat rise up your neck and settle at your cheeks.

You didn't so much agree as he did it for you, lifting your arm and twirling you around on the wheels of your skates. If your dress wasn't so tight, it would've spun around you, but your apron did it for you. An unmissable grin spread across Jim's face, watching your little pose at the end as you both giggled.

"I believe they have you here so late to keep you in this little uniform just a bit longer." His voice was gruff, pulling you towards him again.

"Oh is that what it is?"

"That is what it is," His hands went back to the hem and seemed to sneak under it. "It's to make life harder for me."

"So, this is about you?"

"All about me, it's so I have to sit at home and just think about your pretty ass skating around in this tiny fucking dress, and there isn't anything I can do about it."

It got hotter in the diner, right in that very moment, you could feel it spreading across your body as you lent into him. Your lips ghosted just moments above his, so close he could feel your breath on his skin.

"Well you aren't at home now," You whispered, very nearly placing your lips on his. "What are you 'gonna do about it?"

He didn't have to tell you, it was rather a display to show you what he'd do. His lips came to yours, his signature was a domineering kiss that left you reeling an unable to think of anything else afterwards. His kisses left a hold over you, the way his tongue felt against yours, the way his hands moved against you. This man had you good.

Standing up from the stool, he wrapped one hand around your waist, pulling you flush against him in one swift movement. Your hands went up to his jaw, feeling his coarse beard under your fingers as you pulled his face closer to yours. One of your hands took his hat from the top of his head and hung it off the register beside you.

Hopper kept his hand on your waist, and left the other go beneath your thigh. In one swift motion he lifted you, placing you down on the counter before pushing the skirt of your dress up your legs. With a hand on each knee, he spread them apart and pulled you right to the edge, pushing himself between them to get even closer.

You moaned into his mouth, the feeling of him handling you like his brought a wave over you, making your legs shake around him. One of his hands traveled higher up your thigh, making it's way past the bunched fabric and between your legs. Two fingers pressed firmly against the seat of your underwear and it was made apparent, just how wet he'd gotten you.

"Fuck, little lady you are always so good for me, aren't you?" His voice was nearly a bark, lips moving down your jaw and to your throat.

"I try my best, chief."

His motions stopped at the sound of that name, and within in instant he was pulling your underwear down your legs. It hung around one of your roller-skates as he pushed both your legs over his broad shoulders, leaning you back till you were perched up on your elbows.

Hopper's mouth found the meeting of your thighs, his tongue coming out to lick a fine stripe along your heat. Your mouth fell open and your hands flew to his head, fingers threading into his hair as he began to move his tongue against you.

Gasps and nearly pathetic whimpers fell from your lips as he worked against your clit, rolling it against his tongue with unreal precision. The only word leaving your lips was his title, the sound of chief filled the diner and bounced off the windows.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding them apart as your body willed you to clamp them around his head. Your hips rolled forward, pressing you further into his mouth as his tongue moved down further before coming back up to that one spot.

So quickly, you could already feel that tension building inside you, a fine line of pleasure that was ready to snap. His eyes rose up to you, locking with you and making about every muscle inside you tighten. That look in his eye, it could've killed you the way you knew exactly what it meant.

He had a sweet tooth only you were pretty enough to sate.

One of his hands left your thigh and moved below the counter, you listened to the sound of his belt buckle as he haphazardly undid it one-handed. You heard his fly next and it was incredibly apparent that he was palming himself as his tongue still moved against you.

The thought, the image in your mind, the sounds he made as he moaned against your wetness it was all too much. Your head tipped back, fingers tightened in his hair as you cried out for him. You felt that line snap as your release washed over you.

Hopper never let up, lips still pursed around your clit as you rode out your high, nearly overtaking you. He never went to far, always new the line and he pulled back as he stood to full height. Your legs fell to his sides and you looked up to see him grasping himself in his hand.

His other hand trailed against your sensitive heat, two fingers dragging through the wetness that remained there.

"You have the sweetest fucking pussy I've ever got my hands on." He growled as he dove in for a kiss, the taste of you ever present on his lips.

He took that hand from between your legs and used it to slick up his cock, twisting your wetness around himself as he lay his head at your entrance. He dragged it along your sensitive cunt, before slowly pushing his way in.

The gasp that fell from you was iminent, Jim had a stretch like nothing else. Your body relaxed into this kiss and into him until he was hip-deep within you.

"And your pussy is so fucking tight, I can't believe how lucky I got."

"It's all for you, chief, fuck me like you mean it."

So he did, his hands slid to the other side of the counter and gripped the edge before he delivered the first incredible blow. Your back arched up and a cry was ripped from within you as he pumped his hips quickly against your own.

Your hands shot up to grip his arms, feeling the muscles tensing beneath the cotton of his work shirt. Legs tensing up around his hips, moans and whimpers still steadily coming from you, it only seemed to spur him on like he was listening for the way you fell apart for him.

"You look so good taking my cock, pretty girl." He huffed, one hand leaving the counter to come and grip your hip.

He pulled you back against him with every thrust, striking deep inside you and rolling your eyes back in your head. Still on edge from the flood of pleasure he had just dipped you in, you felt like you were right there, teetering on the edge and waiting to be pushed over.

Always knowing exactly what he was doing, exactly what would drive you crazy and have you falling apart around him. Maybe this is what it had all been about, that talk about being with an older man, you'd heard the stories and he'd proven them all right.

From the moment you'd started sleeping over with each other, Hopper had changed your life. You didn't know if you could go back to nights without getting your back blown out by Jim Hopper. He would always talk about how he couldn't believe he got a pretty young thing like yourself, but you didn't know how you'd lucked out on someone that made you feel the way he did.

Gripping onto his uniform and crying out for him, you felt that hand on your hip slip down to your clit, rubbing furious circles against it. Another moan of that name, that title that until you had said it, was nothing more than a work give name. Now, the way that you said it gave it a whole new meaning.

It had gotten so bad that he had to stop asking you to call him that in front of people, after he'd pitched a tent the day you visited him at the station. Now that was reserved for teasing.

The way he touched you, how he knew your body, it had you dangerously close to coming undone for him once again that evening. Your heat clenched around him, dragging him in with a raw cry ripping out of your throat and rising above the both of you.

That line snapped once more and you couldn't help the way your hips rose from the counter and your body twitched under the mountain of pleasure. Over the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears, you could hear the words of encouragement coming from Hopper.

He rode out your high with you again, pulling you back against him and refusing to let up as you felt him faltering slightly. "That's my good girl, 'gonna make me come."

You reached your hands up his chest, pulling against his shirt as you arched your back for him again. Your lips pursed as you mustered the strength to call out to him.

"Come for me, chief."

And that was enough to do it for him, his hips stilling tight against you as he came deep in you. Grunts and chopped cries of your name could be heard as he pulled you flush towards his chest, arms wrapped under your back as his heart hammered against both of your chests.

He let you back down from the counter, fixing himself as you pulled up your underwear and smoothed out your uniform. You placed his hat back on his head as he sat back on the stool, before you slotted back between his thighs.

As he wrapped his arms back around you, you heard, and then you saw it. That electrical pulsing, that buzzing that seemed to come from the lightbulbs. Right as your heart-rates had just come back as they should, you physically felt yours pick up again.

"Baby, what'd you call that damn time again?"

Your eyes moved from the flickering lights to the big clock on the wall, the one you usually focused on for your breaks. The hands were pointing clear as day, three in the morning.

"The witching hour."

#jim hopper smut #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x female reader #david harbour smut #david harbour x reader #david harbour x female reader

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years ago

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Annabel Lee; Matthew Gray Gubler

a/n: I usually hate wedding imagines BUT fuck I watched Jim and Pam’s wedding scene again and just had to. Then I got carried away...

description: just getting married to mgg

You ran your fingers down your corset, gripping the red roses in your right hand almost too tightly. The doors that led inside the hall were shut, but you could hear the murmur of the guests awaiting the ceremony to start. Your bridesmaids- your sister, and Kirstin- and his groomsmen- Shemar and Steve- stood before you, casually chatting. Everyone was waiting for your cue, which you weren’t quite ready to give. You needed a few more seconds to breathe.

Your dad (or whomever, I know some of y’all got daddy issues) tapped your elbow, “You ready, honey?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, feeling your breakfast in your throat. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m gonna vomit. Everywhere.”

Kirstin overheard your confession. She turned on her heel, worry in her eyes. Your sister followed her over to you. The three of them crowded you. Your sister set a hand on your shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. I’m just nervous,” you confessed as your hand landed on your skirt. You kept feeling the dress as if to ground yourself.

“For what?” Kirstin prompted.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Like, everything. Like, yeah.”

“Girl,” Shemar interjected, “that man is so in love with you, it makes me sick. You’ll be okay.”

Steve added, “Oh, for sure. He never shuts up.”

Your face flushed and a shocked-in-love expression flooded it, “Really?”

“You look like the equivalent of the gushy eyed emoticon,” your sister laughed. “I think you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I think I’m okay,” you breathed out.

Your sister smoothed your skirt before returning to her position with everyone else. Your dad tucked his arm into yours, “You ready?”

“Ready.”

The doors swung open. Steve and your sister began to float down the aisle, but stopped halfway down. You couldn’t see him over Steve’s head, but you saw Paget at the top of the aisle, smiling proudly. She glanced down to her left and you saw just the slightest bit of brown hair flop in the air. You smiled widely, but became confused when the organ stopped and an upbeat song came on.

Your sister spun around towards you. She leaned around Kirstin and Shemar and winked. Suddenly, she started dancing to the Bruno Mars song. You groaned, tossing your head back and leaning your weight in your dad. Your forehead landed on his shoulder and he chuckled, patting your hair.

You peaked up to see Kirstin and Shemar join their flailing dance movements. Some of your family and friends were pulled up to dance with them. Your eyes flicked across the room, watching everyone engage in the loving moment. Your eyes found the front of the room and landed on Matthew’s.

He was grinning dumbly, hands crossed in front of his tux. He had shaved for the occasion and his hair was short. But, his personality still showed through the little crooked bow tie at his throat and his bright red Converse. His left foot was tapping along to the song and he tossed his head back to laugh. When his head came forward again, his eyes met yours.

He literally gasped, eyes widening. He hit Paget with his shoulder, nodding towards you. She looked at you and you briefly met her eyes, smiling so wide. She gushed to Matthew about you, and he only said, “I know.”

Your dad pulled you forward, urging you to dance with everyone else. You resisted a little, embarrassed by all the eyes that were landing on you. But, you grabbed his hands like you were a little kid again, giving in the numerous spins he tucked you into. He dipped you, letting your head fall towards the floor as a guttural laugh fell from your lips. When you were lifted back onto your feet, you shook your hips and spun around on your own.

You had made it about halfway down the aisle and the song was halfway over. You let go of your dad’s hand, finding Matthew’s eyes again. You needed to touch him, to hold him. You balled up your dress in your hands and ran up to the risers. He grinned down at you, about two steps up from the floor.

“Well, hello,” his cheeky voice remarked. You held out your hand and he didn’t hesitate to grab on. You pulled him into the aisle, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. He swung you round and round, rocking side to side as the song continued on. Everyone looked towards you, still dancing.

Eventually, the song winded down. Matthew held your hand as you climbed up the steps, feet aching in your heels. He straightened out the bottom of your dress, drawing awes from the crowd who was settling down. You let out a hasty breath, feeling somewhat sweaty from the dancing. Matthew stepped up beside you, Paget standing between you.

“Alrighty, then,” she remarked, brushing off Matthew’s shoulder. The room laughed a little at what had just happened. Once they silenced, Paget looked between the two of you. “So, I have the awesome honor of officiating these two’s wedding. Matthew officiated mine and Y/N sang a song at the reception. They hadn’t been together yet, but at the reception, they danced for hours. I remember talking to Gube after the night ended and I mentioed Y/N. He told me that he was planning on going to buy her roses the next day, that he was going to show up at her apartment with the proposition of going to Vegas and getting married.”

Matthew held your eyes in his, lips pressing together as a sheepish expression came over him. Your eyes widened, squeezing his hand in yours. “What?” You mouthed. He shrugged, eyes flicking away cheekily.

Paget laughed at your interaction, “Yeah, don’t worry. I talked him down. I told him to bring you a coffee, considering she’d drank plenty that night. I told him, coffee and roses. And ask her to dinner. He called me the next night and told me that they were going to be painting birdhouses that weekend. I told him that he was literally the weirdest man I had ever met. And then he called me again on Sunday and told me that they’d kissed. And, despite me urging him to wait, he went out and bought this ring.”

Paget held up the ring that was going to be on your finger room. You gasped, looking up at the piece of jewerly. Tears flooded your eyes at the realization. Matthew tugged on your arm slightly, drawing your watery eyes back to his.

Paget continued on through her speech, though you could barely focus on anything but his eyes. They were so, so thoughtful and loving, and you just wanted to hug him. He kept you grounded by rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, the rough edge of his thumb soothing your senses.

When it came time for your vows, you thought you were going to burst. You went first, “Um, okay, I had it written down, because I knew I would ramble, but I kinda just want to ramble.”

The guests chuckled at your words. You continued, “When I first met you, I thought that you were just the coolest person ever. You wore these big, colorful shoes and patterned socks which you always made sure were visible when wearing pants. You had all these cool kimonos that you’d wear on set all the time and you always made sure everyone laughed at least once a day, no matter if the scene we were shooting was sad or terrifying. I was so intimidated by you because you were this really successful actor who everyone in Hollywood says is some heartbreaker, but then I was eating cheese on set and you came up beside me and started talking to me about birds. Like, rattling off stupid facts about birds. And I think that’s when I was in love with you.

“But of course, I didn’t really know it. I was kinda just blindly finding companionship in you. And then, one day, you walked into my trailer one day after shooting and told me about this Edgar Allen Poe poem. You pulled out your journal and showed me this pen drawing of me, like, my face! And beside it you had written, ‘tell Y/N about Annabel Lee.’ And that’s when I knew I was in love with you.”

You took a moment to sniffle and draw your thoughts. You noticed Matthew’s bottom lib wobble and a thin line of tears fell down his chin. You reached up and wiped at his cheek with your thumb. He leaned into your hand.

“Matthew, everyday with you is a literal adventure. You force me out of my comfort zone in the best way possible. Without you, I think I’d still be avoiding phone calls with people in general. You’ve taught me to be fearlessly brave and to love myself more than anyone else. Except you, of course. You, I love more than anything. More than everything. You are larger than life and bigger than any stupid argument we could ever have. I love you.”

A bout of silence followed as Matthew attempted to refrain from sobbing. He thought about what to say before beginning with, “I bought a pair of socks with dinosaurs and hearts on them just because of you and this stupid song you showed me about dinosaurs being in love. This was before we got together. You told me how much you loved them and even though they cost like $20 and I couldn’t find them again, I let you have them.”

You gaped at the man, a slightly annoyed smile present. Of course. He winked at you and went on, “I always did stupid stuff like that. Like, going out of my way in the morning to get you those mini pancakes from the coffee shop that I lied and said was right across the street from my apartment. You didn’t know that until. You also didn’t know that I went to three different states to find you a birthday present that was literally just a blanket. But it was so worth it to see you curled up on the couch with it. And then, of course, there’s the little things, like filling up your car with gas and pretending like you just hadn’t known you didn’t use that much. Watering your plants without you knowing. Always making sure I buy you the same type of food I’m getting even if you’re not hungry because you are hungry.”

Laughter came again. Matthew shook his head, eyes crinkled, and he continued, “I’m not boasting about how great of a partner I am. No, I’m just telling everyone, telling you, that I love you. I would and do go to the ends of the Earth for you because you are my world. I don’t know how else to end this than to end it with our true beginning; ‘For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee.’ You are my Annabel Lee.”

Everything moved on pretty quickly as you recited more repetitions and slid the rings onto each other fingers. Eventually, you were being prompted the room as Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Gray Gubler.

“That sounds ridiculous,” he leaned into your ear.

You giggled in response, squeezing his shoulder. Paget announced that you were to kiss and, as if he couldn’t be more dramatic, Matthew swooped you across his body. He dipped you, leaning down as you held onto his hand and shoulder and kissed you deeply. The room erupted into applause.

And you lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by him.

#mgg fluff #mgg x reader #mgg imagine #mgg gifs #mgg #mgg oneshot #mgg fanfiction #mgg blurb #mgg x y/n #matthew gray gubler x reader #Matthew Gray Gubler fluff

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phoenixblack89 · 4 years ago

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Fera Ingris

Chapter 2: Fuck My Life

So I skipped Vatos. Couldn't get it to work at all the way I wanted it to but did get this finished. Next chapter will probably be out in 2 weeks. It's done but needs editing.

Anyhooo. Enjoy. If ya wanna be tagged so ya don't miss please message me or comment on this! Also up on a03.

Tags: @lilythemadqueen @writingdeadangel @boondoctorwho @fandomsaremykryponite @browneyes528 @darylsgirl

Daryl was pissed. Beyond pissed. The whole rescue Merle plan was nothing but a shit show from the start. First finding Merle's hand and no body attached to it. And no meds for the girl. Then Glenn being nabbed. Then the Vatos and that whole carry on. He was not in the best mood when they discovered the van had been stolen and they had to run back to camp.

"Stupid Merle. Why didn't ya wait asshole?" Daryl grumbled to himself, panting as he followed the three in front of him and hoped he got back before something else bad happened as the sky began to darken.

The walkers had somehow snuck into camp. Shrieks from the children, cries of pain and the vicious sounds of heads being bashed in or blowed out by bullets was all she could hear as she tore through the woods to help. She had gone out to check the snares she and Daryl had left further out in the woods early this afternoon and had found a fair few with small rabbits or birds in them, which she had slung from a rope hanging from her shoulder. Each step causing the critters to bash against her ribs, her two headed axe bashing painfully into her back. The screams and noise grew as she got closer.

She shoved her bow over her shoulder and whipped out her axe and slowed her running. She came to a dead stop as the growls of eight walkers echoed loudly around her. She'd run straight into a group of the undead bastards without realising.

"Fuck my life" She muttered as she started swinging her axe at the nearest walker, swirling it over her head.

"Come on! Hurry!" Rick yelled from in front of Daryl, their ears being assaulted by the sounds of the camp being attacked. Daryl shouldered his crossbow and accepted the rifle from Glenn as they ran up the hill. The chaos in front of him made his blood race as he started shooting at everything in camp, taking care not to hit any one living. His eyes scanning continously for the young woman he had begun to enjoy spending time with, hunting and not.

In what seemed to Daryl as hours, but was only 15 minutes, the camp had been cleared.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as Rick thanked Shane for protecting his family as others grieved the loss of theirs. Daryl walked around camp quickly, eyes lingering on every corpse, his heart pounding his ribs in fear as he realised Phoenix was no where to be seen.

"Shane!? Dale?! Where's Phoenix?! Ya see her anywhere!?" He demanded, storming up to the former police officer having checked every bloody body on the ground. Shane ran his hand over his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Nah man, last I saw her was this mornin' when I took over watch." Shane said quietly, his heart now worriedly gripped by fear for the Brit too.

Jacqui slowly made her way over, hands shaking in shock still.

"I saw her this afternoon, not long after we had to stop Jim. She said something about checking some snares or something. I wasn't paying much attention, I was busy. Maybe she's still out checking?" She said, grabbing hold of her crucifix around her neck in worry.

Daryl grunted and began scanning the tree lines for his, possibly only, friend. He turned to speak to Rick about going to find her when a scream came from the woods. He glanced at Rick and took off in the direction of the woods. Rick, Shane, T-Dog and Glenn followed after him.

5 down, 3 to go...

Phoenix thought her breath coming in short sharp gasps as she pivoted to face the next walker. Her axe gracefully span around the top of her head as she threw all her remaining strength into her swing. The sharp curve of the double blade head making cutting through flesh and bone like butter. She grunted as the head splattered into a waterfall of crimson and black. Her arms ached, her head was lightly throbbing with adrenaline and her energy was fading quicker and quicker. She span on her heels as growls grew around her once more. Another walker fell to her axe and sheer brutal anger.

The last walker was formerly a large male, his stomach as wide as he was tall, making T-Dog and Shane look short; she tugged at the axe still inside the previous walker's skull but it wouldn't come.

"Oh shit." She muttered, her fingers fumbling with the latch to separate her axe into 2 shorter and one handed weapons, the wound on her hand began to throb and pulse painfully. The walker got closer and she dropped her axe and slid to her knees, kicking out to knock the walker down. Unfortunately the beast's size worked against her and it fell onto her. She screamed as this was the first time in a long while she had been so close to one and without a weapon in her hand.

Her hands quickly and harshly shoved the gnarled face and life ending teeth away from her body. Her arms felt like jelly holding the enormous weight off her.

"You ugly fucker." She growled, arms already wobbling and shaking with effort. She needed to somehow roll the creature off her and get a hand free to pull her buck knife, her knife being painfully trapped between her thigh and the walker's massive stomach. She pulled one of her legs free and wrapped it around the waist of the heavy weight man and tried to flip them. It was no good. It was just too heavy for her slightly smaller frame to do.

"Fuckkk"

Her hands had begun to slip, her injured one burning fiercely and getting weaker faster, the wound beginning to ooze blood slowly. Her whole arm was burning, almost as if the flames were still licking along her skin, her chest ached from the weight, she could almost feel her ribs starting to crack as she struggled to breathe. She sighed and pushed with all her might. The teeth slowly getting closer and closer to her face as her vision started to swim towards the inky blackness. She turned her head and screwed her eyes up so she didn't have to see the disgusting pieces of rotten flesh trapped between its teeth, praying to a god she wasn't sure she still believed in that come the opening of her eyes she'd be reunited with her boys.

A whoosh zipped through the air and the next second the full weight of the walker crashed down onto her far smaller and warmer body, pushing all the air out of her in a big gasp. She waited on baited breath for the feel of teeth taking a chunk out of her and it never came. She slowly opened one eye and realised the body on top of her had gone completely still. Footsteps near her had her twisting against the dead walker to face them, dark red-brown boots slowly came into sight as they walked closer and knelt down near her head.

"Wha'd I tell ya 'bout comin' out 'ere on ya own?!" Daryl snarled down at her, before a half smile raised the corner of his lip with a small chuckle. She gave a short sharp laugh of her own before glaring at him.

"Ya cozy down there? Do ya need a moment alone wit' ya new beau?"

"Screw you Dixon and get this fat fucker offer me!"

Daryl smirked and stood up, using his foot to roll the walker off her. She slowly sat up, and took a huge gulp of air. Shane and Rick held their hands out to help her stand, she waved them away and stood. Her head throbbed and she swayed slightly to one side. Daryl put his hand on her arm to steady her and quietly regarded her.

"You alright?" Glenn asked, his face pale as he looked around at the mess her frenzy had caused, blood splattered the trees and the ground, brain matter and bone fell in chunks on the tree trunks and the dry soil. She nodded at Glenn, giving Daryl a look and grabbing hold of her axe to tug it free.

It refused to budge.

Glenn, T-Dog and Shane began to make their way back towards camp.

"Come on you sucker." She growled, grabbing the shaft of her axe with two hands and pulling. It finally flew free and she landed hard on her butt. Daryl barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Shut it Dixon!" She huffed and stormed ahead back to camp as the sun began to slowly rise over the treetop.

"She's a fire ball that one. Might wanna watch yourself Daryl." Rick chuckled as the pair began to follow, Daryl gave him a look and raised his eyebrow in question. Rick shrugged and smiled slightly. "Just saying! Get too close to fire and you get burnt."

Daryl ducked his head and smiled slightly to himself.

I wouldn't mind getting burnt by her, not at all he thought to himself, watching the girl's rear as she stormed in front of him.

Phoenix stopped suddenly as camp came into her line of sight.

So much blood and destruction.

Carol, Sophia and Andrea were sobbing and clinging to their fallen loved ones. Tents were ablaze and being snuffed out by others. The Morales children clung to their mother and father as did Carl to Lori. Dale stood atop the RV on guard.

"Oh fuck."

Shane and the other members of camp were busy doing a headcount or putting the tents that were on fire out. She felt relieved Daryl had saved her once again but at what cost? How many more did they have to loose before everything stopped? Before the dead were actually dead and stayed that way? Until society and law and natural order was restored. Why would her god, a supposedly loving, kind god allow such a thing? Her heart felt heavy enough, this was such sheer cruelty and brutality.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she jumped, her buck knife quickly leaving its sheath. Another grabbed the blade before it hit home and a grunt sounded behind her.

"Stop tryin' t' gut me girl." Daryl hissed as he removed his hands from her. "Come on, we got grunt work t' do." He gave her a little nod and walked away.

They'd worked through the morning to get some sort of order back into what was their safe little haven from the plague gripping the world. Sweat, blood and tears were falling to the ground with every step of every man and woman able to help with the clear up. Andrea laid her head bent low on her poor deceased sister's chest. Carol and Lori had settled the children down to sleep in the Grimes tent, Carol's being covered floor to roof in Ed's blood and other gory remains.

What was left was being carried to the pile where Daryl and Phoenix were making sure they stayed dead, Daryl with a pick axe and Phoenix using her own custom made axe. Carol approaches the pair silently and almost immediately the pair stop their actions and watch her come to a slow halt.

"I'll do it. He was my husband" her voice weak with the tremble of unshed tears, despite being an arse hole and abusive, Carol had loved Ed.

The evidence of that being the little girl who slept soundly inside the Grimes tent despite the trauma of the night before. Daryl shares a quick glance at Phoenix, who watches almost cautiously and she gives a tiny almost unseen tilt of her head. Daryl handed Carol the axe he had been using and stands slightly back, closer to the other hunter and watches as Carol heaves the heavy weapon to her shoulders and with a cry throws it down into Ed's remains over and over again.

The gore splattered around the former's head is almost a therapy for the small grey haired woman who had suffered so much at his hand. Carol is heaving in air as she stops and stands straight, wiping tears from her face as she silently hands Daryl the ax, as quickly as she came she leaves.

Phoenix smiled bitterly and reached for the feet of Ed as Daryl took the ruined face under his arm, holding him by the shoulders. They carry him towards the fire where T-Dog and Glenn are burning the walkers bodies. Glenn looks up as they approach and stands.

"No." He says quietly. Daryl and Phoenix drop Ed's body with matching grunts and wipe their arms across their faces.

"What?"

"We bury our dead." The Asian man says defiantly, pointing at Ed. Daryl raises his eyebrow and glares.

"Don't matter. He ain't gonna feel it." Daryl huffs.

"He's dead, don't matter what we do to the body. He's already burnin' in Hell, his fucking useless carcass should burn as well. Fucker deserves it!" Phoenix hisses, she agrees with Daryl. Who knows how long the virus or whatever it is that makes the dead rise would survive without a host. Last thing the world needs is it sitting in the ground and poisoning the land itself.

"NO! We bury them. They're not monsters! We are people. People bury their dead. To honor them. If we don't... We might as well give up our humanity." Glenn exclaims passionately, glancing around at the group, who had fallen silent and were watching the exchange. Phoenix glares down at the ground and walks away. Her head spinning and her hand throbbing again.

Damn Merle, couldn't even get me some meds she thinks, her vision starting to grow blurrier by the second. She walks to her bike and sits down, leaning lightly against its dark green frame. Daryl joins her soon after.

"Hey"

She shields her eyes with her arm as the sun gives the older man a halo of light. "Hello angel" She smirks up at him and nods.

"You okay?" He asked, shuffling from one foot to the other. A nervous habit she found quite funny as her mind thought of another she knew with the same habit. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, it felt filthy and coated in grime and god knows what else. "Rick says we're gonna head t' the CDC."

"Hmm"

"I know we ain't the most... We ain't friends or anythin'"

"Oh DD! Here's me thinking we were!" She laughed lightly, as he sat down on his haunches beside her. He gave a slight chuckle at her as she nudges his leg and he lands on his backside beside her. She gives him a small side smile and gets one in return.

"Yea maybe." He shuffles around anxious about what he's about to say next. "I ain't sure but thought... Maybe... If ya... If ya want... Ya could ride wit' me, in the truck." He chews his lip and waits for the rejection he's sure is coming. "'s okay if ya don't."

"Actually, I think it might be for the best Dixon." His eyebrows shoot off into his hair at the quiet mummer he hears. "I ain't feeling too hot." She says as her head feels heavier and her eyes grow dimmer despite the bright light in front of her. She turns her head to the man beside her and he becomes a blur of shapes as she loses consciousness. Daryl quickly grabbing her before her head made contact with the ground and laying it across his lap, worried beyond anything, his fingers running over her arm gently as he chewed his lip to bleeding point.

Groans fill the cab of the faded blue truck as she begins to stir. An arm is around her waist and is pulling her into the cab.

"Wah?!"

"Shh girlie. Let me get ya settled." Daryl says quietly, sitting her on the bench seat and putting the seat belt over her shoulder. "Ya passed out."

"Huh." She replies, feeling sleep call her backwards once again. "My bike... Tent..."

"I got it."

She mumbles something that Daryl is sure sounded an awful lot like Murph before gently closing the door. He sighs and walks over to T-Dog. The large man looks up as he nears and nods.

"She okay man?" Daryl nods, eyes darting to the RV where Jim lays dying from the bite wound. "Her hand is getting worse ain't it?"

"Merle was gettin' 'er some meds. Didn't see any when y'all came back."

"Don't worry man. We're gonna be at CDC soon. They'll have something they can give her."

"I ain't worried. She's a fighter. She faced worse and got through it."

Both men are quiet for a while, Daryl remembering that awful day that earned the girl the huge cut along her eye and the fear she felt around everyone. "Gimme a hand wit' her stuff will ya?"

"Course man."

The pair quickly gather the bags strapped to the back of her dirt bike and throw them into the rear of the cab along side her bow and axe. Daryl wonders why she kept the large duffel bags on the bike all the time and why it weighed so much but it wasn't his place to go through it so he ignored it and returned to her tent. He felt a touch guilty about being in her safe space while she wasn't with him, especially knowing he was about to touch her belongings. He grabbed the open duffel and began to pack it with the pile of clean clothes beside her bed roll. He blushed as some of it fell and a lacy purple bra and panties set fell onto the ground near his feet.

Damn, ain't gonna be able t' look at her t' same, not that ya ain't been lookin' already he thought as he stared at the delicate items. He felt his cock twitch the longer he stared and quickly grabbed them and stuffed them into the bag. His cheeks still slightly red as T-Dog opened the flap.

"You got another chain on your truck?"

"Yea, let me just finish in here. Then we'll get her bike up beside Merle's" he ducked his head more to hide his embarrassed and slightly turned on face from the man, grabbing the lantern and boots from around him. Shoving them into the bag quickly, T-Dog entered and began to roll the blankets and sleeping bag up. The pair made quick work of packing Phoenix's tent up, even taking it down and rolling it up. It and her bags thrown into the back of the cab next to Daryl's own scant belongings. The bike proved to be easier moved than the pair thought, it sat perfectly in the small gap between the two walls of the truck bed and Merle's monstrous Triumph, secured down with a long metal chain that also held Merle's down. Daryl quickly checked nothing of his or the sleeping girl's had been left scattered about before turning to his own tent.

The group gathered near to the RV as they neared readiness to leave. Phoenix sat in Daryl's truck, quiet and dizzy, her head was hurting something awful and she could barely stay awake. She could see the group talking and saying goodbye to the Morales family but couldn't hear them. After a few minutes Daryl stormed up to the truck, climbed into the bed and russled around near Merle's bike before climbing in beside her. He put a hand gently on her shoulder holding out a bottle of water. She gave him a sleepy smile in return, her hand shaking as she took it. He held it steady as she took a sip.

"Here."

He fished an orange prescription bottle in her direction, his face starting to heat up. She took the pills from him and balanced the water between her knees. Quickly reading the label she smiled. Painkillers. She struggled with the child proof lock on the cap for a few minutes before Daryl reached over and helped her. He slid 2 pills out and dropped them in her hand.

"Don't tell the others about those. Don't want 'em comin' t' me asking fer meds fer a paper cut." He growled harshly. She nodded and swallowed the meds with a mouthful of water. Daryl looked on as she closed the bottle of water and her eyes. The truck moved slowly out of the quarry with the rest of the convoy, horns calling out as the Morales family went a different way.

That night, the convoy pulled into the side of a quiet wooded road and made plans. Phoenix dozed in the truck while others stood watch. Jim's moans coming quietly from inside the RV put everyone on edge. No one complained of their hunger but they all felt it. The children especially. Daryl stood in the truck bed, crossbow raised as his eyes scanned around. Occasionally kneeling down to peer through the rear window at the pale girl in his truck. He and Merle had both decided she was a Dixon, not by blood or marriage but by deed. She had the Dixon spirit and like hell was he gonna let her go.

She's a fighter, baby brother but she needs us. She's our baby sis now, got it? We gotta protect 'er. Merle's voice said in his head as he turned to look at her once again.

She's more to you than a sister Daryl, just admit it t' yaself he thought a small smile on his face as she hugged his winged vest closer to her chest. He'd given it to her as the late summer wind began to chill the inside of the truck. He sighed and stood once more, knowing even if he admitted his feelings he couldn't be with her. He wasn't good enough and she didn't see him that way. Even if she did, the scars would disgust her the second she saw them. She deserves someone who could be everything he wasn't. He was worthless and she was worth so much more.

Don't mean ya can't look, baby brother.

Daryl chuckled at that and looked once again to the girl, nodding to himself.

Ain't no harm in lookin' he mused, looking forward to the girl waking up properly.

The horn of the RV honked loudly in front of Daryl's truck and Phoenix raised her eyebrow in question. She felt slightly better after the sleep but still weak, she hopped out of the truck and felt her knees almost give out. She held on to the side of the truck slowly making her way to the rest of the group. Jim was laid against a tree a little bit up a bank at the side of the road and seemed to want to be left behind. His face was pale and sweaty, under his eyes darkened with sickness.

Daryl came to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her up the bank to say goodbye. She sank to her knees and placed her hand on top of Jim's.

"Hey. I can... If you want... I got a silencer. It'll be quick. I'll sent you on your way with my family prayer." She whispered to him, Daryl waiting at the bottom of the bank with Rick and Shane. Jim smiled tightly as another cramp ripped through him, he coughed up a little blood and Phoenix grimaced.

"No. It's your corrupt we claim, remember?" He laughed, taking her hand in his as Phoenix's face dropped.

How did he know?

"How - ?"

"I saw you. I was in Boston that day, he'd killed my cousin." He smiled slightly, gripping her hand. "I know why you didn't say anything... I'm glad you did it... And don't give up on this group, protect them, they need you. That's your new mission." He burst into a coughing fit and tears dropped down her face as she shuffled away.

She stood slowly and wobbled over to Daryl, he reached an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. The only comfort he could offer. He felt awkward and uncomfortable but he was trying. He felt angry at Jim for causing her tears for a guilt inducing moment but he knew it was natural to seeing someone die. Rick offered Jim a gun which he declined and Jim met Daryl's eyes, Daryl nodded with a grim smile and lead the girl back to his truck. He helped her climb in and secured the seat belt around her as she silently cried. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before getting into the driver's seat and following after the RV. The girl passing out soon after.

Phoenix was thankful when her head started to clear and her energy returned as the huge Atlanta skyline began to grow closer and closer. Daryl chewed his thumb, another nervous habit it seemed he shared with the man she'd once known. He glanced at her as the sky began to darken.

"Feel better?"

"Yea, sorry for going dark on you back there." She whispered, sitting up straighter to glance through the rear window at her bike. "Thanks for taking care of my stuff. Appreciate it."

She smiled at him as the RV started slowing in front of them. The cars all slowed down and stopped beside a road. In front of them was the CDC, its huge glass exterior mostly undamaged except for the expected gore. The barricades and army trucks had been coated with bodies of the fallen soldiers.

She raised herself to her knees and leaned over the seat, grabbing her bow and quiver and throwing them over her shoulder. She climbed out and glanced around as the group began to move towards the building. Rick reached the door and shook it.

Daryl and Phoenix stood side by side, glancing at the shadows that darkened with every minute as the sun began to go down. She pointed towards the barricade as walkers began to approach. She nocked an arrow and let it fly, killing the walker with ease. Her blood pounding as adrenaline kicked it. She blocked the noise of the group out and focused on protecting them. Daryl also shooting at the walkers as the group got louder and louder. Three more walkers fell to her arrows when she felt Daryl tug her arm and try to pull her away.

She spun suddenly as Rick yelled.

"You're killing us! You're killing us!"

Shane began pulling Rick away as a groan of the shutters sounded loudly in the dead city. A blinding light causing the whole group to stop and stare.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER *** NEXT

#PhoenixBWrites #Fera Ingris #twd daryl #twd #twd fanfiction #TWD x bds fanfiction #boondock saints fanfiction #daryl x oc smut #daryl x oc

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rebelwrites · 4 years ago

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Never Going To Be Alone Part 1

Jax Teller x Reader

This time, I wonder what it feels like. To find the one in this life, the one we all dream of. But dreams just aren't enough. So I'll be waiting for the real thing, I'll know it by the feeling

Fiddling with your lighter you looked at the party that was happening, how could it be in a room full of people you felt the most alone you had ever felt.

Everyone was having a good time, and then there was you, sat with a bottle of Jim Beam in front of you, drinking it from the bottle, everyone was laughing or getting it on with someone. It didn’t help that Jax had two of the Cara Cara girls in his arms making you feel worse.

How could you compete with them?

The moment when we're meeting, will play out like a scene straight off the silver screen. So I'll be holding my breath, right up 'til the end. Until that moment when, I find the one that I'll spend forever with

You and Jax had been friends since high school, you were partners in crime growing up, and you had always had a crush on him which grew into something bigger than you thought, you were full on in love with him.

He was the one that you wanted to spend forever with, no one else compared. Every relationship you had, you compared them to the blonde and if he didn’t like them you broke it off.

Pulling the bottle to your lips, you felt the familiar burn of the amber liquid as it made its way down your throat, you were already a quarter away down the bottle and was feeling the effects of it, you couldn’t take any more, you needed some air.

Cause nobody wants to be the last one there Cause everyone wants to feel like someone cares. Someone to love with my life in their hands. There's gotta be somebody for me like that. Cause nobody wants to do it on their own. And everyone wants to know they're not alone. There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere. There's gotta be somebody for me out there

Placing a cigarette between your lips you let the taste of the tobacco mix with the taste of whiskey. Leaning against the wall you pulled Jax’s hoodie tighter around your body as the wind hit your body. His scent assaulting your senses, making you sink further into your slump.

You were normally the life of the party so the fact that no one had even came to find you spoke volumes.

All you wanted was someone to come home to, someone to love, someone to trust your life with.

Tucking the bottle in the hoodie pocket you climbed the ladder onto the roof, this was your safe spot.

“Tig you seen our devil around tonight?” Jax asked as he got up to get another beer.

“She was sat over there nursing a bottle of Jim Beam, lost in thought” Tig nodded “she went outside I think”

“Cheers brother she’s not herself tonight and I don’t like it” Jax nodded as he made his way outside.

Scanning the yard he couldn’t see you, but he knew where you would be, glancing up at the roof, there you were, your head resting on your knees.

The sight alone broke him, it wasn’t very often you got like this. Climbing the ladder he heard the sounds of your sobs echo on the roof.

“Hey you” Jax whispered sitting down placing his arm over your shoulder “what’s with all the tears aye”

“It’s nothing” you sniffed wiping your eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie “it’s stupid and I’m drunk”

“Darlin’ it’s never stupid if it’s made my best friend cry” Jax whispered rubbing your back “something has upset you and I don’t like it”

Best friend.

That’s all you were to him.

Taking a deep breath you looked up, seeing the amount of concern in his eyes.

“I’m just” you mumbled “just lonely, like how can I be surrounded by people but feel the most alone”

“Oh darlin’” Jax sighed pulling you into his arms “come here”

“Nothing stops the emptiness I feel” you whispered grabbing a fist full of his hoodie. “Like none of my relationships work out, I just want someone by my side”

“You're never gonna be alone” Jax started singing resting his head against yours “From this moment on, if you ever feel like letting go, I won't let you fall”

“But” you mumbled and he instantly placed a finger over your lips before carrying on.

“You're never gonna be alone, I'll hold you 'til the hurt is gone. And now, as long as I can, I'm holding on with both hands, 'Cause forever I believe that there's nothing I could need but you

“So if I haven't yet, I've gotta let you know” he sang softly rocking you to calm you down.

“You're really singing nickelback right now” you half laughed.

“Yes I am and it made you smile so” he laughed “but I mean the lyrics babe”

You stayed silent in his arms.

“You will never be alone, you have me and before you even say it, you are always going to be more important than the crow eaters” he whispered kissing your head.

You had a sudden bout of confidence as you pulled away slightly looking into his blue eyes, that were lit by the moonlight. Reaching up you placed your hand on his cheek, a small smile on your face before you pressed your lips against his, before he could even respond you pulled away and wiggled out of his arms.

“I shouldn’t have done that” you mumbled, grabbing the bottle of Jim Beam and disappearing.

Jax was now sitting there kinda in shock at what just happened, it was over as quick as it started and honestly it left him confused.

SOA TAGLIST

@chibsytelford @talicat713 @corebore123 @nothingeverdies @teapartydreams @mrspeacem1nusone @khyharah @itmejado @woahitslucyylu @beth-winchester21 @minnicelli @everyhowlmarksthedead @trulysuccubus @haynsey @witching-hour @destynelseclipsa @edonaspanca @abbiesthings @angelreyesgirl @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jadesamhart @lady-pswrld @ly--canthrope @hennessyauntie @gemini0410 @i-love-scott-mccall @est11 @mystic-shadows42 @sugary-x-sweet @starrynite7114 @skyofficialxx @terminallygenius @sadeyesgf @lauraashley93 @leaalfred @angelreyesgirl89 @sheeshgivemeabreak @marquelapage @meteora-fc @penny4yourthot @justahopelessssromantic @ilikechocolatemilkh @mayans-sauce @xbreezymeadowsx @ben-c-group-therapy @-im-fantastic- @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @milaxmariex @fvckthisbxtchup @cubblycie

#jax teller #jax teller oneshot #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy

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labyrinthof-fan-fiction · 4 years ago

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Two Ships Passing in the Night {8}

Part 8

Series Masterlist

Spock x fem!Reader, Bones x fem!Reader

AOS

Summary: Time for you and Leonard to face the music.

A/N: If you had any idea how many times I have rewritten this part to get somewhere I was happy with it. But now it’s here and I didn’t delete it this time. Thank you so much for your patience!!!!!

Warnings: Drugged Drinks, Make Out Session, I think that’s it.

Word Count: 2,009

Leonard woke up with a splitting headache. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers around his neck. He froze, these weren’t his covers, where the hell was he, this wasn’t his quarters. He recognized the setup of a Starfleet medbay, it wasn’t his medbay.

He sat up quickly and felt his head start to spin. “Mother fu…”

“Finish that and I will finish you.” Dr. Ambrose cut him off, walking in and glancing at his monitors. She glanced over at Leonard whose eyes were flitting nervously about the room. “She’s fine, I sent her to bed. Last thing I needed was her being moony eyed over you all night. If you have any idea how much time I spend making her get out of the Captain’s chair.”

Leonard groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “What happened?”

Ambrose chuckled, “Someone spiked your drink, you passed out. Captain and the Vulcan brought you back.”

Leonard let out a huff of air. So Spock had brought him in with you, where was he now? He tried to shake that thought from his mind. Ambrose glanced at him, he was broken from his thoughts by a dry chuckle from her.

“I will let her know you’re awake.” She said, walking into her office. Leonard could see her clicking the comms. He couldn’t hear your voice, what you said to Ambrose, who let out a laugh at something you said. His stomach twisted and he wasn’t sure if it was from the hangover or nerves, maybe a bit of both. He cursed himself for the amount of alcohol he consumed, dumb ass. His mind started creating scenarios for what was going to happen when you walked into the medbay. Maybe you’d throw him off the ship, you and Spock were getting married, you and Spock were going to single handedly repopulate New Vulcan. God, he wondered what he’d have to do to get Scotty to toss him into the warp core. His mind continued racing, then he heard soft footfalls and a golden silhouette appeared in the doorway.

Last night hadn’t been what you had expected, well, maybe with Spock, but not with Leonard. Spock had carried him back to your ship, it made sense, the Enterprise medical officer was unconscious, and you knew Ambrose was aboard, she despised shore leave. “Makes more sense for me to stay on the ship, someone always does something stupid and needs me here.” She grumbled, but you didn’t miss the novel she had tucked under her arm.

Spock placed him on a bed and Ambrose shuffled you, Spock, and Uhura away from the bed. Uhura’s eyes flicked between you and Spock, only stopping when he draped his arm over her shoulder. She gazed at you, a question very obvious in her eyes, you gave a small shake of your head. You hadn’t been close, but you respected her and you respected her relationship with Spock. If you were in her shoes, you would have been worried.

“I suppose we should head back to the Enterprise for the night.” Spock said, tilting his head towards the doorway. Uhura started out the door, Spock on her heels.

“Spock.” You murmured, he stopped and glanced back. “For the record, I don’t mind sharing with Uhura.”

The tiniest of smiles came across the Vulcan’s face, he nodded towards Leonard on the bed. “Talk to him.” He left the ship and you turned back to Leonard and Ambrose.

“Hell of a boy, you’ve got here.” Ambrose muttered over the sounds of machines beeping. “Aside from the amount of alcohol in his system and someone dosed him with a strong drug, he’s fine.”

You flinched, moving to Leonard’s side, your hand hovered over the rail of the bed before resting a few inches from his. “Will he be okay?”

“He’ll be fine, have a headache in the morning, no more than he deserves.” Ambrose answered, you didn’t miss the look she gave you over her glasses.

“I could stay, in case something changes.” You started.

“You and that little one are going to go sleep in your quarters. I’ll be damned if you put anymore stress on yourself and the baby. If anything happens with him I will make sure you’re down here.” Ambrose responded, shooing you out of the medbay. You knew there was no point in arguing with her, even though you were the captain, you weren’t going to fight with Ambrose. She and Leonard shared the same affinity for hypos, it made you wonder about what they were teaching in the Medical Corps.

You snuggled into your covers, your quarters quiet, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to sleep. You and Spock had started to heal the rift between you, together you were parents, that was all. That was all you needed from him. Tomorrow, tomorrow you would speak with Leonard. The tension from earlier faded from your shoulders and the weariness started to pull you into dreamland. You drifted off thinking about that southern drawl and the smell of peaches.

In the morning, Ambrose called and Leonard was awake. “He’s fine, headache, dehydration, what you’d expect from someone who partied too hard on shore leave.”

“I doubt he was partying.” You retorted.

Ambrose laughed, “Alright, I won’t say anything rude about lover boy.”

You got into uniform as fast as you could, which was not as fast as you would have liked, but adjusting to your new size just hadn’t clicked. Your mind was racing, what would you say, what would he say. Oh, god, he didn’t know what you had said to Spock, who knew what he thought. Your mind continued as you made your way to the medbay. Leonard was on his back, propped up to the sitting position with pillows and staring up at the ceiling. You stopped in your tracks when his head turned and those hazel eyes fixed on you. A small smile fell onto your lips, “Hey, darlin’.” You murmured, walking to his bedside. Ambrose was in her office, nose stuck in the novel that she had started once the ship had emptied.

He groaned and covered his face as you sat in the chair next to his bed. “I’m an ass.” He mumbled from beneath his arm.

“I mean, there’s a few adjectives we can add to that statement to make it more interesting.” You started. “Dumb, crazy, stupid, to name a few.”

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes meeting yours before traveling down to your bump. “Kid’s gotten big.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Are you calling me fat, Leonard McCoy?”

Panic filled his eyes and reached out, his hand resting on your cheek, gently turning your gaze to his. “You’re just as beautiful as the day I met you.” Maybe some of last night’s liquid courage was still flowing through his veins. Maybe he was throwing all his cards on the table as a final Hail Mary. Regardless of the reason, the words were out of his mouth as soon as they were in his mind.

Warmth flooded your face, the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. “In that seedy bar that Jim dragged us to every week?” His thumb brushed against your cheek before he removed his hand, you grabbed his wrist and leaned into his hand, tilting your head to put a gentle kiss into his palm.

“I would go to that bar everyday if it meant I’d get to spend even five minutes with you.” Leonard murmured, his heart racing in his chest. He wasn’t sure what you had said to Spock last night, what you both had decided, but he had to say his piece. He had to let you know, even if it closed the door between you for ever. “I’ve loved you since the day you walked into that bar.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered into his hand, pulling back and taking his hand in yours, your fingers locking together.

He chuckled, “Darlin’ you have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry I got drunk off my ass last night, I’m sorry I never said anything before, I’m so sorry.” He sighed. “I’m sorry that I have to ask this. But I’ve got to know, where do we stand?”

You stared down at your joined hands, he loved you. You loved him, why was it so hard for you to say it out loud? Last night you and Spock had closed the book on your romantic story, and you knew that was right. In your mind, you knew that the man in the bed, he was the new page, the book that would never end. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze and you looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry that it took me so long, to know that I love you.” You whispered, his eyes widened and a smile across his face. “If I’d have figured it out sooner, maybe things…”

“Don’t think like that.” Leonard interrupted, he pulled himself up to sit taller, he slid his legs over the side of the bed and shifted to the edge so his face was inches from yours. “Whatever has happened to get us here, it happened.” His free hand moved to rest on your stomach. “We’re here.”

You looked up at him, his hand still resting on your stomach, you slid your free hand to the back of his neck and pulled him towards you, your lips crashing into his. For a moment the galaxies stopped spinning, it was desperate, like you were afraid that pulling apart would cause you to wake up from this dream. You could still taste the stale whiskey on his tongue, but you didn’t care, his hand wrapped in your hair, deepening the kiss. You swore he was breathing you in like you were his last breath, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip and a small moan fell from your lips. Leonard gave a gentle peck to your lips then pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you.” He whispered, placing another quick kiss to your lips.

“About damn time.” A voice called from behind you, Leonard groaned and pulled away from you.

“Jim.” He greeted, the familiar surliness strong in his tone.

“Now Bones, I’d think that kiss would’ve at least knocked some of that attitude out of you.” Jim chuckled, coming up beside you. “Captain.” He greeted, giving you a nod and a wink.

“You know that’s just part of my charm.” Leonard responded, his fingers still locked with yours. “What are you doing here?”

Jim pulled a chair beside yours, chuckling as he sat down. “My medical officer was put in a medbay on a different ship, had to make sure he was okay. Especially since the captain of the ship was occupied with diplomatic relations when I tried to contact her.” Jim wiggled his eyebrows and your free hand shot out and swatted at his shoulder. “Hey! That is not very diplomatic of you!”

“Diplomatic my ass.” You grumbled, but there was no menace behind it, and Jim knew it.

“No wonder the Federation hasn’t been making any progress on diplomatic matters with you on the helm.” Jim jabbed.

“It’s a miracle the Federation has an exploration team with you at the helm.” Leonard grumbled, glaring at Jim.

“I have an amazing medical officer who keeps them all in one piece.” Jim retorted, a smile on his face. Leonard rolled his eyes. “Besides, had to say hi to the little one.” His attention turned to your stomach. “Gotta make sure he knows how good it is to be in command gold.” You chuckled as he reached out to your stomach, then glanced up, asking permission. You nodded. He smiled and rested his hand gently against the bump. “Command gold little buddy. It’s the best. Then you can be a captain like Uncle Jim and Mommy.”

“I’m partial to science blues.” Leonard murmured.

You met his eyes, “Seems I am too.”

Taglist:

@general-latino

@440mxs-wife

@cobe76

@elizabeththefandomgirl

@harry-potter-geek

#two ships passing in the night #spock x uhura #spock x reader #leonard x reader #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard bones mccoy/reader #star trek imagine #2 ships

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purplelurkinghini · 4 years ago

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Narcissus by the Pond

0. PROLOGUE

Under the cut is the prologue to yet another multi-chapter mess I am planning to write. What is different about this one is the narrator: Edward Nygma himself. Another aspect of this piece that sets it apart from the rest of my writing is its epistolary form. That’s right, baby! First-person POV!

If you’ve seen >> this << post floating around, this is indeed me actually putting that second prompt to use.

Enjoy!

Dear ▚▛▙▙

I found a cat toy while cleaning out my closet today. It was that ashy plush mouse stuffed with dried nepeta cataria which you spent money on instead of saving up for your student loans. If he were still here, he’d be rolling around on the floor in some vivid dream in which he was a lion and it was a gazelle. And, if you were still here, I would’ve asked you to stay.

The day you got that tabby’s claws into me was the day you checked into work late. Frank, our project manager and your internship supervisor, had to drop his showman act and instill in you the fear all WayneTech employees are motivated by. After you offered your excuses and exchanged glances with the floor, you were free to enter the kitchen to heat up the coffees that you went out of your way to fetch for us each morning.

My daily routine, which you’ve played no small role in forming during your short stay with us, was disrupted by the absence of caffeine in my bloodstream. I remember my Rubik’s cube and how I crammed a corner into my palm, squeezing down on the still unscrambled sides. I would call it an ‘absentminded’ action, but we both know that would be an incorrect assessment. My mind is never not present, even as it wanders. For this reason, when you finally came out of the kitchen, I couldn’t not wonder what happened to your sweatshirt. It must’ve been soaked in rainwater, I concluded, and that was the reason you removed it. Or, rather, that was the excuse you used as you removed it. After all, your sneakers were soggy, but you couldn't exactly walk barefoot all over a corporate. Even so, there you were, in a far too small t-shirt which was too tight around your torso and too short to cover your stomach, walking around the office with your brewed bribes.

“Here you go, Jim” you placed the foam cup right in front of his face to get him to notice you. I’d argue that that slip of skin that was eye level to him was enough to get that scatterbrain's attention. He must’ve made a joke, or attempted to, because you laughed louder than anyone should around him.

“Cory,” you sauntered over to him. “I asked the barista for two tablespoons and a half this time.” Sure, he might’ve taken his glasses off before taste-testing it, but his lenses were fogged-up before the lid came off. You felt the most confidence around Cory, the least confident one in our team. While no line of code was too complex for him, women were a mystery he had yet to solve. You see, I haven’t failed to notice you making the most physical contact with him, brushing your hand against his as a means of disarming him.

After he served you a stuttered smile, you moved on to Paul who was pretending to be preoccupied with his screen. He’d been watching you since you walked out of the kitchen, yet still acted surprised when you showed up next to him. You didn’t mean to disturb him, of course, so you tip-toed around his desk, silently setting the cup on a coaster. He thanked you without taking his eyes off of his work, but took the time to watch you walk away as soon as you turned away from him.

"I'm sorry, Ed," you pouted as you placed the coffee on top of a stack of papers. "I know like to have your coffee before 8, but the storm hit while I was in the shop and the whole street took cover in there-"

"Slow down," I released the Rubik’s cube, flexing my fingers. "I'm not your supervisor. It’s not my forgiveness you need."

"Well, no, but I actually want your forgiveness," you covered your mouth in a coquettish display. "I mean-"

“Like I said,” I brush off the blush creeping up on my cheeks. "There's no use for that." Fetching the foam cup, I take a sip of the scolding beverage and brave through it. “There's no use to ask the barista to write our full names either. This calligraphy exercise cost you a scolding from Frank.”

“Actually,” you pulled the hem of your shirt down which only uncovered more of your cleavage instead of hiding your stomach. “I wrote your name myself.”

I stroked the surface of the cup right across the script. Again, I can’t call this action ‘absentminded’ either, but my mind had wandered off again. That lovely lettering was yours and so was the green marker, so you must’ve scavenged your backpack for it on a crowded morning train. You also must’ve taken your time steadying your hand for each stroke, each dot. E. Nygma. You also must’ve cleaned up the cup as it inevitably spilled and steadied your tongue for each stroke, each lick. Maybe you ever sampled the coffee yourself, the taste of cherry Chapstick staining the rim.

“Well,” you interrupted my intrusive thoughts. “Jim’s showing me the new user interface, so-”

“Of course,” I dismissed you and my daydreams.

“Talk to you later.”

Yes, that was the day the cat got his claws into me. It was after I’d drained the drink, and found myself restless still, that I made my way into the kitchen for another one. That is when I spotted you in the corner, cradling the sweatshirt you discarded earlier. At the sound of my steps, you straightened your back, but you didn’t turn your torso towards me.

“Hey, Ed,” you smiled and it was a painful sight because I couldn’t ignore the panic I ignited in your eyes. “Lunchtime already?”

“What are you doing?”

“Umm, trying to dry my shirt?”

The closer I got, the more gregarious you grew. You asked about what I’d like to eat, what the guys would like to eat, if I’d like to order out. You didn’t stop until I asked it of you.

“What are you hiding from me?”

Before you could bellow out something long enough to cover the sound, I heard it.

“Did your hoodie just meow?”

It was only then that you turned, facing me fully. “Please don’t tell Frank, but this is the reason I was running late.” Two pairs of eyes were pleading with me. One belonged to you and they were begging. The other belonged to an orange ball of fur and they were unblinking.

You were holding a bottle cap filled with water up to its meowing maw, so you must’ve been attempting to keep the animal hydrated, even after rescuing it from the streets in the middle of a storm. You bought kitten kibbles on your way to WayneTech and that had eaten ten minutes of your time and cost you a scolding from Frank.

“I couldn’t just leave Eddie to drown in a ditch somewhere.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” you let it sink its little teeth into your skin as it held a single finger close with two whole paws. They feel like needles, I should know, but you carried on cooing the pincushion. “He reminds me of another green-eyed ginger. Maybe you know him.”

Yes, you remember now, don’t you? That was the moment Eddie sunk his claws into me, and I do mean it literally. He released your finger only to get his paws trapped into my button-up. I also mean it figuratively, as I swore to keep your secret the very next second. And, once you were by my side, shadowing me as I was coding like you wanted to since your first day of internship, you made me swear to keep him. How could I not? Your dorm had a ‘no pets’ policy and you had named him after me.

The two of us had time to get acquainted after you left for your evening classes. I fed him the kibbles and was careful not to get caught. And, because I wouldn't be using it that day anyway, I replaced your sweatshirt with my gym towel. While it smelled like a sad, soaked kitten, whatever fruity fragrance you were using had yet to fade from the fabric. That evening I drove straight home as soon as I left WayneTech, skipping my daily workout. My daily routine, as I’ve mentioned, had been modified by you.

“We don't even need to potty train him,” you giggled when you saw Eddie digging through the brand new litter box I had ordered. It had been waiting for me by the front entrance along with the delivery guy and yourself.

You got into a cab before even texting me, asking for an address only after the driver started the clock. I expected that stupid stunt from the likes of Jim, not you.

“He's a clever boy,” I smiled when I saw you were still wearing the green button-up shirt I asked you to exchange that shrunken t-shirt of yours with. “Like his namesake.”

You kneeled before the kitten and produced the plush mouse I'd only seen Eddie play with once. “Did the shampoo arrive? He should be high enough to not scratch our eyes out now.”

After rolling around on the rug with a bag full of catnip, he seemed blissed out enough for a bath. And, after only scratching you twice as you held him for me to scrub his ginger fur ever so gently, we got him all dried and drained. Those green eyes were barely opened as he looked up at us from the cat bed he was supposed to grow into and the sweatshirt he had grown fond of.

“Now we know he hates all water,” you said through gritted teeth as I sanitized your shaking hands. Your fingers were as fidgety as Cory's, yet I doubt his skin was ever that soft. “Not just the rain.”

“I bet he'd hate flees more,” I caressed your knuckles after bandaging the bloody bits.

“I hate the rain, too,” your eyes were downcast, much like earlier that morning, seemingly searching my sheets for something. “I never knew Frank could be so-”

“Terrifying?”

“Mean,” your giggle wasn't as gleeful as I'd grown used to. “I thought he was going to fire me right then and there.”

“He wouldn't,” I squeezed down on the shadows of your hands as they were snatched away from me. Then, I leaned in close and almost brushed your love with my lips as they moved: “He will let the anxiety that comes with that uncertainty eat you alive first.”

“See, now you're being mean,” you laughed, finally looking up at me.

“Me? Never,” I said, satisfied with myself. You were laughing - actually laughing - because of me.

When the dryer dinged, I was confident in leaving you in my bedroom with a smile on your face. After all, I was the one who brought you in there and I was the one who brought that out of you. Once I've collected your clothes, I returned to find you had already removed my button-up and was drying up the rest of your skin with one of my towels. You were turned only half the way, so you must've perceived me in your periphery. Paul pulled the same thing earlier today. Still, you sounded surprised as you covered the side of your breasts I bet you wanted me to see.

"Forgive me,” I turned around, but, unlike you, I did it all the way. “Here you are,” I stretched my arm behind me to hand you the bra and t-shirt.

“Thank you.” It was only after your bomber jacket was zipped to your chin that I dared to look at you directly. Your sweatshirt was Eddie's now, so you covered up with what you had. “For everything.”

“Let me drive you to your dorm.”

"You've already done enough," you pulled out your phone as I walked you to the door. “I'll just call another cab. Eddie needs you here. You need to wear him out, or he'll wear you out tonight.”

“Cats are crepuscular creatures,” I assure you. “Not nocturnal. I'm sure he'll fall asleep before I even turn in for the night.”

Yes, I was sure he'd fall. However, Eddie was so convinced. And, sure enough, there he was, meowing in my face at midnight.

My mistake was letting him get his claws into me. You see, I couldn't bear waking that little bastard up. Not when he looked so small in the middle of your sweatshirt, in the middle of his bed. He finally had a dry place to dream in and I couldn't take that away from him, so I let him sink his claws into me that much deeper.

And yours, as well.

After chasing him with my hand atop of my covers and letting him swat at the finger-spider, he was ready for bed. My bed. Yes, his green eyes were drooping when he surrendered to sleep. It just so happened that he did it on the left side of my bed. And I, not willing to risk another rude awakening, placed him atop of the pillow. Then, ever so silently, I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. It was on my way back that I stumbled upon it: your sweatshirt.

I recall calling it off the floor and taking it with me to bed. For Eddie, of course. He loved that sweatshirt, as I'm sure you know. However, as I placed it on his pillow, I caught a whiff of it. It smelled like rainwater, pet shampoo, Eddie, and you. It was your sweat and deodorant, sweet and soapy, just as I had smelled it on my shirt before tossing it in the laundry basket and I couldn't smell it on the left side of my bed.

As I closed my eyes, I saw you. You were walking around the office, their wandering eyes watching you. You pass my desk and I am drenched in your scent. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Your sweatshirt is drenched, so you discard it. Your t-shirt is too tight, so I can see the dip of your belly button and the swell of your breasts. Though I am convinced you had a bra to cover them, my mind wanders. It wanders about the color of your nipples and it paints a picture of them peeking through the flimsy fabric.

And, as my mind wanders further, that flimsy fabric is pulled down, your hands wriggling at the hem of it. That's when those peeks pop out along with the rest. All of a sudden, you're soaking. Sweet. Soapy. You even try to hide this from me, crossing your arms over your chest. I capture your hands, soft skin, and fidgeting fingers, and wrestle with them. Oh, how easily you surrendered to me, sighing in defeat. I lock your arms behind your back with one hand and squeeze your tit like a stress toy. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I had to taste it.

When my tongue touched the tip, you pushed against it, filling my mouth with your flesh. You wanted this. That nipple is as sharp as a needle, but it melts in the heat of my mouth. You wanted this. After your tit is slick with my saliva and the peak is all puffy, I gather the other one in my grip and repeat. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

You wanted this and you told me as much. You said it loud enough for the others to hear. You wanted this. You wanted me. And, as if I haven't done enough, as if I haven't given you enough, I gave you all of me. Clearing the desk, cube, keypad, computer, and all, I slam you atop the surface. I had to pull down your pants for you, but your legs part all on their own. As for your panties, well, they all but dissolved under the duress. You attempt to hide from me again, tightening your thighs together. And, again, you surrender to me all too easily. After all, you want me. Your pussy? As I parted your legs and pushed your knees up to your chest, I saw how much she wanted me. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

However, I was not in a hurry. No matter how hot were your insides and how cold the chills were down my spine, I still took my sweet, soapy, soaking time. I set myself loose, my length slapping against your ass once it sprang free. You shivered, your back arching like a bow and your hands treading through your tangled hair. You wanted me. I took my time, sandwiching my shaft between your pussy lips, sliding across the slick and even wearing your labia as a hood atop its head for a maddening moment. It was only when you began begging, mewling to be mated that I gave myself to you. I crammed my cock inside of your cunt and went in so deep, I felt your heartbeat as your inner walls collapsed around me.

Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I fucked you into a fever, your skin as slick as your insides and your mouth leaking as much saliva as your pussy was spilling precum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Soon, it would've been spilling cum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. When I did come, however, it was in my fist and not between your lips.

As I opened my eyes, you disappeared. There was nothing there to greet me but the strike of the street lights slashing the darkness across the ceiling. Your sweetness had been replaced with my saltiness. It was indeed soapy and soaking, but it wasn’t you. Then, for the second time that night, I slipped out of bed and snuck into the bathroom.

The day you got cat’s claws into my shirt was the day you sunk your own under my skin. After that day, we shared a secret. I never told Frank about Eddie, but Eddie never told you about what I did in the dark. His glowing green eyes didn’t judge me, but they never let me forget. After you left without a notice, ginning up your internship, changing your phone number and never surrendering your real name, I couldn’t face them anymore. His eyes never let me forget, so I rehomed him.

I found your Gotham U sweatshirt while cleaning out my closet today. The name you gave WayneTech is nowhere to be found in their student records. Your name can’t be found in any police records either. Your real name, however, I am sure will uncover quite the mystery.

Yours,

E. NYGMA

#Edward Nygma #Riddler #Edward Nygma x Reader #Riddler x Reader #It is Not Safe For Work #Riddler x You #Edward Nygma x You

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