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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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Pleasant Surprise (Indruck Superhero AU)

A little fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for awhile, set in the universe of “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight.” It takes place after that story, and after the events of the small fics “Aww, Rats” and “Back in Time”. You can read it as a standalone, but it does contain some spoilers for main fic.

“You know how you always say communication is important in a relationship?” Indrid drums his fingers on the arm of the couch.

Dr. Mwangi nods, the chain on her glasses glinting in the soothing lights of her office.

“I...there is something I am not sure how to communicate to Duck. I, it’s something I’ve been dishonest about. I” Indrid takes a deep breath, “I lied about the date of my birthday.”

Dr. Mwangi doesn’t so much as cock an eyebrow, much like she managed not to gasp in horror when he told her what his training regime involved when he was learning to be a villain. Indrid’s going theory is that this self-control is his therapist's super power.

“Do you want to spend part of our session today figuring out how you’d like to talk with him about this?”

Indrid fidgets with his glasses, “Yes, please.”

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Duck comes home to one of his favorite scenes; Indrid sitting with his easel in front of the rat run. His boyfriend decided he needed to cultivate his artistic streak, so that one part of his life would not involve superheroing or villainy in any capacity. From the look of it, he’s still on the theme of inserting the rats into still-lifes of different styles.

Duck loves watching him paint, in a way at once connected to and completely different from the attraction he feels observing the other man train in the hideout or dig himself into engineering a new invention. There’s the same cleverness in his hands, the same concentration lining his face. But there’s an innocence that’s absent other places, a kind of happiness that only exists in activities untouched by his past.

“Hello, chivalrous one.” Indrid murmurs as Duck comes to drape his arms over his sweater clad shoulders.

“Hey sugar. I like the new paintin’--is that Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“Indeed.” Indrid turns his head, his grin as bright as the streetlights flickering to life outside, “The fuzzy medical practitioner in the style of Seurat. I foresee Aubrey liking it as a Christmas gift, and I wanted to do it while the inspiration was still fresh.”

“Bet she’ll get a kick outta it.” Duck kisses the top of his head, then starts removing his work clothes, “you had dinner? Thought I might reheat some pizza.”

“I ordered us dinner, it should arrive within ten to fifteen minutes, depending on whether this is the broken stoplight timeline.” Indrid sets his brushes aside, stands so he can follow Duck down the hall to the bedroom.

“Thanks for doin’ that.”

“There is, ah, something I wish to discuss before it arrives.”

Duck turns and his heart twinges. Back when Indrid was his nemesis, Duck learned to read his emotions, a skill that eluded everyone else. He can tell when Indrid is nervous and, most often, when Indrid is nervous and doing everything he can to hide it.

“What’s on your mind?” He takes a soft step towards the other man, who goes very still as he summons his next words.

“Do you remember what I told you about my birthday?”

“That it was in the spring and you’d let me know when we were gettin close to it. Wait, fuck, you never did, not this year or last year. Then again, last year was when the White Star boys kept tryin to fuck everythin up, think a lot of stuff got missed. Do you, uh, wanna do a birthday observed or somethin? Could even get a little goofy and do a half-birthday.”

Indrid shakes his head vehemently, “No. That is not it. I, I ah, I lied. My birthday is not in spring. And before you ask ‘when is it,’ the answer is I have no idea. We never celebrated birthdays. I only know my age because my father unleashed my brother and myself upon the world some time after I, or rather we, turned eighteen.” Indrid tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “that is all I wish to say.”

It would be easy to giggle at his serious tone.

Duck pulls Indrid into a hug, “Thanks for tellin me. Do you want help tryin to work out when it really is?”

“I...I do not know. I was simply tired of such a small lie weighing me down.”

“Okay. You wanna cuddle until dinner?”

“Of cour--oh damn it all.” Indrid steps back, pulling off his sweater, “Baron Thorne is going to try and hold an entire dormitory of students hostage in forty-five minutes.”

“More than a two hero job?”

Indrid tips his head back, then replies, “it’ll go best with for. I shall alert Barclay and Aubrey.”

“Roger. I’ll get the car.”

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Duck’s researching potential plants for Dani to modify into non-lethal weapons when the secure elevator dings open and Agent Stern hurries out, looking a kind of excited he hasn’t seen since Barclay’s parents landed their ship to meet their son’s new boyfriend.

“Gettin the feelin you got good news for me.”

“I do.” Joe pulls out his datapad, “I went through the files we confiscated from Abbadon to find the one on Indrid. It did indeed have his birth date, and you are not going to believe what it is.”

Duck looks at the little boxes of letters and numbers beneath the photo of a much younger Indrid with a much crueler smile.

“No fuckin way.”

“I know right?” Joe grins, “ I think he’ll get a kick out of that.”

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“My birthday is on Halloween?”

“Yeah!” Duck looks so happy that for a moment the emotion carries Indrid as well.

“That is rather fitting. It’s always been my favorite holiday.” He can see it now; little orange lights, a black tablecloth, some cake.

“And it’s three weeks away, so we still got time to plan somethin to mark the day. I was thinkin we could have it Friday, since Halloween is a Saturday and I know at least Barclay and Dani got things they do every Halloween. How’s that sound?”

He isn’t sure. Something circles up from the deep, animal part of his mind, but he can’t name it and so does his best to ignore it.

“It sounds wonderful.”

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Indrid cannot escape. Everywhere he turns there are birthdays; on the T.V, in the restaurants he and Duck go to, on cards and balloons when he’s getting groceries

It’s your big day!

“You don’t turn thirteen everyday”

To my son, on his eighteenth birthday

“To my brother, my favorite partner in crime”

“This week on ‘My Neighbor’s a Werewolf,’ Jamie throws Max a surprise party, and gets a big surprise of his own.”

When that one flickers across the screen, Indrid clicks the T.V off with a little hiss. He’s tense, feels like the embodiment of the moment a knife-tip meets skin; resistance and resignation in the instant before it all comes pouring out.

“You got a cake preference?” Duck rests his hand on the couch near Indrid’s shoulder, tone light as he continues, “know you like really sweet stuff, I could get mom’s hummingbird cake recipe from Jane-”

“Whatever you think best.” Indrid flexes and coils his fingers.

“‘Drid, it’s your party, you get to mark the occasion however you want.

“And what if I do not wish to mark it at all?”

“Uh…” Duck clears his throat, “uh, that’s fine too.”

Indrid turns his head to see the expression he knew would be there.

“That upsets you.”

“N-uh, fuck, I uh, it don’t uh-”

“Duck, please do me the courtesy of not drawing out the lie.”

Ducks shoulders sag, “Guess I’m a little disappointed. I, uh, I was havin fun plannin it with you. Thought I could make up for all the times you didn’t have one.”

“Well, you can’t.” Indrid snaps, stands more dramatically than he means to. He just wants this to be over, wants to stop seeing the memories he thought he’d properly laid to rest, “you cannot make up for what I saw, what was done to me, what I did.”

“I-”

Indrid holds up his hand, “I know you see it as your job to remove all traces of my tragic past that you can.”

“Hold the fuck on.” Duck shakes his head, “Is that what you think I’m doin? ‘Drid, it’s just a party. If you don’t want it you don’t want it, but don’t fuckin pretend this is some indicator of us as a pair.”

“Oh but it is.” Indrid feels his lips curl into an old smile, “you get to play the nice, normal hero making everything better, while all I am is someone to pity, broken long before you ever met me!”

Duck goes still, and in his visions he sees the rats finishing skittering to the far side of Ratopia. It’s at this moment he realizes he’s been yelling.

“I…I am going to bed. Goodnight.” He hurries down the hall, only bothering to change his pants before crawling under the covers. In most futures, Duck follows him and demands they finish their argument, leading to a far larger fight. But the hero doesn’t come. This gives Indrid time to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal, to try and work out why the thought of his loved ones gathering to celebrate his birth makes him want to disappear into the night.

He’s not quite asleep when Duck comes in. He’s not quite ready to apologize. As he’s contemplating his options, his boyfriend slips under the sheet and lays in such a way that his right hand is inches from Indrid’s own.

Without opening his eyes, Indrid slides his fingers across Duck’s palm. Duck shifts to interlink their fingers, and closes his hand.

Indrid wakes up five hours later in two discrete stages. The first is coming out of the nightmare, of his body registering the need to move, to hide, before his brain is fully back to the present. The second is waking up enough to wonder why he always hides in the closet after these dreams; he didn’t have a closet growing up.

He creeps into the living room, hoping he hasn’t woken Duck. He has woken Chicken, who decides it’s close enough to her breakfast time to yowl at him until he feeds her. While she crunches her cat food, he opens one of the doors to Ratopia. The mischief is mostly asleep, but at the sound Void rouses from his spot atop Mallard and scurries over to Indrid’s hands.

“You forgive so easily.” Indrid murmurs, cupping him in one hand and closing the cage with the other, “or perhaps you just forget with much greater skill than I.”

He knows when Duck is behind him. Without turning, he sets Void on his shoulder and says, “I think I know why I have been so unpleasant tonight. I...I have only ever marked two changes in age; being old enough to face the trials of my order and being sent out to cut down those who dared oppose us. My ‘birthday’ is a harbinger of suffering and death. And I, I know that is not the real truth, but it is the one my body believes, the one my mind has been bracing for without me fully understanding that’s what it is doing. I did not mean to take that fear out on you.”

“‘Drid” Duck’s voice is scratchy with sleep, but when Indrid turns his eyes are alert, “I’m so fuckin sorry. It, uh, it didn’t occur to me that your birthday would be wrapped up so tightly with the shit you went through as a kid. I never meant to push you into somethin you didn’t want.”

“But I do want it!” Indrid shoves his hands into his hair, “I want to have dinner with our friends, to get gifts, to enjoy a thing that millions of people partake in every day. And I am so, so very angry that I cannot, that instead I am dealing with all of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself, then looks at Duck, his body registering safe as the hero joins him by the rat run. When Duck opens his arms, Indrid nestles into them without hesitation.

“Whatever you decide on, that’s what we’ll do.”

Indrid hums, snickers when Void clambers onto Duck to tickle his cheek with his whiskers. After the shadows of the past recede in the warmth of Duck’s embrace, Indrid whispers, “I would like to have the party. I would like to help you plan it. But I...I would like a few of the details to still be surprises for me. It might be nice for my birthday to bring me a pleasant one for once.”

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“Oooh, this looks so cool!” Aubrey sets a gift on the table as she admires the mothman string lights, banners, and balloons, “dang, Duck, didn’t know you had a decorator streak.”

“Don’t get a chance to flex it much. And it’s kinda easy when the theme is so specific.”

“I’m trying to compliment you, doofus.” Aubrey playfully whacks his arm, then squeals, “honey, look, rats in hats!”

“Awww” Dani joins her to regard the mischief in their tiny party hats (only Mallard is still wearing his, the others in various states of tossing them about), “Indrid, did you make these?”

“Indeed, though Barclay made these.” He slides the enclosure open and sets five rat-sized cupcakes on the floor, “which is wonderful, because I did not want them to feel left out. They’re getting them earlier than the rest of us because Barclay is looking for ways to keep me out of the kitchen.”

“It’s your birthday, that means letting someone else cook!” Barclay calls from the kitchen.

“But I modified the blender and the mixer to be self-operating!”

“Wait, what?” Is all they hear before Barclay is drowned out by whirring.

“Should we help him?” Dani says through their laughter.

“He’s a professional, he’ll be fine.” Joseph steps from the kitchen, his casual wear of jeans and a Loch Ness Monster dress shirt still somewhat jarring to the former villain who only ever saw him in suits, “Aubrey, Dani, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Yes please. Okay doctor, time to play.” Aubrey opens the special hatch in Ratopia and deposits the rabbit, who settles in to be groomed by his smaller friends.

Dinner is fancy macaroni and cheese and fruit salad, Indrid’s favorites. As Ned regales the table with his latest misadventures in fixing up his new van (“I was unaware an owl could nest in a seat cushion”) Indrid glances at the entryway.

“Everythin okay?” Duck whispers.

“Yes. I, ah, I simply did not expect so many gifts. I know it’s customary to receive them but I thought you got one or two. Not that everyone brought them.”

“You wanna open them?”

Indrid nods, grinning, “very much so.”

He takes care not to peek at the futures when unwrapping them, wanting to preserve the excitement as long as possible. Aubrey gives him a six pound bag of Lucky Charm marshmallows, Dani sneaks out to the car and returns with a potted plant (“I modified it so that the blossoms will be extra attractive to moths”). Ned gifts him a signed, limited run poster from Red Dust on His Soul, Joseph and Barclay a stack of new romance novels (“I think you’ll like Agent X, it’s a mystery series but he romances quite a few characters in them”). Mama sent a package from West Virginia that contains a small, wooden duck she carved herself and made especially smooth so it would be soothing to rub). And Lydia Little, AKA Sylvia Cold, presents him with a mug declaring him “Favorite Brother.”

Duck’s present is the last one he opens. Waiting for him in the rectangular box is a white shirt with “World’s Greatest Rat Dad” on the front. The back is covered in squiggle-scratches of five different colors, which Duck explains are signatures from the mischief made in rat-safe fabric paint.

“It’s perfect.” Indrid sighs, kisses his boyfriend and then beams at his friends, “it is time for cake.”

They dim the lights, sing to him as Barclay emerges from the kitchen with a massive, mothman shaped cake with lots of candles. To his delight and surprise, the inside is layers of pink and yellow, flavored with strawberry and vanilla. He eats far more than is perhaps wise, but it is his birthday and it is his understanding that such things are allowed.

His guests linger for a few hours more, Aubrey and Dani the last to leave with a reminder to put the plant on the balcony. Indrid waves goodbye, closes the door and arms the security to full. He turns back into the house, sees the cards and gifts his friends put so much thought into locating for him, the stray dishes and half-empty glasses that signify they were here. For him. Because they wanted to be, because they care about him.

“‘Drid? You want any more cake before I put it aw--oh fuck, sugar, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing” he sniffles, grins, “these are tears of happiness. I, ah, I hurried us into cake because I felt them upon me when I opened the gifts. It will take some time yet for me to be willing to show such feelings around our friends.” He wipes his eyes, “thank you, my love, for arranging this.”

“Any time, darlin.”

He smiles, “Have I mentioned lately that you are my hero?”

“Pretty sure you called me that this mornin. But I sure as hell don’t mind hearin it again.”

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“What is this?” His brother scowls up from the paper plate Indrid passed to him through the complex delivery system keeping his cell from the world around it.

“Cake. Today is our birthday. Did you know that?”

“Who cares for such frivolous things, little brother?”

“Those of us who do not spend our lives steeped in the misery of others, twin brother. If you do not want it, give it back and I shall share it with one of the guards.”

Apollo looks at the cake. Then he kneels on the floor, tearing into it with his hands. He doesn’t eat it what he destroys, and after a moment Indrid grasps why.

“Did you really think I hid some device to help you escape in there?”

“Yes.” His brother is now trying to light stab the cake with his gaze.

Indrid rubs his forehead, “Perhaps some day you will learn to see things for how they are, not how you believe them to be.” He starts for the door, looks over his shoulder and says softly, “happy birthday, Apollo.”

A slam as his brother strikes the see-through front of his cell, “Get back here this instant you worthless, traitorous, coward!”

The door slides open and Indrid steps into the hall. Joseph is waiting for him, drops his eyes from the security feed to the man in front of him, “what a waste of Barclay’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

A gentle pat on his shoulder, “You tried, that counts for a lot. Now go enjoy your night.”

“And my knight?”

“Him too.” Joseph waves goodbye, then adds, “and happy birthday!”

Indrid gets home before the city trick or treating hours begin; he’s feeling rather good, all things considered, and Halloween is so beloved by villains that the odds of his evening being interrupted by work are almost none.

Duck is on the porch lighting their Jack ‘O Lanterns, grinning brighter than all the candles and lights on the block combined when Indrid walks up the steps to join him. He sees in the futures that he’s made him a special, Halloween themed birthday dinner.

He pulls Duck into a hug, kissing the top of his head with happy sighs, thanking whatever twist of fate pushed him into the arms of the man who was, in many ways, his first-ever pleasant surprise.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #superhero au

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i-also-miss-our-talks · 8 years ago

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Umbrella ~ Jack Kelly x Reader

Asked by Anonymous: May I please have a romantic Jack Kelly x reader. I don’t really care about the plot line I just want to love frickin Jack Kelly

I hope you like this, my lovely Anon! Okay, so I actually really liked writing this. It’s my first Newsies fic, though, so please give me a little break.

WC: 2013

Warning: Like, three swear words? That’s about it.

Masterlist

As always, I try to keep it as gender neutral as possible. So if you do catch a male or female pronoun for Y/N, let me know! Thanks!

The rain poured down harder across the streets of Manhattan, soaking any passerby who wasn’t carrying an umbrella. Most of the other Newsies had retreated back to their shelters. Most, as in, all but one.

Jack Kelly.

He wasn’t about to let his hard earned money go to waste, so there he stood, in the cold, harsh, pouring rain, trying to sell his soggy papers to anyone who would spare him a glance.

“Papes! Get yer papes here! Breaking! Dogs run rabid through the streets of Brooklyn!” Jack yelled over the thunder. Okay, so that headline wasn’t 100% accurate. But if he had to make up a headline to sell papers, that’s what Jack would do.

Eventually, people stopped walking by, most likely finding shelter as the storm grew stronger. Jack sighed and tossed his soggy paper into the middle of the street, watching it float in the large puddle. He took off his cap and sat on the curb, running a hand through his sopping hair.

He didn’t even notice you walk up to him.

“Hey,” you said, lightly tapping him on the shoulder. “Are you selling papers?” You shuffled closer so that the poor newsboy was shielded by your umbrella.

Jack looked up to see you. His breath caught slightly as he took in your features. Your skin, your nose, your eyes, your lips. It was all just so gorgeous in his eyes. Jack stood up and put his cap back on. “Yes I is. Care for one?”

You smiled and nodded. You fished through your pocket for some money when the boy put his hand up.

“No need. This one’s on the house,” Jack smiled and did his best to wring out the newspaper.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind paying,” you said.

“A little conversation would be nice, if you is really wantin’ to pay,” Jack said and handed you the, still slightly wet, paper.

“Alright. That sounds like a fair deal,” you laughed.

Jack smiled even brighter at your laugh. “The name’s Jack Kelly. To who do I owe this pleasure?”

You stuck out your hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. The pleasure is all mine, Jack Kelly.”

The Newsie had to hold himself back from spitting in his hand before shaking yours. “So, you works around these parts?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I actually work in the bakery down the block. If you ever want to stop by I can grab you something. On the house, you know?”

“I might have to takes you up on that,” Jack chuckled.

The both of you talked for a while under the umbrella. You had lost track of time a while back and didn’t notice you were late for work until you glanced at your watch. “Oh, boy! My boss is gonna kill me! I’ll see you later, Jack! Good luck with the rest of your papers!” You slipped the umbrella into his hand and used the newspaper to cover your head as you ran to work.

Jack stood still, watching you run off. He gripped the umbrella tighter in his hand and smirked. “Y/N, huh? Yeah. I’ll see ya later,” he said to himself and went back to selling papers with the biggest, dopiest grin.

“Jack! Where’d you get the umbrella?” Crutchie asked as Jack came home later that day.

Jack shrugged and put the umbrella by his stuff. “Just founds it lying around,” he fibbed, taking off his soaked clothes and putting on some dry ones.

“Right. Anyway, how many papes you end up selling?” Crutchie asked, lying down on his makeshift cot.

“A few. Most of them papes turned to wet rags. Tomorrow will be better weather to sell,” Jack said.

Turns out, it was not better weather. It was just like the day before. Jack held your umbrella tightly in the pouring rain as he tried to sell his papers.

“Papes! Get yer papes here! Breaki—Y/N!”

You peered through the rain to figure out who called your name. “Jack?”

Jack smiled and ran towards you, putting the umbrella over both of your heads. “Hey, yous gonna catch a cold runnin’ around without somethin’ over ya,” he said and put his arm around your shoulders, trying to warm you up.

You snorted. “Says the Newsies who stood outside in the rain all morning yesterday.”

“The past is past.” Jack waved it off, walking you back over to his papers. He wished he had a jacket he could wrap around your shivering form.

You laughed and leaned into him, soaking in his warmth. “Hey, I really hate to ask you this, but do you think you could walk me to work? I really don’t want to run through the rain again and I don’t want you selling papers without an umbrella,” you asked. Of course, you didn’t mention you wanted to be with him longer.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, ‘course I can.” He began to walk with you towards work.

“Wait, what about your papers?” You asked, pointing to the pile of newspapers.

“They’ll be fine,” Jack smiled and continued on your way. You smiled as he wrapped his arm tighter around you as you two walked. Like yesterday, you guys couldn’t stop talking. You learned he loves to make art and his best friend is a Newsie named Crutchie.

All too soon, you were standing in front of the bakery. “Well, I guess this is where we part ways, huh?”

Jack let go of you and scratched the back of his neck. “Unless, I take yous up on that offer for a bakery on the house?”

You smiled and grabbed his hand. “Of course! Come on in! I just have to do a few things in the back and then I’ll be out to get you what you’d like,” you explained. You sat Jack down on one of the bar stools and grabbed the umbrella from him, taking it in back with you so it could dry.

When you got in back, you took in a deep breath. It’s just a Newsie, you thought to yourself. Just a normal…cute…actually super sweet…Newsie. Shit. You quickly put on your apron and ran back out to the counter. You smiled when you saw Jack looking at the desserts. “See any you like?”

Jack looked up at you and smiled. “How’s about a slice of cheesecake?”

You nodded. “Gotcha!” You grabbed the largest slice of cheesecake you had and placed on the cleanest plate. You handed him the cake along with a small fork. “Enjoy!”

The paperboy tipped his hat towards you and began eating.

Jack Kelly had decided to stay with you for your entire shift when you told him you were closing by yourself. To which he replied, “I’ll stay, then. Can’t have yous walking home alone on the dark stormy streets of Manhattan.”

So there you were, locking up the store while Jack waited by the door with the umbrella. You smiled and locked the bakery door before stepping under the umbrella and walking beside him. Slowly, Jack put an arm around your shoulders. You smiled and leaned into him.

As the walk continued, you felt Jack pull you tighter. “Jack? Is everything okay?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Everythin’s fine,” he mumbled.

You frowned and took hold of the umbrella in one hand and held his with the other. “You sure?”

The boy nodded. “Positive.”

“Jack, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me,” you said and stopped walking. You turned to face him. “I know we only met yesterday, but we’ve talked to much and learned so much but each other I think I can help you with stuff.”

“You can’t help me with this,” Jack said.

You pursed your lips. “Why? Do you not trust me? I can help, I really can if you just gi-“ You were cut off by cold, dry lips smashing against your own.

Jack cupped your cheeks as he kissed you, pulling you closer. Though you were stunned for a few seconds, you kissed him back. The umbrella fell through your fingers as your eyes fluttered shut. You wrapped your arm around his neck and titled your head to deepen the kiss. The rain showered down onto you two, but neither of you seemed to care.

After a few moments, Jack pulled away. He brushed your wet hair away from your eyes. You giggled and looked up at him, smiling. The Newsie smiled before looking around. “The coast is clear.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

Jack loosened his hold on your face. “The guy. He’s gone.”

“Guy? What guy?” Your anger started to rise.

“There was this guy whos was following us since we left the bakery. I thoughts he was after you so I kissed ya to show him to stop following us,” Jack said.

You frowned and pulled your arms off from around his neck. “Are you serious?”

Jack was confused. “What do you mean? ‘Course I is serious.”

“You kissed me?! You kissed me and it meant nothing?!” you yelled, backing up slightly. “You can’t just kiss someone like that and expect them to not feel anything!” You were blushing up a storm, but didn’t care. You were more upset about the fact that he had felt nothing.

“Y/N, just calm down, okay?” Jack said, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“No! I can’t just calm down! Not when my heart is pounding like a drum,” you said, shoving him off of you. “Goodnight, Jack Kelly,” you spat before hugging yourself for warmth and started your walk home alone.

Jack wanted so badly to run after you, to tell you his heart was pounding too, to tell you that kiss had meant everything to him, but he couldn’t. Not now.

Jack smacked his hat onto the ground when he got back to his makeshift home. “Damn it!”

Crutchie sprung awake. “What the hell, Jacky?”

He sighed. “Sorry, Crutchie. I just messed up big time.”

“Well keep it down! Some of us need our beauty sleep!” Crutchie said before falling back asleep.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and saw some extra newspaper he had saved. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. Jack grabbed his pencil and set to work.

The next day, you shivered as you walked to work. You had left your umbrella in the rain last night after��the incident…so you had caught a slight cold. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the memory. But, of course, fate has it’s own way of doing things. Because the next thing you knew, you heard his voice call out through the crowd of people.

“Papes! Get yer papes here!”

You gulped and tucked your head, trying to not let him see you.

“Y/N!”

Shit.

Looking up, you see Jack running towards you. And your heart sees him too.

“Y/N, look, I is so sorry for last night. But please let me make it up to you,” Jack asked, handing you a paper.

You grab the paper and look at it, gasping. You knew he was good at art, but not this good. It was a perfect sketch of you and him sharing the kiss from last night. Jack perfected every stroke of his pencil so that every detail, including the drops of rain, were pronounced on the paper.

You looked up at him, letting out a small sneeze. “Did you make this?”

Jack shrugged off his jacket, patting himself on the back for remembering one today, and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Yeah, I did. Do you like it?”

“I love it, of course,” you smiled.

The Newsie smiled and leaned down, kissing you softly. “Just so ya know, that kiss had meaning to it,” he whispered after pulling away.

“And what would that meaning be?” you hummed.

Jack hugged you. “That I has got some extra money saved up and was wonderin’ if yous want to get some dinner tonight?”

You leaned into him, letting out another small sneeze. “Sounds like a date.”

#newsies #newsies x reader #newsies x female!reader #newsies x male!reader #jack kelly #jack kelly x reader #jack kelly x male!reader #jack kelly x female!reader #i-also-write

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rfsak2 · 8 years ago

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Inappropriate

Inappropriate Summary: He was a gentleman and she was a lady but they weren’t always appropriate. Jack Lowden/Reader Warnings: Tension, sexiness

From now on, these are probably going to be a fair bit less chronological. Also, I’m not sure where some of this came from.. I think I’m in a mood...

“Let me get ‘er.”

She put the last dish in the washer and turned toward the kitchen door as Jack poked his head into the kitchen. “The folks from Stewart an’ Christie wanted a word wit’ ye.”

She smiled. “Whatever for?”

He shrugged and shepherded her into the living room. “Jus’ go, lovie.”

Shaking her head, she hushed Angus as he began to get noisily restless and moved to sit next to the puppy on the couch. “Hello!”

The man, a marketing executive for Stewart and Christie, smiled. “Yer right, Jack, she’s a bonnie little lass, isn’t she?”

Jack smiled. “I’m a lucky man.”

She blushed and rolled her eyes at Jack, before turning back to the skype call. “Did you need something, sir?”

The man nodded. “We had thought, love, tha’ we could make somethin’ fer ye as well. It’d be great to have a couple such as yerselves to represent the brand at the Festival.”

“Oh!” She grinned. “That would be lovely.”

“Yer besotted boyfriend,” he paused to grin at Jack, who blushed, “also reminded us that yer a verra talented photographer. We were wonderin’ if ye’d like to do Jack’s shoot?”

“Even though I’m not Scottish?”

“I think ye could be considered an honorary Scot given who yer datin’.” The older man winked.

Jack grinned. “She’s got a little Scottish in her, I reckon.”

She shot him a confused look but didn’t correct him, eventually shaking her head and turning back to the computer. “I would love to.” She nodded. “Absolutely. I love taking pictures of Jack.”

“Great! We’ll get in touch once everythin’ is finalized. We’ll need yer measurements, of course.”

She nodded and hit the end call button when everything had been wrapped up. Turning to Jack, she smiled. “You know I’m not Scottish, like at all… right? I don’t want you to feel deceived.”

He grinned a tad slyly. “Och… I dinnae ken, hennie. Ye had some Scot in ye las’ night.” He leaned over and kissed her, before standing and leaving the room.

She sat and stewed on that for a moment more.

What had happened last night?

It had been a fairly normal night. They hadn’t done anything unusual. Jack had worked through a new script and she had helped him run lines for most of the night, while she had edited photos from a friend’s wedding. Then they had gone to be-

“Jack Andrew Lowden!” She jumped to her feet and followed the sound of his cackling laughter to the bedroom.

He grinned at her from his seat on the bed. “Aye, hennie?”

“Don’t you ‘aye, hennie’ me.” She swatted at his arm. “Did you just make a joke about.. about being inside me in front of people I don’t even know?”

He laughed and she shoved at his shoulder, the blond man falling back. “Technically I made the joke in front of ye, baby.”

“There is no ‘technically’! You just made-” He stood quickly and kissed her, but she pushed him away and he fell back on the bed still cackling. “No, I don’t think that’s gonna work, mister.”

“Och.. lovie, they had no idea. No need to be angry.”

She grabbed a pillow and hit him in the chest, causing him to cackle all the louder. Angus jumped on the bed and joined in the chaos, barking and nipping at Jack’s ears. “I can’t believe the gall! You lout!”

“Away wit’ ye, beastie.” He shooed away Angus and pulled Y/N to the bed, pinning her quickly. “Why are ye haverin’, love? They know we have sex. They know I spend every minute I can in between your gorgeous thighs.” She blushed and he grinned, bending his head to ghost the tip of his nose over her clavicle. “Every single person we come in contact wit’, every single one, knows ye’re mine.”

The minute he had had her pinned underneath him, her breath started to come in increasingly shorter pants. She gasped his name as he started pressing open-mouthed kisses to the tops of her breasts.

He hummed and lifted one hand to pulled her neckline further down. He pulled the cup of her bra out of the way and worked a hickey into the skin revealed there.

“I’m still very-” gasp “angry with you, Jack.”

“Sure ye are, hen.”

She checked the focus on her camera and did a quick test shot of Jack, where he stood against the brick wall. She checked the photo and smiled. “That’s quite the smoulder you got there, baby.”

Jack grinned and chuckled. “I can see right down yer dress, hen.”

She shrugged and winked at him, a smirk twisting her rouged lips. “Good. Keep your eyes there and we should get some good pictures.”

Bobby, her assistant, barely batted an eye, accustomed as he was to hearing the near constant banter between the couple. “Might need to crop in close to avoid anything untoward.”

Y/N shook her head. “Nah, those jeans are tight enough, aren’t they, Jack?”

Jack grinned, eyes on her lips. “Ye lookin’, lass?”

“I’m always lookin’.” She clicked a few photos.

Bobby huffed. “Cool it, you two.”

They did and they managed a solid hour of professional photography, before Y/N thought it necessary to fix Jack’s hair.

It probably wasn’t but she wanted to touch him. Badly.

Jack’s eyes were still very firmly focused on her cleavage, well showcased in this dress, as he leant over so she could comfortably reach his hair. He had a feeling that all of this was on purpose.

She smiled and blew a kiss at him, aware of her lipstick, hand trailing down from his shoulder to suspiciously low on his stomach. “There, much better.”

Jack straightened and then leaned back over to speak directly into her ear, crowding into her space. “Ye keep tryin’ t’wind me up, hennie, and I’m gonna bend ye over tha’ vanity when we get back to th’room.”

She giggled. “You say that like it’s a punishment.”

He grinned, all teeth. “I’m gonna fuck ye raw t’night.”

“Again. That’s not a punishment.” She started backing up, but Jack grabbed her hand gently and pulled her back to him, locking an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

He mouthed against her throat. “Yer not gonna be able t’sit right fer a week.” Bobby blushed, not really able to hear what he was saying but catching the tone, and wandered a couple steps away. “Makes fer a long train back t’London.”

She sucked in a breath, flushed, breasts pushing against the neckline of her dress and his chest with every stuttering inhale. She swallowed dryly and all but whispered, “Promises, promises.”

Jack grinned. “Have I ever let ye down or welched on a promise, love?”

She bit her lip and shook her head.

“I wouldn’t assume I would now, lovie.” He kissed her neck, beard rasping her skin just right.

Bobby coughed into his fist. “They wanted a shot of both of you too. Should we go ahead and do that then?”

She nodded, still struggling to control her breathing and passed her camera back to her still blushing assistant, eyes locked on Jack’s.

Bobby took a lot of photos in the next ten minutes, some painfully posed, looking like they came from a catalogue, but the one they ended up using, the one that was posted to Twitter for all the world to see, was the first shot he got.

Jack, leaning back against the brick wall, one arm around her waist, holding her to him, the other hand on her thigh, inching the pretty tweed of her dress up. He stared the camera down, smug and self-assured.

She was looking back at the camera over her shoulder, painted red lips parted in a gentle ‘o’, her only visible hand against his chest.

She read some of the comments with a blush, but hell if she didn’t squirm in her seat the entire six hour train ride back to London.

Jack's hand sat heavy and warm on her knee, smirking and smug, as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I told ya so.”

She sighed heavily and sorted through the dresses, trying to rule out dresses that were clearly not going to work. She fingered the fine grey wool of a Dior dress that immediately caught her eye and smiled.

“Nope.”

She turned over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow at Jack. “What do you mean, ‘Nope’?”

He smiled and kissed her shoulder, one hand absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her silk dressing gown. “Yer too pretty fer tha’ dress.”

She scoffed. “It’s Dior, Jack. That’s not possible.”

“It’s definitely possible, hennie. Yer bloody gorgeous and that dress is boring.”

Shaking her head, she kissed the underside of his chin and chuckled. “Okay, rooster, which do you prefer then?”

He parted the rack, revealing a red silk Antonio Grimaldi dress.

She considered it, running her fingers over the heavy beading that encrusted the open back. “It is pretty but it’s a bit much don’t you think?”

“M’love, ye’ve been nominated fer yer ferst Golden Globe, is anythin’ too much?” He leaned in closer, lips against the shell of her ear. “Besides, yer gonna be so sexy in red.” His hand coasted up her inner thigh underneath the silk. “I’m not gonna be able t’keep me hands aff ya.”

She shivered and made a feeble attempt to push his hand away. “Jack…”

He nibbled on her earlobe and groaned lowly in her ear, eyes casting around looking for the stylist. “Shh.. She’s lookin’ fer more dresses...or shoes… whateva.” He mouthed hotly at her jaw. “...not payin’ ‘ttention…”

She gasped as his hand cupped her intimately, grinding the heel of his hand against her with just enough pressure to have her knees threatening to buckle. “You’re gonna get us kicked out, rooster.”

He grinned against her neck. “Ye love it… I can feel it.”

She bit her lip and stifled a moan as his finger worked its-

Clack, Clack

Jack straightened so abruptly that her head spun.

The woman smiled widely, none the wiser, Y/N blushed guiltily none the less. “What do you think of my selections?”

Smiling shyly, Y/N smiled. “I’m partial to the two Diors,” she indicated the grey wool dress as well as a floral embroidered silk dress next to it, “Jack prefers the red Grimaldi.”

She nodded and pulled all three dresses from the rack, hanging them in a row for comparison. “Men always prefer red.” She smiled. “What do you think of it?”

“I don’t mind the color, I just think the beading is…”

“Too much?” She nodded. “I agree. I don’t think it really fits with the majority of your aesthetic choices. But still, we should try it on, yeah? If only for your audience.”

Jack nodded and took his seat, winking at her. “Aye, try it on, hennie.”

Smiling, the stylist went back to the rack, grabbing another red dress. “This Dior is much more simple but still red. I think this might be more your style.”

Y/N fingered the fine tulle. “It can be lined?”

She nodded.

“I like it. It’s very soft… romantic.”

Jack smiled. “I may like tha’ one more, hennie.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Because the skirt is sheer?”

Jack shrugged, grinning. “I jus’ like ye in red. Try it on, lass.”

“No promises, baby. I still like the floral one.”

“Lovie, t’floral one is pretty enough, granted, but t’red one… now tha’ one is phenomenal.” He winked. “It’s yer nigh’, gorgeous, I wan’ ye t’stand oot as ye ought te.”

She nodded. “I’ll try it on, baby.”

“Yer gonna look beautiful in anythin’ ye try hennie.” He smiled. “Don’t fret.”

She blew him a kiss as she followed the stylist back towards the dressing rooms.

A few moments later, she stood on the pedestal in front of the mirror. She fluffed the red tulle skirt and smoothed the pleated bodice. “What do you think, rooster? Is this the one?”

He stood, meeting her eyes in the mirror, and licked his lips. She blushed and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the stylist look pointedly away.

“Wha’ do ye think, hennie?”

“I like it. I’m actually quite pleased with the color.”

“I’m not gonna say I told ye so…” He set his hand in the small of her back and kissed her neck, rasping in her ear, “Yer so fuckin’ sexy.”

She knocked foreheads with him. “I love you.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I love you too, gorgeous girl.”

She smiled at him and turned to the stylist. “Do you think it’s fancy enough for the Globes?”

The stylist, who was still blushing, nodded. “Once it’s fully lined and with the right shoes and clutch, it’ll will be perfect.” She smiled. “You’re young, you can get away with just about anything. Especially if your date is dressed to match.”

She chuckled and winked at Jack. “That’s the next thing on our list, but I’m not worried. He’d look good in a paper sack.”

She smiled and chatted with the Stewart and Christie receptionist, Anne, while Jack disappeared into the fitting room with George, the tailor.

“What are ye wearin’?”

Y/N smiled. “Dior.”

Anne sighed wistfully. “I love Dior.”

“I know, me too.” She made a little nervous motion. “I’m so excited!”

Anne grinned. “We’re all rootin’ fer ye!”

“Thanks.”

“What do ye reckon he’ll wear?”

Shrugging, Y/N looked down and fingered some of the fine wool swatches she had been handed. “He’s been goin’ on about wearing a leather jacket over a tweed waistcoat.”

“That could be very nice.”

“Aye… I agree. But then I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him in something that I didn’t like on him. He’s bloody gorgeous.”

Anne giggled. “Yer a lucky girl, for sure.”

The door opened and Jack stepped out in a pair of well-fitted dark grey trousers and a waistcoat that hugged him in all the right places, made out of a lighter grey tweed. He adjusted the black tie and smoothed the collar of the white shirt before turning toward her. “Wha’ do’ye think, hennie?”

She excused herself and made her way toward the love of her life. “I like it. Well done.”

George smiled. “Thank ye, ma’am. Now th’moment of truth. We don’t normally do leather jackets.” He held the jacket out and helped Jack into it.

As soon as George stepped away, she had to bite her lip to physically hold back the moan of approval. Stewart and Christie had really outdone themselves. They were truly artists of the cloth.

The jacket was made of an exceptionally fine black leather, soft and supple, lined in red satin to match her dress. It fit perfectly, molding to his broad shoulders and hugging his torso well.

T’was a thing of beauty. She looked forward to helping him out of it later.

“Ma’am?”

She hummed and caught Jack’s knowing eyes in the mirror. “Sorry?”

“How do ye like it, ma’am?”

She blushed and ignored Jack’s grin. “It’s beautiful work. Thank you.”

George nodded. “T’was a bit nervy fer a wee bit, but it turned out well.”

Jack nodded. “Thank ye, mate. It’s wonderful.” He leaned over to shake George’s hand. “Now I won’t embarrass th’missus on th’red carpet.”

She scoffed. “Hush you.” He’d been doing this more often, referring to her as ��the missus’ or saying that they’d need this or that for the wedding and ‘wouldn’t it be brilliant, hennie, if we got Harry te perform’?

She loved the man, but there wasn’t going to be a wedding if he never bloody asked her. It was starting to get a bit irksome.

George frowned confused. “The missus? Are ye married now, lad?”

Jack grinned. “All but. When we do get hitched, I’ll be sure t’stop here ferst.”

George smiled and nodded. “Aye, lad. We’d be verra pleased to dress ye from yer wedding.” He turned to Y/N. “Ye’ve got a good’un there, ma’am.”

Nodding, she arched an eyebrow at Jack who was still grinning like a loon. “I’m a lucky girl.”

“Let’s get ye changed intae yer normal clothes now, lad.” George motioned back toward the dressing room. “I’ll get all of this finished, cleaned and sent down to London by the end of the week.”

Jack nodded. “Tha’s perfect. Thank ye, again, mate.” As he passed her on the way to the dressing room, he paused and kissed her. “I love ye, hennie.”

She smiled. “I love you too. Now go get changed. We have to catch a train to your mum’s soon.”

A few minutes later, her normal, everyday Jack returned, in his woolly jumper, broken-in jeans, and boots.

She sighed. Somehow he’s beautiful like this too.

He grinned , blowing her a kiss, and she shook her head, turning and pausing to kiss Anne’s cheek. “Goodbye, see you next-”

Anne was no longer looking at her, staring instead past her. Frowning, Y/N turned and gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

Jack was kneeling on the hard stone floor, hands dwarfing a small velveteen ring box. “Hennie- Y/N, love. I’ve never met anyone who completes and… and balances me th’way ye do. Yer everything I have ever wanted. Yer sweet and smart and strong and dignified. I’ve never met a woman who can keep up wit’ me in the-” He blushed and she smiled, laughing.

She couldn’t be angry. It was so Jack to refer to sex during a proposal.

He grinned and swiped a hand over his face. “I’m fuckin’ it all up.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re doing fine. Keep going.”

He shrugged. “I love ye and I can’t imagine me life without ye…Will ye marry me, hennie?”

She nodded and threw her arms around his shoulders as he stood. He wrapped her up in a bear hug and lifted her against him. “Of course I will!! I love you so much, Jack Andrew Lowden!”

Jack grinned and set her down. “And I you, Y/N Y/L/N.” He kissed her as he slid the ring on her finger. She smiled as she noticed how badly his hands were shaking. He laughed into the kiss. “Tha’s th’right hand, right, hennie?”

She nodded. “Yes. you loon. That’s the right hand.”

He grinned at George and Anne. “I was supposed t’do that at me parent’s house, but I couldn’t wait anymore.” Home Up Next: Fight

#jack lowden #jack lowden imagines #jack lowden/reader

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the--walking--daryl · 8 years ago

Text

The Painful Wait. PART 3 (DarylxReader)

Hope y'all enjoyed part two! Here’s part three✌🏼 Summary: Y/N and Daryl have finally been reunited, but Daryl has fallen ill due to exhaustion and infected scars. Hershel and Maggie tend him back to health, much to Y/N's relief. The two finally address their feelings for each other and the harsh words they exchanged.

Warnings- strong language, implied smut, angst, fluff, mentions of abuse. _____________________________________________

“I thought I lost you.” I sob.

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried, Darlin’.” He chuckles breathlessly.

Daryl begins to stumble slightly, so I unwrap my legs from around his waist and push some strands of hair out of his eyes, which are fluttering open and shut.

“Daryl? Baby, you alright?” I ask, my voice laced with concern.

“I… I can’t…”

Daryl collapses to the earth, his head smacking onto a log in the process.

“Daryl? Daryl! Daryl, wake up! Oh God, no! No! Rick! Rick! Michonne! Glenn! Maggie, somebody! Help!” I scream, kneeling at his side and placing his head in my lap.

Rick and Glenn speed over, Hershel following shortly after.

“Hershel, please help him! Do something,” I weep.

“Y/N, I’m gonna do everythin’ I can, but right now, I need you to give him some space and go back inside.” Hershel instructs.

“What? No, no, I’m staying, I need to be with him!” I argue.

“Glenn, will you please?” Hershel orders.

Glenn grabs me from behind and drags me backwards to keep me away from Daryl. I struggle and thrash around, desperately trying to escape Glenn’s hold, wearing myself out and eventually letting him take me away. I give in and walk back with Glenn, constantly looking over my shoulder to see what they’re doing to Daryl.

I’m stuck in the library with Glenn, Carol, Carl, Tyrese and Sasha, pacing back and forth, biting the skin around my nails due to anxiety and stress, waiting, longing for news on Daryl’s wellbeing. Maggie strolls in, blood on her hands and sweat on her brow. Her gruesome appearance makes my heart drop into my stomach and my pulse race.

“He’s out cold still, but he’s gonna be okay. You can go see him if you want.” She smiles sweetly.

“Thank you so much Maggie.” I whimper, hugging her tightly.

“No problem. Now go be with him, he needs you.”

I walk briskly to Daryl’s cell, only to be greeted by Rick and Hershel.

“Now, he’s stable, but go easy on him. He’s very dehydrated. The exhaustion was what knocked him out and he’s lost a lot of blood. Lucky for him, we managed to clean him up, stitch his cuts and chill his fever. I think what he needs is to wake up to a friendly face. You will be friendly, won’t you?” Hershel explains.

“I don’t think I’ll ever say a bad word to that man for as long as I live, Doc. I love him.” I sigh.

“You do!? Glenn owes me a drink!” Hershel chuckles and pats Rick on the back. I hug Maggie’s father with the same amount of gratitude I showed her.

“Thank you for savin’ him. You’re a good man, Hershel Greene.” I tell him in all honesty.

“I know, Y/N. I know.” He laughs.

I turn to Rick as Hershel walks away and he puts an arm around my shoulder.

“Our boy’s gonna be just fine. The man’s invincible.” He sighs.

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll probably believe you.”

Rick snickers at my remark and gives me a comforting kiss on the top of my head before heading over to the library to join everybody else. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world to me, I climb into bed next to Daryl and cuddle up to his side, tracing my fingers along his stitches and bruises.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Finally calm and at peace, I drift off into the first content sleep I’ve had in months. All because I know he’s safe.

~~~~~~

The scorching Atlanta sun beams through Daryl’s cell window, shining over my eyes and waking me up. Unlike when I first got into Daryl’s bed, I can now feel strong arms wrapped comfortably around my waist and legs intertwined with my own. I turn over to see a finally conscious Daryl.

“Hey…” I croak in my morning voice, stroking some stray hairs out of his eyes.

“Hi.” He smiles, pulling me closer to him and gently kissing my forehead.

“How you feelin’?” I whisper.

“Like I been dragged backwards through thorns. But other than that, I’m peachy.” He jokes.

I roll my eyes at his remark and playfully nudge his shoulder.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how worried I was, Daryl. I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you and I was never going to see you again and-”

“Hey, hey, hey… I’m here now, ain’t I?” He reassures me.

“Barely, Daryl! You were hurt real bad,” I sigh. “Hershel said you got lucky.”

“Nah, I’m just that good.” Daryl smirks cockily.

“Darlin’, I know you think you’re gonna live forever, but you ain’t immortal. You could’ve gotten bit, shot, stabbed-”

I’m cut off by Daryl’s lips pressing against mine, a feeling that I’ve craved for so long. Our kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and needy by the second. His fingers dig into my hips as an attempt to pull me closer, but there’s absolutely no space left between us anymore, but I definitely won’t stop him. I reach up to have my hands on either side of his face, but he pulls away and hisses slightly, wincing in pain.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” I panic.

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s fine… just stings a little bit.” He laughs.

I rest my head back onto the pillow and let out a deep, content sigh.

“Listen… about what we said before I left. I’m sorry. Weren’t right.” Daryl says awkwardly.

“Normally I’d tell you that you should be sorry. But everything you said was right. I’m too reckless. You saw, if you hadn’t have been there in time, I would’ve died. I just wish that I never said those things. You aren’t suffocating me, I just overreacted.”

“I hope you know… the only uh- the only reason I’m like that is because I uh… I guess what I’m trying to say is I, uh-”

“I love you too, Daryl.” I smile, a rush of happiness surging through me because I finally got to tell him.

“Yeah… yeah, I love you, I really do. And that night, it wasn’t just going to be a quick fuck, I really want you for you, y'know? I’m sorry, I ain’t good at this stuff. I just… I don’t know. Let’s just stick with ‘I love you’.” He blushes.

I giggle at his awkwardness and struggle to show affection, as Daryl always knows what to say, so it’s unusual to see him so dumbfounded. It’s so refreshing to see this side of him, as he’s normally so tough and full of bravado, but to see him so soft… it’s beautiful. I can’t help but run my hands through his hair and caress his temple with my thumb, just to reassure myself that he’s actually there and I’m not dreaming. He clearly understands what I’m doing and gently smooths away a tear I hadn’t realised rolled down my cheek.

“Hey, listen… I’m fine, okay? I’m okay, I’m alive and I ain’t dyin’ anytime soon.” He says softly.

“I know, I know, I’m just trying to process it all. I’ve gone from losing sleep because I never thought I’d get to touch you again and now you’re here and I can and I’m just so happy, it’s all really overwhelming, y'know?” I laugh in embarrassment.

All of a sudden, Rick appears at the entrance of Daryl’s cell, armed with knives and guns, looking about ready to go on a Walker killing spree.

“Going on a run, won’t be long. Y/N, you coming?” Ricks asks.

“Am I not included in this? I’m comin’ too.” Daryl grumbles and tries to sit up. I let out an amused scoff, earning a confused scowl from Mr Over-Enthusiastic over here.

“You ain’t going nowhere. You had your time being overprotective and now it’s my turn. I’m gonna keep you in this prison if it’s the last thing I goddamn do, Dixon. Rick, I’ll stay here. Need to keep this one out of trouble.”

Rick bites back laughter at the sight of his best friend’s frustration and nods knowingly.

“Probably a good idea.” Rick sighs with a smirk.

“Who’s side are you on, Grimes? Good Lord.” Daryl groans, falling back down onto the limp pillows.

“Her side, dumbass. Almost got yourself killed. Consider yourself on administrative leave. Recover for God’s sake. Anyways, if you need anything, Hershel and Beth are gonna be around if you need anything. See y'all later.” Rick waves and leaves to go on his travels.

“You’re killin’ me, Y/N.” Daryl sighs.

“You did a pretty good job of that yourself baby.” I laugh, still sat up.

“Hey, listen… you think Hershel and Beth have good hearing?”

I turn back and look at a smirking Daryl with raised eyebrows.

“Are you fucking with me right now?” I scoff.

“Not yet.” He winks.

~~~~~~

Beth’s P.O.V

“Sweetheart, can you take this down to Daryl please?” Dad passes me a cup of water and some antibiotics.

“Sure Pop.” I smile sweetly and take the objects from his hands. I travel down the stairs towards Daryl’s cell when I here a slight whimpering, causing me to stop in my tracks. I clear my throat and what follows is a series of whispers and curses. I continue and when I reach my destination, the scene that’s laid out before me makes me feel both delighted and extremely awkward. Daryl has just resurfaced from underneath his sheets and clearly has no shirt on, and Y/N has the sheets pulled up to her mouth, blushing like there’s no tomorrow.

“Subtle guys.” I sigh. I set Daryl’s water and pills down on a table next to his cell door and turn to leave, but turn around last minute.

“Hey Daryl? The next time you go down on your girlfriend, can you go to a different cell block or at least give us warning so we can? We’re literally upstairs. Y'all are gross.” I giggle.

Y/N buries her head in the crook of Daryl’s neck in embarrassment, resulting in my going all fuzzy on the inside because they’re so damn cute.

Your P.O.V

Beth finally walks away and I let out a little squeal of bashfulness.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Daryl sighs.

“No fucking shit.” I laugh.

We sit in the awkward atmosphere for a while before I turn on my side and let out a small chuckle.

“Maybe later. We can go to cell block A and they won’t suspect a damn thing.” I suggest.

“I like the way you think, baby girl.” He winks and we high-five.

Daryl turns and faces away from me, allowing me to wrap my arms around his sculpted torso, but I’m distracted by wounds and scars on his back. These aren’t recent, either. These are permanent. Long cuts crossed over, spread over his shoulders, spine and tattoo. I have to cover my mouth to stop me audibly gasping at the clear mistreatment. I gently run my fingers across the scars, causing Daryl to flinch slightly.

“What are you doing?” Daryl snaps.

“Daryl… what are these?” I ask in an airy, barely-there voice due to shock.

“It’s none of your damn… ugh. Fine,” He turns to face me once again.

“My Dad… he wasn’t a nice guy. Used to beat the crap out of Merle. When Merle left, Dad had to fine something else to take whatever had pissed him off that day out on. I was just the closest thing I guess.” Daryl confesses.

My heart shatters knowing that at some point, somebody hurt this precious, pure man.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” I whisper.

Daryl shakes his head and let’s out a deep breath.

“You don’t have to say anything. Not your fault. What’s happened’s happened, it’s all in the past.” He shrugs.

I snake my arms around his shoulders and lovingly press my lips to his and in response, he clutches my waist and pulls my body closer to his, once again closing any form of space separating us. He lays on his back and pulls me on top of him as we make out, but as I sit up to take off my shirt, I hit my head on the top bunk, sending Daryl into fits of laughter.

“Smooth.” He chuckles.

“God, what is it with this cell block!? It’s a fucking concrete cock block!” I exclaim, much to Daryl’s amusement.

“I’m a mess.” I complain, covering my reddening face with both of my hands.

Daryl takes my wrists and sets them down by my thighs, gazing up at me with pure, unadulterated devotion.

“You’re my mess.”

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rfsak2 · 8 years ago

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Inappropriate

Inappropriate Summary: He was a gentleman and she was a lady but they weren’t always appropriate. Jack Lowden/Reader Warnings: Tension, sexiness

I’m gonna repost this because it never did show up in the Jack Lowden tag. If that’s weird/annoying, I’m super sorry.

From now on, these are probably going to be a fair bit less chronological. Also, I’m not sure where some of this came from.. I think I’m in a mood…

“Let me get ‘er.”

She put the last dish in the washer and turned toward the kitchen door as Jack poked his head into the kitchen. “The folks from Stewart an’ Christie wanted a word wit’ ye.”

She smiled. “Whatever for?”

He shrugged and shepherded her into the living room. “Jus’ go, lovie.”

Shaking her head, she hushed Angus as he began to get noisily restless and moved to sit next to the puppy on the couch. “Hello!”

The man, a marketing executive for Stewart and Christie, smiled. “Yer right, Jack, she’s a bonnie little lass, isn’t she?”

Jack smiled. “I’m a lucky man.”

She blushed and rolled her eyes at Jack, before turning back to the skype call. “Did you need something, sir?”

The man nodded. “We had thought, love, tha’ we could make somethin’ fer ye as well. It’d be great to have a couple such as yerselves to represent the brand at the Festival.”

“Oh!” She grinned. “That would be lovely.”

“Yer besotted boyfriend,” he paused to grin at Jack, who blushed, “also reminded us that yer a verra talented photographer. We were wonderin’ if ye’d like to do Jack’s shoot?”

“Even though I’m not Scottish?”

“I think ye could be considered an honorary Scot given who yer datin’.” The older man winked.

Jack grinned. “She’s got a little Scottish in her, I reckon.”

“Great! We’ll get in touch once everythin’ is finalized. We’ll need yer measurements, of course.”

She nodded and hit the end call button when everything had been wrapped up. Turning to Jack, she smiled. “You know I’m not Scottish, like at all… right? I don’t want you to feel deceived.”

He grinned a tad slyly. “Och… I dinnae ken, hennie. Ye had some Scot in ye las’ night.” He leaned over and kissed her, before standing and leaving the room.

She sat and stewed on that for a moment more.

What had happened last night?

“Jack Andrew Lowden!” She jumped to her feet and followed the sound of his cackling laughter to the bedroom.

He grinned at her from his seat on the bed. “Aye, hennie?”

“Don’t you ‘aye, hennie’ me.” She swatted at his arm. “Did you just make a joke about.. about being inside me in front of people I don’t even know?”

He laughed and she shoved at his shoulder, the blond man falling back. “Technically I made the joke in front of ye, baby.”

“Och.. lovie, they had no idea. No need to be angry.”

The minute he had had her pinned underneath him, her breath started to come in increasingly shorter pants. She gasped his name as he started pressing open-mouthed kisses to the tops of her breasts.

He hummed and lifted one hand to pulled her neckline further down. He pulled the cup of her bra out of the way and worked a hickey into the skin revealed there.

“I’m still very-” gasp “angry with you, Jack.”

“Sure ye are, hen.”

She checked the focus on her camera and did a quick test shot of Jack, where he stood against the brick wall. She checked the photo and smiled. “That’s quite the smoulder you got there, baby.”

Jack grinned and chuckled. “I can see right down yer dress, hen.”

She shrugged and winked at him, a smirk twisting her rouged lips. “Good. Keep your eyes there and we should get some good pictures.”

Bobby, her assistant, barely batted an eye, accustomed as he was to hearing the near constant banter between the couple. “Might need to crop in close to avoid anything untoward.”

Y/N shook her head. “Nah, those jeans are tight enough, aren’t they, Jack?”

Jack grinned, eyes on her lips. “Ye lookin’, lass?”

“I’m always lookin’.” She clicked a few photos.

Bobby huffed. “Cool it, you two.”

They did and they managed a solid hour of professional photography, before Y/N thought it necessary to fix Jack’s hair.

It probably wasn’t but she wanted to touch him. Badly.

Jack’s eyes were still very firmly focused on her cleavage, well showcased in this dress, as he leant over so she could comfortably reach his hair. He had a feeling that all of this was on purpose.

She smiled and blew a kiss at him, aware of her lipstick, hand trailing down from his shoulder to suspiciously low on his stomach. “There, much better.”

She giggled. “You say that like it’s a punishment.”

He grinned, all teeth. “I’m gonna fuck ye raw t’night.”

“Again. That’s not a punishment.” She started backing up, but Jack grabbed her hand gently and pulled her back to him, locking an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

She sucked in a breath, flushed, breasts pushing against the neckline of her dress and his chest with every stuttering inhale. She swallowed dryly and all but whispered, “Promises, promises.”

Jack grinned. “Have I ever let ye down or welched on a promise, love?”

She bit her lip and shook her head.

“I wouldn’t assume I would now, lovie.” He kissed her neck, beard rasping her skin just right.

Bobby coughed into his fist. “They wanted a shot of both of you too. Should we go ahead and do that then?”

She nodded, still struggling to control her breathing and passed her camera back to her still blushing assistant, eyes locked on Jack’s.

She was looking back at the camera over her shoulder, painted red lips parted in a gentle ‘o’, her only visible hand against his chest.

She read some of the comments with a blush, but hell if she didn’t squirm in her seat the entire six hour train ride back to London.

Jack’s hand sat heavy and warm on her knee, smirking and smug, as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I told ya so.”

“Nope.”

She turned over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow at Jack. “What do you mean, ‘Nope’?”

He smiled and kissed her shoulder, one hand absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her silk dressing gown. “Yer too pretty fer tha’ dress.”

She scoffed. “It’s Dior, Jack. That’s not possible.”

“It’s definitely possible, hennie. Yer bloody gorgeous and that dress is boring.”

Shaking her head, she kissed the underside of his chin and chuckled. “Okay, rooster, which do you prefer then?”

He parted the rack, revealing a red silk Antonio Grimaldi dress.

She considered it, running her fingers over the heavy beading that encrusted the open back. “It is pretty but it’s a bit much don’t you think?”

She shivered and made a feeble attempt to push his hand away. “Jack…”

He nibbled on her earlobe and groaned lowly in her ear, eyes casting around looking for the stylist. “Shh.. She’s lookin’ fer more dresses…or shoes… whateva.” He mouthed hotly at her jaw. “…not payin’ ‘ttention…”

He grinned against her neck. “Ye love it… I can feel it.”

She bit her lip and stifled a moan as his finger worked its-

Clack, Clack

Jack straightened so abruptly that her head spun.

The woman smiled widely, none the wiser, Y/N blushed guiltily none the less. “What do you think of my selections?”

Smiling shyly, Y/N smiled. “I’m partial to the two Diors,” she indicated the grey wool dress as well as a floral embroidered silk dress next to it, “Jack prefers the red Grimaldi.”

She nodded and pulled all three dresses from the rack, hanging them in a row for comparison. “Men always prefer red.” She smiled. “What do you think of it?”

“I don’t mind the color, I just think the beading is…”

“Too much?” She nodded. “I agree. I don’t think it really fits with the majority of your aesthetic choices. But still, we should try it on, yeah? If only for your audience.”

Jack nodded and took his seat, winking at her. “Aye, try it on, hennie.”

Smiling, the stylist went back to the rack, grabbing another red dress. “This Dior is much more simple but still red. I think this might be more your style.”

Y/N fingered the fine tulle. “It can be lined?”

She nodded.

“I like it. It’s very soft… romantic.”

Jack smiled. “I may like tha’ one more, hennie.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Because the skirt is sheer?”

Jack shrugged, grinning. “I jus’ like ye in red. Try it on, lass.”

“No promises, baby. I still like the floral one.”

“Lovie, t’floral one is pretty enough, granted, but t’red one… now tha’ one is phenomenal.” He winked. “It’s yer nigh’, gorgeous, I wan’ ye t’stand oot as ye ought te.”

She nodded. “I’ll try it on, baby.”

“Yer gonna look beautiful in anythin’ ye try hennie.” He smiled. “Don’t fret.”

She blew him a kiss as she followed the stylist back towards the dressing rooms.

A few moments later, she stood on the pedestal in front of the mirror. She fluffed the red tulle skirt and smoothed the pleated bodice. “What do you think, rooster? Is this the one?”

He stood, meeting her eyes in the mirror, and licked his lips. She blushed and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the stylist look pointedly away.

“Wha’ do ye think, hennie?”

“I like it. I’m actually quite pleased with the color.”

“I’m not gonna say I told ye so…” He set his hand in the small of her back and kissed her neck, rasping in her ear, “Yer so fuckin’ sexy.”

She knocked foreheads with him. “I love you.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I love you too, gorgeous girl.”

She smiled at him and turned to the stylist. “Do you think it’s fancy enough for the Globes?”

She chuckled and winked at Jack. “That’s the next thing on our list, but I’m not worried. He’d look good in a paper sack.”

She smiled and chatted with the Stewart and Christie receptionist, Anne, while Jack disappeared into the fitting room with George, the tailor.

“What are ye wearin’?”

Y/N smiled. “Dior.”

Anne sighed wistfully. “I love Dior.”

“I know, me too.” She made a little nervous motion. “I’m so excited!”

Anne grinned. “We’re all rootin’ fer ye!”

“Thanks.”

“What do ye reckon he’ll wear?”

Shrugging, Y/N looked down and fingered some of the fine wool swatches she had been handed. “He’s been goin’ on about wearing a leather jacket over a tweed waistcoat.”

“That could be very nice.”

“Aye… I agree. But then I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him in something that I didn’t like on him. He’s bloody gorgeous.”

Anne giggled. “Yer a lucky girl, for sure.”

She excused herself and made her way toward the love of her life. “I like it. Well done.”

George smiled. “Thank ye, ma’am. Now th’moment of truth. We don’t normally do leather jackets.” He held the jacket out and helped Jack into it.

As soon as George stepped away, she had to bite her lip to physically hold back the moan of approval. Stewart and Christie had really outdone themselves. They were truly artists of the cloth.

The jacket was made of an exceptionally fine black leather, soft and supple, lined in red satin to match her dress. It fit perfectly, molding to his broad shoulders and hugging his torso well.

T’was a thing of beauty. She looked forward to helping him out of it later.

“Ma’am?”

She hummed and caught Jack’s knowing eyes in the mirror. “Sorry?”

“How do ye like it, ma’am?”

She blushed and ignored Jack’s grin. “It’s beautiful work. Thank you.”

George nodded. “T’was a bit nervy fer a wee bit, but it turned out well.”

Jack nodded. “Thank ye, mate. It’s wonderful.” He leaned over to shake George’s hand. “Now I won’t embarrass th’missus on th’red carpet.”

She scoffed. “Hush you.” He’d been doing this more often, referring to her as ‘the missus’ or saying that they’d need this or that for the wedding and ‘wouldn’t it be brilliant, hennie, if we got Harry te perform’?