#you even drew his bullshit detailing on the boots
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
i wish i had my tablet i feel like words cant do justice to how i felt seein this for the first time this is insane
imagine a blue barrel . now imagine that blue barrel has been replace by a wet slop on the ground . because i've exploded and i was the barrel, but now the slop
theseus' guide chapter 8 spoilers !!!
an overly dramatic visualization of the chapter finale that i got way too ambitious with enjoy
#gf theseus’ guide#gravity falls#the character acting#the timingggg#fuck the music is so good for it#the SKETCHY TEXT#you even drew his bullshit detailing on the boots#you are gods strongest warrior#do you have any idea how fucking cool it is to see this moment animated#im the luckiest blue barrel in the world#the family and their expressionssssss#dipper please for the love of god pull the trigger#i believe in you . im rooting for you . you can do it kid#BOY IT IS GOOD TO BE BACK !!!!!!#fucking chills#all over my lil body . jesus#< 333333333
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Valor (Chapter 3)
Pairing: Jake x Reader, Daniel x Reader
Word Count: 13.4k
Warnings: Cursin', Smokin', Drinkin', Allusions to Drug Use. Angst: Struggle and Poverty, Emotional Manipulation, Abandonment, Jealousy, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Fighting, Blood, Mentions of Death, Mention of Suicide, Suicidal Actions, Crying, Heavy Angst, Allusions to Shady Activities, Coercion, Gambling, Betting. Smut: Kissing, Heavy Petting, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Unprotected Penetrative Sex.
Valor Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify
A new project in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.
HER POV
“I want details.” You demanded, determined to understand at least why they were keeping you so involved.
They both gave you almost the exact same look, half-agitated and half-understanding they had to at least give you something. Jake cleared his throat first.
“My dad…passed away seven years ago, and when he did, he left behind more than this shop.” Jake drew on his cigarette, readjusting in his seat as he talked. “Ace had a bad gambling problem, so bad that it put him in more debt and more depression than I really ever knew about. He used to hold these poker games for fun, until he started losin’ money, and started making more enemies than he did friends. Shit started to go south really quick. Honestly, it was a lot worse then, than it is now. The law was involved, dirty cops were playin’ cards one night and harassing my dad the next, drifters started to come around and threaten him while he was working…it was an overall unsafe environment for me and Danny.” He went on.
“Wait.” You interrupted, trying to grasp everything. “Danny, you were always here?”
He nodded. “Yup, I uh, I started off in foster care, but…no one ever wanted to keep me. I was always getting into trouble and fightin’ in school… Jake was my best friend. I stayed here more than I stayed at home…most of the time my foster parents never even knew where I was. But Ace took care of me, when he could hardly even take care of Jake. So one day, it was Thanksgiving, I think. I just…never left. I was still just a kid. Started watching every move Ace made mechanicin’. Taught myself how to fix shit.” He ended the story with a harsh swallow. You knew that was something he didn’t share often.
You couldn’t help but smile, realizing a little bit more how close these two actually really were. Raised as brothers.
“So anyway, after my dad died, I was left with all this shit…all the money he owed to people fell into my lap. Not to mention all the other bullshit…the bills, the overdue payments, taxes…he was drowning then, and we’re drowning now.”
“And Teddy, he’s been playing cards here since I can remember.” Danny explained.
“Teddy…” you repeated.
“Yeah. He’s the one that called yesterday, he arranges the games. My dad owed him so much money, we’re still paying it back. We have to listen to him when he calls, we don’t have a choice. Every time we have a game and either of us wins, we give him the money. Right off the bat. It’s fuckin' horrible.”
“Well how long until he’s paid off?” You asked.
“We’ve barely even made a dent, unfortunately.” Jake said, tamping his cigarette out on the floor between his boots. “It’s rare that either of us win.”
“Okay, well things are making a little more sense, I guess…” you could tell they were holding back on all the details, probably sparing you from knowing too much at one time. “So where do I come in, why are you hiding me?”
Jake took a deep breath, and leaned his elbows down on his knees, looking you directly in the eyes. “You’re collateral. You’re fresh meat. They know that if…they can get to you, they can use you.”
You felt your stomach drop to the floor. “Use me for what?”
Jake cocked an eyebrow. “To get to me.”
You looked back at Jake, staring each other down as you let it sink in. To get to me… You shook your head. “But that…doesn’t make any sense. Why would they think I mattered to you, at all?”
You watched a tiny grin form on both of their faces. “They know we’re protective. They know you’ve been hanging around us…and honestly, I bet they know you have money.” Danny chimed in. “Y/N, how much are you payin’ for your motel room?”
“Uh, thirty-five a night, why?” You answered.
“Are you fuckin' kidding me?!” Jake sat back in his seat as he and Danny exchanged knowing looks of ‘thought so.’
“Wanda.” Danny said, his voice seething.
“I thought it was steep, but she didn’t give me a choice in the room, said it was all she had—”
“I bet she watched you pull your cold hard cash from your wallet, too, didn’t she?” Danny asked. “Watched you count it out?”
“Y-yeah…so?”
“So,” Jake tried to explain. “Wanda is friends with Teddy’s crew. Christ…She fuckin' told them you had money…they sent Tanya down here to get concrete evidence you were with us…that’s why he called the poker game. They want your money, Y/N. On top of our money. And they know that they can get paid a whole lot quicker if they get a hold of you…they know we would pay up if it was you on the line…”
Your eyes were stuck open at all of the information, trying to soak everything in as it was fed to you.
“Me on the line…so, so you’re saying they might try to…to kidnap me? Hold me for ransom or something?” You could hardly get the words out.
Danny nodded slowly while Jake massaged his palms. “Or worse.”
“Worse? What the fuck could be worse?!” You yelled, leaning off of the countertop. Danny stood from the chair, walking over to calm the storm he knew was brewing inside you. You felt him wrap his arms slowly around your neck, in a completely non-sexual way, knowing that if you needed to feel anything right now, it was comfort.
“We don’t intend on letting you find out. And we don’t intend on giving them the satisfaction of winning like that.” He said, his voice laced with promise. You opened your eyes and peered over Danny’s shoulder, locking eyes with Jake as he nodded his head in agreement.
“I’ve only been here for like two days, guys…you don’t owe me anything, I just want to get the hell out of here, I never wanted to bring all this trouble…” you felt like you were on the verge of tears, feeling guilty that you inadvertently made their situation worse.
“You didn’t bring any trouble, Y/N. They’re bad men with bad reputations and shit lives. Teddy’s going to die wanting to bring me strife. It’s like he gets off on the shit…” Jake said, his voice trailing off as he looked at the wall behind you. Danny let go of your shoulders.
“What, Jake? What is it?” His eyes were glued to the calendar that hung on the wall behind you.
“Nothing. Today Saturday?” His face had gone completely white, stark as the smoke that bellowed from his cigarette.
“Yeah, it is…” Danny took your hands in his. “I know it’s fucked, Y/N. It’s so fucked. And I’m so sorry you got dragged into this mess. I know you want to leave, but don’t you agree that the best place for you right now is with us? We can protect you…we know how their minds work…I’d feel so much better if you just, didn’t go back to the motel…”
He was pleading with you, and honestly at this point, you’d be terrified to be alone in that motel after learning everything you learned tonight, especially that Wanda had been snitching on your every fucking move. Bitch.
You nodded, agreeing with Danny. As pissed off, insulted, and sick as it made you, you felt like you had no choice but to agree. “Alright. If it’s for my safety…I’ll stay here. But I’m not going to like it.” You were going to love it, as fucked as it was. “But honestly, how long? You’ve already been paying him off for 7 years…”
“Just until we figure something out. Until we fix your car, then you can disappear and let the wind carry you away, straight to Atlanta.” Danny answered with a true and genuine frown. He didn’t want you to leave.
“Okay. But I have a couple conditions.”
They both looked at you with puzzled expressions. “You clean your disgusting, repulsive bathroom, and you both wash your sheets. Please. For the love of god.”
Sweet, sexy laughs escaped them both as they conceded, relaxing back in their chairs. “Yeah, okay. Point taken.” Danny said, holding his hand out to shake yours. “It’s a deal, Miss Thing.”
“Good. Thank you. I’ll even make dinner tonight, for your troubles.” You offered, knowing there wasn’t much in the cabinets, but you were confident you could whip something up.
Jake stood from his chair, still looking a little pekid from whatever he noticed about the calendar earlier. He held his hand out to shake yours, too. “One clean bathroom, coming up.”
You began searching through the cabinets and refrigerator, finding a few potatoes and some bologna. Hmm, when all else fails, fry it.
You pulled some oil from the cabinet, and laid out six pieces of the almost-expired bread hidden away on the counter. This will have to do.
You’d come into this shop two and a half days ago, feeling uneasy, anxious, and unsure…and now you sat here with two of your oldest classmates as they transformed their home and business into a fortress for you to stay in, using themselves as a protective shield from the bad guys who were vying for you.
But it didn’t feel wrong staying with Danny…you liked him. You liked him a lot. And with Jake…you felt…drawn to him. Both of them. But there was something about Danny’s touch that made you crave him; him leaving you hanging in the motel room earlier was enough to make you so sexually frustrated that you resented him for a second.
The image of him lying on top of you under the covers was all you could think about, and you were absolutely dying to get him back in bed. The way his long, dark locks laid across his shoulders and reached all the way down to past the middle of his back, his defined features and strong jawline…the way his nose scrunched up when he smiled… all of it was stuck in your brain, burning little images that replayed over and over.
He felt different than Peter, that much you could tell even after just the brief encounter you’d had. Like he would let you be in charge instead of only trying to appease his every little fantasy.
And his lips on yours? Like the buzzing end of an electric wire, you could physically feel them still when he parted from you. The way his tongue felt in your mouth, his hands gripping your hips… yeah. It was decided. You wouldn’t be joining Jake in his bed again tonight.
—
JAKE POV
The smell was familiar. One you recognized deep down in your bones. A smell that transported you back in time. You pulled your sheets from the washing machine, the lid black and dirty which was kind of ironic. You tossed them into the dryer, starting it up as the smell lured you into the kitchen. You can’t remember the last time someone that wasn’t you made a meal in this kitchen.
You wiped your bleach-scented hands across your pants, the smell of lemon bathroom cleaner and Comet stuck in your nose. You realized your hands were cleaner than they’d been in probably years, after scrubbing away at the black ring in the bathtub. You could actually see the whiteness of your fingernails.
As you rested your hands on a kitchen chair, you peered over to the stove watching Y/N finish frying up a pan of diced potatoes. Your stomach growled and your mouth watered as you watched her, completely unknowing you were standing behind her.
Danny steps out of the hallway and into the kitchen, his voice startling both of you. “Damn, it smells good in here. I’m starving.” He walks up behind Y/N, peeking over her shoulder as his hand squeezes her hip. He turns to grab a few paper plates, placing them on the counter for her before taking a seat in the old wooden chair.
You swung around and sat yourself in your own chair, once again letting your eyes drift over to the calendar on the wall. Seven years today. Seven years, Ace. You lean on your fist, twirling the worn metal zippo between your fingers. Rubbing your thumb over the engravings, hand carved by the man himself. It was all you really had left of him, taking it from his pocket that day, giving it a home in yours ever since. Your heart sank the more you thought about it, which is why you didn’t ever let yourself. You always did everything in your power to forget this day, never give it the chance to crush you like this, but this year, lucky number seven… It got you.
“Alright, it’s ready!” she said, spinning around with two paper plates filled with fried potatoes and fried bologna sandwiches. That was it. That was the smell. Fried bologna. Your dad’s fucking favorite. Of course, today of all days.
“Shit this looks good, haven't had fried bologna in forever!” Danny says, grabbing the sandwich and taking a bite. She grabs her own plate and sits between the two of you, stabbing her fork into a potato as you just stare down at the plate in front of you. You’re stuck. Frozen. Your stomach telling you to eat but your mind suddenly rushing with memories you’d pushed down for years. It hurt. They hurt.
Not wanting to draw attention to yourself you picked up the sandwich, and held it to your mouth, slowly taking a bite as Y/N and Danny chatted about nothing. You wished you could turn off the instant replay in your mind of the last time you sat at this table eating with your dad. It hit you like a ton of bricks that now felt as if they settled in the pit of your stomach.
The thing about Ace though, was that he never really told you how to live your life. He just let you live it watching him, and hoping you’d learn from his mistakes. What you didn’t expect, was that his mistakes would in turn become your own burden. You hated him for what he did. You hated that he left you to clean up his mess. You hated that you no longer had a family of your own. Just Daniel, and Daniel, you. That was okay though, the two of you had each other and that was better than nothing. You weren’t sure you’d ever forgive Ace, not for leaving you, but for letting your mother leave you before you ever even got a chance to know her. That was unforgivable.
You finished the last bite of your sandwich, completely spaced out as you stared off at the wall, just letting the memories ravage your consciousness, when suddenly it all just felt like too much. You started to feel suffocated by the thoughts, the room you were in suddenly feeling too hot, and too small. Your chest started to tighten and your throat felt small. You pushed your chair back and snatched your plate from the table, tossing it in the trash can as you offered a quick ‘thank you’ to Y/N. Your feet carried you out into the garage, as your hands found the light switch.
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights calmed you a bit. Your eyes caught sight of Valor, and huff of air left your chest. A pristine 1968 Chevrolet Chevelle SS. Hardtop, Tuxedo Black with a standard 396 Horsepower engine, all hidden under a dusty beige colored canvas tarp.
Just keep your mind busy. Do what you know. You walked over to the covered car, letting your hand hover over the cover, grabbing a fist full of the fabric and yanking it off with a scream. Your eyes took her in, she was pretty, you’d give her that, but hell, maybe you would be too if someone spent all their time fixing you up. Ace sure did. Throw the football? ‘No son, we have to get Valor running. Don’t you want to hear her purr?’ You can still hear his voice perfectly, as he says it.
You slip your hand into the polished chrome handle, pulling the door open and sliding into the white vinyl bucket seat. It hugged you in just the right way, making the driver feel like they were part of the car. One with it. You grabbed the keys from the center console, sticking them into the ignition and twisting. The engine roared to life. He’d at least gotten that far, and he was right, she sure did sound pretty when she purred. But the problem is that she wouldn’t stay running. She’d run for a little while, and out of nowhere, she’d die. And that’s where he left her, sitting right here in the middle of this garage, covered and ashamed. You could barely look at it most days, leaving the cover on for months at a time until the feeling struck, and you needed to get your anger out. You’d completely tear apart the front end, combing through every single piece searching for something, anything that could be wrong, but every time you came up empty.
Like clockwork, she died. The smell of the carpet and old vinyl filling your senses the way it always had. A suffocating blend of raw gasoline and rich exhaust, with overtones of hot Castrol. You lived for it, in fact it was all you ever really knew. It brought you to life most days, the process of working on cars satisfying your need to fix. To tinker. To solve. You ripped the keys from the ignition and slammed the door shut behind you. The black paint was so perfectly shiny you could see your own reflection. You tossed the keys into your pocket and let your legs carry you up the metal steps to your desk, opening the till, and fingering through the stacks of cash.
You instinctively grab for a twenty, knowing it’s more than enough to cover your usual selection but shit, tonight was a celebration right? You’re getting the good shit tonight. Just for you Ace. Just like you’d do, right? You snatch a fifty from the register, slamming it shut with a ding as your feet stomp down the metal stairs and back through the house. As you cross through the kitchen you grab your keys from the counter, with the fifty still in hand, receiving puzzled looks from Y/N and Daniel.
You meet her eyes as you watch hers drift down to the cash in your hand, an instant look of confusion crossing her face. You crumpled it up in your hand as soon as you knew she saw it, stuffing the bill in your jeans pocket.
You know what Daniel wants to say, but you know he’s not stupid enough to say it. Her though, she has no idea, and you know she’s not afraid to speak her mind. Your eyes meet hers again for the briefest second and you wonder if she can see the pain in your eyes before you look away and head for the front door.
—
It’s not long until you’re pulling up at the QuikStop, pulling the barred door open as the bell chimes overhead. “Well then, what’ve we got here Jacob?” old man Johnson says, taking in your appearance. “Need you a top off tonight, son?” he snickers. You tip your chin in acknowledgement as you make your way to the back wall lined with a small assortment of different liquors. Your eyes scan over the offerings, stopping short when you catch sight of the good stuff. You grab the red waxed neck of the Maker’s Mark, and make your way to the counter to purchase your poison of the evening. You were typically a Seagram’s 7 man, but tonight you were pretty much feeling like a Maker’s man, considering your body was about to filled to the brim with it. fucking anything to stop the noise in your head.
“My my, this’s not ‘chur usual, son.” he grins, knowing you’re about to fork out a pretty penny.
“Should get the job done, you think?” you remark, pulling the fifty from your jeans pocket.
“Mighty fine this one is. Quell yer troubles, it sure will.” he says, taking it from your fingers. He gives you back a few small bills and loose coins that you shove into your pants pocket, snatching the bottle from the counter before he even has a chance to place it in a paper bag. “You have yeh’s a good night Jacob.” he calls out as your foot steps out the door into the thick humid air.
—
HER POV
“Thank you for dinner.” You felt Danny’s breath on the back of your neck as you scrubbed the frying pan. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve had a cooked meal in this place?”
His lips were trailing soft kisses down your neck onto your shoulder, making your neck crane sideways. “S’hardly a meal, Danny. Just thought you might’ve wanted somethin’ hot for a change.”
You turned to face him, scratching your nails up his pecs before wrapping your arms around his neck, hands still wet from the sink. “Mmm, I do want somethin’ hot.” His hands were under your thighs, fingertips burying in before lifting you up to sit on the countertop. He was just the right height to pull you forward a little, pressing himself directly against your core. Just that feeling alone made you weak, and hearing his harsh inhale from the contact spurred you on even more.
You kissed him, hard, feeling that want from earlier come crashing back into you again. His hands stayed on your thighs, his finger span covering almost the entirety of your skin. You both allowed yourselves time to explore again, letting things heat up like they had before. His hand moved up to grip your hair, pulling it backwards as he trailed his mouth down your throat, nipping and biting tiny marks as he did so.
Suddenly the temperature of the room increased tenfold and you felt your body begging you to do something, make another move. You maneuvered your hips to press yourself against him, his length feeling hard and stiff against you now. The guttural moan that escaped him sounded so carnal you could’ve taken him right then and there, but the risk of being caught was still heavy in your mind.
“Wait… Jake could be back any minute…” you choked out, glancing to the metal door.
“Guess we better fuckin' get to it, then.” He buried his face in your neck as he lifted you from the counter, carrying you through the kitchen and to his bedroom with ease. He kicked the door closed behind him as he drifted slowly to his bed, your mouths and hands still ripping at each other.
His knee hit the mattress and he lowered you down with a bounce, immediately reaching for the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head. Without disconnecting your mouths, your hands anxiously fumbled around at his zipper, unbuttoning his jeans. It was like all shyness had left your body as you felt no shame in letting your hand grip his shaft, your hands burning to know what he felt like without the barrier of his boxers.
“Fuck Y/N…I want you so bad…” he almost laughed at himself, pushing your shoulder back into the pillows.
“Mmm, I can tell.” You grinned as your hand moved up and down his length, growing harder by the second. He rolled over and pulled his jeans off before towering over you again, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra in one swift motion. Your hand found him again, and this time you noticed just how much you were about to be dealing with. You weren’t sure your ever had someone his size before, and it made you fuckin' excited.
Your mouths were connected in such a way that you felt like you’d never separate; both of you completely taken with the way the other tasted. Your hands came up to grip his face, running your fingers over his cheeks. “Can you please take that fuckin' ring off your finger? If I’m gonna fuck you I don’t want to be thinkin’ about you and another man.”
Shit. You’d completely forgotten you even had it on. You hesitated a second, knowing that it didn’t mean shit to you anymore, but something told you not to throw it away. You slid it off and placed it on the nightstand, out of sight and definitely out of mind.
“Thank you. Now…let me see your body again, baby…” he mumbled, sitting back on his knees to pull your jeans and panties off. “You’re fuckin' stacked, you know that?”
Your mouth contorted into a devious grin, having never heard a man talk about you like this before. Peter never praised you, never complimented you or your looks, only took what he could get then fell asleep.
Danny made you feel beautiful, made you feel empowered…his eyes stayed bewitched as he scanned from your thighs to your tits, all the way to your face again before leaning his mouth down, licking directly over your mound and up your stomach.
His hands gripped around your hips, his fingertips gripping your asscheeks while his thumbs reached all the way to your groin…his hands were massive. He tilted his hands so that you were forced to arch, inadvertently spreading your legs apart a little as he did so. Just that movement alone made you feel used and in charge at the same time; just the sight of your body was sending him over the edge with want for you, and you liked it.
His eyes met yours again, rushed and frenzied as he silently asked permission. You nodded a little, halfway unsure of what he was asking.
“You taste as good as you look, baby?” He began to lay his body flat on his stomach between your legs, his hands pressing your muscles in that special way again, to make the display all the more visual for him. “You’re fuckin' soaked, god I bet you’re so sweet…” he muttered, running his tongue up and down the insides of your legs.
You held back a little. You were absolutely dying for him to bury his face in you, but again, this was something that Peter had only done once or twice for you, and that was only because you’d asked him to. Essentially, this was new territory. A brand new experience, really. Coming from someone who actually wanted to do it.
His tongue was traveling around still, teasing…exploring. “Can I taste you?” He asked, his deep brown eyes flickering up to yours as you anxiously let a hand down to grip in his hair. You nodded quickly, a barely audible ‘yes’ slipping from your lips. “Please.”
When his tongue finally buried in between your folds, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced in your life…obviously Peter had been doing it all wrong. His tongue buried, his lips enclosed around you…hitting all the right spots with such precision you felt like you were in the clouds. The burning, fiery, thunder-storming clouds. Your hand gripped his hair tighter as he pushed inside you, lapping his tongue side to side and up and down and pulling out again, then working tiny circles around your clit.
You realized you’d been holding your breath the second Danny popped up, laughing a little bit. “Breathe, baby.” You could feel the peach fuzz around his mouth scratching against you as he smiled through his words, but it felt good. An added bonus, the slightly painful irritation making it feel even better as he glided side to side.
You listened to his instruction as you let yourself inhale, his low growl giggle vibrating through your body. “God damnit, Danny…what the…” your knees came up around his ears, your thighs squeezing him together as you neared that sweet feeling beginning to take over your entire body. His hands were still gripped tightly around your hips and ass, holding you steadily exactly where he wanted you.
Fuck, you loved feeling out of control.
But then, suddenly, you wanted more. Needed more. He began to bring his hand around to add his fingers, lightly toying at your entrance with his fingertips.
“No, no.” You commanded, stopping him in his tracks.
“What’s wrong, you okay?” He perked up.
You pulled him up by his hair, urging him to kiss you again. “Yes I’m fine. Didn’t want you to do that, yet. I wanna feel you. It ruins the surprise.” You muttered through exhausted pants, kissing away the wetness that covered his face.
His eyebrows raised in surprise, an impressed look of intrigue flowing over him. “Oh, fuck…alright then.”
You pushed him off you to lie flat on his back, completely caught off guard by the switch. “Take them off.” You demanded, but also reaching for the hem of his boxers yourself, to speed up the process.
Once they were in a pile beside you, you hopped to all fours and placed one hand on either side of his head as his hands drifted from your back to your hips again. He was fighting himself, bucking his hips up into you as he tried to make contact.
“Let me do it. Wanna feel every inch.” You spoke again, letting him know you were on top, you were calling the shots. His facial expression was already fucked out, still shining with the wetness from your arousal…you could tell you had him right where you wanted him. You reached between you, gripping his considerable length in your hand again as he tossed his head back with a groan. Your eyes caught the way the ink danced across his neck as it pulled tight. The spider web that stretched across his throat was so intricate, you felt caught in the web yourself. He clenched his jaw together when he finally looked at you, reaching a hand up to grip your hair back away from falling in his face.
“Wanna see your face, baby. Do it, please, fuck…” he was writhing beneath you, and you could already tell he was going to be the lay of a lifetime. You teased your own entrance with his tip, tracing your wetness all around. When you finally lined up, you prepared yourself to take him in, knowing it had been a while, and this was going to be a stretch.
You went slowly, feeling every centimeter enter you, the pain so sweet and so engulfing. When you finally bottomed out, he choked out a huffed sound so beautiful you wished you had it on film, the feeling of him all the way inside you so snug, he felt like he belonged there.
“Jesus Christ Y/N…my god…” he purred, his tongue sticking out to wet his lips as you sat back up, slowly beginning a pace that you knew was going to absolutely kill you. He was unlike anything you had ever felt before, the perfect size, attached to the perfect body…his eyes finally looked up at you long enough to share a moment. His abdomen crunched in on itself when you bottomed out again, the top of his head resting on your shoulder as his hands guided you up and down.
You finally let yourself find a rhythm, leaning into him and flicking your hips back as you sped up. You let your cries fill the room; suddenly you couldn’t care less if Jake walked in on you right now. It was heavenly, perfect in every sense of the word, and your insides were swirling and begging you to never let yourself stop.
“God, please don’t stop, Y/N…right there…” he purred again, gripping your hair back as you rode him into oblivion. You leaned back a little, resting one hand on his thigh behind you while the other one balanced on his sternum. Your fingers danced dangerously close to another tattoo, one you hadn’t seen before. A scattering of words in German sat delicately over his heart. You wanted to ask him what it said, but you were scared to know, based on the location.
You felt him deep inside, simply rolling your hips forward and back as you let him take a look at the show. You felt him hitting you deeper this way, eliciting a whine from you that you were borderline embarrassed about. His hand shot to your core, his thumb rubbing over your clit as he bucked up again. “So fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N…I swear…”
His praises tightened the knot that was already building inside you, the sound of him coming apart beneath you was enough to get you off by itself. Just as you were about to let it all go, you leaned down over him again, your mouth burying in his neck, biting into him as your sounds became more and more strangled, the overwhelming feeling of pure pleasure ripping through your body.
The buildup was insane, it felt like it lasted for hours. You guessed he could tell that you were close as he began thrusting up into you, too. “Yeah baby…go for it…let me have it…”
The white light that encompassed your entire being came flashing before your eyes, your teeth clenching into the skin of his pec as you came undone, shaking with what had to have been the most intense orgasm you had ever had. You wanted to say his name, scream it into the air, let him know how good he felt inside you, but you couldn’t form a coherent word even if you wanted to. Everything went numb and dull for a split second as you came down, panting and crying out choked sounds as you relaxed. You continued riding him, though…wanting to bring him to his delicious climax too.
“I’m close baby please, please don’t stop…” he begged, and suddenly his stomach was clenching, his dick twitching deep inside you still as he pulled you up off of him, grabbing himself in his hand to let his release flow over his hand and onto your stomach. You watched as his hand worked over his length, his eyes fixed on you as he came down, and slowed his hand.
His eyebrows shot together as his facial expression showed you how good it felt, how pretty you looked with his cum on you… it wasn’t something you had ever let a man do before, but you swore in that second that if he made you feel that way for the rest of forever, you’d let him do just about whatever he damn well pleased.
When you finally caught your breath, you smiled at one another, laughing and completely out of breath.
“Christ, you were even better than I imagined, baby…” he huffed, letting his hands fly to either side of his body, careful not to drop the mess that was in his right hand. You laughed as you plopped down beside him, grinning from ear to ear as you left the afterglow set in.
“I’ve never had a man make me feel so good in my life, Danny. I swear.” You admitted.
“Really? Even when you did that to them?” He perked up in disbelief.
You nodded. “Yeah, really. There were a couple of firsts in there.”
His eyebrows raised up. “Fuck… Well, I’m telling you, I never would’ve guessed that, baby. You are spectacular. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wanting you like that.” He brought his face close to yours to lay a sweet, passionate kiss to your lips.
You smiled sweetly back as he pulled away, looking back at you with the sweetest smirk as he made his way to the bathroom, and you suddenly found yourself completely unable to pull your lust filled eyes away from the perfect roundness of his ass.
——
“This one okay?” You asked Danny, pulling an oversized t-shirt from his drawer. It was a dingy white and filled with holes and rips, but the fabric felt soft and comfortable.
“Whatever you want, baby.” He smirked, laid out across his bed in nothing but his loose-fitting gray boxers, strumming away on a black acoustic guitar. His eyes had been transfixed on the wall across from you before you interrupted him…his fingers mindlessly crawling across the 6-string, plucking out a solemn little tune that wasn’t familiar.
You crawled back up next to him on the bed, reaching across him to his nightstand to grab his box of smokes. “What are these, anyway?” You asked, opening the top flap.
“…Not what the box says they are.” He let out a sweet laugh. “I roll my own. I blend together a few different types of tobacco to get the flavor I want.”
“Hm. That’s why yours always smell so much better than Jake’s, then?” You asked, pulling one out and running it underneath your nose. “They smell sweet…”
“Mmhm. Taste good too. Try it.” He let go of the neck of the guitar for a second, reaching to his table to grab his lighter. He flicked the ignitor and produced a flame for you, watching you intently as you brought the end of the cigarette to it, inhaling the sweet aroma into your lungs. Damn, he was right.
“That’s really tasty…” you licked your lips together. “Even the paper is kinda sweet.” You hit it again before passing it back to him.
“Yeah. Took me a while to get it just right. Came from stealin’ Ace’s half empty bags mostly.” He laughed at the memory.
You tucked a pillow up under your arm as he began to play again, the cigarette hanging from his lips as the ash grew longer. His inked hands looked sinful dancing across the strings, and he was so natural at it. You caught a glimpse of the red and black triple’s 7’s tattooed on the inside of his pointer finger, and for some reason, you were sure you’d not seen it before.
“Triple 7’s, huh?” You thought you had a pretty good idea of what it symbolized, but you wanted to see what his reasoning was.
“Yeah, symbolizes good fortune and luck.” He pulled the smoke from his lips, tamping it out on the ashtray on the table. “Doesn’t really seem to be doin’ the job too well, does it?” He ended his sentence with a wink. “Not til’ you waltzed through the door at least.”
You began fingering with a loose string on his boxers. “I thought it meant the Holy Trinity...”
“Means that too, I guess. But I stopped bein’ religious a long time ago.”
The two of you were quiet a while, just the occasional sound of Jake banging around in the shop mixed with Danny’s tune to fill the air.
“How long you been playin’?” You asked.
His voice was getting groggy, sleep threatening him as the minutes ticked by. “Since I was 5 or 6 I guess, one of my foster families had one and I remember realizing it made a really pretty noise… I’d pick it up and run to my room and strum away on it to drown out the sound of them fighting. Seemed to help me not hear it. Then I started to actually like the way it felt in my hands…”
You were quiet for a second. “That why you play your music so loud now?”
His fingers stopped altogether as his eyes met yours. His face slowly contorted into a million different emotions at once before he looked back to the wall again, gently picking up where he left off.
“Fuck, yeah…I guess it is…”
“Jake play guitar too?” You tried to change the subject once you realized you had maybe hit a little too close to home with your question.
He shook his head. “No, he plays harmonica like the damned devil, though. Only does it every once in a while, but shit…he’s good at it. Every now and then we’ll get on a good drunk and play together to a big audience of ourselves.” He smiled sideways as he turned to look at you.
“Maybe y'all can play for me sometime.” Your fingertips were sliding along the hem of his boxers.
He sucked his bottom lip in through his teeth. “We’d love to play for you…” his eyes had started bouncing around each feature on your face, taking you in again as he moved himself closer. He pressed his lips into yours again, sweet and soft and mellow. “You know I’m gonna be thinking of you on top of me all the time now…gonna want it all the time…” he groaned through broken kisses. “Fuck… I don’t think you even know how gorgeous you looked…”
You pressed your tongue between his lips again, the sudden new movements hitting the strings of the guitar causing them to make a crazy scratching noise. “I’ll ride you whenever the hell you want, Danny…” you breathed, huffing a breath into his mouth. And you meant it, too.
Just as things started to get heated again, you heard Danny’s radio in the bay shoot up to 11. It was followed by a loud metallic bang, and the sound of a loud engine starting up. It startled you, and you sat up to look at the door.
“Fuck.” Danny said shortly, rubbing his hands through his hair.
“What was that? Is he okay?”
“Yeah, no. No, he’s not. But, we’ve just gotta—” he sputtered. You slid yourself across the bed, moving toward the door as you heard another loud thud echo through the bay.
“What is he doing?!” you urge.
“He’s drunk. He’s trying to fix Valor.” He explained, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Valor? The fuck is Valor?” you ask.
“The fuckin' car his dad left em.” he answers. “Only touches it when he's wasted.”
“How do you know, does he do this often?” You stood at the foot of Danny’s bed, throwing your hip out as you crossed your arms. Suddenly you heard Jake’s loud voice yelling along to the first verse of ‘Turn the Page’ by Bob Seger. “My god, is he singing?!”
Danny sat up and crawled to sit on the edge of the bed. “Y/N, listen. Every so often, Jake will go on a bender, and when he does it, he does it right. It was Ace’s dying wish for Jake to fix that car, and the only way he can bring himself to touch it, is if he’s out of his mind intoxicated. So, we just gotta let him do it. He’ll be fine, just gotta get it out of his system.”
Wait. “So he has to be fucked up before he can even pop the hood?” This wasn’t making sense.
Danny nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be fine, this is just how he works through it.”
“Danny, that is an extremely unhealthy way for him to be dealin’ with this…” you said quietly. He shrugged his shoulders and huffed out a breath, his expressions saying nothing more than it is what it is.
Another bang and more loud sing-shouting bellowed off the walls again, and you decided you’d had it. You yanked the door open, and made your way out into the shop, seeing Jake looking a complete and total mess as he dipped his head low inside the belly of Valor. A cigarette rested between his lips as both of his hands disappeared deep down in the engine.
“Ain’t it unsafe to have an open flame that close to motor oil?!” You yelled, grabbing his attention. He perked up, his eyes a deep dark black that you hadn’t seen before. There was a scowl on his face and his nostrils flared when he looked at you, absolutely absorbed in the hatred and madness he must be currently full of. “Why are you out here makin’ all this racket?” You yelled over the music.
He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it to the floor and stomping it out as the smoke drifted from his lips. “None of your fuckin' business.” You watched as his eyes glanced toward Danny’s room. “Get back in there and let your boyfriend serenade you to sleep.” He slurred, pulling a socket wrench from his kit.
“Agh!” You had a knee-jerk reaction to his words. “He’s not my boyfriend…” you crossed your arms across your chest. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Jake raised his hands into the air. “Whatever! Don’t care!” He shoo’d you away with a flick of his wrist, and buried his face back into the engine, screaming the words loudly again. “Here I gooooo, on the road again!”
You decided that seeing him like this, for the reason he was like this, wasn’t going to fly if you had anything to do with it. You stomped over to the other side of the hood, standing until he felt you watching.
“God damnit!” He yelled, dropping the tool to the floor beneath the car. When he stood back up he met your eyes again. He reached down beside his foot, pulling up a large glass bottle of liquor, taking it straight to the head.
A handle of Maker’s. He had gone to the liquor store earlier…but where did he get the cash for something like that…?
Oh, fuck. The fifty you saw him shove in his pocket. With the red X over Grant.
“You used my goddamn money to buy that, didn’t you?” You spat as he swallowed, wiping the excess drips from his chin with the back of his dirty hand. “The fifty you had earlier, you took it and spent it on this?!” You were enraged. He was supposed to be using that to buy your parts.
“Again, it’s none of your fuckin' business, Y/N!” He was spitting and slurring his words, his face red with anger and drunkenness.
“No, it is my business! That’s my money you’re drinking away right now! That’s so fucked, Jake!” You were yelling at him now. “What do you think, I’m just gonna slide you an extra fifty for your trouble?!”
He snarled his nose up, taking another swig. “Screw you, Y/N. Get the fuck out of my face.”
You stepped toward him now, your entire body raging with madness that you just couldn’t qualm. “Why don’t you yell at me, Jake. Huh? Yell at me. Take it out on me, instead of the void. You want something to be mad at? Try me…” you hit yourself in the chest a couple times, trying to get him to have the reaction you were hoping for, probably looking mighty intimidating standing there barefoot in nothing but Danny’s t-shirt.
He stepped back away from you. “What? Why…”
“Jake, almost half of the bottle is gone. Did you go somewhere and drink before you came back? Why are you—“
“Y/N, nobody fuckin' asked for the twenty questions. Can you go the fuck back to Daniel and let me do this?! Please.” He ignored you again, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he had tears welling in his eyes. There was a long pause in the conversation. He just needed to talk…
“What if I don’t want to?” You said, your voice as meek as possible over the volume of the radio.
That confused him. “What if I want to stay here and help you?”
“You can’t help me, Y/N.” His face fell as he slammed a wrench back into the top drawer of the kit. “Nobody can.”
“Can you let me try?” You pleaded.
He looked directly at you, and you watched as his face softened a bit. He shrugged his shoulders and let them fall again before taking another big swig of the liquor. You leaned in, yanking the bottle from his hand, tilting it back and taking a long shot, yourself. You winced as the hot liquor went down your throat before leaning your elbows down on the panel of the car, looking down inside it at what he was working on. Thankfully a slower, quieter song had come across the radio.
“Now, what are we dealing with, here?” You asked, hoping he’d catch the double entendre. “Tell me all about it…”
He replaced his dirty hands back down into the front end, twisting something loose as he cleared his scratchy throat.
“It’s been seven years. Seven years today.” He said quietly as his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Seven years since…?”
“Since my dad…died.” He was biting his cheeks in over and over.
“What happened, Jake?” You leaned in a little closer, brushing some dust off the top of the engine.
Jake leaned back, reached into his pocket and pulled out a few sheets of folded up notebook paper, dirty and torn from being in the hands and pocket of a mechanic. You took it gently from his hand, and slowly opened it.
‘April 22, 1975’. You read to yourself before scanning the rest of the hand-written note. You felt your heart sink as the words clicked in your mind.
“Jake, is this?”
“My dad’s suicide note. Yeah. Wrote it seven years ago today.” He replied, turning a socket wrench over and over as he avoided eye contact with you. “Left it for me on my nightstand while I was asleep.”
Your heart began pounding in your chest. Fuck. You hadn’t realized that was how he passed. You swallowed hard before even trying to speak again. “So you…you found him?”
Jake brought the bottle to his lips again, swallowing it down before passing it to you. You tilted it up, and did the same. He nodded, barely any movement in his body now. “Yeah.” His eyes were blank as they stared at the block in front of him.
You took a chopped breath. Maybe…maybe he just needs to get it out…hell. You were no psychologist.
Finally you spoke barely above a whisper. “Where was he?”
Jake was biting the sides of his cheeks in hard, his gaunt face pulled into itself as the dark circles shadowed even more in the dim light. His eyes looked dead into yours, deep and blank, before flicking up to the ceiling behind you, then back to yours.
You turned around slowly following his line of vision, seeing the high exposed rafter in the lofted ceiling.
Fucking hell.
You turned back, your eyes closed as your hands found your face, tears fighting to spring out as the image of the rafter sat burned in your brain. Jesus.
“Jake, I-I’m so…I didn’t mean for you to have to think about that again, that must have been…” you could hardly find the words to apologize, to empathize with him, with what he must have gone through that day, finding his dad like that. Gone through every day since. There were no words. There never would be any words. “I’m so sorry, Jake. Truly.”
“S’okay. In the past, now. What’s done is done.” He shrugged, nipping the bottle again.
“But you were just a kid, Jake…”
“Yeah, I was. Not a damn clue in the world. Had to do the growin’ up a man does in twenty years that very day.” You watched as a tiny tear escaped the outside corner of his eye, and he quickly wiped it away. “Left me with absolutely fuckin' nothin except a couple thousand dollars, that note, this fuckin' shit hole building, and every bad debt he ever had. But I had Danny with me. And Bubba. Danny was only…only fourteen.”
You felt your heart physically breaking into a million pieces for him, for both of them, thinking back to them being young teenagers and having to deal with that basically on their own…
“I’m glad you had them with you.” You agreed.
He nodded, his eyes turning red. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if Danny wasn’t here. Hell, his voice had barely even changed and he was helping me plan our dad’s funeral after he got home from school. But you know, he never even faltered. Kid took care of me better than I took care of myself those few weeks after. Forced me to eat, kept my mind busy…” you watched as he replayed the memories, probably running through them all in his head like watching them on an old projector screen.
“He basically kept the shop running while I stayed away from the world in my bedroom. I don’t even…” he shook his head as he collected himself. “People brought us food, Bubba was here every single day making sure we were okay…but Danny did it all. I don’t even know how he did it, he was a baby. Fuckin' workhorse…always has been.”
He took a second to rub his dirty hands over his tired eyes. “I don’t…we don’t have anybody, Y/N. No family at all.”
You reached out and cupped your hand over his, squeezing it hard as you let him talk. “Danny’s your brother.”
“In everything but blood.” He licked his lips, turning his hand over to hold yours back. You smiled, letting him know you were still here to listen, if he wanted to continue…even if it was just the whiskey giving him confidence.
“So you basically raised Danny, after that…” you relented.
He shrugged his shoulders in agreement. “Yeah, I guess, kinda. I dropped out of school right before graduation, but. Made sure he made it through senior year and all that. Honestly he raised me more than I did him, if I think about it.” He smirked a little. “We learned it all together.”
His eyes completely closed and he leaned his entire body weight down on his elbows. “Teddy…Teddy was uh, in love with my mom…before I was born.” His eyebrows raised and he laid more information out on the table for you.
“What?!”
He swigged the bottle again. “Yup. S’why he hated my dad so much. They were both vying for her at the same time…guess Ace swept her off her feet somehow.”
“Is that why he hates you so badly?” You were starting to put the pieces together. “He sees your mom in you?”
He nodded again. “Exactly. He’s still punishing me for what my dad did to him. Or my mom, whatever. I never asked for details. That’s why he’s still after me for my dad’s money. Still heartbroken and fucked up over somethin’ that went down before I was even born. The son of a bitch.”
“That’s not fuckin' fair, Jake.”
“Preachin’ to the choir, babe.” He clicked his tongue and sent you a wink.
He squeezed your hand a few times before releasing it, and walked over to plop himself down in one of the dirty lawn chairs against the wall of the shop. You followed suit, sitting beside him in the other chair as you curled your legs up and pulled Danny’s shirt over your knees.
“Tell me about Ace. Was he a funny guy?” You asked, trying to get him through his anguish. He grinned a little, hastily wiping his eyes again.
“Yeah, when he wanted to be. He was always full of dumb jokes and one-liners. But he stayed quiet most of the time, buried himself in his work. Till things went south with my mom, they got into drugs for a little bit. Nothing too serious but enough to count. My dad stepped away from it but mom didn’t. Then she just…disappeared. Before I was even out of diapers. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“What’s her name?”
“Stella.”
He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to sit out here and talk to me, ya know. I’m a fuckin' drunk mess. And I ain’t real sorry about it.”
You smirked. “Hey, just keepin’ you company.” You tilted the bottle back again, almost choking on it when it hit you. “Oh my god, Jake…the other day you said Ace died the day before your eighteenth birthday, that means…tomorrow is your birthday…?”
He nodded. “Yep. The big 2-6, I guess.”
Fuck. Now you understand why. His rage makes sense…
“Well that means we gotta have you a party!” You squealed, standing from the chair.
“No no no, it’s just another day. I don’t need no party.” You grabbed his filthy hands, standing to your feet and bringing him with you.
“Birthdays are the most important day of the year, silly!” You started dancing around to ’Cinnamon Girl’ as it blared from Danny’s speaker high on the shelf, holding Jake’s hands as you spun yourself around. “I saw your Neil Young poster on the wall, I know you love him. Come on, dance with me, birthday boy!” You couldn’t help but to try and act and candidly as you could, anything to try and make him feel just a little bit better on the anniversary of the worst day of his life. Even if it was just making him smile for a second.
“You see us together, chasing the moonlight, my cinnamon girlllllll.” You sang out loud.
Which you did, kind of. He grinned a bit and rolled his eyes at you, his sticky hands gripping just the very ends of your fingertips. You didn’t know if Danny knew what you were doing out here, but you didn’t really care if he did. It was his best friend’s birthday, for Christ sake. And no one even cared.
Jake was stumbling around, his eyes heavily hooded and red. You realized maybe the alcohol had hit him when you stood him up so fast. He stepped his feet around a little bit, hardly much of a dance at all while you swung his arms around. It did manage to bring a little bit of a smile to his face, though.
“I do love Neil Young, you’re right. And I’m impressed you know this song.” He chuckled. “Hmm, I’m fuckin' drunk though, too. Sleepy.” He said as you dropped his hands back to his sides. “Think I’m gonna go crash out.” He looked at you through one eye, and you realized how drunk he really was.
“Shit, are you gonna be sick?” You asked.
“No no, just sleep. Wan’ ma bed.” He mumbled, walking over to the shop sink to wash his dirty hands.
“Okay, let me walk you.” You offered as he finished, walking backwards as you pulled him along toward his bedroom.
When you got inside you flicked the light on, watching as Jake kicked his coveralls, jeans, and boots off as he waddled through the room. My god, his thigh tattoo, you hadn’t seen it up close, fuck…it was a dragon. Big and black and blue with fire coming from its mouth leading directly to…
He threw himself onto the mattress, his pile of freshly-washed sheets still laying a mess on top.
“Mmm, they smell so good I just wanna…” he curled his arms and legs up in them, wrapping up like a cocoon as he buried himself in them.
You laughed. “Is this what having clean sheets does to a man?!”
“They’re still kinda warm from the dryer, Y/N! Come feel, come here…” he reached his hand out, pulling you down into the bed with him. You bounced a couple times from the force, but you landed directly in his arms, face to face as you ended up tangled in the sheets with him.
“See? Still warm, aren’t they?!” He was like a giddy school kid, but what he didn’t notice was how close your faces were. You could smell the heavy liquor emanating through his pores, on his breath, and swirling through the air, but his hand that pulled you down never let go. It gripped hard on yours as you laid beside him, both of you staring at each other, feeling each other’s chests rise and fall as your heart rate skyrocketed.
Suddenly you felt the light touch of his other hand barely grazing across your back. “Are you still scared of me?” He asked, his voice hollow and needy.
You thought a second, realizing that if you were truly scared of him, you wouldn’t have faced the monster he was, head-on earlier. By yourself in your panties, at that.
“No.” You said simply, and that was the truth.
The corners of his lips tilted up just slightly as he whispered. “Good.”
You got ahold of yourself, turning your face away as you fought the demons that began circling in your mind, being this close to him.
“I know what I want for my birthday.” He slurred, rolling his head into his pillow.
“What’s that?”
“You ta’ read me more Maya poems.” His eyes were already closing as his words barely slipped out. You knew it wouldn’t be long. You were getting tired, yourself. You reached to his nightstand where your book still sat, opening to a passage of one of your favorites.
You began reading out loud, just louder than a whisper, watching as his eyes drifted closed, his pink lips mouthing the words right along with you.
And without even knowing it you fell asleep there, curled up in his pile of sheets, one hand on your book, and the other wrapped up in Jake’s.
—
JAKE POV
Even through your drunken slumber you could hear the pounding on the door. Your eyes blinked open, trying to register if it was really happening or if you were dreaming. Surely you had to be as you looked over and saw Y/N asleep next to you. She was here, in your bed, with you. Your hand rested on the skin of her stomach and you could hardly tear your eyes away from her as you took in the way she felt beneath your hand. You wanted to pull her close, smell her hair, let your fingers glide over her skin, but instead you heard the knocking on the front door continue. She began to stir from the noise, rolling to face you as you realized you needed to get up.
You pulled the blankets off of your body, your eyes searching furiously for where your gun ended up, finally catching sight of it on the dresser. You grabbed it, and bolted through your bedroom door to find out who the fuck was knocking on your door at four in the morning. You cocked your gun, and held it behind your back as you unlocked the front door, pulling it open slightly to see who it was. Bubba? The fuck?
You pulled the door open more, “What’s wrong?” you asked in a panic. This was unlike him. He never showed up like this unless something was wrong. Your eyes glanced behind him, scanning for anything out of the ordinary.
“You got that girl here, son?” he asks, raising a brow.
You furrow your brows and shift your weight into your hip, “Yeah, she’s here.”
“Good. Keep ‘er here. Don’t let ‘er outta your sight. Ain’t safe for ‘er.” he warns, quietly.
“Joey was sniffin’ around up here earlier today, askin’ questions and shit. Asked where she was, so we went and got her from the motel. She’s not goin’ back. I knew he was up to some shit.” you answer, setting your gun down on the table by the door.
“I don’t know what exactly is goin’ down over at Teddy’s but, might be best for her to just lay low here for a while. You boys don’t let them snatch that girl, whatever you do, you hear?” he says, crossing his arms. “That’s not why I’m here though.”
“Alright, why are you here…” you ask, wondering what couldn’t wait until the morning.
“Got a meeting set up for you two, ‘round 3 o’clock tomorrow. Down at the old sawmill.” he answers with a gleam in his eye.
“A meeting? The fuck kind of meeting Bubba?” you ask defensively. “Three’s in the middle of the work day, I don–”
“Yer gonna wanna take this meeting, son, promise yeh.” he nods. “Just trust me. You and Daniel better go. Don’t make me look bad, boy.”
“What should we expect?” You asked.
Bubba stepped forward, placing his hand directly on your shoulder. “Just trust me.”
“Shit, alright.” you say, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Thanks.”
“Get you some rest.” he says, tipping his chin and heading back to his car.
The hell…
You shut the door and lock it behind you, grabbing your gun from the table, and heading towards Daniel’s room. You rap your knuckles against the door, before twisting the handle, but as you push the door, he pulls it open. “Who the fuck was that?” he asks, a slight panic in his voice.
“Bubba.”
“The fuck does he want at four in the morning?” he questions, resting his hands on the door frame.
“He set up a meeting for us tomorrow out behind the old Willits Sawmill. No fuckin' idea what for, but said we need to be there. 3 o’clock.” you answer.
“A meeting?”
“S’what he said. I don’t fuckin' know…” you quip.
“Whatever, we can deal with it in the morning. Where’s Y/N?” he asks, looking down the hallway.
You run your tongue over your teeth as you huff out an answer, “My bed.”
He raises his eyebrows, “In your bed…” he pauses, hardening his jaw, “Why’s that…”
You shake your head, and look past him for a second, before letting your eyes meet his, “Why don’t you let her tell you in the morning. Get some sleep, sounds like we’ve got a long day tomorrow.” you say, clapping your hand against his back with a smug grin.
He narrows his eyes at you, and shuts his door as you step across the hallway to your room. As you open the door you see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest as she picks the skin on her thumb. “What’s going on? What’s happening?” she asks nervously.
You step into the room, shutting the door behind you before placing your gun on your nightstand. She just stares at you waiting for you to answer as you let out a deep sigh. You motion for her to get back into the bed, watching as she scoots back over to the other side, letting you slide back in where you were. You pull the clean smelling blankets back up around your shoulders before grabbing her waist and pulling her close to you. You settle your head on your pillow, finally able to breathe in the scent of her hair as the words fall out of your lips in a quiet whisper, “Nothing you need to worry about tonight…”
Her body relaxes beneath your arm, and you let your eyes close, feeling the warmth of her skin against yours. Maybe birthdays weren’t so bad after all.
—
DANNY POV
You rolled the creeper from beneath the old GMC as you heard the garage door shut and two pairs of feet shuffling across the bay. “Well, here we are again…Like deja vu.” you quip, cutting your eyes to Y/N, as she approaches.
You pull yourself up to meet her as Jake opens his tool kit across the bay. You let your eyes linger on him for a minute before flicking them back to Y/N. “Thought you’d be back last night…”
She drops her shoulders and lets out a defeated sigh, “I know. I know, I was trying, I swear, but…” she pauses, looking over her shoulder at Jake, who was now in his own little world beneath the hood of the Chevy. “I went out to talk to him last night, right? Well he kinda…opened up to me a little bit, told me about his dad… about his mom…” she says, a slight lilt in her voice. “He was so drunk Danny, he even cried a little bit.” she said, almost a whisper.
“I know. I peeked out and saw the two of you talking. Talking more than he’s talked in years. Figured I'd let him get it out. Think he needed it.” you answer truthfully.
“You saw?” she asks, and you nod your head in response.
“Anyways, I just wanted to make sure he made it to his bed, that’s all. Asked me to just stay and talk a little more and I fell asleep. I had no idea it was the anniversary of his dad’s death. No wonder he was so messed up. Oh– and it’s his birthday today. Did you know that?” she asks.
Oh shit, you forgot. “Oh, um, yeah I guess you’re right it is. Usually we don’t do anything. Kinda just another day around here.”
“Just another day?” she asks, face painted with shock. “Danny that’s so…That’s so sad. I wish there was something I could do…” she says with sad eyes.
Your eyes flicked over to Jake and you caught him, seeing him flick his head up in acknowledgement, a small smile on his face. You look back at her, resting your hand on her small shoulder, “Baby, I think you did...” both of you turning to see him gently singing along with the music playing through the speakers.
—
“So this meeting…” you start, leaning on the frame of the Chevy. Jake turns to you, setting down his tools. “Yeah, at three.”
“I was thinking, we can’t leave her here, right? Like, what if this is just a set up to get her alone?” you ask, picking the dirt from under your nails.
“Yeah I considered that. Think we’ll have to bring her with just to be safe. She can wait in the truck.” he says, pushing off the frame of the car. You follow him through the bay as he rifles through his kit in search of another tool.
“I can take the bike, you two take the truck. Do we even know what this meeting is about?” you ask.
“Nah, Bubba didn’t say, but I trust ‘em. S’only got our best interest, ya know.” he replies, snatching the tool from the box and walking back over to the truck.
“I think we need to be prepared for any scenario…” you say with the raise of your eyebrows.
“Well fuckin' obviously. No clue what we’re gonna tell Y/N though.”
“Shit, hopefully this isn’t some stupid fuckin' setup. What we got like an hour?” you ask.
“Yeah. About. Think we should clean up, or…” he asks, turning to you.
“I mean, we could, but s’not really us, huh?” you laugh, placing your hand on his shoulder, “Hey, happy birthday brother.”
He tightens his lips and nods his head as he looks to the floor, “Ahh, thanks man. Twenty-six. Seems old.” he laughs.
“Nah, not really, we still got a lot of livin’ left to do.” you smile, watching as he nods his head and his eyes flick over to Y/N who is lounging in a folding chair out front.
“She was worried ‘bout you last night.” you press, hoping to hear his thoughts.
“Yeah, came out here guns a-blazin’ and didn’t falter for a second. Talked for a bit, drank too fuckin’ much. Woke up and she was in my bed.” he says, and you feel a little relieved.
You smirk and raise an eyebrow, “She’s a sweet lil thing.”
He scoffs a laugh at you. “Guess you got to find that out for sure when I left last night, huh? Had yourselves a good ol’ time in my absence…saw your shirt must’ve been the closest thing she could grab when I got home.”
You bit your lips in, nodding as you went. “She’s fuckin’ phenomenal, man. Like, I didn’t expect that…”
He laughed again, blushing a little. “No, she seems like a good girl. Feel like shit for all the hell we’re puttin’ her through.” he admits, wiping his hand on the rag in his back pocket.
“You order those parts?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Yeah, should be here in a week or two.” he nods, leaning on the frame of the truck.
“Make any headway with Val?” you wonder, seeing it still sitting uncovered. He shakes his head, “Nah, the old bitch still givin’ me a run for my money.”
“One of these days we’ll crack ‘er.” you say, giving him one last pat on the shoulder before returning to your side of the garage.
—
You stand in the doorway of the truck, watching her buckle her seatbelt as Jake slides into the driver’s seat. “Listen, we aren’t really sure what’s about to go down, but just stay in the truck, lay low, and if shit goes south, get on the floorboard. Alright?” you ask, letting your thumb swipe over her cheek. She nods her head and you tip your chin, turning to head towards your bike.
The door shuts behind you and Jake pulls out of the driveway in a cloud of dust. You quickly jump on your bike, starting it with a roar, before following closely behind them. Your heart is pounding a little extra hard as you make your way to the old abandoned sawmill, completely unsure of what or who will be waiting there for you.
His truck slows as he pulls into the cracked and pot hot riddled lot, seeing a single car parked at the far end. It’s not a car you recognize from around here and that puts you on high alert. The hair on the back of your neck stands tall as Jake parks the truck, letting you pull up next to him.
Y/N slinks down in the seat, trying her best to stay out of sight, as Jake steps out of his truck, slamming his door shut. You lean your bike on the kickstand and walk towards him, both of you sending each other a concerned look. “Recognize it?” you murmur under your breath.
“Nah.” he says, reaching back into his belt to cock his gun. You do the same, hoping it won’t come to that, but around here it wouldn’t be unheard of.
The two of you walk through the crunching pavement over towards the dark green GMC Sprint, seeing a man resting against the driver’s door. He hears you approaching and pushes off the car turning to face you. The sun is in your eyes as you catch sight of his face, distorting his features until you get a little closer. You notice the car is still running, despite him not occupying it, and that too, makes you uneasy.
“Was at the poker game.” you whisper.
“Sure was.” Jake replies, stepping up to the man.
“Hello fellas.” the man says with a smirk. “Glad you could make it.”
“Yep, what uh– what can we do for ya?” Jake asks, with his hands on his hips.
“Well boys, to be frank with you, I’d like to make a proposition to you.”
“You were at the game the other night. Haven’t seen you ‘round here before.” You say, crossing your arms against your chest.
“You’re right, I was. Names Oscar, but you can call me Oz.” he says, extending his hand to shake. You stare at it for a minute in contemplation before reaching towards him and shaking his hand. Jake follows, introducing himself.
“Oh I know who you boys are. Heard all about yehs.” he smiles.
“Heard about what?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.
“Heard you two were some fighters.” he says, tipping his head.
“Fighters?” Jake asks, shaking his head.
“S’what word on the street is. Figured I’d stop in to see for myself. Talked to some folks ‘round town, told me ‘bout your little poker games, and wouldn’t you know I got what I asked for. Saw the two of yeh’s on the side of the house.” he says, tightening his lips.
“So what, doesn’t mean we’re fighters or whatever the fuck.” Jake quips, standing firm.
“No son, I think that’s exactly what you are.” he retorts. “That’s why I asked your friend Bubba to arrange this little meetin’. Thought this could be beneficial for both of us.”
“You gonna get to the point?” you ask, trying to hurry things along.
He laughs a little under his breath, “I want you two come fight for me. You win, you get a portion of the winnins’.” he says, placing his hand in his pocket. He pulls out a stack of cash, easily five-hundred bucks. “Pay off that debt of yers real quick like.”
“Fight for you? The fuck does that mean?” Jake asks, staring at the money in his hand.
“You ever heard of Vale Tudo?” he asks, both of you shaking your heads, a little unsure of this man's motives.
“Alright, how ‘bout… No Holds Barred fightin’?”
“Yeah.” you answer quickly, earning you a nod from him. Of course you’d heard of it, you were practically raised on it.
“Well, somethin’ like that. Real private, underground type of settin’. Think up in those there bigger cities the folks call it ‘MMA’. Got people buyin’ in, bettin’ on these fights. We ain’t talkin’ no small buy in’s neither. This is big cash. Life changin’ money.” he says, raising a brow.
“Been lookin’ for myself a few boys to travel ‘round.” he pauses. “I think you two got the grit, and the need.”
“The need…” Jake presses.
“I know that Teddy character, he ain’t never gonna let you get ahead. But son, this is yer chance.”
“So, you want me and Jake to come…fight, and if we win said fights we get paid?” you ask, genuinely trying to piece this together.
“Exactly. We can work out the details, but roughly, you travel ‘round to these hosted fights, you fight favorably, we both walk home with our pockets lined.” he says.
“And how do we know, you’re trustworthy?” Jake asks. “I’ve got a life and a livin’ to make here. Bills lined up till kingdom come and they don’t pay themselves.”
“It’d be a fight here and there, every week or two with a rest period to recover yer health and bodies. Yeh’d have time at yer shop, so it’d be unsuspectin’. That’s the point son. Don’t want the heat findin’ out ‘bout it.” he says, and you start to feel uneasy.
“Seems…I don’t know. Why us? There’s gotta be people better suited than us…” you barter.
“Well truthfully Daniel, I’ve had my eye on you since you was ‘bout 17. Heard ‘bout the fightin’ from some folks, kept an eye on yeh. And Jacob, I know you learned from ‘em. Watched yeh myself just the other night. Ye’ve got somethin’, and I’m willin’ to take a chance on you boys if you’re willin’ to take a chance on me. If it doesn’t work out, well, hell we tried, still let you two walk away with a few hundred each for yer troubles.”
You see Jake’s brow furrow, and you know he’s considering it. You know this debt is crippling the shop, the two of you barely scraping by every week. You know this could be your chance. The only other thing you’ve ever been good at. “We gotta decide right now?” you ask, sending him a questioning look.
“No’sir. I’ll be in town ‘nother few days, got some outstanding business. First fight ain't for another week ‘er so over in Kirksville.” he says, reaching into his pocket again, pulling out a paper business card. Jake takes it from his fingers, reading over it before handing it to you.
“Now, you fellas think this over, give me a call once you’ve come to a decision.” he says, tipping his head. “Oh, and, for what it’s worth…” he pauses, “These buy in’s… is in the thousands range. My last fighter took home 4 grand in one night, for 5 minutes effort. Just somethin’ to consider.” and with that he slides into his idling car.
As the car pulls off in a cloud of exhaust Jake turns to you, his jaw slack and his face riddled with shock and question. “What the fuck…What was that? Wh–What do we do?”
You turn to look at him, shoving your hands in your pockets, and sucking your teeth, “Sounds like we fight.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
If you’d like to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form!
Taglist: @gretavanmoon @wetkleenex-gvf @eyelinerjake @farfromthehomelands @sacredstarcatcher @britney-gvf @stardustjake @jakesmustache @starshine-wagner @mweasley19 @emsfallingsky @joopsenthusiast @ageofbajabule @ladywhimsymoon @vanfleeter @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @ageoflou @freefallthoughts @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @literal-dead-leaf @welllauragvf @writingcold @bizzielisteningtogreta @neptune2324 @itsafullmoon @violet-hayes @gvfmarge @demonrat444 @mybussyinchrist @cl0ver-j4de @earthgrlsreasy @what-i-read-home-of-reblogs-mama @mama-likes72 @lenagvf @laurngvf @blacksoul-27 @racheljuneeee @farfromthehomelands @cat3rpillarbaby @cassiesgreta @jarmonicasweat @violet-hayes
#greta van fleet#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet smut#greta van smut#greta van fic#jake kiszka#danny wagne r#jacob thomas kiszka#daniel robert wagner#greta van fluff#gvf smut#gvf fic#gvf series#jake gvf#valor gvf#gvf#jake kiszka smut#daniel wagner smut#gvf danny#daniel wagner#janny gvf#jacob kiszka#janny lane#gretavangroupie#jtk x reader#gretavanfluff#greta van angst#drw x reader#valor
113 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hiiii! Both of you are amazing writers — I even went to your wattpad to read more 😫.
For this specific request, I would like Ash to write it:)
Could you write a Sukuna historical au? Except Sukuna is just a normal human. He’s well known in the village bc he’s loaded with money or powerful and he wants to marry you even though you’re against it bc Sukuna’s a misogynistic asshole.
Sukuna thought you just needed time to think about the proposal, then u would accept but that changes when he saw you on a date with someone else. You secretly went on this date — even ur parents don’t know. Your parents (more specifically your mom) wants you to get married to Sukuna but fortunately your dad is protective of you. That is, until Sukuna goes to your parents’ house while you were out and tells them about this secret lover you’ve been seeing. He manipulates them into thinking you’re a sex worker and that you need to get married otherwise no one will want you (or something along that line).
Moving on, your dad gives in and when u come home that day, your bags are already packed and ready to go with Sukuna. It happens sooo fast, when you arrived home, Sukuna ends up having possessive sex with some mixed yandere themes. Just rough sex with degrading!!
Hope this is not too long, kinda got carried away, lmao.
You could add whatever you like, twist it up a bit, make is angsty, tbh I don’t really care, as long as I get more Sukuna content cuz that man has me on a leash.
Thank you so much and both of you remember to drink lots of water!!
Thankyou for the ask, I’ve never written historical AU before so this was something new. Sorry for the wait but tysm for this detailed suggestion, it was very creative.
- ash
tw : yandere themes, oral, non con, dub con, misogyny, mentions of rape, orgasm denial, cream pie, facial, deception, sukuna an ass hole, forced marriage, probs a lot more, 18+
NSFW 18+
wc : 2.8k
You were a daddys girl. You always had been and you always will be, thats why when you recieved the offer through the post your father was underwhelmed. Annoyed that somebody would want to take his baby girl from him
"Y/N Hes perfect! We can get started on your dress, prepare the wedding. I cant believe my darling is getting married to THE Ryomen sukuna!" Giddly, your mother bounced around the kitchen, almost passed out from the invitation.
"Mother I dont want to marry him." You mutter, hands crossed over your chest and eyes attached to the floor
You couldn't see what was so great about this guy, why does everybody love him? Woman swooned over him, men admiring him. He was nothing but a douche in your eyes, a try hard...a wannabe. Not to mention pretentious as fuck.
"Himari, I think give it a wait. Shes youthful."
-
"So what do you say y/n? Would you accept the honours of being my spouse?" He asks, hand cupped into yours as he rubs his thumb over. Cocky smirk planted over his face like he's doing YOU the favour.
His clothes reeked of his wealth, cape draped over his back and shirt cut so you could see the muscles running down his arms and biceps. Boots on his feet studded in diamonds and leather freshly stripped from the back of a cow.
"Sir. With all due respect I don-"
"I understand. Marriage can be complex, cooking, cleaning. I'm not ill-bred, ill look after our children." He chuckles, pearly white teeth shining like he knew what you was about to say. He could predict your worry, being married to someone as outstanding as him would be a hard job. But thats what marriage is for?
You caught his eye for ages, corset dress inching in your waist and bust of your breasts cupped up enough to see straight through you. He heard you were hard work, all about this feminist bullshit, but thats what drew him closer to you. The need to ruin you and swell your perfect tummy with his seed, for him to have a perfect, fiesty woman on his side. One thats different from the others, one that all men drool at but hes the one who gets to fuck you from the back till your screaming. To get you on your knees until your cumming at the sight of him.
"What? Ugh get off me-" You curse, swatting his hand away as you scowl at his vile words. For him to say that in such a public space is vile, imagine what he would do in the privacy of your shared room.
"-im only 20. I hadn't even thought of marriage!"
"Grown, a woman of your age should have kids by now. Im doing you a favour if anything!"
You knew you couldnt frown too much, scrunching your face is something rude women do. But you couldnt help it, you disliked this man with a passion, he was nothing but an ass hole in the shape of a prodigy.
Spinning around, the click of your small wedged heels trotted along the cobble floor, floppy hat held down in your left hand as you tugged down the weight of your dress with the other. Face starstruck and furious, but sukuna knew that was bound to happen. Sooner or later you'll be running back, begging for him to take YOU in. And for that he will wait, he will wait as long as you need, the build up to getting to ruin you in the bedroom was way to thrilling.
-
1 week passes and there was still no response to his ask. Its okay, your probably just considering the outfit your going to wear at your wedding as he bows down, pecks your hand, stares up into your shy eyes. Only to tear it off with his teeth whilst you speak with your family down the old telephone line, thanking them for their congratulations as you supress a whine as his fingers dance inside your tight pussy.
The weather outside was delightful, crisp sky, warm feeling. Not to mention the taverns and live saxaphone players. Sukuna loved this kind of weather, the opportunity to grasp at any compliment he can get for just revealing more parts of his skin.
-
"-And thats how I became courted to two women at once!" The man infront of you says, laughing at his own joke as he lifts the pipe from his lips and releases the air. The gas floating infront of your eyes and lips.
Pretty face rested tight on the palm of your hand as you mindlessly tugged at the loose hem of your dress. You came to believe you were hopeless at this dating thing, only attracting imbecilic men with egos bigger than their brains. Maybe this is why you were prohibited from dating.
"Ah. Well Satoru that sounds...delightful.."
"Doesn't it just! But it was a shame, none of the women had assets as beautiful as yours though."
-
Entering into the saloon, he was greeted with a smile by the boss. Waving him over to come sit by him and his friends. He was no stranger to this place, the owner loving him and wanting him to be his own son. Reminding him of how he was when he was younger.
"Sukuna! Havent seen you in a while!" The manager cheered, slapping him hard on the back as he nestled his fists in his hair. Sukunas wide spread arms resting on the back of the couch. Several other men getting up to greet him and sit around him.
"Quite a crowd you got in here today."
"Right on. Seems like a lot of beautiful women decided to come out."
"Alone?"
"Yep. And they're still curious why they get raped" A boisterous laugh eliciting from the men next to him, tears swelling up in the rim of their eyes from the top dogs own humour. He wasn't wrong though, bunch of cocottes.
"How's your wife?" Sukuna asks, sipping from the beer glass placed in front of him.
"Virtuous. I suppose you've found a woman you want to settle with?"
"Supposedly..."
"Well, if your still looking, the beautiful lady over there seems to be in a bit of a predicament. Perhaps you could help her out."
And thats where it happened, smile stripped from sukunas face as he sees you, pitched up on a high chair, legs crossed and red lipstick planting onto the glass in your hand as you sip on the wine given to you. Prohibition was a huge thing at this time, it was so unlady like for someone of your gender to be rebelling like that. But the worst thing was the man sitting infront of you, arrogant smile as he continues to talk on and on about himself. Sukuna couldnt believe it, you...on a date with someone else? Talking to someone else? Dressed up for somebody else? How could you do this- betray him like this, its so clear you dont pay any interest to the guy infront of you so what does he have that sukuna could not give to you. Your getting way too big for your boots and as a man, sukuna has a moral obligation to do whats right.
"Im sorry, would you excuse me? I have something I need to do."
"Leaving so soon?"
"...My apologies, please forgive me.."
-
Opening the door to your parents home you were faced with the noises of your mothers weeping and crying, the aura anger and disappointment, something you've so afraid of. Stepping in, you attempt to slip off your shoes, the tip of your toes bumping into the feeling of the wooden trunk, tied neatly with a bow. Inside sat all your possessions, thrown in with recklessness and lack of care.
"YOU WHORE! I cannot believe the nerve you have to appear foot on in this home!"
Glancing upwards, you were met with the red eyes of your mother. Her hand occupied with what looked like a comb and arm held back. Her face flushed with nothing but anger, you've never seen her quite so distressed.
And there you saw him, fauxly upset expression dragged on his face, hand rubbing on the small of your mothers back and hand gripped on her wrist to prevent her causing any harm to you - wouldn't want her damaging what's rightly his.
"W-what?"
"Y/N...-" You heard him speak, husky voice low and intimidating. Hand still rubbing your mothers back as she leaned to weep in his broad arms. "Your dishonourable, its only right your family knows. I apologise that they had to find out this way"
"Pardon..."
"Dont speak so tedious, entering this home KNOWING you’ve came back from working at a whore house. Only God can save you at this point…’
Spinning your head behind you were faced with the murderous look of your father, the one whose always sheltered over you, always defended your name, now ridiculing you, mocking you for something you were so clueless about. Your poor heart was about to break.
‘Your bags are packed, we don’t ever wanna see you again…’
Your face was hit with a heavy weight thrown at it, cheek bruised and your eyes swelling with tears.
‘I-father I don’t understand…’
‘Sukuna revealed all. You labour as a prostitute? I told you she should be courted and sent off…’
‘Prostitute?! Don’t be ridiculous, I would never-‘
‘Don’t deceive your parents y/n, there’s no point in creating a masquerade for your actions’ Sukuna spoke out, stern look in his eyes as he picks up your hand in his own, running the tips on your knuckles.
‘Your getting wedded. Your lucky somebody like sukuna would ever take you in…’
And with that your mother and father left the property, leaving you and the man of your misery stood tall and prideful infront of you. Captivating look in his eyes, like a predator whose just caught and torn apart their prey.
‘I- why?’ You sob, voice choked and bubbly from shock.
A loud slap to the side of your face startled you, it was ten times harsher than any you’ve ever felt, small body stumbled back and cheek bruised and sore. Your hands gripped up in a flash and body pulled towards him, the stench of alcohol and lust beaming off his figure.
‘Out with another man? What happened to my marriage proposal y/n? Your lucky a man like me would even want to take you in after hearing about your reputation…’
‘I-I never accepted it you scoundrel! Why lie to my parents…’
‘A white lie never hurts, but fuck I’ve been wanting you for too long…and now that your mine I’m never letting you go…’ His greedy lips quickly moving to attack to your neck, dark purple hickeys implanted in your baby soft skin, finally marking you as his.
‘We’re not even married! Don’t fornicate…please I don’t want this!’
‘Stop…squirming- fuck you are spoilt aren’t you’ Teeth moving down to harshly bite into your flesh, a scream eliciting from your gaped mouth, tears forming on your waterline as you try your hardest to push him off. Attempts useless in the tightness of his grip.
Slamming your body on the door, he inched lower towards your back, hands trembling over the clothed skin of your ass and hips, fingers gently prodding near to your clothed cunt.
‘A-aren’t you meant to be a gentleman?!’
‘Sluts don’t get my respect’
SLAP
‘They earn it…’
The rattle of your ass had his eyes lust blown, cock stirred in his pants at how your skin managed to shake so much even with material covering it. He took no time in tearing apart your dress from the zip on the back, watching the material drop to the floor. Exposed body covered in a simple bra and panties.
‘Is this why you didn’t wanna marry me? You were too afraid of showing me this body?’
‘Go to hell-‘ you spit, head still pushed deeply into the walls as you murmur the words out as loud as you could. Body trembled and shook with fear.
A fast arch of your back and insert of his cock had you screaming, your cunt filled with his large girth. All 12 inches rammed into your tight, unprepped virgin hole. Forced slick doing nothing but acting as slight lube for him.
‘Ah- I don’t appreciate women speaking to me like that…might have to teach you a fucking lesson.’ Fingers delving into your mouth, tearing your lips apart and dragging out your tongue. Panting noises coerced from your fragile body.
The flesh of your skin wiggled and bounced off his thighs, material of your underwear rimming sukunas tip every time he pulled out and slammed back inside of you. Choked moans and gasps pushed out of your weaker, tighter, smaller body.
‘A-Ah please…’
‘Please what?’
SLAP
‘Please s-sukuna I- it hurts…’
‘Nah, I own you now baby, waited too long to fuck this pretty pussy.’ He says, mesmerised in the way you take him in, the trembling of your legs under his touch. The way his biceps from grabbing you and twisting you how he wants you, the saliva collecting at the centre of your cleavage. ‘Say my real name..’
‘D-daddy..’
‘Daddy? Didn’t expect that but I’ll take it’ he laughs egotistically, secretely fawning at how sweet you sound, at how he’s achieved his one ultimate task of changing you. Making you his, marking you as his and fucking you as his.
‘S-shit what’s th- this feeling-‘ you mutter, stomach tightening and fingers gripping aimlessly at the wall for some help of release.
‘Dont fucking try it. Don’t cum.’ Pace quickening, his balls begin slapping at the under curve of your as. Your tired mouth and sore throat groaning at the bliss coming over you. Sukunas cum quickly filling up the parting between your legs, cream swiped up and down, melting and mending into your slick.
‘M so close-‘
And with that he stopped, grip on your hips and face moved to your shoulders. Forcing you down on the floor, weakened body hurt and the bruise on your cheek from the previous slap clearly evident. Water filled eyes and thighs tightening from your denied release.
‘W-why…’
‘Aw, you ‘gn cry? Your so fucking pretty, atleast cry when your choking on daddys cock hm? First and last cock you’ll ever have…’ he says, tugging up your chin and rubbing his dick infront of his face. Softened dick hardening quickly once again from your gutted expression, from how he managed to fuck up the life of an innocent, Victorian girl. The ones he’s wanted for so long, to teach, to change, to fuck, to breed… ‘your fucking MINE!’
Rubbing his tip across the rim of your lips, your salted tears dripped down to his cock, sensitive tip almost exploding once again from the feeling of your hitched breath so close to him. The doting look in your eyes peering up to him, begging him not to do this.
‘I’d fuck you better than that man ever could, your mine…got it?’ The query alarming you, your head nodding in pure fear of what he would do to you if you disobeyed him.
‘Good girl, mine mine mine…Open wide baby…’ and with that he forced your jaw open, slamming his girth to the back of your throat. Gagging and retching sounds forced out of your weak body, hands moving to claw at the skin on your thighs as you forcefully took it. Tear stain cheeks hollowed and puffed out from the tangy feeling of his shaft rammed deep inside you. Warm breath and coated saliva gathering along his most sensitive parts, hips rolling quick and the back of his head rolled back in ecstasy.
‘Sh-shit- should’ve fucked you so long ago..’
Your tongue ran across the rim of his slit every time he slammed into your mouth, the forced cup on your jaw making you stare up at him. Dark, sorrowful look in your eyes sent him off the rails. The wet spot inbetween your thighs growing again, tits jolting and moving with every thrust, you looked so innocent, so needy for sukuna to fuck you dizzy.
Short spurts of cum sent to the back of your throat, sour flavour tanging the tip of your tongue, body gagging and moaning, jolts sent to the core of his stomach, exploding straight onto you, mouth and tits covered in all his sperm. Completely marked and ruined, filth, disgusting, you were the prostitute that your family feared you would become.
‘Fuckk…’ sukuna rolls out, peering at the drips of cum running down your tits, ones you made no effort to move, instead focused on preventing yourself to cry, knowing he’s the one your forced to spend the rest of your life with.
‘I hate you…’ you spit, jaw cupped and plunged towards his lips, tongue swiped and sperm from his cock pushed down into your throat, assuring every last drop is swallowed and taken in. Every last part of him is inside of you…
‘…You’ll grow to love, both me and the tons of seed I’m gonna breed inside your tight pussy..’
-
#sukuna#sukuna smut#sukuna jjk#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryomen jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#yandere sukuna#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna ryomen x you#sukuna ryomen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk hc#sukuna hc#sukuna Drabble#sukuna one shot#yandere sukuna one shot#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#Dom! sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna angst#sukuna jjk headcanons#sukuna headcanons#ren&ash#tatakaebomb#smut
324 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Words: 8,347 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, attempted sexual assault, discussions of trauma, typical TWD A/N: This is Part 1 of the new miniseries! This should be 2 or 3 parts total, and it's kind of intense and a bit dark at certain points so heed the warnings ya'll. Summary: Y/N is considered quiet, standoffish, and even a bit odd by the group, but Daryl knows how much she does around camp to care for everyone. After a traumatic incident while searching for Sophia, Daryl starts to discover why Y/N is the way she is.
Your name: submit What is this?
The group was all sitting around the low campfire, eating some breakfast. The two Greene girls came out with baskets in hand. Beth approached Rick and held hers out. “We have some more eggs for you all. Our hens lay more than we can eat,” she said.
Rick gratefully accepted them with an earnest look and a nod. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“And some potatoes,” Maggie offered. Lori grabbed her basket.
“Really, you all are being so kind. If there’s anything we can do to help around the place just let us know,” she said.
Beth was looking off into the distance at you sitting alone, away from the group, your back to the farmstead. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked, without really thinking.
“Beth!” Maggie scolded her.
“Well, I—I just mean she never eats with ya’ll. She seems like she’s always off on her own,” Beth explained, a little sheepish from her sister’s scolding.
The rest of the group was looking your direction now too, many of them asking the same questions in their minds.
“C’mon, now. That’s enough,” Maggie said. “Daddy needs help with the laundry.”
The group watched them head back to the farmhouse and Shane was the next one to break the silence. “It’s a fair question,” he said, chuckling to himself wryly, glancing back over his shoulder at you before leaning in to grab another helping of breakfast. “She hasn’t exactly meshed into the fabric of the group, has she?”
“Shane, give it a rest,” Lori said sternly.
“No offense meant but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say more than two words at a time,” Andrea said. “You can’t pretend like there isn’t something… odd there.”
Dale hummed. “Not that it’s really our business, but she’s never said anything about what happened to her before we found her out by the quarry. I’ve tried to ask her about her family, what she used to do before all this,” he shrugged vaguely. “Never got a thing out of her. That’s her right if she doesn’t want to talk about it, but it does seem a little strange.”
“That’s all I’m sayin’,” Shane said. “Somethin’ weird with that girl,” he trailed off.
Daryl stood up, annoyed. “Ya’ll are a buncha busy body gossips. If ya’d open your damn eyes for two seconds you’d realize she does more for this group than most of ya combined,” he growled. “She gathered that wood burnin’ in your fire right there. Them mushrooms mixed in with your damn eggs, who the hell ya think found those? Ya think they just magically appeared along with that stuff you’re usin’ to make tea every night?” He tossed his empty plate down on the grass and scoffed. “People who don’t trust easily usually got a damn good reason. ’M outta here.”
Shane watched him go in slight amusement, but most of the others looked a little ashamed of themselves. Daryl was right, of course. You did do a lot for the group. You just kept to yourself. You didn’t make a big show of bringing back some meat or foraged food. You never complained when Rick or Shane asked you to do something. You took more than your fair share of the night watches. And the fact that no one knew anything about your past, the fact that you didn’t talk much, didn’t need any explanation to Daryl. Based on his own background, he could guess there was a reason you were the way you were.
A short time later, Daryl noticed you gathering up your pack and grabbing your pistol and recurve bow. He wandered over as you were snapping your knife into its sheath at your hip. “Ya headin’ out to search again?” he asked softly. You and him seemed to be the only ones who hadn’t completely given up hope of finding Sophia. You simply nodded once.
“Alright,” Daryl drawled. “What’s your plan?” Asking a question that wasn’t a simple yes or no was always a toss-up with you. Half the time he’d get a short answer, half the time he wouldn’t.
“North side of the ridge,” you said. Your voice was always quiet and measured. The archer usually wished most people would talk less, but with you he always hoped to hear more. The little that you said was purposeful and deliberate. There was no idle bullshit.
He nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Alright. I’ll start by that creek and work along the south side. We can be close by in case either of us gets into trouble with walkers,” he said.
You simply nodded again and gave him a long thoughtful look. You did that a lot. Daryl had the feeling there was a lot going on behind your eyes, but you never spoke any of it. Surprisingly, he never felt nervous or uncomfortable when you looked at him like that. He just hoped someday maybe you’d open up a little bit more. The next moment you had turned and were heading toward the tree line already. Daryl scrambled to gather his gear and set off after you.
He could see your figure ahead, disappearing into the brush and soon he couldn’t see or hear you at all. He set out along the south side of the ridge as planned, picking his way along the creek, scrutinizing every inch of ground and hoping for a shoeprint.
Along the north side you were doing the same. You frequently knelt to examine some little scrape in the litter or soil and as you went you filled the little cloth bag you carried with edible and medicinal plants, berries, and fungi. The day wore on with no sign of the little girl and your frustration and fear grew even as the sun reached its apex in the sky and started to drift back down toward the western horizon.
You turned and started picking a new path back, heading toward the farm now rather than away. The deepening shadows made detecting print or trail more difficult but you kept your focus sharp on the ground as you moved, your bow slung over your shoulder next to your quiver.
You were becoming tired when you noticed an impression in the mud. You knelt, one knee of your jeans sinking into the damp soil. It was a boot print, but certainly not left by Sophia. You stared at the detail of the sole impression and your brow drew down low immediately. You have everyone’s shoe designs memorized. It wasn’t one you recognized. Your eyes drifted up and you could see a worn trail through the underbrush and more prints, heavy in the mud. There were at least three men who had left this trail, and they weren’t walkers. The path was straight ahead with no stagger and you could tell they were picking their way through the underbrush. You crouched and started to follow the trail. You needed to get eyes on these people. They were awfully close to the farm… Close enough, certainly, to see the smoke rising from the chimney and your fire circles.
You ghosted through the woods following the trail, moving as silently as you could. You’d been on the path for probably ten minutes when you could hear careless, noisy movement ahead. You must have caught up with them. Your heart hammering in your chest, you stayed low and crept closer. As you moved around a partially downed tree you could finally see the shapes of two men ahead. They were scruffy and filthy, clearly living on the move in the woods. You needed a closer look. You wanted to see what kinds of weapons they had on them. If you could scout out the group, you could determine whether something needed to be done about them or not.
As you tried to shift to another patch of concealing cover, you didn’t notice your bow catching on a low hanging dead branch. By the time you felt the resistance it was too late. The whole branch pulled loose with a loud snapping sound as it bent and cracked other dried branches and twigs on its way down. The two men you had been watching spun immediately and had weapons raised, rifles pointed in your direction. You were swearing under your breath and instantly on your feet aiming your pistol right back.
“Well, shit! What the hell do we have here?” one of the men asked, shifting a little to get a better look at you. “You alone out here, sweetheart?”
You fell an immediate swell of anger and dread rising up in your chest.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” the second man asked, grinning and revealing teeth that were tobacco stained and yellow.
“What’s a fine little thing like you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? There are all kinds of monsters in these woods,” the first man said, looking you up and down thoroughly. His companion laughed.
Fuck. This was bad. Why had you pushed your luck and crept in so closely? Now you were outnumbered and you knew there was at least one other man somewhere that you didn’t have eyes on.
Your chest was heaving with anxious breaths from the rush of adrenaline. The first man stepped a bit closer again and you responded by taking a measured step back, your pistol aimed squarely at his chest. Now what? Should you make a run for it? Would they shoot you? Based on the animalistic looks in their eyes you knew things could go very bad, very quickly if you couldn’t get the fuck out of there. Your mind was whirring.
Suddenly, you heard a stick crack behind you and you turned instinctively to see a third man now rushing you. He landed a fist into your jaw and your vision went black as you fell to the ground, holding onto your pistol as tightly as you could. The pain radiating from your jaw into your head was overwhelming. You blinked, willing the darkness to clear, but it lingered as you suddenly felt rough hands on you, rolling you over and ripping both your bow and rifle from your back.
You struggled blindly and managed to get yourself onto your back again as the darkness in your eyes faded instead to the outlines of blurred shapes. You could make out the shape of the man standing over you and you instinctively raised your pistol and squeezed several rounds which sounded like cracks of thunder in the close woods. You missed, the scene still foggy, and you immediately squeezed again and discharged another round but the man leapt down on you with a wild yell, knocking your arm to the side and pinning it into the ground. His weight pressed down on you and you were vaguely aware of an acrid smell filling your nostrils, causing bile to rise up in your throat. He pried your pistol from your hand and tossed it away into the brush.
You writhed beneath him, struggling to get clear of his grasp but he was much bigger than you and soon there was another set of hands on you. You were rolled onto your stomach again and your arms were pulled back behind you and held painfully tight.
“We got ourselves a wild cat here, boys!” one of the men laughed. “Get her up,” he ordered. You were pulled roughly onto your feet, still trying to blink away the remaining fuzziness in your eyes and struggling against your captor.
The first man, who seemed to be the leader, paced over, watching you with a look of satisfaction on his face as you still tried to fight loose. His rifle was now dropped casually by his side. He grabbed your chin cruelly and pulled it up so you looked right into his eyes. His fingers dug into the tender spot on your jaw where the other man had hit you. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he murmured silkily.
You yanked your face from his grasp and he chuckled, glancing back at the other man standing just behind him. “She’s a good one,” he said, a sick smirk on his face. He looked back at you and his eyes roamed perversely over your body. “This’ll be fun.”
He turned violent and grabbed the front of your light cotton shirt, ripping it harshly down off one shoulder, tearing the breezy plaid fabric easily and popping off the first three buttons. The man holding you only tightened his grip. Your throat constricted so tightly it was hard to breathe. You felt like your heart was beating so hard that it would surely burst. You could feel everyone’s eyes on your newly bared skin. Next the leader withdrew a knife and pressed the point into the center of your chest just above your bra. You cringed at the feeling of the biting cold metal pricking your skin.
He stepped close into you and moved the knife up to your throat, pressing it to the side of your neck and drawing it lightly across your skin just enough to cut you. You winced and shut your eyes, trying to keep as still as possible with that blade to your throat and you soon felt a rivulet of warmth rolling down toward your collarbone. You opened your eyes as the knife left your throat and he slipped it under your exposed bra strap, rotating it and lifted up until the fabric started to separate along the sharp edge. Finally, it gave and the strap hung loosely down. He sucked in a hiss of breath through his teeth, his eyes hungry and crazed. “This will be a lot easier on you if you just cooperate. Then again… I like a woman with some fight in her,” he snarled. “Your choice.” His companions let out more appreciative laughter as fear twisted your stomach.
You felt yourself going numb. Suddenly, you couldn’t feel any pain anymore. You couldn’t feel the man’s hands pinning your arms back. You couldn’t feel the blood that was now running down your chest. Your eyes drifted to the leader’s cold, blue blade and then unfocused so the scene simply became a haze. And you suddenly realized that they hadn’t taken your knife. It was still in its sheath on your hip…
A short distance away, Daryl had been thinking that it was probably about time to call it a day and head back when he heard a series of loud gunshots. His body went rigid and he turned frantically, staring off into the brush. He strained his hearing to its limit. They’d definitely come from your direction. Abandoning any other thought, he sprung into motion, racing through the woods as fast as he could in the direction he thought the blasts had come from.
Back in camp, everyone else had heard the shots too. Shane turned and looked at Rick, his gaze intense.
“Were those gun shots?” Lori asked, fear in her voice.
“Yeah,” Rick said, rising to his feet and rushing to grab his gun from the stash of weapons in the RV. “Shane, T, Glenn, let’s go! The rest of you stay here!”
Hershel stepped out onto the porch and watched the group of men racing across the pasture toward the trees. He had a bad feeling in his gut. Maggie and Beth came out, the slamming screen door punctuating the piercing silence that fell after the shots.
Daryl smashed through the brush carelessly, his eyes scanning the ground for a trail, any trail, something to follow. Finally, his eyes locked on boot prints that were surely yours. He vaguely registered that there were much larger impressions in the soil too, several different boots much larger than yours. And they certainly weren’t from walkers.
“Son of a bitch,” he cursed under his breath. He froze and scanned the thick greenery. He strained his hearing again, listening for some sound, anything, to give him an idea of what was happening. Please don’t let me be too late, he thought frantically. He took off again but more cautiously, following the tracks you had clearly also discovered. Probably what had led you right into something…
Rick and the others were well into the trees now but Shane stopped everyone. “Rick, what the hell are we doin’ man? We don’t have a clue where Y/N and Daryl are. We can’t just go blindly crashing through here or we’re gonna end up in a bad spot too.”
Rick’s eyes frantically whirred over the seemingly endless tree trunks.
“Wait—I saw Y/N’s map yesterday. She had the whole thing sectioned out into search areas,” Glenn said. “Most of them were already crossed off.”
“Well, which ones weren’t?” Shane urged, checking to make sure there was a round chambered in his gun.
“Uhh—” Glenn’s mind raced. “I think—I think by that ridge, straight north of here. But I can’t be sure,” he trailed off.
Rick rubbed a hand over his face. They all listened for any sound, but the woods were oppressively silent now. “Shit…” he cursed under his breath.
“It’s the best we got,” T gasped, out of breath from the frenetic dash from camp.
Rick nodded. “Alright. Then we head north. Keep your heads on a swivel and your eyes peeled for any sign of Y/N or Daryl.”
Daryl moved as swiftly along the trail as he could. Suddenly, he spotted something lying on top of the litter out of the corner of his eye. Your pistol. Daryl grabbed it and the muzzle was still warm. Clearly, you’d been the one to fire at least some of those shots. “Fuck. Fuck…” He tucked it into his waistband and moved more cautiously now. His heart was pounding and sweat was pouring down his forehead. His knuckles were white on his crossbow. He rounded a downed tree and froze when he saw a dark shape on the ground ahead. His heart dropped into his stomach. Please don’t let it be Y/N… He was almost paralyzed with fear but he forced himself to take another couple steps. As he rounded the brush and straightened up, he knew it wasn’t you but his apprehension didn’t evaporate. It was a large man, clearly dead, completely covered in blood. The hair on the back of Daryl’s neck suddenly stood on end and he spun around, his crossbow up to his eye, ready to fire. But he dropped it involuntarily as he took in the scene before him, his jaw dropping partially open and his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was seeing.
You were standing there in front of him trembling from head to toe, your hands out in front of you with your knife clutched in one like it was a lifeline. Daryl could easily see the shakiness in your hands. You were completely covered in blood. Your clothing and skin were soaked in it, like you’d bathed in a crimson river. There was thick splatter on your face, neck, and chest. Your eyes were wide and fixed and you didn’t show any awareness that he was there in front of you. Daryl registered that your shirt was torn down from one shoulder and your bra strap had been cut. He didn’t need an explanation to know what the fuck had happened and rage swelled in his chest, stoking an intense fire. His eyes drifted down to two more bodies lying at your feet, each with uncountable stab wounds and one with his throat cut, his clothing drenched. The metallic smell of blood was in the air and Daryl could almost taste it on his tongue.
Still you showed no awareness that he was there. You seemed frozen, catatonic. He now registered that you had slash wounds through the fabric of your sleeves and cuts on your arms. Defensive wounds where you had blocked a knife attack. There was a purposeful cut partially up the hem of your jeans at the bottom, clearly from one of the men… It was nearly impossible to tell if you were hurt anywhere else because there was just so much blood…
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmured. “Y/N?” He took a cautious step toward you. “Y/N? Can ya hear me?”
Nothing. No reaction at all.
Just then Daryl heard the noise of several people in the woods nearby and he planted himself between you and the sound, raising his crossbow. “Ya better get the fuck outta here unless ya want an arrow between the eyes!” he roared.
Rick straightened up. That was Daryl. “Daryl?!”
Daryl gulped. “…Rick?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Shane, Glenn, and T! We’re comin’ to you! Are you alright?”
Daryl glanced back at you again. You were still just standing there shaking. “‘M fine. Wasn’t me who fired…” Daryl swung his pack off his back and dug inside it.
The men crashed through the underbrush and came into view, taking in the scene. “Oh my God.” The words spilled from Glenn’s lips. They were all glancing from the bloody bodies on the ground to your blood-soaked figure.
“Jesus Christ,” Shane uttered, pacing closer and bending to look at the slash wound in the one corpse’s neck. Daryl finally laid hands on his poncho and yanked it out of his bag. He turned to look at you and began approaching cautiously. “Y/N? It’s Daryl. Can ya hear me?”
Nothing.
Rick was slack-jawed as he looked at the scene. “Daryl… be careful,” he cautioned, eyeing the knife still gripped in your fist.
Daryl glanced back at him. “She ain’t gonna do nothin’ to me,” he drawled.
“Do you see this?” Glenn asked him urgently indicating the bodies. “This is insane. You don’t know that! She looks completely out of it, like she doesn’t even know we’re here!”
Daryl’s jaw clenched and he turned back to look at you again. “Don’t ya fuckin’ see her? She’s terrified. Look at her clothes. They were tryin’ to rape her,” he growled. “They deserve what they got.”
Shane straightened up from examining the bodies, glancing furtively over at you. “Maybe but… on the force, we’d call this ‘overkill’,” he said, backing up and exchanging a glance with Rick.
Daryl ignored him. “Y/N? It’s alright. You’re safe. Nobody is gonna hurt ya. Just lemme take your knife, okay?” There was no recognition on your face, your eyes still wide and fixed, until Daryl’s hand gently closed over yours and started to open your hand around the handle of your knife. He could feel you shaking beneath his fingers. “S’alright,” he said softly as your eyes landed on his face and then locked with his. Your brow drew down low, casting a shadow over the vaguely confused look on your face. As Daryl gently took your knife, he could see there was a very deep gash in your palm. It was bleeding heavily. He guessed it was either another defensive wound from you putting your hands up to stop one of the men’s knives or otherwise your hand, slick with blood, had slipped down onto your own blade when you’d been fighting them. “Glenn, get some gauze out of my pack and bring it over here,” he said. He spoke calmly and softly. He glanced back over at Glenn when he didn’t move from his slack-jawed frozen position. “Glenn. Gauze.” Glenn snapped himself out of it and went to Daryl’s bag. The archer gulped and draped his poncho over you, covering your ripped shirt. “S’alright,” he murmured again.
You didn’t take your eyes off his face. He wasn’t even sure if you realized the others were there. Glenn walked forward and handed Daryl the small roll of sterile gauze before backing up slowly. The look in your eyes was haunted and dazed and it left all of them feeling empty and concerned.
Daryl opened your hand flat and your eyes drifted down to watch him wrap the bandage over the wound on your palm. You couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t really feel anything, except Daryl’s hands on yours.
Shane turned to Rick. “Rick, what the hell are we gonna do about this? We can’t just waltz her back into camp covered in blood. You don’t want the others seein’ this… Carl? Lori? Or Hershel. Look at her. She looks completely unstable. This might be enough for him to kick us out right now.” He looked back at you over his shoulder.
Rick sighed heavily. “So, we’ll get her cleaned up first.”
Daryl was keeping one ear on the conversation going on behind him. “She needs stitches on this hand,” he drawled. “And who knows how else she’s hurt. Can’t see a damn thing on her right now. And since ya’ll are more worried about yourselves than her, I’ll take care of it. Why don’t ya just get the hell outta here,” Daryl growled.
Glenn stepped forward. “We are worried about her. But you have to admit that this is—this is—” He didn’t even know what word to use. Daryl just stared at him. You were hugging your arms around yourself now, still shaking. Your eyes were downcast, staring unseeing at the ground.
“Listen, I don’t give a shit what ya do. I’m gettin’ her outta here and taken care of.” He hastily shouldered his pack and his crossbow.
“Just—Daryl,” Rick started, pinching the bridge of his nose, the situation weighing on him heavily. “Clean her up a bit before you take her to Hershel to be looked over.”
The archer eyed him through a narrow glare for a moment before he nodded. He turned back to you, your frame swallowed up in his poncho. “C’mon. Let’s get ya home,” he said gently. Your eyes snapped up to his face again and you allowed him to lead you back toward the farmstead.
He picked a path carefully and finally the two of you broke out from the edge of the forest. The others back in the camp were staring at the tree line, wracked with nerves. Lori straightened up as she recognized movement. “Dale—someone just stepped out.”
Dale, standing on the RV, raised his binoculars to his eyes. “Oh my,” slipped from his lips.
“What? Who is it?” Carol asked anxiously.
“I think it’s Y/N and Daryl,” Dale said. “I can’t quite tell properly, but I think something is wrong with Y/N.” He squinted into the binoculars again. “My God. Her jeans are covered in blood and it—it looks like there’s blood on her neck, her face…”
Carol pressed a hand over her mouth. “Is she hurt?” she asked anxiously. “Was she bit?”
Dale shook his head, lowering the binoculars again. “They’re too far. I can’t tell what’s going on.”
Daryl looked up to see everyone standing almost in a line watching the two of you as you started across the field. He gulped and then put a hand lightly on your back, nervous and unsure of how you would react to the contact. He guided you toward his camp which was closest and was set apart from everyone else’s.
“C’mon and sit down, alright. We’re just gonna clean ya up a bit and then take ya to Hershel.” The look in your eyes was worrying him immensely but you sat down on a round of wood pulled up near the fire ring. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how he could reassure you. “Hey. S’alright. You’re safe.”
You met his blue eyes and he finally saw some sense of relief in them. His stomach flipped at the way they softened and he nodded. He took in the sight of you in his poncho again and realized you’d need something else to wear to go see Hershel that wasn’t half ripped off you. “I’m gonna, uhh—” he cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll put a clean shirt out on my cot for ya. Ya can change in in my tent and then we’ll just clean ya up a bit, alright?” He knew better than to wait for a response and climbed to his feet and disappeared into his tent to set the clothes out. He dug around in his duffel bag until he found one that was still folded tightly, definitely clean, and he set it out for you. You watched the handsome archer reemerge from inside his tent and nod his head toward it. “Alright. Go ahead. I’ll just be right out here.”
He watched you get up and disappear, zipping the door behind you. He paced in front of the fire circle, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully as the image of you standing there in the woods, frozen, absolutely soaked in blood with your shirt half torn surged forward in his mind and he felt another sickening swell of anger. Jesus. Things could have gone so bad with those men… and they were fucking lucky they were already dead when he got there.
The soft rustling of the tent fabric interrupted his thoughts and you stepped out in his long-sleeved flannel, looking a bit dazed still but more grounded. He nudged his nose up in a nod. “C’mon and sit down,” he said, gesturing to the round of wood again. You sank down on it. Daryl grabbed a bucket of clean water that had been warming in the sun all day. He grabbed a cloth from inside his tent and caught sight of your bloody and torn shirt discarded on the floor, feeling another tight twist between his lungs, like someone had tugged a knot there.
You watched him kneel down in front of you and sink the cloth into the bucket of water, wringing it out before bringing it close to your face. He hesitated short of touching you. “S’this alright?” he drawled.
You gave him a questioning look but finally nodded, just one slight tip of your chin. You closed your eyes as the fabric came in contact with your cheek and Daryl started wiping away the blood. The cloth stained crimson quickly. He cleaned the splatters from across your forehead and your nose and the spots on the other side of your face. With the red stains gone, Daryl could see the shadow of a deep bruise along the side of your jaw. Without thinking he gently clasped your chin and turned your head so he could examine it, a heavy shadow falling over his blue eyes. He sunk the cloth back into the bucket of water and wrung it out again, this time pressing it to the side of your neck.
Despite how gentle he was being, you involuntarily sucked in a sharp hiss of air through your teeth as the cloth found the cut on the side of your neck from the leader’s knife. Your eyes blinked open through your wince.
“Sorry,” Daryl drawled, pulling back to look at the wound. “Jesus… Those assholes had a knife to your neck?” he asked. It was rhetorical and he didn’t expect an answer. He wiped at the blood spatter and you closed your eyes again, trying to breathe deeply and still the trembling you still felt wracking through you. Daryl could hear a shaky quality in your breathing. Soon, your face and neck were clean and Daryl turned his attention to your hands. Your eyes were still shut as he rinsed the cloth out again in the bucket. “Lemme see your hands,” he said softly. You found the deep gravel of his voice comforting.
Out of everyone in your group, you usually felt like Daryl was the only one who really saw you. You’d wanted to get to know him better, but held yourself back. He seemed to seek solitude like you did, and you didn’t want to force yourself into his world.
He took your hand, your palm resting against his, and he swept the cloth lightly over the back of it and down each finger. The sensation sent goosebumps rising on your skin and you glanced up at the concerned and intent expression on his face curiously. You couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had shown you so much attention and care. He took your other hand in his now, the one with gauze around it and the deep gash in your palm. He rubbed the blood from the back of each finger and then flipped it over in his hand. He frowned as he noticed that your blood had soaked through the bandage. “Probably need stitches on this one,” he murmured softly. The cloth tickled over the underside of each finger now, sweeping off the ends. “Alright. Push up them sleeves,” he said, dunking the cloth into the bucket again for what felt like the hundredth time.
“What?” He was startled by your voice and his eyes snapped up to look at you.
He straightened up, one of his eyebrows quirking down at the question. “Ya had a buncha cuts on your arms. We need to clean ‘em up and check ‘em. See if ya need stitches anywhere else.”
You shook your head.
He gave you a questioning look for a long moment and chewed on his bottom lip. “Alright. Ya can do it. I’ll just go tell Hershel you’re on your way in, alright?”
You stared at him for another long moment as he set the cloth on the edge of the bucket, whose water was now stained a dark pink. You glanced up as he climbed to his feet and nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “C’mon up when you’re done and we’ll get that hand taken care of.”
Daryl started over toward the farmhouse and as he approached Carol rushed up to him. “What happened?” she urged him. “Are you okay? Is Y/N?”
He stopped, his hand on one hip. He glanced back out toward the trees and saw the rest of the group making their way back toward camp across the field. “‘M fine,” he drawled. “Y/N ran into some men out there when we were searchin’.”
“Men? What men? What happened? Is she alright?”
Daryl chewed his bottom lip and shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know how to—how to answer that,” he said truthfully.
Confusion muddled Carol’s expression and she glanced in the direction of you over at Daryl’s camp. “Well, what happened?” she asked again.
Daryl looked at her seriously and shrugged vaguely. “Y/N killed ‘em. Didn’t have no choice.” He continued his path up to the house and bounded up the porch steps, knocking on the front door. Carol stared after him, a bit shocked. Maggie answered, looking worried.
“Were those gun shots earlier?” she asked.
Daryl nodded. “Mhm… Hey, can your dad take a look at Y/N?”
“Of course. What happened?” she asked, holding the screen door open so he could step inside.
Hershel was there in an instant. “Daryl. What happened? We heard those shots.”
“Y/N and I were out lookin’ for Sophia. There were some men. She—she ran into some trouble.”
Hershel took a deep breath and nodded. “Is she alright?”
“I think she needs stitches in her hand. She took a good hit to her jaw too. Might have a concussion. I dunno,” he said. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip again. “I know she’s got some cuts on her arms, defensive wounds, but she wouldn’t let me look at ‘em. Got a cut on her neck.”
“Oh my God,” Maggie said, her hand flying up to her mouth.
“What happened to the men?” Hershel asked.
Daryl quit chewing the side of his thumbnail. “Dead,” he said, watching the old farmer’s reaction closely, but the man’s face was blank. He simply nodded.
“I’ll get my kit. Have her come on in.”
Daryl headed back onto the porch to see how you were doing and you were on your way over. His eyes caught on the dark splatters and stains of blood on your jeans and the slit at the bottom. His stomach twisted. Maybe he should have had you change clothes completely… You were trying to ignore the eyes on you as you made your way over to the house.
Andrea and Lori exchanged a look at the state of your clothes.
“Come on in here and sit down,” Hershel said kindly. “Let’s take a look at that hand.” You offered up your gauze-wrapped hand and Hershel laid it out on the table, unwrapping the already blood-soaked bandage and taking a look at the deep gash. “Pretty deep cut here. Definitely need stitches.” He grabbed a needle from his kit and pricked the end of each of your fingers. They all twitched in response. “You can feel that?” You nodded. “Good. Looks like we dodged any nerve damage. Much deeper and you would have needed major surgery for a cut tendon and who knows what else. Maggie, dear, would you get the sutures set up while I clean this off?”
Nerve damage. Cut tendon. Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his spot leaned up against the wall. You hardly seemed to react to the news at all.
Hershel swabbed at your hand and you shut your eyes against the bite of the alcohol. “Now, Daryl tells me you took a good hit to the jaw. I’m just gonna check it and make sure nothing is broken.” He palpated both sides of your face, across your cheekbones and up your jawline. “Just a bit swollen,” he said. “Did you lose sight when you were hit?” he asked you, grabbing a small pen light and checking the dilation response of each of your pupils. You gulped and nodded. “Do you remember your name?” he asked you. You nodded again. “I need you to answer my questions verbally. I’m interested in your answers but also your speech.”
“My name’s Y/N.”
“When is your birthday?” Hershel asked.
You stared at him. “No one here knows my birthday. How will you know if I’m right or not?”
A small smile grew on Hershel’s face. “I’d say your speech and cognition are fine. Probably a mild concussion though with your eyesight blacking out. You’ll need to take it easy the next few days, rest and fluids, and let me know if you develop any new symptoms like vomiting or nausea, confusion, a worsening headache. Understand?”
You nodded again. “Yes. I understand.”
“Sutures are ready,” Maggie said.
Hershel put on a pair of clean gloves and prepared. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to numb you,” he said, propping your hand up on a towel so he could see it better.
“It’s alright. I would have told you to save it anyway,” you said. Daryl straightened up from his place against the wall and came to stand next to you. You could feel his eyes on your face.
“You’re one tough cookie,” Hershel said. “Let’s get this taken care of.” You hardly flinched as he passed the needle through…
Outside, Rick and the others were just arriving back at camp. Everyone gathered around and seemed to read on their faces that they were all unsettled.
“Rick,” Lori said, grabbing him into a hug. “What happened? We saw Daryl and Y/N come back. Her jeans were covered in blood.”
Rick looked down at her. “Nothing to worry about. It’s been taken care of.”
“Well, what was it?” Lori pressed him, her eyes still a bit wide and fearful.
Carol spoke up. “Daryl said she ran into some men and they’re—she killed them.”
Glenn and T were avoiding everyone’s eyes while Shane let out a frustrated sigh and paced away from the group, disagreeing with Rick still about the decision not to tell everyone you had clearly gone slasher on those assholes. Provoked or justified or not, Shane felt like that was something everyone should know. He’d gone far enough to describe you as a serial killer before Rick had stood him down. Rick nodded and looked at his wife and then at Andrea and Dale. “Y/N was attacked and she dealt with it. Hershel is gonna patch her up and there’s nothing to worry about.
“What if there are more of those men?” Carol asked fearfully.
“We only ever saw three different boot prints out there,” T reassured her. “But we’ll keep watch like we always do. We’ll be fine.”
Everyone still looked uneasy, but settled back into their tasks. Lori was about to go fetch some more water when Shane grabbed her arm and tugged her around the side of the SUV. She gave him a stern look and pulled her arm from his grasp.
“What?” she snapped at him, a bit unkindly.
“Rick ain’t tellin’ you everythin’,” he said.
Lori just stared Shane with a guarded expression. “I trust my husband. And you used to, too.”
“Yeah, well… What happened out there today? It should concern everyone.” His expression was dark and Lori felt her sense of unease grow.
Shane rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “Y/N just—” Shane let out a sigh that had the edge of a growl to it.
“What are you talking about?” Lori pressed him in an undertone. “Are we in danger?”
Shane straightened up and pressed his lips into a thin line briefly before meeting her eyes. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I’m not taking my eyes off that girl.”
Inside, Hershel tied off the final stitch and snipped the suture. “All done.” He applied a layer of antibacterial ointment and wrapped your hand in a fresh dressing. “Try to keep it dry. And I mean it,” he gave you a pointed look, “take it easy for a few days. Daryl, you hold her to that. Anything else you need me to look at? Your arms? Daryl said—” You shook your head no. “Alright.”
The archer straightened up as you climbed to your feet. “Thank you,” you murmured to Hershel.
Daryl held the door for you and you cringed at how everyone’s eyes were on you immediately as you stepped out onto the porch. You avoided them and started heading in the direction of your camp. Daryl was still in step beside you and you hazarded a glance in his direction.
He could read a question in your eyes. “I’ll keep ya company for a bit if that’s alright... Besides, ya should be restin’ and somebody needs to make sure ya take care of yourself.” You didn’t say anything, but that also wasn’t a refusal. Daryl could tell you were still reeling a bit, and he wanted to be there just in case.
You arrived at your separate camp area and watched as Daryl immediately went and stirred up the coals in the fire, adding more wood and soon having a nice blaze going. You headed for your tent and glanced back over your shoulder at him. “Just gonna change,” you said softly. He nodded and went about heating something for you to eat along with water for tea. He was sure you had collected more ingredients and remembered that your bag was still sitting at his camp. He jogged to grab it and brought it back along with your bloodied and torn shirt, not sure what else to do with it. When he got back, you were sitting by the fire in clean and comfortable clothes, his shirt resting over your lap. You held it out to him as he dropped your pack beside you.
“Thanks,” he murmured. The fabric was still warm from your body. “Dunno what ya wanna do with this,” he said, holding yours out in turn.
You stared at it for a long moment before your fingers closed on it and Daryl watched as you immediately tossed it into the fire. In a moment, it was only ashes and embers. He sank down beside you and felt you studying him. He turned and met your eyes and was surprised when you spoke. “You aren’t afraid of me now? Like the others?” you asked softly.
“Nah. Why would I be?”
Your striking eyes focused back on the crackling campfire and the embers dancing upward on the warm torrent of air. “You saw what I did. Why wouldn’t you be?”
Daryl peered at you curiously for a long moment. “Ya were only protectin’ yourself. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done worse if I’d been there,” he drawled, and you could hear anger in the tension in his voice.
“I blacked out,” you said suddenly.
“When they hit ya? Ya, yer gonna have a good bruise tomorrow.”
“That’s not what I mean.” You cradled your injured hand absently in the other. “The last thing I remember was the one starting to cut my jeans and then—then I was just covered in blood and they were all dead. And next thing I know you were taking my knife from me.” You shut your eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember anything else.”
Daryl considered the regretful expression on your face. “Don’t matter. Yer safe. That’s what counts. Those men? They had it comin’.”
You looked up at him in surprise and he simply nodded and then grabbed a mug and filled it with hot water for you. You accepted it and dug into your bag, pulling out the small sack of foraged herbs from the day. You dropped a few berries and leaves into your mug and cradled it with your uninjured hand.
It was nearly sunset and the quality of the light was cooling, oranges turning to reds and then fading into deep purples and inky blues. You allowed yourself to frequently study the archer as he shoved a bowl of reheated stew into your hands or added more wood to the fire. You felt surprisingly at ease with him there and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the passing of so much silence. Maybe the concussion just had you slightly numb, but you didn’t think so.
“You aren’t going to ask me?” you finally said.
Daryl looked over at you and he felt a stirring in his chest at the way the firelight was catching the shine and colors in your hair and the soft shape of your lips. “Ask ya what?”
“How I—Why I—” You didn’t even know how to phrase it really.
Daryl watched you struggled for a moment. “Ain’t none of my business. But if ya wanted to talk about it, I’ll listen. Not gonna lie and say I haven’t wondered about what came before ya were with the group.”
You had been on the verge of speaking it but suddenly lost your nerve and sipped at your tea again. Daryl watched you withdrawing again and rubbed a hand a bit nervously over the back of his neck. Darkness had fallen completely now. “Well, I’ll leave ya alone. Yer probably sick of me anyway,” he drawled. “Get some rest, alright?” Daryl had climbed to his feet and started to head in the direction of his own tent but your voice froze him.
“It’s not that I want to be alone all the time…” Daryl could hear the crackling of the fire in the silence that followed. “It’s just that alone usually feels safer.”
He glanced back at you, turning partially. “Ya. I know the feelin’,” he said gently, pacing back.
You looked up at him and something about your expression, your wide eyes, went straight to his core. “Stay,” you said quietly. “Please.” You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment. “Being with you feels safer…” you admitted, timidly.
Daryl felt an ache in his chest and nodded. He grabbed a seat beside you again and puzzled over this unprecedented turn of events.
You seemed to come to some decision suddenly and looked over at him intensely. He caught your eyes briefly and then watched as you pushed up your right sleeve. At first all he saw were the knife cuts, crimson against your skin, but you turned your forearm toward him in the firelight. “This is what I didn’t want you to see,” you said. You gulped. You’d never told anyone, never shown anyone, literally never talked about what had happened to you since you got out. You’d vowed that you would just move on, but the longer you suffered in silence the worse it seemed to get, until you felt like it would consume you. And then today, with those men, you’d just completely lost it. It had triggered something, a memory or maybe more like a nightmare, and when you came to you were bathed in blood and didn’t even recognize yourself, couldn’t believe what you’d done. Enough was enough. Maybe if you spoke it, admitted it, dealt with it in some way… maybe it’d get easier.
Daryl stared at a scar on your forearm. It looked like a brand and the skin was still slightly pink, showing that it wasn’t that old. It was four numbers. 1048.
#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon twd#the walking dead#twd fanfics#daryl dixon drabbles#daryl imagines#daryl dixon x reader#fanfics#writers of tumblr#twd drabbles
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Another Place
Nessian Week, Day 5: Alternate Universe (AU) Day
Yes, I took the prompt literally. ;)
Word count: 2914
Warnings: fuzzy science, fuzzy space mumbo jumbo, language
Skye Penderwick belongs to Jeanne Birdsall. All other characters belong to SJM.
@nessianweek
~~~~~~
“I’m heading out, Doctor.”
Dr. Nesta Archeron, who held a PhD in astrophysics, looked up from her desk. “All right, Skye, thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. Don’t forget to sleep, Dr. Arch!”
“Never do, Dr. Pen!”
The other astrophysicist’s snort of laughter floated down the hall. “Yeah, right.”
Fine, maybe there were nights when Nesta stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, scribbling calculations on the chalkboards and in her notes, combing through theories of all the great scientists before her, adding bits and pieces to her own theory, and generally ruining her sleep schedule with badly timed, random “a-ha!” moments. But to be fair, seven years of developing a theory of alternate universes would do that to a person.
Seven years ago, she’d run across an anomaly on a deep-space image that didn’t match anything ever recorded or observed by any scientist, ever. And yet it was small enough that most scientists could easily overlook it; it blended into the edge of the nebula that was the focus of the image. Nesta had noticed it, though, and that small imperfection, the wrinkle in the darkness of space, rooted into her mind and stayed there, leading her to question what the hell that blur was and why the hell it was there.
Which in turn led her down the murky rabbit hole of various theories of wormholes and other flaws in space-time, none of which aligned with her observations. And then down the even murkier rabbit hole of theories (of varying degrees of coherence) of parallel and alternate universes. The alternate universe idea in particular intrigued Nesta, and she spent weeks researching every bit of information available, noting how it lined up with her observations, and finally coming to a realization that this image her team had captured could serve as visible, concrete evidence in favor of a theory of alternate universes.
She’d drafted the first bit of her theory and formed a small team to develop it by the next morning.
After five years, countless different images of the anomaly, multiple variations on complex equations, much screaming, and three lifetimes’ worth of coffee, Dr. Nesta Archeron hit a wall.
Literally and figuratively.
Because when she ran into what seemed like an insurmountable block, she punched the nearest wall as hard as possible.
The cracks still radiated across one wall of her lab.
That block, and her efforts to break through it, introduced her to Dr. Skye Penderwick, a brilliant American astrophysicist who, coincidentally, also happened to be fascinated by the theory of alternate universes, despite having no theory of her own. She’d been working at the same facility as Nesta for several months before the two actually met, and within days of Nesta inviting her into her lab, she’d proposed a potential solution to the Archeron team’s roadblock.
It worked.
Nesta offered her a collaborator position that very day. Skye accepted.
Two years later, they were on the edge of breakthrough. Both of them knew it. Both of them saw clearly where their calculations, their notes, their carefully chronicled, detailed observations of the motion of the anomaly, and their years of hard work were leading. The theory Nesta so elegantly posited was nearly complete. All the two self-described space nerds needed was something, anything, to hint beyond scientific explanation that on the other side of that anomaly laid an alternate Earth.
Unfortunately, that something hadn’t shown up quite yet.
For, despite all the remarkable achievements of space science--lightspeed travel, quantum leaping, imaging software capable of capturing formations’ minute details, even the discovery of other habitable planets in faraway galaxies--nobody had yet been able to present a coherent, plausible theory of an alternate universe.
Yet.
Sighing, Nesta pushed back from her desk and walked to the back of her laboratory. She placed her index finger in a barely visible indent in the pristine white wall. A panel slid silently open, revealing a space illuminated by a soft blue glow. A nondescript grey-and-cobalt pressure suit hung neatly in a glass case. Nudging the panel closed, Nesta opened the case and removed the pressure suit.
Hers.
For her…uncatalogued trips. Trips to the station her team had planted by the anomaly.
Trips which Nesta took regularly. She couldn’t risk any of her team traveling; each and every one of them was needed in the lab. No, it was her job and hers alone to make a regular leap to the station, check on their telescopes, and observe the anomaly up close.
She’d never tried to cross it. Not that she believed there was no passage; in fact, she’d painstakingly detailed the fascinatingly inexplicable illusion of a gap that appeared once every year, and had always failed to conclude if there truly was a gap.
Hence tonight’s little jaunt to the station. That gap had just appeared, and since it only showed for sixty hours, she had to go now.
So Dr. Nesta Archeron slid into her pressure suit, fastened the sleek boots and gloves, programmed the correct coordinates into the screen built into the underside of the suit’s left forearm, locked on her helmet, and keyed in the quantum leap sequence.
A blink later, she stood on the steel tiles of her team’s small, simple station deep in the reaches of outer space. Removing her helmet, Nesta allowed herself exactly three minutes to drink in the wonders of deep space.
Then she set the station’s timers for forty-eight hours, sat at the control panel, and piloted her space station/highly advanced spaceship into the gap in the universe.
For it was indeed a gap.
~
Commander Cassian Ilnair released the cockpit hatch of his sleek “interstellar exploration transport,” or, as he called her, the Millenium Falcon. Bloody government and their bloody idiotic pompous names for spaceships. That’s all it was, a spaceship, albeit a highly advanced, highly adaptable one that had carried him and up to four crew safely across nearly every corner of the universe and back to Earth.
Pulling his flight helmet off, he shook out his unruly shoulder-length hair, half- unzipped his navy blue pressure suit, and started postflight checks.
“She’ll need to be refueled and the usual before she travels again, but other than that, good as new,” he reported to his CO, a woman five feet tall if she was an inch whose impeccable, formidable exploration resumé and take-no-bullshit demeanor made up for her diminutive height.
“Excellent, Commander. I expect a full report on Disturbance AS-2947C by noon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cassian saluted.
“Dismissed.”
As he headed for the shower, Cass stole a glance at his wrist screen, which showed eight-fifteen a.m. Damn space time, he grumbled to himself, throws off my goddamn body clock. Luckily, he’d noted no significant change in that particular disturbance since the last time he visited it two weeks ago. That’d make his report much easier, indeed.
Sure, the disturbance was rippling ever so slightly, but it did that every year at this time and had been doing so since it appeared exactly seven years ago.
Not a single scientist in all the ranks of the space force could provide a plausible explanation, or even a cohesive theory.
Disturbance AS-2947C was just that, a disturbance. A puzzling, inexplicable snag in the fabric of space time that had just appeared one day and sat around for seven years, following a routine path of motion but not really moving anywhere, just pulsing, and showing a ripple for exactly sixty hours exactly once per year.
Cassian knew his brilliant astrophysicist friend Dr. Emerie Nguyen was developing a theory that AS-2947C was a wormhole, but so far she hadn’t found any evidence to support there being another side to it. So far, all Emerie could say was that this disturbance could very well be the concrete evidence of stable wormholes she and every other member of the space sciences sector had been chasing for years. And yet they were still chasing it.
He quickly showered and changed into his everyday uniform, slipped his wristband back on, and drew up a quick set of notes for the commodore. At exactly two minutes before noon, he knocked on her office door.
“Enter.”
Cassian stepped into the office, closed the door, and saluted. “Ma’am.”
“At ease, Commander. I believe you’re early today.”
“Some days I try to be punctual, Commodore.”
“I see.” She motioned to the west wall. “Report, Commander.”
Tapping three fingers twice against the wall, Cassian swiped an image from his tablet onto the wall, which doubled as a presentation screen.
“Today’s imaging of Disturbance AS-2947C shows no remarkable differences from the last set. The formation has not morphed or shifted noticeably in any direction.” He swiped to a new image. “The annual irregularity in the approximate center of the disturbance appeared on schedule roughly three hours before we arrived, making it now roughly seven hours visible.”
“Any notable observations about the irregularity?”
“No, Commodore. The irregularity is behaving exactly like it has for the six years we’ve observed it. It merely appears as what looks to be the illusion of a gap, holds steady for sixty hours, and disappears. We have never been able to decipher if the irregularity is in fact a gap or if it is simply a change in the observed color.”
“Have you never attempted to pilot your craft towards this irregularity?”
Cassian swallowed. “With all due respect, Commodore, yes. I believe you are familiar with the deep-space engine failure incident of last year?”
“I am.”
“That was my attempt to discover more about the irregularity.”
“Ah.” The commodore tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Though I never did hear the pilot’s explanation of this failure.”
“First, may I ask what the engineers’ conclusion was?”
“The engineers concluded that the engine failure, which somehow you managed to prevent from becoming catastrophic, was the result of a power failure caused by the change in the conditions of space within the disturbance. They informed me that the engine short-circuited when your craft entered the boundary of the disturbance, but they could not explain or even theorize why.”
Cassian nodded. “I can theorize why. Commodore, I believe the power failed because, simply put, the way we fuel our crafts does not exist within the disturbance.”
“Are you implying that neither solar nor stellar energy exists within AS-2947C?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. The instant I entered that region, my engines went completely silent. I had no time to observe anything else, as my immediate reaction was to reverse course and exit, lest I risk total craft failure and being stranded in the deepest parts of space. My craft regained power once outside the disturbance region, and I made it back, despite one of my engines being nonfunctional. As I’ve thought about it over the months, I can only come to the conclusion that the power cut off because there was no available power source.”
Commodore Amren considered Cass’s explanation. “It is logical, and it would explain why the engineers could not determine the cause of the failure. Power source failure, when rectified immediately, leaves behind no visible evidence within the engines of our craft.”
“Commodore, I still want to enter the disturbance. I believe that a craft carrying physical fuel could safely enter the region.”
“Physical fuel became obsolete decades ago, Commander.”
“And yet we still have stores. This is why. We knew there was a chance some mission might need to use fuel rather than energy to power its craft. This is that mission.”
“Commander, I’m afraid I cannot give you clearance to enter the disturbance. Not at the moment, at least. You know the regulations.”
Cassian sighed. “Right, right, seven days between active pilot duty.”
“There is one thing I can do, if you wish.”
“Tell me?”
“You may take a small stationary craft to the observation point. Stations do not qualify as actively piloted craft. I can assign you a seventy-two-hour observation mission, which will allow you to be as close to Disturbance AS-2947C as possible without endangering yourself or your craft, and also will allow you to report any noteworthy changes. Acceptable?”
“Accepted, ma’am. Thank you.”
The commodore nodded once. “I’ll get the assignment written up now. Prepare for launch at 1600 hours.”
Cassian snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Dismissed.”
Four hours later, Cassian’s small observation stationcraft left Earth’s atmosphere, set its destination coordinates, and blinked away into a quantum leap, arriving at the observation point in mere seconds.
Arrived at destination, the cool, mechanical autopilot voice announced. Artificial gravity effective in sixty seconds.
Cassian sat back, checking his harness. All secure.
Artificial gravity in effect.
Unbuckling, he stood up, pulled off his helmet, and walked to the windows, staring into the fascinating mystery of Disturbance AS-2947C. The irregularity rippled, gently, like he’d seen it do before, taunting him with the possibility of something on the other side. He stood there barely thinking, just marveling at the sight of this enigmatic corner of deep space.
And then the irregularity expanded. And a craft like nothing he’d ever seen flew out.
~
Nesta hadn’t known whether she was sane when she flew into the gap. Hell, she hadn’t known if she was thinking, let alone doing. If wormhole theory meant anything, then she’d expected a moment of terrifying flight through stark blackness that ended in her ship landing in some other, possibly uncharted, part of the universe.
She hadn’t been expecting to see an alien station.
But there it was.
The gap was a tunnel of sorts. And at the other end was a station Nesta didn’t recognize.
She directed her ship around the foreign station, intending to capture images for examination in her lab. But before she could key in the command to the ship’s cameras, her radio cracked with static. And then someone spoke.
“Who the hell are you?”
Nesta stared at the receiver, then dragged her gaze to the station. Standing in what looked like an observation deck was a man wearing a pressure suit and boots, holding a comm device to his mouth.
“I repeat, who the hell are you?”
“You tell me first. And while you’re at it, what the hell is that station you’re in?”
“It’s a standard observation craft, of course. Unlike whatever alien craft you’re flying.”
“This is a typical exploration ship, you coarse, callous idiot.”
“Like fuck it is.”
“What’s the matter, never seen a woman fly a real ship before?”
“Never seen that particular ship before in my entire life as a pilot. Or in any of my texts.”
“You’re telling me this very real ship I’m flying doesn’t exist?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then--” Nesta’s eyes widened in shock. “Pilot, may I have your name and credentials?”
“Commander Cassian Ilnair, Earth’s space force.”
“Earth’s space force,” Nesta muttered to herself, scanning through her mind for anything related to that name. Nothing. And then it hit her.
“Commander Ilnair, who leads your nation?”
“My nation?” He seemed confused by the word. “Nations melded into a global government centuries ago. President Amarantha currently heads the Global Council.”
A look of wonder crossed Nesta’s face. “It’s true…it’s true. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“Commander, my name is Dr. Nesta Archeron. I’m from an alternate Earth.”
The man standing in the unfamiliar station dropped his comm device. And stared.
“Permission to attempt to dock at your station? We have some items to discuss.”
He sat down on the deck floor and picked up his radio. “Granted, if you can.”
Nesta flew a slow lap around the station, noticing two docking ports, both with airlocks that seemed oddly familiar. Hmm, she thought, airlock design is clearly universal. Aiming for the port closer to the observation deck, she carefully guided her ship into the space and sighed in relief when the hatch clicked into place with the station’s airlock.
“Connect the airlock to my ship, if you would?”
“What’s the magic word, Dr. Archeron?” Nesta swore she could hear his damn smirk.
“Please connect your airlock to my ship so I can explain myself.”
“Of course.”
Less than two minutes later, Nesta heard the familiar hiss of an airlock sealing into place around her ship’s hatch.
“Clear for exit, Dr. Archeron.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
Nesta placed her tablet and several images into her pack, slung it over her shoulder, released her exit hatch, and swiftly ascended the ladder into the station. The moment her head cleared, she was looking around, mentally cataloguing every detail of the spacecraft. It was basic, functional, only containing living quarters and an observation lab.
“Whenever you’re done gaping, Doctor, we can talk.”
Nesta turned to face the commander, who was leaning against a wall just outside the airlock. “There is a difference between observing and gaping, pilot, not that you would know.”
A cocky grin crept across his face. “Naturally, I’m just one of the best pilots in the universe, I wouldn’t know.”
“Your universe,” she corrected.
“What?”
“Your universe, Commander Ilnair. Or has your tiny brain already forgotten what I said about being from an alternate universe?”
He shook his head. “Right. Sorry, I’m still trying to process that.”
“As am I. Show me to the lab?”
“Not much to show, but follow me.” He led her down a short hallway onto the observation deck and laboratory, clearly the main space of the station. “Here we are. I believe you mentioned something about explaining yourself?”
“I did.”
He gestured toward her. “Go ahead.”
So she did.
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
That Swept-Back Hair
Billy Russo x Reader
@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration
AU Prompt: Friends with Benefits
Summary: How will Billy Russo react when his FWB finds another lover? Bearing in mind that he’s a complete hypocrite.
Warnings: Swearing, jealousy, fluff with mentions of sex.
A/N: Loosely based on S1 Billy, it’s non-canon & set in my imaginary Punisher universe.
(My GIF)
»»——————————————— ⚜ ———————-————————-««
Your phone was jumping like a jack-in-the-box on your bedside table, the blue light of the screen illuminating the wall behind it every few seconds.
You rolled over with a groan, taking a moment before picking it up and looking at it. Of course it was Billy Russo, who else would it be at 1 AM on a Saturday morning?
The guy next to you in the bed also rolled over, covering his mouth as he yawned, eyes half-open.
“Everything OK, Y/N?” he asked.
“Yeah, Raf, just a needy friend.... gonna call them back, so do you mind staying hush-hush for the next few minutes?”
He yawned massively again, speaking through it, “Ahhhhrrrrr...yeah... no problem...”
You hit the ‘Favourites’ star next to Billy’s name in your contacts, hearing it start ringing.
It went to voicemail so you hung up, slid the phone onto the table and threw your head back down onto your pillow. Fucking Russo. Blows up your phone with missed calls & “Pick up!!” texts then doesn’t answer when you call back.
It rang two seconds later, just as Raf had turned towards you, opening his mouth to no doubt ask you about your ‘needy friend’. You rolled your eyes and grabbed it, but the screen went dark just as you did so.
You hit redial, it rang out, went to voicemail. “Fuck!” you ground out between your teeth.
Your head had touched your pillow again for about 5 minutes, when there was a staccato series of knocks on your apartment door.
You shot up in bed, quivering - ah hell, it couldn’t be, could it? Really?
Raf had dozed back off in the meantime & didn’t even stir when the knocks rang out sharply in the quiet apartment. Not much of a guard dog, you thought, quickly throwing on your discarded PJs.
You padded barefoot over to the front door, confirming via the peephole that Billy Russo was indeed outside in the hallway, leaning on your doorframe so he could place one eye right to it. You spotted an eyebrow wiggle as you made eye contact. Oh holy hell!
You straightened your shoulders, took the chain off and unlocked the door, swinging it open.
“Billy!” you said quietly, with a small smile, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him for about three weeks. Not that that was anything new.
He moved gracefully past you like the panther he was, even though you’d been trying to subtly block him from coming in. He was dressed in one of his sharp suits, so you guessed he’d been at one of the never-ending stream of events he attended.
Your mouth drew into a line. Whoever he’d gone there with must have bucked the trend and bailed on him. Otherwise he wouldn’t have turned up at your place when, in his mind, the night was still young.
He turned towards you, placing both hands on your hips as he did so, pulling you up against his muscled chest.
“Now, Y/N, why do you think I’m here, holding my best girl in my arms?” the New York accented voice purred in your ear.
He leant in and kissed you hungrily, deepening the kiss immediately to a passionate one.
You pulled away, escaping his grasp. His eyes widened in surprise, a small frown making its way onto his brow. A few locks of his dark hair had fallen forward onto his brow and he swept them back up with his fingers, a reflexive gesture for him.
“I tried to call you back,” you mumbled, “I’ve... uh... got a friend staying with me at the moment.”
He shot his trademark smirk at you. “Hey, that’s OK. We can be quiet for once, yeah?” Grinning now.
In true romcom fashion, Raf picked that moment to come wandering into the lounge, clad only in his boxers, both hands ruffling through his short hair.
Billy’s mouth dropped open. He made a quick recovery, though. Gestured with a thumb.
“So... this your ‘friend’?”
He looked Raf up and down. He was a 6 feet 3 firefighter with the FDNY, and to put it mildly, he was ripped.
He topped Billy by a couple of inches, and by a few pounds. Billy scowled at him.
Raf eyed up Billy too, turning to you and asking, “This your ‘needy friend’ you were talkin’ ‘bout, Y/N?”
Oh crap.
Billy’s scowl turned to a furious glare, aimed right at you. “Needy?!! Ah, fuck this, Y/N! I think we all know who’s needy around here.”
Your mouth rounded into an offended O, but before you could reply, Billy was out the door and it slammed loudly behind him.
Great - now all your neighbours were gonna be mad at you too.
»»———————————————- ⚜ -———-———————————-««
You had then spent an uncomfortable half hour over a coffee with Raf, explaining the dynamics of your non-relationship with Billy.
“Now,” he’d said, brow furrowed, “let me get this straight. He’s part of your friend group, you see him every so often at a bar or at one of their places - but never his. He sees tons of other women but turns up here for booty calls whenever his busy schedule allows?”
He shook his head. “He’s using you, Y/N. What a selfish prick.”
You bristled, “Look, we go back quite a ways. Since he was in the Marines. I knew Frank first as we were neighbours when we were kids, and I eventually met Billy through him. He’s Frankie’s best friend, they’re Marine brothers.”
“And how long have you been ‘friends with benefits’?”
You muttered your response. “Sorry, what was that you said?” he asked.
“Three years,” you repeated reluctantly.
“Damn.” he said. “And what am I, exactly? Filler for whenever fuckboy isn’t calling?”
“No! Raf, you’re a really nice guy, and I love spending time with you.”
He stood up, heading to the bedroom. “Look, I’m gonna go. I need a few days to try and get my head round your fucked-up relationship with the suit-wearing Marine.”
He’d left shortly afterwards, saying he’d call. You weren’t sure that he would.
You met up with Karen for lunch later that day. You’d been co-workers first off, then had become good friends. She was currently dating Frank, your childhood friend.
You were so glad that he was back out socialising, in a small way, after losing his wife and kids in a brutal gang clash just over a year before. They and several others had been what the papers described, rather callously, as “collateral damage” while minding their own business in the public park the gun fight took place in.
Frank had understandably closed himself off to a large extent as he grieved and after a decent interval, you’d tried your best to draw him back out in a gentle way. You’d decided to indulge in a bit of Matchmaking Lite, and had invited Karen along to a night out with the rest of your friends. You knew Frank would be there and as you’d hoped, they hit it off right away.
You spilled what had happened the night before to her, grateful for a shoulder to cry on. She looked and sounded sympathetic, but you knew she wasn’t a big fan of your arrangement with Billy. She again voiced her astonishment that you still had it going on with him.
“Karen, without making you vomit by sharing too many details, Billy is just the absolute best in bed. He’s got the stamina of an ox. Several oxes, in fact.” You just knew your eyes had a faraway look in them.
Her mouth pursed in a ‘moux’ of distaste. “But still, Y/N, he’s just so damn selfish about it! It’s all on his terms.”
“You know he’s got commitment issues.”
She choked on her espresso martini. “Ya don’t say!!”
“It’s complicated.”
“Look, honey, I’m gonna be straight with you. It is anything but complicated. He spends 90% of his time at Anvil, 9.9% with other gals, and guess who gets the remaining measly 0.1%, the crumbs from his table?” She pointed her finger straight at you. “Coconut for the lady over there!”
You sat in silence for several minutes, turning over in your mind what Raf, and now Karen, had said to you. Eventually you nodded slowly. “You know what, Kar, you’re totally right. I just let the great sex blind me to all the rest of his fucking bullshit.”
Time to cut Billy loose.
Not that you ever had him tied down in the first place. If you were being brutally honest.
And you weren’t sure whether he’d even bother showing up at your place ever again.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
The next day being Sunday meant that some serious ‘Me Time’ was in order.
Sitting on the sofa, you stared off into space, thinking about the two men in your life. You huffed to yourself; you hadn’t heard from either of them so far, and that was probably for the best. You could do without being stuck in the middle of some kind of testosterone-fuelled conflict between the two of them.
Then you laughed out loud at yourself. Who were you kidding? You’d probably never see either of them again! You stood up, stretching out your shoulder and neck muscles. Time for a bit of self-pampering.
You had a long relaxing bath, gave yourself a leisurely mani-pedi, ordered in some pizza, and began to go through some layouts for work the next day.
You were a digital content editor at the newspaper both you & Karen worked for. It was okay as jobs went, but it didn’t set your world on fire. However, what did excite you was that the newspaper’s parent publishing house was about to launch a travel magazine, and you’d applied for a transfer.
What really made butterflies pop up into your stomach, though, was the fact that the magazine’s content editors would also be contributing instead of just collating. You’d already had an interview with the Editor in Chief, and should be hearing back within the next few days.
If someone else got that position you’d applied for, you’d just have to shove them out of your third floor office window at the very first opportunity.
While you were thinking of potentially becoming a murderer, there was a familiar pattern of raps at your door. Your heart sank straight through your boots.
You knew it was Billy before you opened the door. It sounded ridiculous but he had a certain way of knocking. Peremptory, demanding, with military precision.
He stood outside your door, tensed up and rigid, with a carefully blank look on his face.
“You alone?” he barked, by way of greeting.
You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Why, hello Billy. How are you? I’m fine, Y/N, how are you? Yeah, I’m great.”
He glared right back. “I asked if you were alone.”
“That’s highly unlikely, Billy, seeing as how I’m so needy!”
He huffed and marched inside straight to the sofa, sitting down and leaning his arms on his spread-apart thighs. He clasped his hands together, letting them dangle loosely between his knees.
“You said I was needy first.” Sulky face.
“Hey, are we back in school or something?”
He looked up at you, dark eyes staring into yours intensely. “Why d’you get with another guy, Y/N?”
Straight to the point, then. OK, you were going to return the favour.
“What, I’m not allowed to have a life? D’you think I’m going to just sit around, waiting to gratefully receive 5 minutes of your attention every few weeks? Like some kind of fucktoy, to be picked up and dropped at will? Seriously?”
He clenched his fingers until the joints went white. “I thought you were happy with the way things are between us!!?... our... our arrangement. You’re important to me. And you know I care about you!” Not meeting your eyes at this last comment.
“Huh!!!” You leant against your kitchen island, you weren’t going to get into Billy’s orbit. Too risky.
“So important that you spend all your time at work, while bedding half of Manhattan? Leaving me with the crumbs from your table, as someone put it recently.”
He shot up from the sofa, fury in his eyes. “Who fuckin’ said that?!”
You shrugged, “It’s not important. What is important is that our arrangement, as you call it, is over. Since you put it in such business-like terms, think of it as a contract which has been terminated.”
Billy stalked across the room until he was an inch away from you, eyes boring into yours. “No.”
You laughed in disbelief, eyebrows arching. “You think that just cos you say ‘No’ it’s not gonna happen? Because no-one ever says no to Billy Russo, is that it?”
He grabbed you, lips finding yours in a ferocious kiss. One hand crept up the nape of your neck, his fingers running through your hair, while the other hand pulled your hips to his. He had an impressive erection. You gasped as you felt the pressure of it against you, but pushed him away, escaping to the other side of the kitchen island.
“Just go, Billy. Please.”
He stared at you, wide-eyed, those dark pools of his looking suspiciously glossy. Was he...? No way.
Billy turned on his heel and slammed out of your apartment. Again.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Billy knocked his beer bottle off the table with his elbow, as he leant forward to drunkenly wave a finger in his friend’s face. Luckily, it fell onto the grassy verge below, rather than the decked patio they were sitting on in Frank’s back garden.
Frank grabbed his finger. “Russo!!! Chill out, man.”
“She tol’ me... t’go, Frankie, I was kissin’ her an’ she jus’ said Go!” slurred Billy. Frank squeezed his eyes shut at the whiny tone then looked back at him.
“Bill! We all warned you she wouldn’t put up with your bullshit forever. You should’ve known this was comin’ bud.”
“Bu’ I... I... love her,” he blurted, then stared at Frank, eyes wide, part horrified, part terrified.
“Got a strange way of showin’ it, Bill. Picking other women over her, until you decide it’s time to hook up. Surprised she’s stood for it so long!”
Billy swayed slightly in his garden chair, just staring back at him, nodding repetitively like a bobble head every so often.
“I gotta get her back, Frankie.”
“Whooo,” Frank huffed out a big breath, “well, ya always did like to choose the impossible missions, Russo.”
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
You were beginning to understand what having a stalker was like.
When you left work the following day, the first person you spotted on the sidewalk outside your office building was Billy Russo.
You hesitated, shocked, then nodded and said quietly, “Hi Billy,” before continuing your short walk to the subway.
He fell into step alongside you. “M’gonna show you just how much I care about you,” you heard, then he was gone. Just gone, into the crowd of commuters around you.
That was just the beginning. Every morning, one single rose of the palest pearly pink would be delivered to your office, laying in a swirl of black chiffon within a silver gift box.
Texts would drop into your phone at unexpected hours. “Please forgive me. Let me back into your life. I love you, Y/N.”
The first time you saw those words, you nearly dropped your phone. What the....?
Gourmet meals and bottles of rosé prosecco would be delivered to your door, precisely 30 minutes after you’d get home. Was he watching you or something? A little shiver ran up your spine. He was still a sniper, after all.
You would catch glimpses of Billy when you left the office, and outside your apartment. Without a shadow of a doubt, he meant you to see him, he would never be so visible on a real surveillance job. But he didn’t ever approach you.
Then you got your dream job. You, Karen and a bunch of your colleagues went to your regular bar after work for a quick celebration. There was a toast proposed to your new job at one point, and one of your male colleagues grabbed you in a friendly bear hug after they’d all shouted “Cheers!”
You were looking past his arm as he hugged you, and found yourself staring into Billy Russo’s dark eyes. Casually dressed, he was leaning on a high table near the door, a beer in front of him.
Billy lazily pushed back from his table, strode over to you, swiped you out of the guy’s arms, wrapped his own arms round you and planted a kiss on your temple, with a nonchalant, “Hi, sweetheart.”
Karen, who had heard all about your last encounter with Billy, looked thunderstruck. You’d be getting interrogated later, that was for sure.
He, meanwhile, landed another kiss right next to your lips and said, “See you later at home,” giving you a quick squeeze before walking off.
Your female colleagues meanwhile were swooning over Billy, one of them commenting that she wasn’t surprised you’d kept so damn quiet about your hot boyfriend. You gave Karen a meaningful look and just smiled back at them all, neither confirming nor denying anything.
However the feeling of Billy’s body against yours, the delicious smell of him, his lips on your skin, had set your heart racing at a dangerous speed. You really did try to push those thoughts aside.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Flopping down onto your sofa when you got home, you laid your head back on it and thought about that evening. As expected, Karen had questioned you ruthlessly as you left the bar together, like the perceptive investigative reporter she was.
Talking as you walked to the subway, you’d given her every detail of all the deliveries, glimpses of him and texts you’d received in the last few days. Karen had stopped walking, looking at you in surprise. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell me about all of this before now? Hell, Frank told me he had some crazy plan to win you back, but I never really thought...” her voice trailed off.
“Is it working?” she asked next. “Mmmm, yes and no, to be honest,” you said. “Don’t let it!” she said firmly, “This is what he should have been doing all along, instead of treating you like a total afterthought.”
You nodded, “Can’t argue with ya on that,” you agreed. “Is he going to turn up at your place, d’you think?” she asked. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” you laughed, “I think that was Billy giving me a heads-up.”
So as you’d been 90% expecting, the familiar knock at the door came about 15 minutes after you’d got back. You got up and after checking the peephole, sighed and opened it. “Hi, Billy.”
This was like déjà vu. Billy brushed past you and sat himself down on the sofa, in the same pose as the last time. Head down, hair falling forward and hiding his eyes from you. This time, you bit the bullet and sat at the opposite end, leaning against the armrest so you were facing him.
“Well, Billy.... leaving aside the stalkerish overtones, I guess I should thank you for the roses, gourmet meals and prosecco.”
He swung his head towards you, eyes wide. “They were just to get your attention. Frankie told me it’s what I shoulda been doin’ anyway, all along.”
You nodded, “Yeah, he’s not wrong.”
Billy heaved out a big sigh, head dropping. “I know I’ve been a complete shit to you, Y/N. Took you for granted.” He met your eyes again, “Truth is, I was fallin’ in love with you, and I really didn’t know how to handle it. I thought it was... just sex to you, so I... I was a coward and tried to ignore it, and acted like I didn’t give a shit about you. I just couldn’t have you kick me to the curb if I told you how I felt.”
You were genuinely shocked - Billy had never talked about his feelings before. You’d accepted this in the past, telling yourself it was due to his upbringing in the system.
“So you meant what you said in your daily texts, then?”
He nodded, still looking straight at you, “Yeah...I meant it, I do love you, Y/N.” Then he quickly looked down again.
Before you could stop yourself, you’d leant along the sofa and your fingers were pushing that silky hair off his forehead. He looked up at you, taking hold of your wrist and kissing your pulse point softly. You stood up, saying “C’mere, you,” and took hold of his hand, pulling him up along with you.
He put his arms round you, burying his face into your hair and just holding you. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled. You laughed, “What?! Even though you hadn’t seen me for weeks before the night you landed on my doorstep?!”
“I know, I know, you don’t need to remind me I’ve been a complete prick. I’ll be honest, I think it took me seein’ you with that guy, and him actin’ like you were his, to give me that kick up the ass I needed.” The dark eyes looked down at you, and he sniffed, “He still around?” You shook your head.
“Nah. I think he thought I was completely insane for still being with you.”
Billy laughed, “Maybe he’s right....” he looked at you, serious again. “You willin’ to give me another chance, Y/N? I promise you I’ll do it right this time. The whole dating thing, asking you to be my girlfriend after three dates, all that stuff... everything.”
“Everything? Like, what if I say no sex to start with? And no running off to other women to scratch that itch? You’ll swear to all that? Really?!”
“I swear to you, on my Ka-Bar.”
“Wow,” you said, knowing that the knife was never out of Billy’s possession. It was an integral part of him. Maybe he was serious after all.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
A small kiss on your cheek woke you the next morning. Those eyes, those dark liquid pools, stared into yours, while a thumb ran over your cheek. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” smiling down at you. Reaching up, you ran your fingers into his hair, moving it off his forehead. “Morning, sweetheart,” you echoed, smiling back.
You and Billy had shared a bed but nothing else, except hugs and hand-holding. You were in your PJ’s - well, camisole top with matching shorts - and all Billy had on were his boxer briefs. You couldn’t deny you’d had thoughts of just leaping on him during the night... let’s face it, he was one hot dude. And he knew how to ‘look after’ a woman in bed, as he himself put it.
But no, you were determined he was gonna have to work for it, just like he promised he would. So you’d had to show some self-discipline, well, a lot of it, actually. He’d passed the first test - he’d actually stayed all night. Usually he was gone before the morning light stole through the curtains.
Now, he kissed your bare shoulder and leapt out of bed, like he was back in the Marines. He stood still for a moment, sideways next to the bed, having a leisurely full body stretch. Billy knew full well you’d be totally enjoying the view. A little tease from him to remind you what you were missing.
The sunlight, which stole through a small gap between your curtains in the otherwise dim room, picked out the sculpted muscles on his back & torso. Then he turned slightly more, ensuring you wouldn’t miss seeing the hard-on he was currently sporting. You shook your head, with a slight smile on your lips. The cocky big bastard.
“Where you off to, Billy?” you asked, thinking to yourself, if he’s headed to Anvil, he can fucking shove his second cha......
“I’m gonna make my beautiful almost-girlfriend a cup of good Italian coffee.”
You smiled at his departing back as he disappeared out of the bedroom. “Oh, Billy?”
His voice drifted back through from the kitchen, “Yeah, darlin’?”
“Can I please get some toast with that, too?”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
You stretched luxuriously, nestling your head into your pillows.
Looked like you were going to find out what having a panther on a leash was like.
#ben barnes#billy russo#billy russo fanfic#billy russo imagine#billy russo x reader#billy russo fanfiction#that swept back hair
262 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey! I've been reading one of your fics and I kinda felt the need to request one! Your writing is so good! If it's levi/erwin is up to you, but that is the ship I'm usually going with 😍🙃
My rec is; Levi is acting out after his squad is killed (Petra, Eld, Gunter and Oulo/Auro? Ouro? I don't even know anymore-) in the way of how he would let out steam in the underground. He goes out drinking and instigates a fight, intentionally or subconsciously, and ends up getting overpowered by a group of men, probably because of his drunkenness and perhaps because of the injured ankle he sustained after the meeting with the female titan. His injuries after the fight are significant and eventually, he's found in an alleyway (or something), by Erwin who's been worried about his mental state (cause obviously, Levi has been trying to hide it, all though rather poorly), and takes care of him.
I hope this isn't too specific 😅 I take requests myself and appreciate people being as thorough as possible. If not; take whatever you like and run with ut 😄😄
AHH THANK YOU FOR SUCH A DETAILED ASK!! good stuff right here^^ big brain moves^^
Fix You:
(AO3)
(warning: language, violence, a bit of a emetophobia and drinking ofc)
His heart ached.
It spread through his chest into every limb of his body, to the point where the horrible throbbing from his ankle felt like a slight ache in comparison.
Every time Levi lost someone, it broke away a little piece of him. Even though he’d never let it see the surface, there were several cracks underneath. When he found his squad; bloody, with limbs dangling from trees and branches, it broke off another rather large piece.
These were people he had trained closely. Erwin had trusted him enough to assign him a special leadership role in the Scouts and a special operations squad to suit it. When he trained them, he had drilled it into their heads everyday not to die. He gave them every bit of his knowledge on how to survive in the shitty world they had to endure.
He wasn’t a leader. He never had been. Unfortunate people just tended to follow behind him. Levi never knew the right thing to say or how to express what he was thinking, but his squad had still learned quickly. They were smart and skillful and he was… proud of them. Truly.
And their blood still painted that forest floor.
Levi knocked back another shot, numbing the pain for a moment longer. A fleeting escape from the horrors that crept into his mind yet again that night. He was dangling off of his bar stool as he slouched forward even further with his shoulders barely holding his head up. He flagged down the waiter for another round.
It wasn’t exactly clear what had driven him to the rougher side of town, to drown himself in shitty booze. It had a lot to do with his hands, which he refused to look down at. Every time he did, he saw red. Dark crimson. The blood of his comrades. Paired with the echo of radiating pain from his ankle. A pain, he felt, was well deserved.
He wasn’t even supposed to be walking on it, as much as possible at least. Hanji had given him grief about going to an actual doctor for the pain and the swelling. At the moment, he couldn’t find the will to care. As long as he could shove it into his boot and stumble his way into a bar for the night, then he was fine by his standards.
He downed another shot of whiskey, barely feeling the burn in the back of his throat any longer. The room spun, he huffed out a broken laugh quietly under his breath. It’d been years since he’d drank himself to this pathetic point. Not since the underground. Or maybe not since Farlan and…
He threw back the next shot and took in a sharp breath as he stubbornly blocked the memory from surfacing. His eyelids shut tightly as he tried to remove the thoughts of his failures from his mind. All the people he’d failed to protect. Despite his overwhelming strength.
Humanity’s strongest soldier…
What a load of bullshit.
He flagged down the bartender once more and asked for the whole damn bottle, slurring his words to the point of near incomprehension. The bartender didn’t seem to mind. Money was money. Even if his patrons drank themselves into a ditch. That’s how it went in these parts of town. Money was the only language anyone spoke, because money was the only way anyone could make it through the day.
It reminded him of home.
He slammed down his money and swiped the bottle from the counter, the bar spun wildly as he stood on his feet again. Levi had nearly forgotten about his injury, the sudden shift of weight onto his ankle sent him stumbling a bit. He hissed in pain, but only responded with another pull of the whiskey, straight from the bottle.
As the chilled night breeze hit him, Levi felt a sudden wave of disgust. It was the smell of sewage and grime. These alleyways were radiating with it. Swaying a bit, Levi grabbed out blindly for purchase. His palm found a brick wall, covered in something sticky. He winced, pain shooting up his leg as the alleyway walls spun dizzyingly around him.
The pain was welcome. In fact, he’d decided he didn’t deserve the numbness that the whiskey brought. He should feel it all. He’d gotten his comrades killed. Again. He wanted to feel something. To hit something.
Levi’s chance was walking down the other side of the alleyway, feet dragging confidently through the sludge of the streets. A group of men walking together, talking irritatingly loud in contrast to the quiet night streets Levi had enjoyed before.
“Haha! He was dumber than he looked!” One hollered confidently.
“What’d you expect from a son of a whore?” A burly man spit as he laughed, his dull voice echoing through the alleyway. He was obviously somewhat of a leader to them.
His last word perked Levi’s attention. He gripped his whiskey bottle tightly in one hand, nearly busting it into pieces.
“That’s a choice word there.” Levi lazily brought up a shaky finger, along with the whiskey bottle, to point in the direction of the burly man. Or at least where he thought he was. His vision was dancing.
The leader laughed a grating chuckle and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What is, you drunk idiot? You got a problem with the word whore?”
“I gotta problem with your shit leaking face.”
Levi growled out his words with a half cocked smirk, looking much like a wild animal in the dark of the alleyway. Although his threatening appearance was subdued by the fact that he could barely balance on his feet, without the help of the wall nearby.
“Haha!” The man belly-laughed once more, drawing near, his companions followed closely behind him.
“You got some guts, short stuff. Got the chops to back that shit up?”
The leader rolled back his sleeves, his friends followed suit. They were all geared up to fight him. Levi laughed hollowly in the dark. A sick, empty, laugh influenced by the whiskey fueling his veins.
He swung hard at the burly man, a bit surprised to have connected with his jaw. Levi could barely see straight at this point. A hit was coming from his left, which he barely dodged sluggishly before grabbing the man’s arm with the hand that wasn’t still gripping his whiskey. He twisted it, breaking the man’s wrist.
Levi took a slow swig of the whiskey before he caught a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of his eye, coming from his right. Someone had pulled a knife. Interesting.
It didn’t quite register properly until the next man lunged at him and he barely had the chance to grip his hand before the knife could plunge into his chest. This new face looked angry. Angrier that Levi had felt about the burly man’s comment. The cause of this chosen chaos. In fact, Levi wasn’t feeling much anger at all over this fight.
The knife drew closer and closer. Levi managed to smack it away, not a moment too soon. The sound of metal crossing the stone ground echoed over the heavy breathing of the group. Levi had placed a heavy weight on his ankle with his last move causing a bit of a wince to unconsciously form on his face. Before he could register what had happened, he felt an even more crippling shock ripple through his entire leg.
He gasped suddenly, vision darkening.
The whiskey bottle hit the ground, spilling the burgundy liquid all over the stone floor. Glass shards scattered all around.
The man had kicked him, hard, in his wounded leg. Right where he’d shoved his bruised, aching flesh into his boot. Levi’s legs gave out beneath him and his knees connected with the stone below with a loud thud. His palms hit glass in front of him as he could barely hold himself upright.
His head was spinning, swirling, and darkening his vision around the edges as he knew nothing but white hot pain for what felt like an eternity.
“I knew it! He’s got a bum leg!” The man who’d pulled the knife shouted gleefully to the remaining members of the crew.
He must’ve noticed Levi’s wince from before. The man sent another crack into Levi’s wounded leg, sending ripples of agony through his entire body. It sobered him to another level fairly quickly. The other men were getting to their feet again as Levi quivered on the ground in pain, gripping his palms into glass and whiskey.
Everything was dark around him as another anticipated strike came through, this one connected harshly with his ribs. There was a deafening crack of bone. There was nothing he could do but wait for the next impact. He couldn’t help but yell out in pain as the agony overwhelmed him. Levi nearly passed out as his head hit the cold stone, whiskey and grime covering one side of his face.
With the side of his face, not plastered to the ground, Levi could spot more legs swinging, connecting with his side, and more sounds of shouting. He couldn’t tell if the shouting was his own anymore. He couldn’t feel much of anything anymore, everything was fading out slow. He was fading.
There were six faces dancing around above him in his hazy vision. His head pounded as he tried desperately to get a grip on his consciousness.
Had there always been six of them? Or were they doubling from his drunken, wounded stupor? They all swirled into a confusing mess of faces. Ugly, contorted, swirling faces. He felt sick.
Another shock connected with his ribs. He heard another sickening crack over their laughs and hollers before his vision finally graced him with complete and utter darkness.
—
Another dead end and no sign of the captain.
At some point he was going to have to send out a missing report. Erwin was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that, but after hours of scouring the near entirety of the city and finding nothing, he was beginning to accept the facts. Levi was missing.
Missing. Out of bed. Injured.
Erwin remembered when he first saw Levi’s leg after the expedition. He’d only caught a glimpse when Hanji was looking him over. It was horribly bruised and swollen, raw. A part of him blamed himself, he’d sent the captain to fight the female titan. Yet again, Levi had sacrificed a part of himself for humanity. His wounded leg was a sacrifice, but Erwin knew there were much heavier weights on him, paining him deeper than flesh would show.
This small section of town was not one he expected to find Levi in. It was full of filth and squalor. A familiar sight to that of the underground. Something he’d assumed Levi would never return to willingly.
A chill was in the air. Cool breeze passed on the outside of his hood as Erwin pulled it over his eyes. He turned into what he assumed was one of the last streets he hadn’t checked yet. There was a group of men who had just left an alleyway quickly, Erwin noticed a bit of blood on their clothes and faces, not exactly a shock in this part of town.
One man was gripping at his wrist and complaining loudly as they passed Erwin by.
“Piece of shit broke my wrist!” He cried out and kicked a stone on the ground irritatedly.
“Be glad it wasn’t your neck, I bet he would’ve been a lot more dangerous if his leg wasn’t busted. I think he was trained or something. Did you see the way…” Their conversation trailed off as they disappeared around a corner.
Erwin was no longer listening, he was more focused on a particular phrase in their conversation.
Busted leg? Erwin thought for a moment, fearing the worst in the back of his mind. It couldn’t be…
The commander broke into a quicker pace, sweat dripping nervously down the back of his neck as he followed the alleyway, where the men had come from. It was dark and smelled of filth, blanketed in whiskey. There was glass covering the ground as he walked further, he could hear it crunch underneath his boots with each step.
Out of the corner of his eye, Erwin caught a glimpse of black dress shoes. A body lay slumped up against the brick wall of the alley. A head of dark hair, shadowing a pale and bloody face.
Levi.
Erwin kneeled down quickly and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, attempting to rouse him gently. His body was shaking horribly, covered in his own blood and the scent of whiskey.
“Levi…? Please.” Erwin winced as his voice died in his throat. “Say something. Are you alright?”
There was no response. Erwin pushed his dark locks out of his eyes to get a better view of his face. The blood he’d spotted earlier was dripping from his lips which made him immediately check his torso for wounds. He couldn’t find any blood, but when he lifted his shirt carefully, he spotted it.
Erwin had looked emotionlessly at many wounds before, but this made him winced in sympathy. Seeing black and blue paint the side of Levi’s porcelain, perfect skin made him want to run and find those men from before. But no. Levi was the most important thing right now and he had injured himself even worse than before.
The thought over his previous injury crossed Erwin’s mind as he hesitantly lifted Levi’s pant leg. If the bruising on his torso was dark, his leg looked like the night sky. His bruises were black and dark purple, spiraling their way up to his knee. The flesh was swollen and warm to the touch when Erwin hovered his hand above it nervously.
How did this happen? Why was Levi here in the first place? He smelled heavily of alcohol, it was probably what was covering his clothes and turning his cheeks pink. Had he come here to get drunk? To start a fight in an alleyway?
It would be very uncharacteristic of him. But, of course, finding him here in the first place was very uncharacteristic. He wasn’t himself. He hadn’t been for some time now.
Without time to spare, Erwin pulled his cloak off of his shoulders and wrapped Levi’s broken, shivering form. He frowned as he watched the man continue to shake harshly despite the warmth of the cloth. He hadn’t even noticed Erwin’s presence, unusually unalert and dazed.
“It’ll be alright Levi. I’m here now.” His hands hovered over his chest. He’d have to carry him back. “I have to lift you. Please endure it for a moment, we’re not too far from my house.”
Erwin scooped him off of the filthy stone floor and into his warm hold as carefully as he could muster. Levi moaned in pain in his embrace, Erwin pulled him tighter against his chest as he brought them out of the dark alleyway and back into the light.
—
A bath was in order. Erwin knew Levi inside and out. He knew he wouldn’t be too keen on waking up smelling like alcohol and blood. He’d be better if he was cleaned up a bit and his wounds were wrapped. Erwin was determined to fix this. To fix him.
He laid Levi’s still, unconscious body carefully into his bathtub, kneeling beside him and washing off the dirt and the blood from his face with a cool rag. He was so delicate with him, like he was handling fragile glass.
Erwin surprised even himself with how carefully he guided the rag across Levi’s broken skin. He wasn’t used to being this careful and soft. War and death had all but stripped him of these qualities. But not with Levi. With Levi, he was different.
It had been a struggle carrying the captain back, with his wounds being so extensive. However, Erwin had made it to his house in record time without much unconscious complaint from the shivering form in his arms. He had been light. Far too light for Erwin’s liking.
He tried to ignore the way Levi’s collar bones stuck out slightly as he washed away soap and the whiskey smell with the soft scrub. Erwin couldn’t bear to glance at the curious patterns of bruises over Levi’s thin body or the way his chest rose and fell with a heavy struggle. He just continued to wash away the soap and water.
Erwin scooped a bit of water into his palms and washed it through Levi’s hair, watching as the last of the blood and whiskey found its way down the drain. As the water trickled through his dark hair, down the back of his neck, Levi stirred a bit but never opened his eyes.
“E-Erwin…” Levi breathed through his words, dazed and unaware of his own incoherent mumbles.
“I’m here, Levi.” Erwin gripped his slender hand tight and ran his other across the man’s creased forehead. “I’m right here. You’re alright.”
“No…” Levi mumbled, voice breaking as his eyes pinched together tighter. “Can’t leave me… Not you… too…”
“I won’t leave you Levi... I promise.”
Such promises were foolhardy in the work they did, but Erwin couldn’t stop himself from making it. He couldn’t stand the way his captain cried out in pain and heartbreak, it was worse than any gruesome scene he’d witnessed.
Levi leaned into his touch as Erwin cupped his palms around his cheeks and kissed his forehead gently. He didn’t know exactly what possessed him to do so, but it seemed to cause some relief from his captain so he allowed it.
Once he was clean, dry and warming up again, Erwin took him to his warm bed to rest finally. He dressed his wounds carefully, glad to see that Levi was finally resting somewhat peacefully. He hoped he could now sense his presence at least. To know he wasn’t alone tonight.
Erwin was concerned with the heat radiating from Levi’s ankle as he wrapped it. He was determined to get Levi to an actual doctor in the morning to look everything over. He would command him this time, to ensure he actually did so. For now, he placed a cool rag on the man’s forehead just in case a fever began, which was entirely likely.
He was in rough shape. Erwin had been lucky to find him when he did.
What if he hadn’t? Would he have caught his death in the chilled night? Or slept on the cold stone ground, injured and alone?
Erwin couldn’t understand Levi’s behavior. It wasn’t like him in the slightest. He was usually so level headed and composed. It made the commander ache to think that this sacrifice had made the man fall so low.
—
A dark ceiling was spiraling above him. One that seemed vaguely familiar. His head hurt too much to even try to deduce where the hell he was. There was a cool cloth placed on his brow, wrappings covered his ribs, palms, and leg, his shirt was missing.
All this spinning was aggravating.
He was going to be sick.
Levi crumbled off the side of the bed, hardly making it to the floor as his legs refused to hold him. His body was broken, defeated, exhausted beyond belief. A dizzying roll to his stomach made him clutch it in pain. There was a waste bin by the bed frame which he gratefully and regrettably clutched to his chest.
For a moment, nothing happened. He wished it would, feeling unbelievably nauseous and confused. But he could do nothing to help himself rather than sitting there, shakily clutching the bin.
“Levi…” A familiar whisper found him in the dark.
He jumped and lashed out with a blind strike that hit nothing but air. Erwin’s hand gripped his wrist softly and lowered it, slow. “It’s just me. You’re here with me, at my house.”
Levi’s chest collapsed in breath as he winced again and dry heaved into the bin. Nothing had come from it. He hadn’t eaten enough. He hadn’t eaten much at all… Since…
Blood… Everywhere…
He dry heaved again, gripping the bin with white knuckles. Erwin rubbed soft circles on his back. The familiar touch was welcome despite the circumstances.
“You haven’t been eating, have you?” He asked, quiet so as to not upset Levi further.
Levi didn’t respond. Not because he was unable, but because he simply did not want to. It was pointless. He couldn’t have stomached food. Not while looking at the blood on his hands as he chowed down. Not while his comrades were left bloody in those damn woods.
He slid the bin to the ground and brought his knees into his chest despite the pain it caused him. Levi rubbed cruel circles into his thigh as his wound echoed agony through his entire leg.
He heard Erwin inhale deeply.
“Levi… Why were you…? You can’t just do something like this. What if I hadn’t found you?”
“How did… you… find me?” Levi coughed slightly as his breath caught in his injured chest.
Something deep inside him almost wished Erwin hadn’t found him at all. He shut it away.
“I came to your room to check on you.” Erwin explained, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “You weren’t there, so I went looking at your regular spots.”
Levi faced his head towards his chest and buried his face deeper, to try to escape this. He wanted to escape again. It was all too much.
“I didn’t think you’d be in the bar district. It was the last place I tried looking.”
He’s been looking for me all night then.
What an idiot.
“Why were you there, Levi?” His voice turned soft, a tone that only Levi had probably ever heard from the man. Something sacred between them.
“Why do you think?” Levi’s tone was more venomous than he intended. If his head wasn’t pounding, he might’ve corrected himself.
“I was worried about you.” Erwin maintained that soft voice despite Levi’s defensive nature. He placed a hesitant hand on the injured man’s knee.
“With everything going on, I can’t lose you too. I need you.”
He needs me, huh?
Why?
Levi hadn’t realized he’d asked it aloud.
“Why?” Erwin repeated his words back to him, looking damaged by the question. “Because…”
The words caught in his throat, at a loss for the right phrasing.
“You’re important to me. To humanity.”
Humanity…
It all feels like a bad joke…
What part of humanity am I even helping if everyone around me gets killed?
“Why’d you even let me train a squad? I just got them all murdered…” Levi felt his chest hitch.
“Their blood… Erwin…”
He finally risked a glance at his shaking hands and clenched his fists so hard he thought his fingernails might draw blood from his flesh.
“It’s all over my hands.”
Erwin was silent. Without his drawing of breath nearby, Levi wouldn’t have known he was even still there with him. But he was, he knew Erwin would never leave him alone right now.
“No matter how many times I scrub them…” He swallowed a wave of nausea as he could see the red start to blanket his palms again. He felt insane. “I can't clean the blood off.”
Suddenly, large warm fingers wrapped around his slender hands, steadying them for him.
“I can't either.”
Erwin’s voice was hoarse in the dark. He rubbed a thumb across the back of Levi’s hand softly, despite the pain in his voice.
“I’m sorry.” His words soothed something deep inside Levi’s aching chest. “We’ll never be able to wipe this blood away.”
Levi released a captive breath, leaning forward into Erwin’s chest despite the burning in his ribs. Erwin could soothe it. He could soothe this pain. Even just by a fraction. Levi sunk into him with fatigue in his bones.
“It reminds us of their sacrifice. What they did for humanity. What we will continue to do for humanity, with their strength fueling our fight.”
Humanity… Humanity’s Strongest…
Never strong enough to save anyone important though…
No one really needs me… Especially not like this…
Broken…
“Stop. You’ll regret it.” His deep voice was stern now. A command from years ago. A call back to reality. “You were a good leader to them. They did their duty well. Perfectly.”
“Don’t—” Levi’s voice caught in his throat.
“You taught them well. They were able to live as long as they did only because of you. Because of what they learned from their time with you.” Erwin brushed a hand through his hair softly and held him closer. “You did well by them. They were proud to die under your last command, I can promise you that.”
Levi wanted to argue, to refuse this, but he couldn’t find the strength behind words just yet. He could only be held tightly by his commander and hear his voice next to his ear.
“I saw the way they looked up to you. Worshipped you in some cases. Loved you in others. They would not do this if you weren’t worthy of it.” He pressed further. “Just the idea of you makes our soldiers confident in a future of freedom. It’s not just your physical capabilities, Levi. It’s the strength within you as well. That is why you’re important.”
He meant it. He meant every damn word. Levi had never heard someone speak so passionately about another person. With such vigor and honesty. It made his heart clench painfully in his broken chest.
“You have to continue. For them.” He whispered in Levi’s ear now, soft and comforting. “For me, as well. I need you, most of all.”
Tears finally found their way onto Levi’s cheeks, eyes turning red in irritation. He cursed himself and crumbled in Erwin’s arms completely.
“God it hurts… It hurts all over.” He couldn’t tell if he was talking about the pain in his heart or the pain in his body. It didn’t really matter as Erwin caressed him softly and made it fade for just a moment.
Erwin didn’t numb him like the alcohol had. He allowed him to feel, to cry, to express. And he held him tightly through it all.
Until the morning sun rose, finding them fast asleep in each other's embrace on the wooden floor. Soft rays of sunlight crossed their cheeks in unison.
#i loved working on this so so much!#thank you so much again for the ask!#my fic#fic request#eruri#eruri angst#levi angst#request#asks#reqs#angst#fanfic#snk fanfiction#aot fanfiction#fanfiction#eruri fanfic#fic#fanart#levi#levi ackerman#erwin smith#erwin#eruri is canon#erwin x levi#captain levi#aot#snk#shingeki no kyojin#shingeki no kyoujin#attack on titan
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
A King on a Leash ch3
Marvel | Starker
Tony Stark is a powerful man with a beautiful husband and a loyal crime family, but it looks like he didn't keep his husband on a short enough leash. After turning Peter lose on a Cuban gang leader, Peter's life is in danger. The real trouble is that Tony now realizes that Peter is the only thing in this world that he cares about and he never meant for that to happen.
Rating: Explicit
Full Fic
A Doll on a String
Warnings under the cut*
Warnings this chapter: mentions of violence and murder
Tony at sat at the dining table and stared at the far wall caught between a daydream and a serious self-flogging. He was the fucking Boss of a motherfucking crime family and here he was pouting and daydreaming about his husband. Peter had only been gone a few hours. He'd given him a kiss and then ran off to the theater for practice. Maybe he should start going to Peter's meetings. No... no Peter deserved the time and the privacy with his friends.
Tony took a deep breath and he caught scent of Peter's skin still clinging to him. He had scratches on his back from his manicured nails. Tony could hear the echoes of his cries as he'd clung to him, near sobbing in pain and pleasure. Tony licked his lips. Fuck, the way his angel had slaughtered that whole boat for his sake. God, he was hard.
He could call him and Peter would come running home. He could grab him, strip him down, lick every inch of his skin.
He couldn't do that though. They had the trust that they did because neither of them pulled stupid shit like that. He couldn't interrupt something important because he was needy and Peter's dancing was important to him.
Tony groaned. He slapped his own face. "Get it together, Stark. There's work to do."
He pulled himself up from his chair and went to take a shower. He indulged himself a little more, thinking about Peter waiting for him in a lounge chair, splattered with their enemy's blood. He got himself off then he washed away Peter's scent from his skin. No more distractions.
Dressed in his suit, all black to balance Peter's taste for pure while, he finally went to take care of business.
He drove himself, followed loosely by a guard. They made their way into the city and down to the warehouse. Tony stepped out of the car and smoothed the lapels of his suit. He let the guard enter first to check the room before he stepped inside. The day's product was being packaged. There were the gold bars that Peter had recovered, whatever drugs Bucky was peddling, not a lot going out of the warehouse today, but that wasn't really where the money was at anyway. The money was in the casinos, Sam Wilson's jewelry shop, Steve's cafe. Legitimate businesses, until you went into the back. The casinos were rigged, Sam sold illegal and precious jewels, and Steve had his girls. That was the funny thing about Steve. He was so straight laced and caring, but he made his money in prostitutes. He treated them well though. Well enough that even Natasha never bothered him about it.
Tony strode his way into the back, ignoring the greetings of the associates on the floor. He preferred them to fear him. If they thought he was friendly, then they would be inclined to betray him. They would expect mercy where they would find none.
Rhodey was waiting for him outside the office.
"You gotta put that boy on a leash, Tony," he said, not for the first time.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Who did he kill now?" He pushed open the door and Rhodey followed him inside.
"I'm talking about Suarez."
Tony turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "That second rate gang banger?"
Rhodey closed the door and stepped further into the room. "His men are going wild trying to track Peter down. They're not stupid. They know Peter was on that boat, they know he was an outsider, and they know that their boss never came home."
"So they haven't found his body yet?" Tony sat at his desk and picked up his book. Yinsen must have been too busy to stick around this morning. Sometimes he just dropped it off.
"They will. They have divers going down there this afternoon. From the story that's circulating the boys, it's gonna be pretty damn obvious what happened."
Tony asked, pointedly ignoring him. "Did Fisk get his diamonds back?"
Rhodey stared.
Tony sighed. "What's the big deal? They don't even know Peter's last name and there's a million Peters in New York. They'll never find him. They won't come after us. And if they do, I'm sure it'll be no big deal to sweep them off the board."
"You don't get it, Tony. Your boy goes and fucks with powerful people and then we all get fucked. When they find out who did it and then come looking for trouble we're gonna lose good people. I know you don't give a damn about our soldiers, but what happens when it's one of your Capos? The people you do give a shit about? What the fuck kind of family doesn't take care of their own?"
"You're going too fucking far, Rhodes," Tony snapped. He ground his teeth. He didn't want to fight with Rhodey, not him. He was the only one that ever made sense. Only now he wasn't.
"You stay the fuck out of my husband's business. Capiche?"
Rhodey took a step back. "Right. Got it?"
"Now, did Fisk get his diamonds?"
"Yeah, he got the fucking diamonds. Sent a fucking convoy to deliver them late last night. Didn't figure he'd wanna wait until morning."
"That's a good call. He'll appreciate that."
Rhodey sighed. "Why are you trying to win his favor anyway? He's a piece of shit. Word is he's still trafficking. Kids even."
Tony hardened himself, refused to hear the truth in it, refused to let it bother him. "I need someone to back me up at the meeting this weekend."
"What's going on?"
"Toomes keeps prodding at the whole Octavius bullshit."
"What do you mean?"
"He thinks Peter should pay for killing him, despite what happened."
Rhodey gave him a very 'I told you so look'.
"What? I'm supposed to throw him to the wolves? If it hadn't been him, it would have been you and you I can't protect."
"I'm not convinced you would try."
Tony ignored that too. He had enough to deal with. "He keeps trying to cast doubts on. Make him seem disloyal. I'm inclined to cut out his tongue for how many times he's put Peter's name in his mouth."
"You can't keep killing Bosses, Tony."
"I know that. But Toomes needs to be put in his place. He's getting too bold. Having Fisk on my side helps. Everyone respects him, or fears him at least."
Rhodey didn't say what Tony knew he was thinking. 'They used to respect you.' Maybe he did need to reign Peter in a little. At least make sure he doesn't murder anymore gang leaders. Let him keep pruning the weeds among the associates. Profits had been up since Peter joined the family. Plus it made his angel happy. It gave him a way to feel like he was protecting Tony without being in harm's way. Which meant that it was exactly what he needed to be doing. And he couldn't say he didn't like watching his baby go to town on some snitch... He had to stop thinking about Peter if he was going to get the books done.
Rhodey left him alone, though he left with a grim expression on his face. Tony cleared his mind and returned to his work.
Yinsen kept detailed records of every penny that came and went. He kept up with what each Capo was doing every day and made sure that proper records were kept of money and of behavior. Any suspicious activity from any Capo or soldier was reported to Tony twice per week. Unless of course, it were more serious. That's what the book was for. Yinsen insisted on keep paper records only. Things that could be destroyed at a moment's notice and could not be simply hacked into for information. It was occasionally inconvenient, but Tony understood his reasoning. Besides, Yinsen was one of the only people Tony had genuine trust for. After all, he'd been tortured near to death for Tony's sake. That had been Obediah's doing.
The books looked fairly clean. Money was flowing exactly as it should, but Yinsen had caught wind of a solider belonging to Steve who was misbehaving. Steve had already put him in check once. That meant it was Tony's turn and if Tony couldn't get him to fall in line, then Tony would let Peter have him.
It was a good system. One that Rhodey had no business questioning. He could be so soft sometimes.
Tony tucked the book away in his safe and stepped out of the office. His guards followed behind. They drove on down the road to park in the back of Steve's cafe 'Patriot Brew'. The name drew a handful of white supremacists who Steve was quick to take out back and deal with. The thing that amused Tony was that he hadn't picked the name as a sort of trap for domestic terrorists, he was just the sort who genuinely believed in his country. If Tony admired anything about the states, it was how easy it was for organized crime to thrive, but he didn't give a fuck about patriotism.
He knocked on the backdoor and was let in after a moment. He allowed one of his guards to enter first. Steve was in the kitchen, pulling cookies out of the oven. Tony leaned against counter and plucked up a cookie that was already cooled.
"Nice mitts, soldier boy." Tony pulled a piece off of his cookie and chewed it.
Steve set down his tray and each of his star-spangled oven mitts. "Do we really have to do it like this? Mark's a good guy?"
"You couldn't get him in line so now I have to," Tony said with a mouthful of cookie.
His shoulders sagged. "Would it really be so bad if he opened his own business?"
"Do I really have to answer that?" Tony took another bite of his cookie. "We both know he's not looking to open a bakery. And with him trying to go behind your back like that? How did you punish him anyway? Make him mop the floors?"
Steve stared. It was a look that conveyed both 'I'm not going to answer that' and 'You wouldn't like the answer' yet with Steve these things were not necessarily mutually inclusive.
"If a soldier wants to open a business you make him lick your boots first and then cut you thirty percent. Keep being soft on your boys and you'll wake up with a knife in your back."
"I encourage my people to be successful and on their own terms."
"They ask permission and they pay their dues. We have a system for a reason. What happens when your boy opens up a shop across the street? Who's gonna come here when there's something hot and new nearby? We don't create competition within the family. He could have had a place where he could have gotten all ambitious, but he lied and he went behind your back. He's lucky to be getting another chance."
Steve folded his arms across his chest. "If Peter had it his way, he wouldn't get another chance."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Why is everyone so soft today? We're the fucking mob, get used to it. Now where's your boy? Mark, was it?"
Steven sighed. "Make it clear I'm not allowing him to have his own girls, I don't trust anyone else with that."
"Why couldn't you tell him yourself, Rogers? Anyone else would have had this handled."
"So, I'm soft on my guys, alright? Does that make you happy? They're all the family I have."
"Family," Tony grumbled. "We're all a family. And sometimes moms and dads have to discipline the children."
"And who disciplines us?"
"God?" Tony shrugged. He walked past the man. "Box up some cookies for Peter. He likes the blue sprinkles."
He heard Steve huff when he left the room. If he didn't know how much his men liked Peter, he would worry about the way they talked. Maybe they thought he was a little wild, but they would let themselves get caught holding the knife to protect him. If he thought otherwise, he would kill every last one of them.
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?” Delethil/Riven/Eravin requested by @editoress
More of the OT3, we cannot be stopped
*
The saw cut through the wood with too much jagged force. If Eravin didn’t stop to take a second and breathe, he was more likely to lose a finger than trim the branches off this fallen tree. But pausing might mean he’d start to examine why he was so angry, and Eravin didn’t do introspection. Better for the feelings to boil and seethe like a pot of water over a fire and then fade away like steam as they always do.
One of the branches cracked under his hands. Eravin lowered the saw and brought up his leg, snapping the branch the rest of the way off with a swift kick of his booted heel. That felt good. He definitely hadn’t pictured anyone’s face he was stomping in instead. The leaves rattled and sighed as he dragged the limb away from the trunk.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said a bright voice through his tetchy mood. “Are wood elf tempers more behavioral or cultural at this point?”
The briefest chuckle huffed out of him. “Shouldn’t ye know?”
He tossed the limb, watching it land at the foot of a rough tangle of trees behind his property. It would be able to rot there peacefully. Eravin brushed his hands off on his pants and returned to the tree. Riven was there, a foot against the trunk and inspecting his saw between her hands.
“My temper’s better than yours,” she answered lightly.
“Your temperament, maybe.” He tugged the saw away from her and crouched down to get back to work. “When you’re angry, though, up in arms doesn’t cover it.”
“You’re supposed to say it makes me fiery and exciting.”
The tips of his ears were hot. “Del might say that because he manages to be worse than ye. And he’s a fool. Me, I know a threat when I see one.”
Arms straining, Eravin pulled the saw back and forth through a thicker branch. For a moment, that was all the sound that was between them. Finally, Riven asked, “What’s made ye all fiery today, then?”
Eravin’s neck was warm, or maybe that was the afternoon sun beating down on it. He paused to wipe the sweat off his brow. “Nothing,” he said gruffly. “Tree fell, is all.”
“Aye, trees fall,” Riven agreed, “but it didn’t fall on your shop or anything. No wasps around to sting ya or owls to bother ya. So what’s wrong?”
He sighed, contemplating leaving the saw stuck in the limb and retreating to his workshop. But that would just confirm Riven’s suspicions, and she would follow him anyway. Instead, he sat back on his haunches and insisted, “It doesn’t matter, so—”
“It matters to me. Who did it, then? Did Del say something to piss ya off?”
“Wasn’t Del.”
“Tell me who I’m beating up then! We can get Del in on it, too. It’s important for new, uh, triples to have bonding activities.”
Right, and have Del disappear his own men the way he used to terrorize Riven’s suitors. Absolutely not, not for something as idiotic as this.
Aye, Eravin thought the whole thing was idiotic. His hurt feelings, Riven’s concern, all of it. But she wasn’t going to drop it. Eravin resumed sawing with abandon. Maybe she wouldn’t hear him over the noise, his words directed at the wood chippings falling to his feet. “Just a few of the lads acting the maggot.”
Silence fell again. Eravin didn’t continue. Riven didn’t ask. The beats stretched on and on.
A rough, impatient sigh. “And?” Riven sounded frustrated, probably with the both of them. She hadn’t quite learned how to force him to say more than he wanted to. “What did the worms say? I’m hoping it’s good. I haven’t gotten to throw as many punches as I thought I would comin’ home.”
“It’s really not important, Riven.”
“Oh. So it was about me then.”
She’s pretty, all right, Cashal had said, but Delethil’s had plenty of pretty. He’ll get bored with her soon enough, and me arms will be right here, wide open.
The saw snagged on something. Eravin was distracted. “No! No, it wasn’t that. They were just…” He left the saw stuck in place and rose to his full height. Swiped a hand over his face and dampened his hair with even more sweat. “They were just being arses, and it got on my nerves. Tha’s all.”
“Was it about Del?”
“If it were, he wouldn’t give two shites.” He leaned over the tree, looked deep in her eyes, and said, “And if you’re not gonna help with this, ye can go, lass. I’m busy.”
Riven glared right back at him and slowly drew a dagger from behind her back. Rather than plunging it into his chest, she crouched down and started carving something on the other side of the tree.
Eravin cursed under his breath. Well, he hadn’t specified how she could help, had he? He yanked the saw free and stepped closer to where the break had occurred at the base of the trunk. He cut away the thin strips that still tethered the tree to its stump, keeping time with the steady thunk, thunk of Riven’s blade on the wood.
“Well, whatever they said,” Riven continued nonchalantly, “it’s not true. Or it’s not worth gettin’ into a twist over. Or maybe they are right, but fuck ‘em. Who cares?” She shrugged at him from the other side. “Hard to know which sympathies to give when I don’t know the details, but… I had to hit one of them, aye?”
She looked at him so hopefully, it made him embarrassed, ashamed. Not for the first time, he wished he had Del’s eloquence, only without the bullshit. He wished he had Riven’s warmth, her willingness to be vulnerable over and over no matter how many times she got hurt for it. He wished he could see himself the way these two people so clearly could.
He wished he could tell them everything he thought and felt easily, without any embellishing, or self-deprecation, or stumbling. But he couldn’t bare himself like that, not yet. Eravin didn’t want to make trouble, especially not to the two people who, beyond all reasoning, had chosen him over everyone else.
The words he’d overheard came back so loudly, he nearly flinched.
But what about Eravin?
You’re taking the piss. Boss got his throne. What’s he gonna need with Glenmere after this? I’m not even sure why he bothered with ‘im in the first place. We’ve better archers—and better looking.
He doesn’t even want to be here, does he? Wants to just live and die in that little shop of his. I say, let him. No fun to be around, and the drink makes him worse!
Eravin picked a few young leaves off a scraggly vine growing up the trunk, flicking them to the ground one by one. “Del’s gonna stay true to ye, y’know? He’s wanted ye so bad for so long, he’d never think about another lass.”
Riven’s jaw slackened, surprised. Her response was wry. “I should hope so, or else his reign’ll be the shortest in Aeranth’s history, it will.”
Too late, Eravin realized how the sudden topic change had come across. Too late, he realized that he should’ve added that he’d be the one to kill Del before Riven could. “No, I—What I meant was, ye don’t have anything to worry about. That includes Del. And that includes me.”
“That’s good. For a minute there, it was nothing but worryin’.” Riven cocked her head thoughtfully, focusing on her carving. “It’s the same the other way around, y’know. Del’s not gonna let you go, either. And ya won’t scare me away.” Her teeth flashed in a grin. “So I guess we better keep making sure we all really, really like each other, aye, Erry?”
His entire face turned beet red. Ducking his head, Eravin answered, his mouth quirking up despite himself, “Aye, Riv. That we will.”
#whumptober2021#oc: riven arnor#oc: eravin glenmere#oc: delethil aismere#campaign: last resort movers inc#cue scene#for inquiring minds: riven is carving all of their initials in the tree like a sap#she'll carve a dick somewhere else
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Honey Trap (5/?)
Title: The Honey Trap
By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)
A/N- Keep an eye ont he time stamps- it brings us back to chapter one somewhere around the middle- then we’re moving on from there with less jumping around :)
Chapter Summary: The holes in their story kept her up some nights. He acknowledged them, and often. She felt like he was trying to appease her, but every now and again it tickled something in her gut that made her queasy.
Chapter 5: How It’s Supposed to Go
~*~ November, 1944
There were bugs in the kitchen and sightlines out of the living area to a Hydra surveillance flat across the street, but Peggy thanked their lucky stars no one surveilled the shared loo or Richard’s bedroom.
She’d done things she wasn’t proud of before for her work, but repeatedly sleeping with a man she neither was married to or loved in any way was crossing a line she wasn’t prepared to step over.
Not when she still believed Steve was waiting for her and loving her.
She didn’t mind the kissing, was only occasionally bothered by the wandering hands on the couch, and she’d gotten very good at pushing him away and playing coy, at protesting that the shades were wide open and someone could see, before leaving early for the night or slipping into his bedroom.
Richard was also getting very, very good at sleeping on the floor.
“They’re less suspicious, you know, now that you’ve started staying over,” he observed, fluffing his pillow and dropping it at his feet. He smiled at her.
Peggy shook her head, unbuckling her shoes but not taking another thing off before slipping under the blanket on the bed. “Pigs, if you ask me. A woman’s desire to know a man biblically before they’re married has nothing to do with how much she loves him or how devoted she is to him.”
“I never said they were smart. Or understood anything.” He pulled his tie off and started loosening the buttons if his shirt. “If they were smart, they wouldn’t believe us at all.” He pulled it off and set it to the side, sliding out of his belt as well, but staying in his undershirt and trousers. “Our cover is good, but it isn’t foolproof.”
“Hardly,” she snorted, knowing that the holes in their story kept her up some nights. He acknowledged them, and often. She felt like he was trying to appease her, but every now and again it tickled something in her gut that made her queasy. Peggy leaned over and stripped the top quilt, handing it to him. “I’m starting to wonder why they haven’t questioned it more.”
Richard Wallace, Peggy had found, could be a hard man to read. The one thing she enjoyed about their little charade was that in his bedroom, more than any other place she’d ever been with him, he let his guard down. He frowned at her, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the frustration in his shoulders. “They’re desperate.” He shook his head and kneeled, setting up his little bed across from her. “I’ve never seen these men so scared and at the same time so daunting. The things they want to accomplish, and the lengths they’ll go to get them…” He sighed, sitting down heavily. “These men are so much scarier than Hitler, Carter. The things I’ve heard… We can’t let them win. Whatever it takes.”
Peggy knew, without a doubt, that he meant it. Even in the dark, the fear in his eyes was real.
~*~ The Same Night, 500 miles away at the French border
Bucky elbowed Steve, getting his attention and passing the canteen over. “I’m not missing the corn ring,” he joked, looking out into the night, his voice soft, “though I could do with a little turkey and gravy.”
Steve smiled a bit, a happy sound on his lips as he finished a gulp of the whisky. “Your ma’s gravy…” He hummed happily and slipped the canteen back to Bucky. It was a quiet night, and they were in friendly territory, which made it almost safe to spend their watch reminiscing about today being Thanksgiving.
“Yeah, and then a slice of your mom’s apple pie.” Bucky smacked his lips loudly, taking another swig of the whisky before he sealed the canteen and slipped it back into his pack. He looked out into the darkness, shaking his head. “I miss that apple pie.”
“Me too,” Steve whispered softly, the happy memories mingling with the loss of his mother that would never leave him fully.
Bucky sensed his melancholy and elbowed him. “She ever teach you how to make it?” Bucky smiled at his friend. “When we get home, you can make a million bucks with it. Everyone would eat it up, literally. Imagine it: Captain America’s All American Apple Pie.”
Steve laughed lightly, shrugging. “She worked off a recipe from my grandmother. It’s all stained and half smudged, but it’s at home, in the trunk I left at your Ma’s, I think.”
“We’ll take it on tour, like the USO.” Steve smiled as Bucky started spinning the tale, his excitement something easy to lose himself in. “We’ll have stands at every state fair from Brooklyn to San Francisco.”
“As long as I don’t have to dance.”
Bucky huffed out a laugh. “Dance? Nah. We give you an apron and a spoon and you’ll have all kinds of girls just eating outta your hands.”
Bucky saw the way his lips turned down even though he tried to avoid letting anything show. Bucky let out a long, slow breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When are you going to tell me?” he asked softly.
Steve barely even moved his lips he was so stoic. “Nothing to tell, you know that.”
“What I know,” he started carefully, “is that all of a sudden, you two started acting stupid, then Phillips missed a detail the size of a blimp, and then instead of getting rid of you, who he’s considered a thorn in his side since the day you showed up at Lehigh, he shipped off his right hand woman and best spy to the typing pool.”
“Senator Brandt—”
“Senator Brandt my ass,” Bucky didn’t let him finish, and his frustration made his words harsh and clipped. “There are plenty of other bases they could have sent you to, hell- the Pacific theater’s been begging to get the 107th for months.” The way Steve wouldn’t look at him told Bucky all he needed to know. He softened, “So it’s bullshit?”
“It’s not—" Steve huffed, shaking his head and letting it fall into his hands.
“You can’t tell me.” It wasn’t a question, and he tried to keep it from being an accusation.
“No, I can’t.”
“We have the same clearance—”
“Not for this we don’t.” Steve almost barked. “No one has clearance for this.” The fight left his words and his frame. “It’s not even... there’s no paper trail even. Strictly need to know, full deniability.” Steve looked his friend in the eyes sadly, “As far as anyone knows, yourself included, we fucked up. Badly. And she paid the price. And that’s all there is to know.” Steve let his head fall again, watching as he drew patterns in the dirt with the toe of his boot.
Bucky filled long moments of quiet with pulling the whisky out again and slowly unscrewing the cap. He wasn’t sure what he could ask and what he couldn’t, but he knew he couldn’t leave it where it was. He took a long, slow breath and a quick swing of the burning liquid. He passed it over and rubbed his hands together, waiting until Steve had swallowed before speaking again. “Were you… did you…?”
His voice was almost too quiet to hear. “Once we heard what was at stake? We agreed to it, yeah.”
“And is it… is it over between the two of you? For real?”
Bucky looked at him, but Steve didn’t lift his gaze from the ground. “I hope not.”
Bucky rubbed his palms together slowly, not knowing what to say or do. His friend had held it in for so long, and he knew if he pushed too hard, Steve would let it all out and then hate himself even more in the morning. “Well, we better get looking for that apple pie recipe, huh? If you’re gonna have to win her back, better put your best foot forward.”
Steve almost, almost laughed.
~*~ December, 1944
Her heart was pounding in her chest. It had been months since she’d seen him, and she was supposed to somehow keep her cool.
Wallace had arranged it. He’d be arranging all of it from now on, which she didn’t particularly like. Peggy played with her wine glass, only half listening to the woman across from her. The microdot plastered to the back of her tooth tickled her tongue, and she had to sip the wine in such a way that it didn’t dislodge the precarious gluing job she’d done.
Her stomach was sick with worry and anticipation. If her companion for the evening didn’t buy the little skit they were about to put on, if she noticed that Peggy enjoyed kissing Steve a little too much or if she looked him his eyes a little too long, the whole thing could go up in flames.
The whole operation moving forward, and all they’d sacrificed up until now to get here, hinged on Ava, the girlfriend of a Hydra General, believing that she loathed Captain America enough that she’d betray him.
She didn’t even have to look to know when he walked in, she could feel the hairs on her arms rise. She took a deep breath, and turned her head.
~*~ January 2, 1945
The middle of the day was a risk she didn’t like. The harbor was a risk she didn’t like. Out in the open was a risk she didn’t like. Pretending to “run into him” was a plan she didn’t like.
Peggy wasn’t supposed to be a spy, she was supposed to be a scorned, confused woman willing to sell out the Allied powers for true love. No matter how long she lived with this cover, she didn’t think it would get any easier.
She wasn’t supposed to know Wallace was out there with one of the Hydra agents, watching her every move and listening to every word. Those above him had come up with the plan, had fed Wallace the idea who’d sent it to Phillips in a coded newspaper ad before he’d even run it by her. He’d made a convincing argument that trying to come up with a better plan would out them, and they needed to be one step ahead.
Somehow, she still felt like she was one step behind. She hated not being in control of the operation, not having final say on what she did or how she did it. The lack of input was starting to sew a seed of distrust in her. She wanted to believe Wallace, wanted to trust him, but he was cutting her out and partners didn’t do that when so much was on the line.
She was finding that little hint of queasiness deep in her gut was starting to happen more and more often. It was setting her on edge, and jeopardizing the mission.
She was going to find a way to change that.
She turned into the wind, letting it push her hair behind her instead of in her face. It wasn’t long before she could hear the footfalls behind her. He stopped only a few feet away, far enough that she couldn’t quite feel the heat from his body. She turned, shaking her head to keep the tendrils of hair out of her face. “How did you find me?”
He looked out over the harbor then back to her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s not like you’re hiding.”
She could see how he fought to keep the smile off his face, she had to bite her tongue to keep from giving up any emotion at the sight of him. “I’ve said all—”
“And I haven’t, Peggy.” He stepped closer, moving to trap her in against the rail quickly. Her heart fluttered as she realized that he’d turned her just enough to keep their faces out of Hydra’s sight line. He pressed his forehead against hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from clutching at him, wrapping her arms around him under his coat. “I miss you so, so much, Peg.”
He pulled back just enough to see her lips, and she couldn’t keep the sadness out of her eyes when she mouthed me too to him just before she spoke. “And I haven’t spent a moment thinking about you at all, Steve.”
She saw him take a deep breath before pulling away. “That’s a lie.”
“I’ve moved on,” she touted, pushing away from him and back into view of the surveillance team. She let clutching at her jacket in the wind cover the sleight of hand where she pulled the coded message from his belt and slipped it into her own pocket.
“Please,” he begged, his own desperation easily seeping through the words. “Hear me out. Just… just talk. Dinner, maybe?”
She pretended to think it over, spent long seconds pushing the hair out of her face when she wanted to jump at the chance to be with him for more than a few seconds. “I’m seeing someone new.”
She couldn’t tell if the hurt was real or feigned, but the way his shoulders sagged made her heart ache just the same. The wind whipped up around them and he stepped forward, taming her hair behind her ear and taking her face in his hands. His kiss was soft, and so much more than their last rushed one was where they were fighting for the little dot of film between their tongues. This was soft, and filled with emotions. It was the “I love yous” they couldn’t say, the lonely nights and the frustrating days, the gentle ache that was always there while they were forced to be apart.
It was over far too soon.
He stepped back, just out of reach. He looked like he was coiled up tight, holding himself back from kissing her again. “The pub at the crossroads, you know it?”
Peggy nodded, unable to trust her voice.
“I’ll be there tonight at seven.” He swallowed hard, eyes pleading. This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was a few chance encounters. A tidbit of dropped information here and there. Her constant refusals and her continued allegiance to Richard and Hydra. Not whatever was starting to come to life behind Steve’s eyes.
She was terrified and thrilled at the same time. It might risk it all, but it could finally give her a chance to take control of the little game they were playing. “Steve…” she croaked out, unsure of what she could say, how she could convey the emotions and the tactical necessity of what they were about to do.
He stepped forward swiftly, kissing her again. It was quick and passionate and everything she needed to be reminded to trust him, just like she always had. He left his forehead pressed against hers. “I won’t go another day without you, I won’t.”
His hand reached for hers, and when she laced her fingers with his, she felt another note, one that she hadn’t been expecting. She palmed it quickly and pulled back, crossing her arms and slipping the note into the inner pocket of her jacket. “You’re assuming a lot.”
“The pub. Seven.” He looked her up and down, then started backing away, slowly. “I’ll wait for you.”
She watched him until there was nothing left but a speck on the horizon, and kept her eyes peeled for him even when that speck turned past a building and couldn’t be seen anymore. Richard came up behind her, right on cue, just as Steve was nothing but a memory.
It had been the plan that she was “supposed” to be meeting Richard. That Steve was “supposed” to find her and beg her to come back, which would fuel her need to betray him even more. She turned and looked at Richard, who was smiling at her and babbling away about where they should go for lunch, “unaware” of what had just happened.
She was sick and tired of what she was “supposed” to do.
She followed him down the walk along the harbor and to a small stand that sold fish and chips. They weren’t as flavorful as she wanted them to be, and the vinegar tasted old and too sharp on her tongue, but few things seemed to be what she wanted them to be lately. Richard rambled on in the background as they paced the small waterfront in full view and in good hearing range of the Hydra agent.
She’d play her part, for now. “I saw Steve,” she blurted, stopping and waiting for him to turn to her, picking at the chips in the newspaper in her hand. “He’s still… he’s still hopeful.”
Richard tried to hide his smile. “And you’re…”
She sighed. She was supposed to say something like angry. Or upset. Or vengeful. She was supposed to make it so easy, too easy, for Hydra to want to use her for information. But she wasn’t an idiot, and neither were the spies Hydra employed. Sometime between the meat locker and now, something had changed, and no one was telling Peggy what that was or what it meant for the op. She was done leaving her fate in the hands of other men.
“I’m uninterested,” she replied quickly, “but I am going to meet him tonight. Hear him out.”
Richard blanched before her. “Maggie, do you really…”
“I want to hear what the man who ruined my life has to say for himself,” she huffed out, starting to walk again towards his flat. “Let’s get inside, it’s far too cold out here.”
~*~
Once inside the flat she let him kiss her, like she always did, and let him move her to the bedroom where he held his hand out for the little slip of paper she’d procured from Steve once the door was closed.
They both read it quickly. The encryption was simple, and she was convinced more than ever it was for show. She didn’t need a piece of paper to tell her that the 107th would be heading back to the front in three days, it was in half the communications she encrypted on a daily basis this week. She knew more about troop movements just from being a part of the typing pool than he was getting from this. “This is fantastic,” Richard smiled at her, pocketing the paper. “You don’t need to go see him now, we have what we need.”
Peggy smiled, but shook her head. “I think I need to go. Make a good show of it, you know?”
“You don’t—”
“I do.” She was calm but firm, and stepped back from him. “A woman doesn’t just walk away from a man like Captain America, especially if he’s coming to find me.” She tried to let the smile she faked be a balm. “It will be more suspicious if I don’t go, trust me.”
She saw the flicker of concern in his eyes before he nodded, giving in with what appeared to be good humor. “Very well. You’re not the best for nothing.”
Peggy turned, picking up her coat on the way out of his flat. Damn right, she was the best, and that was what made it so easy to see through the game he was playing.
It was only a few blocks to her own flat, which she knew was bugged and under watch, as well. She hummed and dawdled, picking out a dress and pretending, for all intents and purposes, that she was fairly unbothered by her meeting tonight.
Maggie would be unbothered, but Peggy was downright anxious. She couldn’t pinpoint where the nervousness ended and the anticipation began, but the pub he’d picked was an Allied strong hold. Even if a Hydra agent made his way in there, the men in there would cover their backs. If not for Peggy, then absolutely for Steve.
She palmed the second note Steve gave her, even though she was fairly certain they couldn’t see into her apartment with the windows closed, and slipped into the bathroom. She turned the shower on full blast and hummed loudly as she unfolded the scrap.
It was a receipt for one lighter. Peggy looked it over, tried to apply every decryption she thought Steve would know, and a few she knew he wouldn’t, to the scant few words and numbers, but came out with gibberish. She was about to give up when she had an idea.
Peggy pulled over the candle she kept of the vanity after finding out the hard way the loo was the last place she wanted to be without matches or a candle when a blackout hit or the air raid sirens went off. She lit it and blew out the match, a smile forming on her face. Very slowly she let the paper sit over the flame, the heat permeating it and the words slowly becoming visible.
“My clever, clever darling,” she whispered to herself, pulling it away when she was sure the full message was visible.
It was a string of numbers that only the Commandos used to create short messages to one another. The combination was simple, but effective, once she translated it in her head.
Danger. Cover blown.
Peggy passed the paper over the flame one more time to make sure she hadn’t missed anything as her heart pounded in her chest, then lit the corner on fire and dropped it in the sink, watching it burn until the paper was nothing but ash. She turned on the tap and let the remnants flow down the drain, mind moving quickly.
She was meeting Steve in a few hours. Until then, she had to make it seem like business as usual. Tonight, he was either pulling her out, or they were going to make a play for something bigger.
She wasn’t sure which option she wanted, but she knew now she had an even better partner, one she trusted completely, and the queasiness she’d been feeling was gone.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Small Joke Story Bc I’m Not A Coward
“Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”
“Why not?!”
“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”
Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead.
Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”
“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously.
“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”
Hm.
Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him.
TMA American AU, made as a result of four hours of increasingly inane text messages between myself and @lazuliquetzal. Every time we bring this show further from Britain it is brought further into the light.
Read the rest of it under the cut!
The timing had to be exact.
They had agreed to wait for the 55th Annual Historical Salem Convention to roll around. It was the closest thing they had to security while working at the Usher Foundation. After a while you really did get used to eyes constantly watching you, all the time, never feeling quite safe in your own skin, but it never really hurt to be careful. Especially when it came to Elias Bouchard.
Personally, Martin really didn’t see what the big deal was. Of course there was a mysterious, malevolent entity always watching you, judging you, finding you wanting, and finally condemning you to eternal suffering. God existed.
Still, it seemed to bug the others, so Martin bribed Rosie with a loaf of his trademark sausage and cheese loaf to let him know when Elias excitedly left for his favorite event of the year. When he got the text from Rosie, Martin stood up from his chair, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Bouchard has flown the coop!”
On the turn of a dime, everyone stopped pretending to work. Tim threw down his pen, Melanie jumped up and ran to go wheel out the whiteboard, Basira tossed her book over her shoulder and pulled out her secret legal pad, Daisy logged off her favorite website GunShoppersUSA.com, Sasha spat out her chewing tobacco into the tin on her desk and put her boots back on the ground, and even Jon emerged from his office with a grim expression.
“It’s time,” Tim said grimly. “It’s time that we all find out the fuckin’ truth.”
“I keep on telling you, you’re over-reacting,” Jon insisted. He dug his hands in the pockets of his Harvard hoodie, scowling. Martin fastidiously arranged the plaque on his desk (“Your Life Is A Gift From God: What You Do With That Life Is Your Gift To Him”) as he imagined ripping it off him. Best not to be inappropriate during work hours. “Why put forth all the effort for such a stupid lie?”
“It’s hardly his first lie to us,” Basira said, seemingly bored and watching Jersey Shore on her phone. “He also lied about not being an omniscient serial killer.”
“This is different!” Tim said, slamming his fist on his desk and Melanie rolled the whiteboard in. “That’s a matter of common sense. Who wouldn’t lie about being a serial killer?”
“If I was a serial killer I wouldn’t lie about it,” Sasha said with a straight face. “I’m not a pussy.”
“I am a serial killer,” Daisy said, bored.
“You guys are fucking freaks,” Tim said.
“Jesus christ, just say y’all,” Sasha said, yet again. Martin nodded fastidiously.
“All’a youse be quiet,” Jon muttered. He walked forward and sat down in the chair next to Martin’s desk, which made him flush. Martin quietly pushed over his big candy bowl full of fudge, which Jon absently took and stuffed in his mouth seemingly without realizing it. “What’s alla this ‘bout, then?”
“Wow, he really must be tired,” Basira muttered to Daisy, who looked strongly as if she was pretending not to mark down whenever Jon’s hilarious accent jumped out.
“Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”
“Why not?!”
“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”
Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead.
Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”
“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously.
“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”
Hm.
Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him.
Sasha, from where she was sitting across from him, noticed the action. She smiled reassuringly at Martin. “Don’t worry. I kinda...I kinda get Tim about the Elias secretly being British thing, but there’s no way there’s any witchcraft going on here.”
“I just heavily disapprove of witchcraft,” Martin said haltingly. “And I really don’t think it’s something we should joke about -”
“We know,” everyone said.
“You tried to exorcise Jane Prentiss,” Tim pointed out.
“She was of the Devil! So sue me!”
“She was definitely of the Devil,” Sasha agreed. “I’ve seen hordes of insects that big plenty’a times, and they’re definitely Devil work. One time, I saw this spider the size of a dinner place eat a bird -”
“Shut up about the bird spider,” Jon screamed, “I am sick to death of the bird spider -”
“She was of Portland,” Basira said flatly.
“What’s the difference?” Daisy asked.
Basira fixed Daisy with a cold, beady stare. “Unless you want everyone in this room to know exactly what place you got in the Miss Kentucky County Fair Pageant -”
“Second,” Jon said, “it was humiliating.”
Daisy took out her hunting knife the size of her forearm, which Basira quickly wrestled from her, and it took another twenty seconds for Sasha to call the room to order. Martin stared longingly at the gun cabinet they kept in a corner of the room underneath a big pile of boxes, which everybody had a key to but Jon.
“Okay,” Tim said loudly, after the room had returned to relative order. Mostly through Martin feeding Jon the toffee fudge that kept his mouth glued shut for at least the next few hours. “To recap. Our evil boss, Elias Bouchard, is a well known douchebag asshole cuntface. He is gnarly as fuck. He is uncool.”
“Mfmf,” Jon said.
“No, it was pretty fresh how he framed you for murder. Let’s cover what we know of his background.” Tim rapped the whiteboard. “Pothead rich kid from San Diego. Now, everybody knows certain things about people from San Diego. Rich! White! Hipster! Dope on the waves. But not as dope as me. Really rockin’ zoos. San Diegoans are cool dudes who are great to hit a vape with.” He rapped the whiteboard again, much more empathetically. “Elias Bouchard is none of these things but rich and white!”
“That’s all you need,” Basira said flatly.
“Vaping is really bad for you, you know,” Martin said reproachfully.
Melanie took out her vape threateningly, making Sasha throw the stuffed alligator she kept on her desk at her to knock it out of her hands. “No sources of ignition in the archives, Mels!”
“Now, let’s go over my evidence,” Tim said loudly. “In the interest of fairness, I will list reasons that Elias may actually be from California.”
“Are we going to go over his means, motive, opportunity, anything?” Jon asked, seemingly bored, having finally swallowed his fudge.
Tim’s eyes locked in on Jon’s. Jon quailed. “I’m sorry,” Tim said pleasantly, “are we going to actually stop and wonder about why someone would, hypothetically, want to do something stupid before accusing them of it and, perhaps, stalking them to their homes?”
“Massachusetts isn’t a stand your ground state,” Daisy whispered to Jon. “We’re in coward territory, you can take him.”
“If you call the North coward territory one more time, Daisy -” Basira said threateningly.
“Anyway!” Melanie said loudly, as she wrote on the whiteboard. “It’s possible that he is from California because he’s rich and white.” She wrote down ‘privilege’ in big letters on the board. “However, as we know, there is rich ethnic diversity in California. Do you know where else rich and white people live? 17th century Puritan England.”
“I have a reason why Elias could be from California,” Sasha said seriously.
“You have the floor, hun,” Tim said.
“He’s an asshole.”
Melanie silently wrote down ‘ASSHOLE’.
“Pretentious,” Jon called.
“Big talk from the Brooklyn Boy,” Sasha called back. “Gentrified Gentleman! Colombia Copycat! Big Apple Asshole!”
“I oughta kill youse,” Jon hissed. “Disrespect the boroughs in my house again and I’ll show you how 84th street boys do it -”
“You and what square mileage?!”
Melanie, who was the most emotionally honest out of all of them, wrote down ‘PRETENTIOUS’ anyway.
“Now, let’s move onto the real arguments,” Tim said, clapping his hands to restore order. “Let’s review. Mels, make sure you get this down. One time, I saw him parking in December, and he drove well in the snow. He’s a natural at it.”
Silence bore down over the assembly. That was, by far and away, extremely incriminating. Californians couldn’t drive well in the snow if you held a gun to their head - Daisy had checked.
“Moreover,” Tim continued. “I tried sharing my korean-ecuadorian-french-thai fusion food truck take-out with him and he refused. Can a Californian refuse the siren call of food truck fusion cuisine?”
“That is suspicious,” Jon said grudgingly.
“Tim and I experimented,” Melanie volunteered, as she wrote down ‘EATS LIKE AN OLD PERSON’ on the whiteboard. “We tried cranking down the temperature in his office to - get this - sixty degrees. He didn’t even notice.”
“I haven’t heard him complain about winter once,” Tim pointed out.
“Winters in this infernal land fucking suck,” Sasha groused. “If it’s below 100 degrees it’s too fuckin cold.”
“Bood,” Daisy said.
“Agreed,” Martin said. “I had to figure out what snow chains are.”
“I can’t drive,” Jon said proudly. Martin patted his hand.
“Moreover!” Tim said. “I asked him his opinion on reality TV and he said that he didn’t watch it. I asked him what his favorite outdoors activity was and he said ice fishing. Every summer he goes to Maine with his shitty husband to go ice fishing. It’s bullshit.”
“Elias is gay?” Jon, Known Worst Gaydar In The Fucking World, said in surprise.
“Put that down in the pro-California column,” Daisy said. Melanie wrote down ‘GAY RIGHTS’ on the board.
“I hope you don’t let the fact that Elias is gay influence why you righteously hate him,” Melanie said to Martin seriously. “Gay rights are important, Martin. I believe this very strongly.”
“Aw, bless your heart,” said the guy who had been thrown out of his small Oklahoma town and excommunicated when he was eighteen. Not that anybody knew that. Martin didn’t believe in oversharing. Everyone took one look at the bolo tie and Precious Moments desktop calendar and assumed heterosexuality. What if he just liked bolo ties? What if Precious Moments was cute and sweet?
“Okay, back on topic,” Tim said, as if they had ever actually been on topic. “I have a finishing blow for all of you. This’ll blow your socks off. It’s really the coup d’tat. That’s a little something we say in California to show that we really got this sucker on lockdown. One time, Melanie saw him eating Taco Bell in the cafeteria -”
“ - and enjoying it,” Melanie said viciously. “Then I walked up to him and went, hey boss, what’s that you eating? And he said -”
“Just having some Mexican food,” Tim spat.
Everybody sat in silent observance of this crime.
Finally, Jon rubbed his chin and said, “I just don’t get it. Why would you pretend to be from California? It’s a mediocre state.”
“Say that to my SoCal beach bum face -”
“It’s to hide the fact that he’s the ghost of a 17th century Puritan witchfinder bodyhopping in order to feed his infernal god of paranoia and suspicion,” Melanie said, with a straight face.
Cautiously, Basira said, “And you got to that conclusion...how?”
“By using the investigative skills I learned at Buzzfeed,” Melanie scoffed. “Duh.”
But now Basira was actually looking thoughtful. “I mean, there is the fact that the Usher Foundation is built on a sacred Native burial ground and is precisely located on the ancient site where witches were sentenced to death, constructed using the wood from their holy pyres?”
Everybody thought hard about this.
“If he pretended to be from Florida I would have caught him out in a second,” Sasha said finally. “Man looks like he’s never seen a spider bigger than a saucer.”
“Shut up about the fuckin spiders -”
“I’ve seen the rats in NYC, they look like they could do my taxes -”
“That’s their prerogative, James!”
“I’d be able to call him out in a second if he pretended to be from Jersey City,” Basira said thoughtfully. “And, come to think of it, I have heard him call a trunk a ‘boot’ before.”
“I heard him call an elevator a lift once,” Daisy volunteered.
Everybody chewed over this new piece of information.
“God,” Sasha whispered, looking sick. “I can’t believe an English scum has been among us this entire time. It’s terrible. I never thought I’d be forced to interact with those fuckers.” She muttered something else under her breath in Spanish, which made Jon roll his eyes.
“You’re scared of Englishmen, of all things?”
“It’s their legs,” Sasha shivered. “Too many legs.”
Finally, Jon turned to Martin. “What do you think, Martin? You’ve been pretty quiet.”
Martin sighed. Martin carefully drank some of his world famous peach sweet tea. Martin took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“Of course he’s a heckin’ seventh century puritan body hopping ghost,” Martin said finally. “I’ve known that for, say, since I was hired.”
Everybody stared at him.
“Why the fuck haven’t you mentioned that,” Daisy said flatly.
Martin shrugged. “Y’all done never asked.”
Jon took a second to gather himself, clearly two seconds away from flying into sheer Brooklyn Rage.
Thankfully, Melanie was squinting furiously at him. “What makes you say that?”
Martin just shrugged again. “So I was interviewin’ wit’ him, right? And I wanted ta make a good impression, so I just said, oh, the Lord provides for our meetin’ and all that. Then he said some Bible quote at me. Then I was like, oh, I can totally work this angle. Then I quoted the New Testament back at him, and I guess we got into a sorta competition? This happens in the South. But I ain’t never met someone who can out Bible quote me. So I figured, oh, he must be a body hopping evil Puritan ghost from the 17th century.”
Everybody stared at him.
“He called me a nice young God fearin’ boy,” Martin said. “Only Puritans and Southern Baptists do that, and he ain’t no member of my church. Plus, you know, when were fightin’ over him framing Jon for murder and how dangerous that was, he’s the only person I ever met who could use cherry picked Bible quotes as effectively as me in order to win an argument. So...really, it’s just logical.”
Slowly, Basira said, “You figured he was evil because he was an expert in your tactics?”
“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Martin said wisely.
“Fuck this shit,” Jon said, standing up abruptly. He threw on his coat over his hoodie, frowning down at everyone from his unfair height. “I’m going down to the deli and getting me a pastrami on rye. Martin, c’mon, I’ll spot ya a Pabst.”
He had never been more in love. Martin shot upwards, throwing on his own coat and hat. “Alcohol is of the devil -”
“Just drink the beer, Martin.”
Well, there were some benefits in being excommunicated. Martin saluted everyone, eagerly linking his arm around Jon’s. “Saints keep all y’all! See you after lunch!”
“Honestly, Martin, just say youse.”
“I would really rather die.”
#the reason why sasha is alive is because she is from florida#in case it's not obvious in the story martin is from oklahoma tim is from socal melanie is from LA basira is from jersey#daisy is from kentucky and jon is a brooklyn boy#DONT @ ME WE ARE SOUTHERN AND CALIFORNIAN#the magnus archives#the magnus archives au#tma au#tw gun mention#TMA but if everyone knew how to shoot a gun#my writing#this is the fault of so many people
147 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE
Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.
Some urban legends never die.
Part II - Tales From the Crypt
Summary: In Sleepy Hollow, New York, Sam, Dean, and the reader begin their investigation. Warnings/Tags: A dead body, talk of bodily harm, language, alcohol consumption, and some flirting. Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 3,103
“We were able to identify most of the bodies, but a few are still John or Jane Does.”
The coroner led us around a table where a cadaver lay covered by a thick white sheet. She continued talking as she drew the sheet to the corpse’s waist, but I heard little and less of what she said. I barely stifled a yawn before sipping from my thermos. Coffee scalded my tongue but I’d rather deal with that than pass out on my own two feet at four o'clock in the afternoon.
Sam and Dean had insisted on driving through the night. Every time I had managed to fall asleep in the Impala, I had woken up sore and aching ten minutes later. So instead of risking another chiropractor bill, I had researched what I could of The Headless Horseman. Unfortunately, I had learned next to nothing besides boring variations on the same bullshit story from the urban legend.
Another yawn scattered my thoughts, and my vision finally focused on the exposed body before me. Headless as expected, no surprise there. Lacerations crisscrossed all over the torso and what remained of the neck, also expected. But something about those lacerations piqued my interest and so I leaned closer.
Thin black crusting outlined every cut, no matter how deep or superficial. The coroner and Dean were chatting amicably when I prodded Sam in the rib. He regarded me with a raised brow as I pointed at the lashes and said, “Look.”
Sam bowed in beside me, and the scent of his freshly washed hair filled my nose. So close, I eased into his warmth and leaned closer. “That,” I muttered as I pointed. “Aren’t those burns?”
He eyed me with a suspicious sideways glance before his smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Good catch, Y/N,” he started. “But the lashes alone are confusing. Since when does the Headles—”
“We’ll get back to you if we learn anything else,” Dean said loud enough to drown out Sam. “Thank you for your time, miss.”
Sam and I followed Dean’s lead and thanked the coroner for her time as well. She thanked us in return—flashing a warmer than casual smile at Dean, who blushed—and covered the cadaver as we headed for the door.
In the hallway, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Christ, she’s too smart.”
“What, did she reject you before you even asked?” Sam jested.
Dean tossed a tentative glance my way. “Nah, I got her number. But after that, she started asking about the decapitations and the lashes looking strange…” He trailed off as we stepped out into the cool fall breeze and pale October sun. “I don’t think she knows more, but I’ll have to be on my toes later.”
“And by later you mean after we finish this hunt, right?” I asked across Sam.
At the car, Dean popped the driver’s door open, then said, “She asked me out tonight.”
As they slid into the front seat, I eased into the back. “And you said what?”
He shot me a dark glare in the rearview mirror. “I asked her for a rain check until this weekend.”
Wow. “Okay, I’m impressed,” I replied.
“I’m… not surprised,” Sam replied. “Considering what’s going on.”
The Impala roared to life as Dean twisted the key in the ignition. When he pulled away from the curb, I leaned over the backrest and asked, “What is going on?”
Sam shot a nervous look at Dean before he took a deep breath. “Can we solve the case first?”
When he turned to look at me, I glared back. Earnest. Honest, even. But I wasn’t about to let my feelings for him cloud my judgment. “No. I need to know what we’re up against and...” I paused, my attention snared by the houses we passed. Every yard displayed a scene from the urban legend that had put Sleepy Hollow on the map. Various iterations on The Headless Horseman stood in every yard, myriad pumpkins and overly detailed horses impressively crafted. But each and every rider had a jack-o-lantern for a head or held one aloft. Not a single display had armed him with a whip or a cannonball. “Seriously, those lashes were burned into that victim. Since when does he wield a whip? And what kind of whip can do that?”
“One made from the spinal bones of human corpses,” Dean strained under his breath.
I blinked several times before I responded. “Excuse me?”
“Alright, here’s the deal,” Dean started. The Impala followed his command as it lumbered over the driveway into a diner’s parking lot. “We’re gonna eat dinner here. But we can’t talk about work. Once we’re in there, we’re FBI agents, and on-going investigations are off-limits. Got it?”
Better than nothing. “Once we get back to the motel?”
Dean pulled into a spot and slid the shifter into park. “We’ll tell you everything.”
Everything. So foreboding. As if all of their skeletons had been buried in an urban legend. Both of them turned over the backrest when I remained quiet too long. Weighed and measured, their expectant glares demanded an answer.
So I agreed.
“Deal.”
“I haven’t had a pot roast sandwich like that in ages.”
Dean covered his mouth with his fist as he held back a deep belch. “The pecan pie was damn near the best I’ve ever had.”
“And that hot cider!” I added. “That was definitely homemade.”
“Uh, you’re damn right it was homemade. Everything there was homemade,” Dean replied. “Well, except for maybe Sam’s salad.” He turned to Sam and his face fell. “Sammy?”
I followed Dean’s concerned glare and found Sam near the motel room door, eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance. I knew that look. I’d felt it before, and I’d seen it on both of them too many times over the years. The severity of the situation sank in then, and reality returned in a rush. Forgotten was the pot roast, the pecan pie, and the hot cider. Abandoned was the lighthearted banter, and our carefree dinner.
Death stalked us in the shadows, no longer a friendly face.
“I think we should sit down,” Sam suggested as he crossed the room. When he slumped onto the bed, he said, “This story gets dark in a hurry.”
I shed my suit jacket and boots at the small table under the singular hanging lamp. “I get the feeling something pretty awful happened,” I said as I crossed the room and sat beside him.
Dean withdrew a bottle of scotch from his duffel bag. “Normally I’d save this for after we waste this asshole, but,” he paused as he popped the cork free of the bottle. “I have some doubts that’ll ever come to pass.” He pulled three short plastic cups from his bag then and poured two-finger pours into each. He handed a cup to Sam, who passed it on to me, and handed another to Sam before seating himself at the table with the third. A sip and a hum preceded his thoughts. “You got that picture handy, Y/N?”
I dug through my backpack at my feet and withdrew the article. “Right here. I saw The Headle—”
“Yeah,” Dean interjected. “He’s back there, in the field. Anything else jump out at you?”
Confused, my brow knotted as I focused on the article once more. “I mean, there’s this family standing in front of what is clearly the Sleepy Hollow museum. I recognized the building when we got into town,” I said. Another yawn reminded me I had not slept more than a couple of hours over the last twenty-four. "But I don't see anything else. No aberrations, no distortion, no orbs… other than Tits McGee up in the field there, I got nothing."
Sam pointed to the father. "Look a little closer here. You might recognize someone."
Recognize? The picture was thirty years old. Hell, I'd have been a kid back then. Probably just shy of seven years old.
Seven.
My focus snapped to the caption.
Thomas (7).
Something instinctual snapped my attention to Sam, and I saw it then. My jaw dropped as recognition crept along my spine. Boyish charm had grown ruggedly handsome, but the fear behind his wide stare had remained the same. I returned to the photograph, focusing on the older brother, and the truth settled in the pit of my stomach. A suave sense of confidence radiated from John (11). And he was the spitting image of his father, Richard Phillips (36).
He still is.
The image blurred as tears burned my eyes. I looked up to find Dean glassy-eyed and well into his cup. The start of so many thoughts stuttered on my clumsy tongue. How had I missed it back at the Bunker? Of course John Winchester would give an alias to a reporter. When I returned to the photograph one last time, I stared at their father, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.
"Every few months, John grew out his beard," Dean started. "He had this laser-like focus on hunting down the thing that killed Mary, and a time or two every year, he'd get a wild hair up his ass so bad, he'd forget to shave."
"That year," Sam said as he pointed to the photograph, "the wild hair was Sleepy Hollow. He was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would learn something important here."
Dean finished his pour of scotch and refreshed his glass. "He found nothing except for a bunch of busted pumpkins and a vengeful spirit."
I wiped at my eyes with the cuff of my shirtsleeve. When I turned to Sam, I asked, "How did he exorcise it?"
He shifted closer on the bed as he looked at the photograph. "We don't know. I was too young yet."
Dean grunted as he sat up in his seat and stood, caught his balance, then shuffled across the room to sit on the opposite bed. "Dad had just started filling me in on what he was doing about a year before we came here. But he did his best to ease me into it. Sam had hardly a clue until that day," he said as he pointed at the photograph.
"What happened?" I asked as I turned back to Sam.
A deep breath allowed him space to stall, but that same fear in his eyes returned. "I saw something." His stare glazed as it drifted off into the middle distance once more. "Bodies. Headless bodies," he stuttered. "A headless rider on a dark horse." He continued through a stream of consciousness, as though he were somewhere else. Sometime else. "Cannonballs and a whip of human spinal bones engulfed in flames."
My heart railed against my ribs as if to escape. Numb with dread, my fingers and toes burned, and fresh tears blurred my vision. "You were so young. That must have been terrifying."
He nodded and sipped from his drink. "At the time, yeah. I had nightmares for months. Over the years, I must have forgotten about it or blocked it out. But then you found this case. However you ended up with that article, it was no coincidence."
I looked to Dean then, and he clarified. "Something wanted us to come back. I think. To actually finish the job Dad didn't."
Something about that statement sparked a thought I had not yet considered. "How do you know this isn't something leftover from Chuck?"
A thoughtful look twisted his face. "We took care of Chuck and his mess. It's definitely a hunch but, I'd wager this isn't related. No, I think Dad just got this one wrong. He thought he did the job and we skipped town. But he screwed up and now The Headless Hessian is back again."
Hessian.
"What did you just call him?" I asked.
Dean regarded Sam, and they shared an equally confused look. "The Headless Hessian."
"I thought Hessians were German soldiers that fought for the Brits in the Revolution," I said.
When Sam nodded in agreement, he said, "You would be correct. And that was the original story until more retellings of the urban legend were printed."
Retellings. Talk about wild hairs. I dove for my backpack then and tore out my tablet. As it booted, I said, "I tried doing some research on The Headless Horseman on our way out here, but all I found was bullshit about the urban legend. Pumpkins and horses and heads and Ichabod Crane and crap like that. Nothing about cannonballs and whips made out of human spinal columns."
Sam propped one leg up on the bed as he turned to face me. "Regardless of what I saw as a kid, that story sounds familiar, too. I know the Hessian angle but I know I've also heard a version with a whip and a cannonball."
"Those," I started, then paused to type furiously, "I never knew. I always thought the myth was Ichabod Crane. But yesterday when I was searching for information, I think I found a website that mentioned a Hessian soldier as a part of the myth." Once I had found what I searched for, I turned the tablet to face them. "I thought it was a mistake. I know way too much about American history and its bullshit colonialism, so I wrote it off as a discrepancy. But when Dean referred to him as the Headless Hessian, it clicked."
The image on the tablet flipped through several iterations of a headless rider. The first carried a jack-o-lantern high over his head, then a headless horse with a headless rider appeared on the screen. Next, a rider carrying his own head, followed by a headless rider brandishing a sword. Then another hefting a muzzleloader, and finally a headless rider wielding a vicious whip made out of bone.
"Wait, which legend is that one?" Sam asked as he pointed.
The image of a man carrying his head under his arm while astride a horse froze on the page. "According to the website, that appears to be the dulachan. Irish folklore. The whip is a part of that legend, too."
"But our guy doesn't have his dome on him at all," Dean clarified.
"Exactly," I said, "Which was why I basically wrote this website off. Came to the same conclusion."
Sam pointed to the screen as the image changed to a giant man astride his horse brandishing his own head high above his shoulders. "That's the Gawain myth. Gawain beheaded the Green Knight."
Excitement flooded my senses as I exclaimed, "Yes! The Green Knight returns to challenge Gawain to a duel every year." The image changed again to that of a headless rider and horse. "And that's the Scottish story of the would-be chieftain, Ewen, who was decapitated at the battle at Glen Cainnir."
"And the headless man on a carriage?" Dean asked as the image changed once more.
"The Coiste Bodhar. Sometimes referred to as the gan ceann," I explained. “Damn, this website has everything…”
"But what does it all mean?" Sam asked.
I opened my mouth to reply but found I had nothing to say. A sudden silence filled the tiny motel room, all the wind sucked from our sails. It had to mean something. So many stories with their variations. Then again, they all shared a singular consistency.
“Maybe they’re all correct,” Dean mumbled.
Confusion scattered my rambling thoughts, and my focus snapped to Dean. “What are you saying?”
“Every story has the same headless dude in it, right?” he asked, echoing my idea. “Even the Hessian myth isn’t the original story. Irish, Scottish, English. They all have their own versions that are way older than the American story.”
“But a lot of Americans are the Irish, Scots, and English,” Sam added.
“Son of a bitch, we are English. I bet our forefathers fought in the Revolution,” Dean concluded and Sam agreed with a confident nod.
With the pattern weaving before my mind’s eye, I found a thread, a singular frayed end, and tugged on it. “So it’s not surprising at all that the stories are so similar. Immigrants made up the Headless Hessian based on their own urban legends from the motherland.”
“Exactly!” Dean declared.
Elation filled me for a brief moment before Sam ruined it again. “But then what is it?! A fae? A spirit? A curse? It could be anything with that theory!”
“You’re a real party pooper, you know that?” I said as I flopped back on the bed. “We were so close to something, I know it!”
Dean stood in a rush, then quickly returned to the bed. “Okay, that’s enough of the hooch,” he said as he crushed his empty cup and tossed it into the bin. “Let’s pick something and go after it. We’re never going to figure out what it actually is in a reasonable amount of time.”
“That’s a terrible plan!” Sam barked. “We’ll waste more time just trying random shit.”
Both of them fell quiet at that. My brain, on the other hand, was anything but. We had everything to handle a fairy, a vengeful spirit, even a curse. But how? How could we blindly choose? I agreed with Dean; we needed to do something and fast. And yet, Sam had a very valid point. I gritted my teeth against the frustration that supplanted my hope. What kind of spirit manifested once a year to kill a bunch of people? How, if all the stories are true, could we put down a fae-curse-spirit?
Then it dawned on me.
I bolted upright on the bed and blurted, “It’s all three.”
“What?”
Between Sam and Dean’s incredulous faces, I forced myself to grasp the last shred of confidence before it fled. “It’s all three. A spirit cursed by the fae.”
They regarded one another again, then turned away, silently considering my theory. Even I struggled to believe it. But then Dean snapped his fingers and said, “If it’s ultimately just a cursed spirit, all we need to do is roast his bones.” He pointed at the tablet as he jumped to his feet, steady as a rock. “The Headless Hessian was buried in an unmarked grave of the Old Dutch Church!”
I turned to Sam then, tense as a drawn bowstring. When his crooked, knowing grin spread across his lips, my stomach jumped into my throat. I hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like a century. And when he spoke, my heart nearly burst with relief.
“Looks like we’re doing some digging tonight.”
REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE AWESOME. IF YOU WANT IN ON THE TAGS, SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM!
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST
ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST
#alleiradayne writes#spn fanfic#spn fanfiction#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#dean winchester#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester fanfiction#sam winchester#sam winchester fanfic#sam winchester fanfiction
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Diamonds and Voodoo
You Do Voodoo
A mysterious visitor comes to Morioh. Paths diverge and intertwine with the various townfolks of this crazy, noisy bizarre town. And it all started with a good deed touched by a bit of magic.
Good deeds tend to create ripples throughout what we know as life. Sometimes an act of kindness can lead to great rewards. At rare times the road to hell is often paid with good intentions. Nevertheless, this type of charity has a habit of changing the future of one or many individuals. For sometimes, a grand adventure begins with that very act of kindness.
"Look out!" Morioh, a small town amongst the middle of nowhere quite unlike many cities found in Japan. A type of place that tends to be quiet but also hosts some oddities within its dwellings. Unlike many small towns, Morioh would become ground zero for a strand of very bizarre events and each with their own level of danger.
A car was parked awkwardly sideways between the road and crosswalk. Upon closer inspection, this was a crash as the front end was inward from the telephone pole currently wedged inside the bright red metal. To the side was an abandoned bicycle alongside a police officer and what many from this town could call a foreigner. The officer holded the visitor close to his chest almost awkwardly, the telltale of being grabbed.
The officer was an older and surprisingly buff male, darkened grey hair hidden under his cap, eyes that had a natural glint of kindness despite the concern now shining for the person in their arms. A would-be victim of the car accident was a young woman around her late teens, between 16 or 17 from the bits of remaining baby fat still left on her face.
Her skin was slightly tanned in a more climate related basis, such as sun exposure than natural skin tone, hair a short messy lime green hidden under the top jaw of a dinosaur-esque skull, a 5'8 body that was slim, lean and had moderate bust along with curves, but it was her eyes and her arms that drew the most attention.
The young woman's arms were decorated in wavy almost vine patterned tribal markings with a four toes pad on each shoulder and her eyes had a unique case of heterochromia with the right being a normal orange but the entire left eye was blue except for a single white pupil. Her outfit consisted of dark blue fingerless gloves, red sneakers, light brown cargo shorts, a black bra and opened orange vest outlined in red.
"You okay there missy? That car almost hit you if I didn't pull you away in time." The officer questioned, his voice soft and kind in a sort of grandfatherly way. She merely looked up at him with a large impish smile. Not even scared or off-put that a speeding car almost made the teen paste on the street.
"I'm good mister! Just glad no one else got hurt either. Car accidents aren't something normal folks can handle and I rather get hurt than somebody else! I'm more than capable of taking some nasty hits!" The woman's peppy, slightly loud and light chuckle paired with the slightly morbid words had thrown the officer for a loop before he strangely found himself chuckling too.
"Hahaha. Well aren't you an odd but thoughtful young lady? I wish some of my friends on the force had that kind of energy. Everyone's been down as of late and honestly needs a pep talk or two." The greenette looked at his badge for a moment as if scanning for his name. Something that was quick to find apparently as it read 'Ryohei Higashitaka'.
With that in hand, she then reached into the pocket of her cargo while silently whispering his name. The officer or Ryohei honestly looked a bit surprised when the youth produced a peculiar item. It was a small brown wooden charm carved into a smiling mask. The mask was painted with red lips, yellow with green outlined eyes, large reddish eyebrows and four small feathers ranging from yellow, orange, purple and red.
"Please take this mister as a sign of gratitude. It's a good luck charm carved into the likeness of Aku-Aku, a spirit of protection. This charm shall ward off a great disaster in your future." The older man took the odd charm with a soft smile and looked it over. He softly chuckles before patting her head.
"Why thank you! It's pretty adorable and well crafted! I'll make sure to keep it close. Good luck is something a lot of people nowadays…" His eyes widened a bit upon realization. "Whoops! Careless me! I forgot to ask for a name. I am Ryohei Higashitaka, an officer of the Morioh Police Department. What's your name missy? I need it to file a report for ya and if you want to press charges." She merely gave an impish smile with a bit of her tongue sticking out.
"It's Taki-Taki, Taki-Taki Bandicoot."
Budo-ga Oka Middle and High School, one of the few schools within Morioh. A joint school where grades between 6 and 11th are together instead of being separate. It was also a place that had a quite an amount of delinquents which make up some of the school's student body.
Walking towards this destination from the local town square was a mountain of a man in very odd clothing. Hair was jet black and well groomed, eyes a bright ocean blue, body sculpted like a Greek God from every single inch out of 6'5 and a natural scowlish look on his face. Nearly all his clothes, from his coat, pants, shoes and torn back hat with golden pins stylized to spell Jo were white except for the man's shirt which was pitch black.
The man was currently looking over a paper, a report or letter from highly detailed it was in both text and a few select photos. His brows wrinkled in aggravation before muttering a soft 'Yare Yare Daze' under his breath. "Godamnit old man. You're too old to be causing this type of bullshit." He hissed, rough, husky and slightly aggravated tone to his voice making a few people steer clear of his vicinity.
Well… not just that. Unknown to the raven in question, there was something odd looking over his shoulder. This peculiarity was a mask of sorts. It looked vaguely human but the light blue material used to craft it was spectral from how it softly glow like wisps in the night sky.
An Aztec type crown at the top with four flat points as if it was a piece from a gear, large carved ears with faint spiral at the center, pure white eyes and mouth outlined in mauve, and the same mauve color to imitate flat eyebrows. Bystanders seeing the mask either quickened their step or blamed this bizarre sight as 'too much coffee' or 'no more liquor in the morning.'
"Huh. Guess an old man in his late 60s can get laid. Oh, so that's where the gardens are!" The young man nearly bit his tongue in shock from both the raspy, light and almost nerdy sounding male voice but also the fact it came from a floating tiki mask that took a closer look at his document.
He couldn't get a word out of his mouth as the mask flew off with surprising speed. "A Stand?! That means there's a Stand User nearby! You ain't getting away from me!" A bright golden aura began to burn around the adult upon giving chase to the airborne oddity. On the sidewalk, the man's shadow grew with the addition of a more peculiar one.
A few minutes passed when the chase was called off upon the mask being too far in the air to pursue, the extra shadow vanished as the adult male let a growl in annoyance. He lowers his hat with a curse. "Damn it. If that thing's responsible for the recent incidents going on in this town…" The man then went to a payphone before dialing in a number.
"This is Jotaro Kujo. Tell the heads of the Speedwagon Foundation that there is confirmed Stand activity in Morioh. Look into the database about a Stand in shape of a glowing blue mask and the possibility if it's connected to Dio." The phone was slammed down as the white coat of the man fluttered while he left.
"Poke!" A finger poking the little snout of a box turtle that had swam up from the water of the makeshift pond seated by a small bus stop. Sitting on the curb of the pond beside was the odd Taki-Taki, currently petting the small reptilian much to its pleasure. "You're a handsome turtle, aren't you? Much nicer than the big ones back home." She cooed while the turtle rubbed itself against her hand clearly in love with the kind contact.
A little whimper had the young woman look around in utter confusion. Soft heterochromia eyes soon met bright baby blue ones tinged with a bit of fear. That fear directed to the little reptile nipping at the greenette's fingers.
A 5'11 muscular young man with blue violet hair tended neatly into a large pompadour, a dark violet gakuran pinned with a yellow heart and gold peace on each side of his chest, sunshine yellow shirt that peeked through the gap of his uniform coat, and dark boots were the owner of these baby blue orbs.
"You okay? Look like you're about to pee yourself." Taki-Taki questioned upon the fidgeting male still looking at the turtle as if it tried to eat him. He immediately calmed down a bit now noticing he wasn't exactly alone, cheeks dusting a bright red. "I'm so sorry! Reptiles just give me the willies that's all, mostly turtles." His soft and slightly rough almost if still adjusting practically rattled with nervousness.
She merely chuckled whilst waving off any concern. "It's alright! Everyone is afraid of something so no harm done. Plus this little handsome fellow is much more kinder than the ones I've seen in Turtle Woods. Those turtles were mean and one tried to steal my hat!" Her spare hand pointed at the dinosaur skull on her head since the other was still petting the shelled reptile.
The pompadour wearing young man shivered upon the two words 'Turtle Woods' but was honestly thankful that she wasn't making fun of him for his phobia. Taki-Taki then stood up whilst petting the turtle's head one more time. "I better go! Promised to get some stuff with my friend Lani-Loli and we're supposed to meet up at the gardens! Chou!" And she was gone with a pep to her step.
"My name is Josuke Higashitaka… And she's gone. Maybe I'll see her again." The sound of male cursing grew as the purple pomp prince noticed a bunch of male students coming over to him. Delinquents from their rude, downlooking and glaring faces, something that only made him sigh. Days like these tend to suck.
The Higashitaka household, home to the Higashitaka family which consisted of the older police officer Ryohei, his daughter but also single mother Tomoko and Tomoko's son Josuke. A lively place from the unique personalities of the three living inside. Well, it wasn't like this right now.
Peculiar water slipping away from the house window almost like a cobra finished with their prey. A fact so true upon the still body of the family matriarch lying lifeless on the floor. Face carved in blood coated horror slowly changes to a pristine clean outlook through a soft golden aura. Almost if the man died in his slumber and not of gruesome supernatural murder.
The golden aura belonging to a bubblegum arm coated in crystalline diamond armor soon vanishes inside the body of Josuke. Behind Josuke was Jotaro, the man clad in white being a relative, his nephew shockingly taken into consideration that his grandfather was the pomp prince's father. Who knew?
And the older man could only look at the teen that was his uncle trying to coax his dead grandfather back to life with sympathetic pity. Aquamarine eyes that always seemed stuck in a perpetual glare now softened at the scene. The look of someone who had seen a death like this before. Or to be more precise, had experienced such a grizzly sight.
Jotaro knew that this wasn't the time for grief fueled hysterics. There were more pressing matters and dangers ready to drown them from the inside. "Josuke…" Any further words from the older man, alongside any actions from the teen immediately stopped upon one thing. Subtle movement originating from the chest of the officer's corpse before them.
A sickly sweet scent reminiscent of cherries filled the air along with the soft sizzle of something burning. Thin wisps of smoke coming from the body's chest pocket spurred Josuke to go into the clothing's pouch. Baby blue eyes widened seeing a small brown tiki charm in his hands but specifically the feathers that were turning to dust.
"A voodoo charm?" The purplette's attention immediately went back to the corpse of his grandfather. His still chest slowly began to rise and fall almost as if… "He's breathing." It was the only conclusion Jotaro came to upon the subtle movements. The charm in the teenager's hands fully became ash once his previously deceased grandfather sat up looking purely confused.
"Ooh my head… I don't remember my favorite booze having that strong of a kick. Josuke? What are you doing here since I thought you were going out? Who's this guy? And why are you crying?" Ryohei didn't expect to wake up to such a scene or his own grandson to hug him so hard thinking he was about to kick the bucket.
He was quick however to notice the scent of cherry in the air alongside a missing weight in his breast pocket. "Did someone light a scented candle and where did my good luck charm go? Was I mugged or something Josuke?" The elderly man's inquiry had the two younger men share the same look. They needed answers.
/"You want to know who gave me that charm? Well, it was a young girl around my grandson's age. She had green hair, heterochromia with her eyes being orange and blue, and had what looked like a dinosaur skull on her head. Said her name Taki-Taki Bandicoot and came into town looking for ingredients. The charm was based off of a guardian of protection... Aku-Aku I believe she said."/
Information that had both Jotaro and his younger uncle running through the streets of Morioh in a hurry. Ryohei had been put into protective custody with a short call from whoever the raven had pretty high connections to. Something that man would have refused if it wasn't for the fact his son was crying. Josuke only cried when things were at the absolute worst. This made it easier to search without the man being in danger once more.
"I never thought my life would have gotten this insane. First an escaped death row inmate capable of killing his victims from the inside with water and now a Stand User capable of bringing back the dead! Things weren't like this until you came to town!" The highschooler quipped as if to ignore the harsh ache going through his legs.
"Your life was bound to become bizarre the moment you awakened your Stand, no, the moment you were born with Joestar blood. A curse everyone in this damned bloodline has. So don't blame me for the shitshow." Jotaro fired back in absolute annoyance. Their destination was the place mentioned by the woman when Josuke encountered her, Morioh's Springroll Garden.
"Maybe she can remove it? She does know voodoo and it does involve a lot of curse thingies? Do you think Taki-Taki can get rid of my fear of turtles?" The teenager's question was merely met with an eye roll from Jotaro. He was going to shout back an insult until something caught his eyes.
A lone figure standing amongst a large collection of various flora and vegetation belonging to one of Morioh's famous landmarks. More accurately a lonehuman figure and a soft blue floating oddity by them that was very damn familiar to the male clad in white. "There she is and that's the Stand I saw earlier!"
Taki-Taki was currently plucking a few mushrooms from underneath the bushes that provided their moist dark home and placed them into a small straw basket. Springroll Garden was a place where people could pick their vast garden by purchasing a special ticket and take home an entire basket full of items.
"It's kind of cool that the town has such a garden like this. Especially when it guarantees a free basket of fresh goods for first time visitors too!" The luminescent mask said with a big smile while looking at a bush full of white roses. His green haired friend merely let out a chuckle in agreement before speaking. "Same here pal. Makes it a lot easier to find the things needed to work my magic."
A loud shout had the two look up to see some familiar faces running their way. "Wouldn't you know? Hey Pompadour Prince, fancy seeing you here!" Taki-Taki's nickname immediately had the boy stop in his tracks. Face burning in anger until the words finally hitting turned that anger into pure confusion. The sudden confusion didn't stop the mask from cowering behind the greenette.
"Pompadour Prince?" He questioned while pointing to himself, clearly confused. "You kidding? That's the best pompadour I've ever seen. Also, calling you king is going a bit too far since we've barely known each other and aren't in a relationship." Her words caused the male teen to blush a bit paired with a smitten look and cheesy smile.
Jotaro merely elbowed Josuke's shoulder as the highschooler remembered what they were supposed to be doing. "Taki-Taki Bandicoot, we need you to come with us. We already know about you being a Stand User since your Stand is hiding right behind you but also that charm you gave Ryohei Higashitaka before he was attacked."
The greenette merely had a confused look before it immediately narrowed into glare after the words Ryohei Higashitaka and attacked. Her emotions were clearly being felt through the odd mask as it came out of hiding to glare at them. "I knew something bad was bound to happen upon seeing that dark aura. Tell me what you've done to that kind officer before I rip ya putzes a new one!"
Josuke was thrown off guard by the sudden aggression consuming Taki-Taki's features. It was as if a cloak of pure madness just overshadowed that sunny aura of the greenette. The change didn't deter Jotaro who refused to back down at her threat. As if proving his point, a gold aura started to radiate from his body.
"You need to calm down now. We aren't your enemies but I won't hesitate to knock you out even if you're a girl." The man spoke as something appeared from his body like an apparition. It was a humanoid spirit of sorts that appeared to be an Aztec Warrior or barbarian with similar origins.
Just as big and buff as his summoner but a bit more, soft blue skin that outlined a coral inner pink, black hair that flowed like smoke but sparkle as if it was stardust, soft ocean blue eyes and a body armed with white pauldrons painted in gold spirals, black fingerless gold studded gloves, a white scarf around their neck, black knee high boots and a long white loincloth alongside a dark tasset.
Yet, the strange being seemed to only piss off Taki-Taki even further as she went into her pant's pocket to pull out a small crystal orb. "You're going to threaten me with a giant in his skivvies? Alright jackass, hope your ready to party. For this Ooda-Booga Boogie of mine is going to send ya to the hospital!" And she crushed the crystal orb in her hand.
Both men only had seconds until a large blackish pink fist had punched Jotaro's spirit in the face, the ghost and summoner were sent flying out of the garden before kissing the street concrete. Josuke could only blink before seeing the thing responsible for sending his nephew airborne. "Holy shit!" For what stood snarling in front of Taki-Taki was an absolute monster.
A heavily built 9'6 tall slightly deformed anthropomorphic porcupine with vibrant magenta skin overshadowed by a darkish gray hide. A long singular black horn tipped with hot pink, burning crimson eyes that glared down at the man in white, a magenta muzzle overlapped with an giant overbite of fangs, multiple pink tipped black spikes across their back, their right arm covered in black armor in the form of a riot shield, and crimson hakama trousers with a black paw print on the side.
The beast snarled angrily at Jotaro while a trail of drool came down from their razor sharp maw. It then let out a loud and deep inhuman roar almost if challenging anyone foolish enough to face the beast's wrath. Jotaro had gotten back onto his feet, spitting a bit of blood on the road before wiping the remainder from his mouth. Some of it stained bits of his hat a dark crimson. His spirit staring at the beast with an analysistic glare.
"That's one hell of a sucker punch you got there. Quite an ugly bastard of a friend you have, makes me question which one it is though. Is the beast your actual stand or a byproduct of its power?" The question only seemed to aggravate the greenette and the large creature she called upon.
"That 'ugly bastard' is my friend Quill and what is with this Stand garbage anyway?! What I want to know is did you attack Mr. Ryohei?! My charm doesn't just vanish without fulfilling its purpose even if stolen. Now answer me or I'll beat the truth out of you!" Taki-Taki declared with a snarl that held inhumanely sharp teeth.
Josuke didn't have to be a genius to know if he didn't stop these two right now then things were going to get a lot worse. His nephew's Stand went in for a punch while the greenette's large beast followed suit. Neither attack landing their blow as two diamond covered pink hands caught both fists.
The culprit was a giant pink skinned warrior whose body was covered in Corinthian style diamond armor. He was huge with the same type of muscle like Jotaro's spirit, eyes were a bright baby blue that shone through the darkness of the heart top helmet with concern, wires connecting the back of his neck to his back, heart shaped diamond pauldrons with spikes, armor that over lined the side of his arms, legs and back, and diamond plating rings around the fingers.
Unlike Jotaro's Stand or Taki-Taki's giant beast, this one exuded a gentle and kind aura akin to that of a guardian or protector. Something that made sense from the soft magenta aura radiating from Josuke. "Please stop fighting! I don't want to see my nephew or the person who saved my grandpa hurt each other for something stupid!" The pomp prince's words carried strong as they were sincere.
Something the greenette easily felt upon Quill taking a step back as if backing down from the fight since there was no longer any hostility. Jotaro's Stand disappeared soon after while he muttered a soft 'Yare Yare Daze' under his breath. "Holy shit… I thought things were going to get ugly there. I don't think this garden deserves to be wrecked by a Spike." The mask's quip not being lost on anyone.
Later at the Higashitaka House, cups of tea were placed on the table. Sitting at the table on mats were Josuke, Jotaro and the odd woman known as Taki-Taki Bandicoot. To their left side strangely enough was the greenette's mask and both men's spirits that were conversing with each other or goofing off upon the playing cards between them.
"I still don't believe that Stands are basically the spiritual energy of someone given form. You sure they aren't warrior ancestors? Jotaro's Star Platinum looks like an Aztec barbarian and Josuke, your Crazy Diamond reminds of those old Greek soldiers from his armor." She said while looking at the three oddities playing Go Fish.
A Scrabble holder was being used for the mask or Lani-Loli's cards since he didn't have any hands. He would ask either Star Platinum or Crazy Diamond to put any of his matching cards down and when he needed to 'fish' a card. "Pretty sure. Couldn't I ask the same thing about Lani-Loli over there? Floating masks that can talk aren't normal either." Josuke quipped while pointing to the mask in question.
"Hey! I'm right here you know and I'm way older than all of you combined! And I would have you know that I was human before becoming a Quantum Mask! If I still had hands I would smack all three of you on the head!" The mask fired back in aggravation, some of the cards disappearing in blue wisps of smoke... alongside Josuke's clothes.
"Eeek!" He panicked immediately covering his crotch, Jotaro hiding his embarrassment under his hat while Taki-Taki turned her head away with face hot red in embarrassment. "Great Tikimon! Lani-Loli! Phase his clothes back now!" The mask quickly undoing his magic in sheer embarrassment. Josuke's clothes and the cards popping back into reality with similar blue wispy smoke.
Poor teen let out a sigh of relief knowing he wasn't nude in front of a girl anymore. "Sorry! Sometimes I accidentally poof things out of existence when I'm stressed! And nothing says stress like an escaped convict who kills people with living water!" Jotaro rolled his eyes at the smartass remark. For an all mighty ancient mask, Lani-Loli was an anxious nerd that was a scare away from passing out.
The reason why they were holed up in Josuke's house was that all of them were targets of the Stand User Angelo and his Stand Aqua Necklace.
Angelo was a psychopath with a taste of madness and penchant for violence. The man was arrested repeatedly for brutal acts like murder and even sexual assault before he was landed on Death row. Sadly his execution didn't work properly, allowing the maniac to escape the morgue and reach Morioh. He attacked Ryohei as the cop was the reason Angelo got arrested.
Due to the nature of his Stand, none of them could use water that came from anywhere but a bottle in fear of accidentally swallowing the dangerous entity. "And when do you think it's safe for us to go home? Unlike you guys, my dad will go nuts if I ain't back soon. None of us want to deal with an angry father much less my pops, Crash Bandicoot." Taki-Taki wasn't blind to the nervous look on the pompadour prince's face while he took a sip of his tea.
"Until that Stand User is caught." Jotaro didn't foresee the spray of tea hitting his face from the greenette's spit-take. The grown man was growling in his seat while the young woman tried to settle down her coughs. "You nuts?! That is the stupidest thing I ever heard and this is stemming from the fact my partner does insanely stupid stuff on a daily basis!"
Lani-Loli had flown over to the table so fast that the card pile dispersed from the sudden gust, much to both Stand's displeasure. "You said this guy's Stand is pure water right? What do we do when we run out of water? Wait, here's a better one! What happens if it rained? Shelter becomes a deathtrap in two seconds!" Both men's eyes widened upon the mask's words.
After settling down her coughing fit, Taki-Taki let out a soft whisper. "I think this is what that putz wants. Turn ourselves into sitting ducks and swoops in for the kill until it's too late. And it's going to rain in three days." Silence filled the room upon that very knowledge. The convict was planning to turn their stakeout into a trap.
Josuke could only sigh at the difficult hand. Sure, they now know the guy's plan but if they ignore it then finding Angelo would be even harder. It also meant that the psycho will find out Ryohei is still alive and won't hesitate to attack him again. "Then let's turn the tables back. Turn the hunter into the hunted." All eyes were on Taki-Taki in seconds.
She had a goofy smile on her face with her tongue sticking out in an impish manner. There was also the fact that another crystal orb was in her hands. An item that produced the monstrous Quill but unlike that one, this jewel was a shade of toxic green. Lani-Loli, upon seeing what his friend held, grew a mischievous grin of his own. The odd duo clearly had a plan that almost made Jotaro and Josuke feel an ounce of pity. Almost being the keyword.
Rain had finally fallen upon the house once three days had passed by. Taki-Taki had called her father about being home a few days late since some issues had cropped up. Neither Josuke or Jotaro heard the man's voice but what they gathered upon how the greenette talked, 'Crash' was kindly lenient. Although, both males would have to see him once she got back home.
They spent most of their time keeping themselves from getting bored. Board games, reading, or Taki-Taki crafting some… mysterious concoctions and trinkets with whatever she found in the Higashitaka household. Josuke could honestly admit that he didn't know there was a den of possums hiding in his walls but the witch doctor managed to get some possum fur and nail clippings after one landed on Jotaro.
The greenette at the moment was alone in the bathroom, various ingredients that surrounded a lone bucket. Each item was odd in their own right, rat tails, frog eyes, shiitake mushrooms, yew branches, spoiled milk and a bottle of water. Taki-Taki began pouring the ingredients into the vat starting with the rotten dairy.
She was chanting in an unknown language that eerily sounded like a mix of Arabic and Pig Latin. Bucket began to bubble from her words as the color shifted upon every ingredient dropped into the vat. Taki-Taki's water bottle was currently halfway empty through the process and the cap left abandoned to the side.
Unbeknownst to the woman, rain began to patter outside and something opaque began to build up by the window. It looked like water but it held a more bluish hue and moved too much like a living creature to be normal. Then a pair of sinister pink eyes and a grin full of sharp teeth slithered through.
"You sure this isn't a mango?" Josuke currently sat in the front room alongside Lani-Loli who floated over the teenager's shoulder. Standing on the table was a large orange fruit with a yellow bottom similar to a mango but two leaves that hung from a stem. The teenager currently poking at the fruit that had come from Taki-Taki's home.
"Nope! It's a Wumpa Fruit, a pretty common thing to find on the Wumpa Islands. They're much sweeter than mango and the juice is pretty tasty too. Especially when used for a Wumpa Smoothie, those are really good." Being curious upon the mask's words, the pompadour prince took a nicely sized bite of the fruit.
Tangy sweetness was the first thing that hit the highschooler's taste buds then a rich zesty flavor kicked in a matter of seconds. "Holy shit! This is actually pretty good. Yo Jotaro, you have to try this!" The raven poked his head out of the kitchen upon hearing his name. He let out an annoyed sigh before snatching the fruit out of the teen's hand.
"Did someone put salt in your oatmeal today?" Lani-Loli couldn't help but point out at the man's awfully sour mood added by the harsh bite he took out of the poor fruit or the vicious vice grip. "No. None of you are taking this situation seriously and last I checked didn't get an angry rodent trying to claw up your face." He hissed before taking another aggressive bite.
The sound of footsteps had gotten the two humans and mask turning their heads. Approaching them with an eerily quiet and dead stare was Taki-Taki. Her feet moving sluggishly to the point it was close to that of a sleepwalker… or if heavy weights were tied to the woman's legs.
"Taki?" Lani-Loli's voice thick with concern while he spoke his friend's nickname. Her response was to open her mouth slowly with evil pink eyes glaring back at them in the darkness. "Sorry but your little friend's life is now mine!" A vile, raspy and deep male voice coming out of the greenette's mouth, all to the horror of her friends.
"Aqua Necklace?! You bastard, get out of Taki-Taki now Angelo!" Josuke could only burn brighter in rage from the deranged laugh of the psychopathic water Stand. "And get rid of my only hostage?! Hell no! This bitch is the reason why Ryohei Higashitaka is still alive! She has the power to bring back the dead, a ticket to immortality!" The mask could only roll his eyes as if sensing a monologue.
"I've been watching you this whole time. I saw the giant beast she summoned and that mask phasing things through existence. With her as my slave, I'll be invincible! The world will be my toy box and every single person my toys that I can break for eternity! Once you're all dead, I'll break her until she's a mindless bitch who will follow my every…" The monologue was caught short upon her mouth snapping shut.
Yet, it wasn't the lips that closed the space but an eerie green substance reminiscent to goo. "The hell?!" Aqua Necklace tried to dive down the woman's throat only to run into another gooey green wall. Then he heard laughter. Pink eyes turned to see it was Lani-Loli who was responsible. He was cackling mischievously that tears looked ready to fly from how hard his laughter, much to the confusion of his friends.
"Haha! Hehehehe! You really thought it would be so easy! Taki and I faced way worse than your miserable hide. Oh, and that's not Taki-Taki you putz! Drop the charade Toxic!" Jotaro and Josuke immediately jumped back upon who they thought was Taki-Taki began to melt. All color draining away into a puddle of green slightly clear goo.
Crazy Diamond and Star Platinum were quickly summoned when that sludge started to rise up in the process of a transformation. The slime forming three toed misshapen legs, dripping fat arms with chubby fingers, a large yellow green belly that from its almost clear texture and Aqua Necklace being held inside looked more like a prison, and a roundish hippo like head paired with short pig ears, large deformed inhuman teeth and two alien yellow orbs looking back at it's observers.
The beast or Toxic's appearance could be compared to a 8 ft tall ogre or even an Oni, supernatural beings that tend to punish wicked humans. "Meet the Sludge, a creature made of magic infused ooze with a love for eating utter garbage, like your ugly face! I told Toxic here about your little plan involving my best friend."
Almost on cue, the large oozing beast let a loud snarl before smoke began filling in its tummy. "Aaaaaaah! What the hell is that smell?! It's getting hot in here! Don't tell me this is acid?!" The mask only had a vicious smile on his face that solidified the fact. "People like you make me sick. I've read your entire file and I bet it would even make Uka-Uka himself furious to see your deeds!" Aqua Necklace could only shiver in horror at the mask.
It was like Lani-Loli's nervous self had been overshadowed by pure animalistic rage that his eyes were narrowed slits and teeth were now large fangs held in a snarl. A deity ready to smite a sinner with divine punishment. Even Jotaro and Josuke were taken aback by the sudden shift.
"I may be a scaredy cat but I am still a protector. My name is Lani-Loli, the Quantum Mask of Phase! For ruining the lives of many, threatening my friends and having an unsavory plan for my contractor, I mark you Angelo and his Stand Aqua Necklace, guilty of your sins! And boy do I have a nice punishment for your wicked soul."
The mask then faced the two Joestar blooded men. "Josuke. Jotaro. Taki-Taki left earlier to find this cretin's owner hence my friend Toxic here taking her place. I know where she is and I'm going to need your help with something."
On a street a few blocks from Josuke's house sat a large boulder. This rock had laid on this spot for centuries after a stray storm left it stranded on the land that would become Morioh. Tied to this very stone was an unsavory dark haired man in a milkman uniform bound by chains and gagged with a black cloth. Bruises decorating his body no doubt from the slightly bloody fists of the witch doctor.
Taki-Taki turned her head and smiled upon the sight of her friends coming into view. Aqua Necklace was still trapped within the prison that was Toxic's stomach, who seemed mighty pleased at the abomination's struggle. "Damn, you did a number on the asshole." Josuke said much to the greenette's pleasure.
"I aim to please. Now then, Angelo, since you made a living of ruining people's lives I believe your punishment should be providing good luck." Taki-Taki then pulled from behind the rock was the bucket filled with her concoction. It was a bright bubbling pink and had a smell akin to rotten lavender. She didn't resist dumping the nasty vat all over the convict much to his displeasure.
The man was struggling in disgust before his movements slowed to a crawl as if his whole body was paralyzed except for his mouth and eyes. Taki then yanked the gag from Angelo's lips allowing the man to speak. "You...crazy bitch…! What have you done?" His raspy dry voice almost sounded like a dying cat from how quiet it was.
"A simple potion made to turn you into an eternal good luck charm for all the folks in Morioh! Bet you now wished that your original execution didn't fail. Josuke, this last part is all up to you. Today you will have to make a choice on how this man goes out." Taki-Taki's eyes narrowed as they glowed inhumanly under the dark cloudy sky.
"Ryohei Higashitaka was the one who put this man in jail and stopped his rampage. In vengeance, this scum tried to rob a righteous soul of his life. As Ryohei's grandson, will you fulfill his task and put an end to the man that escaped the grim reaper's blade? If not, then I will perform the deed with Lani-Loli. What do you say?"
The pompadour prince was a bit off guard by the witch doctor's words. Why would she ask him if he wanted to be the one that dealt Angelo's punishment? "Josuke?! Are you seriously going to let her kill me? Sure I tried to kill your grandfather but if you go along with this bitch's plan then you'll be a killer just like me!"
None of them were blind to the man's false pleas knowing it was a trick to let him go. A rat that will only wreak havoc if given a shred of mercy. Angelo's rants were caught off by a fist breaking both his hand and a chunk of the rock. The shocking thing was that the stone merged and encased itself around the appendage much to the psycho's horror.
"Aaah! My hand!! What are you doing?" Josuke merely ignored the man's painful cries. "You really think that we're going to let you go after all you've done. This town used to be a peaceful place before you came and played with people's lives! So for the rest of your days, you're going to pay back every family that you destroyed! Taki-Taki." The greenette smiled knowing what the young man wanted.
"Let's do this Lani-Loli! Armor up!" The cyan mask flew around Taki-Taki with trails of aqua wispy trails that followed from behind. The mask situated himself onto her back while the ghostly ribbons wrapped themselves around her body. Each wispy streak solidified to form a black jumpsuit of sorts which was highlighted by glowing aqua blue chunks of armor reminiscent of Lani-Loli's crown.
Taki-Taki's eyes were now completely glowing blue while velvet sky blue energy followed through the tattoos on her skin and turned her hair into luminous bluish mist. The sudden change to the witch doctor had the restrained Angelo sweating in terror and nearly pissing himself when Josuke's Crazy Diamond materialized.
"Dorarararararara!!!!" The armored spirit let out a battle cry as both him and the armored greenette let loose a barrage of vicious punches. Each strike was as destructive and fast as machine gun rounds, blowing off huge chunks of the stone and merging to the man trapped in the dead center. Neither of them stopping their assault until every piece of stone had been reassembled.
With one last brutal punch, the stone fragments had fully merged Angelo turning the once human male into a deformed boulder. This new shape of the large stone was a malformed face with wide eyes held in different angles, a large flat nose at the bottom similar to a maui and stress lines just like the person it used to be.
Aqua Necklace, who was still trapped in Toxic's belly, quickly melted away in seconds. No doubt the Stand could no longer survive without the life force of its user, thus following its master into hell. Jotaro could only grimace behind the guard of his cap.
[Morioh Landmark 1: Angelo's Rock. No one knows where this mysterious stone appeared from or why. Despite its unnerving appearance, this landmark is a hotspot for couples both old and new.]
'These three are bat shit crazy and have the strength to back it up. Luckily Josuke has a good head on shoulders but…' The raven's eyes drifted to Taki-Taki, her sludge summon and most importantly Lani-Loli still hanging onto her back. She was conversing with Josuke who took the time to look at her changed form and the living sludge Toxic in rapt curiosity.
'Taki-Taki isn't a Stand User but she's just as dangerous as one. Those beasts, Quill and Toxic, whatever they are no doubt has a connection to her origins. And then there's Lani-Loli. I don't exactly know what a Quantum Mask is but I have a feeling he isn't the only one. Just who are you?'
And that is it! This ended being super long since the story revolves around two whole episodes instead of one. It does take place in the beginning of Part 4 and I wanted to stick as close to canon involving them.
Yes, Taki-Taki can call upon Titans, the enemies normally found in the Crash of the Titan series. Unlike a large chunk of people, I actually like the Titan games. They were the first Crash games I played and 100%. I did play Crash The Huge Adventure for the gameboy advance but it got destroyed in the wash sadly before I got the last crystal.
Any version of Crash of the Titans is good but I suggest playing the DS version of Mind Over Mutant considering the console version is more of an annoying chore with tons of backtracking.
My favorite Titans are Spike and Rhinoroller. I especially love the boss version of Spike from the DS Mind Over Mutant but I haven't found the concept art of it yet.
Just like a witch doctor, Taki-Taki does craft all sorts of potions and charms. The Aku-Aku charm acts like a second chance. If someone who has the charm experiences death, the charm will revive them. Deaths done through murder are a bit different.
The charm will hold onto their soul until its safe to revive the holder. Any extensive damage is done and the soul is returned back to the body once repairs are complete. After use, the charm will disintegrate or dull out depending on how much damage was caused.
The Phase Armor given by Lani-Loli is much different for Taki-Taki when she uses it. Reason for it is that she's contracted to him thus the power and magic he provides is much stronger than someone who doesn't have a contract.
Even if Lani-Loli is quite a skittish character,that doesn't mean he won't get serious when needed. Angelo did a lot of horrible stuff that I bet even Uka-Uka wouldn't do. Uka-Uka may be evil but he has standards.
I wanted to try a different writing style for this considering Part 4 is more of a murder mystery. So I wanted to introduce particular areas, new landmarks and important information in a traversing to the next scene.
Until next time folks! Tell the world that your unbreakable!
#crossover#au#oc#jjba#fanfic#jojo's bizarre adventure#crash bandicoot oc#crash 4#crash bandicoot#lani loli#jjba josuke#josuke 4#josuke higashikata#jotaro kujo#crash spike#crash sludge#crash of the titans#star platinum#crazy diamond#tales of sonicasura#sonicasura#jjba diamond is unbreakable#jjba part 4#crash 4 its about time
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
When Alex Manes Loves You
This is a Isobel x Alex friendship fic with a whole bunch of Malex for good measure. For @bisexualalienblast who always deserves a smile and who dragged me into this fandom.
************************************
He takes care of you.
Alex leaned over the building plans spread out on the table. They were almost certain this was another facility, one that might just have some of the answers they were desperate for.
Well most of them were, Michael still wasn’t sure what Alex’s motivation was. At least not anymore. How many sins of your father were you supposed to atone for before you were square?
Max was sitting in a chair, he still had trouble standing for too long. Coming back from death was a bitch. Still he seemed to be taking in everything Alex was saying. At least someone was.
Michael couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Isobel and he wasn’t paying attention to anything else.
She’d walked in 10 minutes earlier, flounced in really, and tossed her bag in the corner like she’d done it a million times. Michael had only been to Alex’s bunker once before. He could swear there were ghosts in the walls, it made him feel watched. Isobel, however, seemed comfortable as could be.
It irked him.
She was in yoga clothes, an old habit she’d picked back up since she found out her husband was a serial killer. He didn’t think she believed in all that zen bullshit but he wasn’t about to say anything about her new exercise kick. With Isobel you picked your battles.
She’d barely been there two minutes when Alex reached into his own duffel bag and tossed something in Isobel’s direction without even looking at her. She caught it with ease, wrinkled her nose. It looked like homemade trail mix, how very military.
“I can't deal with your hanger today. Yes, there’s M&M’s in there somewhere. Anyway, as I was saying…” Alex kept talking but Michael doesn’t hear it.
It’s a simple thing, so tiny and insignificant but all Michael can do is stare at the bag in Isobel’s hands. She flicked her fingers around inside, digging until she finds what she’s looking for. She held the chocolate between her thumb and forefinger, smirked at Alex before she popped it in her mouth.
The smile Alex gives her in response can only be described as fond, lips Michael once knew intimately pursed in amusement.
He doesn’t want to name the feeling that rolled around in his stomach, refused to acknowledge it. When Isobel held the bag out and Alex took a handful without looking up from the table Michael felt his whole body clench.
He humours you.
He was getting used to being in Alex’s space, not just his bunker, their unofficial place to discuss all things alien conspiracy, but near him. Close enough to feel the heat of his dark skin, breathe the same air. It doesn’t hurt anymore, at least not as much.
Maybe they would be friends after all.
That is until he walks in, sees Kyle laughing, Alex with a bemused expression on his face and Isobel hanging something on the wall.
When Michael read what it said he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
“There. Now it’s more homey.” Isobel stood with her hands on her hips, glanced over at Michael with a small smile on her lips. It’s the first genuine one he’s seen in months.
Later when Alex and Michael are sitting at the screens, he leaned over, kept his voice low.
“Are you really going to leave that up?”
He shrugged, but Michael doesn’t miss the way the skin on Alex’s arm beside his prickled in goosebumps. It gave him a rush of warmth, a feeling of satisfaction he missed too much to admit.
“It makes her happy.”
And that seemed good enough for Alex.
When Michael walked out later he reads the words. He knows it’s a joke, but he can’t seem to laugh.
Bunker Sweet Bunker
He makes you smile.
Max was keeping a very close eye on his sister and Michael was along for the ride. Today was her wedding anniversary. No one mentions it, no one dared to, but they knew it would be a hard day for her. She wouldn’t admit it, because weakness was not a word in Isobel’s vocabulary. So instead Max was brooding, pouring Isobel wine in the middle of the day like this was some joyful alien family gathering and not them trying to make sure she doesn’t crack.
Michael knew that Isobel probably would have preferred to have Alex here. They were so chummy now it made his skin crawl. Another thing he hated to admit, he was jealous of her. It was something he was used to in a way. At least before all her walls came down, and he learned life for her wasn’t as easy as he liked to imagine.
Alex had been the one to ask Max, and therefore by association Michael, to look after Isobel today. The soldier and Kyle (who he would never admit to being envious of, even if you put a syringe of the cure in his arm) were gone on some secret fact finding mission. Michael didn’t know the details. Which was fine.
Let Isobel and Alex have their wine nights. Let Kyle be Alex’s right hand man. It didn’t bother Michael in the slightest.
You’re a miserable liar.
But Max was still hovering, and Isobel just kept sighing and rolling her eyes like she was the one doing them a favour.
The doorbell rang and Michael watched her jump to her feet, no doubt happy for a brief reprieve from their lame attempts at comfort. There had been a time when it was always just the three of them, even when they hated it. God, even when they resented it, at least they had each other. But as more people were let in, as more people were trusted, it blurred what they were to each other.
Michael hated the feeling.
Isobel came back into her living room practically skipping, a package in her hands. Max was instantly on edge, like it would contain a bomb or something. She liked to shop, Michael could only imagine what she’d purchased herself this time.
It wasn’t until he saw her chuckle as she read a card that he realized it was a gift. She placed it on the coffee table and hummed to herself as she used her thumbnail to break through the taped up box. He swiped the card and felt his stomach clench as he read the words inside, the handwriting a little too familiar.
If you’re going to be a widow, best do it right.
Sentiments, et cetera, don’t drink all the wine without me.
A.
Alex hadn’t even signed his full name, just the first letter. Because she would know who it was. Of course she would. It made Michael seethe.
He heard Isobel’s gasp of delight and watched as she unwrapped a black hat, satiny and classic, a small black veil in the front. To anyone else it would be in poor taste, but as she put it on her head and drew the wisp of a veil over her eyes she was positively beaming.
She looked like a vamp in a noir movie, the widow in fake mourning. It suited her, Michael could admit that. The radiant smile on her face filled him up, made him forget his earlier anger. Alex had given Isobel something, made the day easier. He couldn’t be anything but thankful, even it it was begrudgingly.
She ran to look in the mirror, preened at herself and then started rambling about something or other. Max gave Michael a confused look, he just shrugged in response.
He tried to not remember the times when Alex gave Michael exactly what he had needed, exactly when he had needed it.
He leans on you.
As soon as he read the text from Maria he’d gotten into his truck without thinking. When he’d seen her name he’d frozen for a second. They’d ended things a few weeks prior. No drama, no tears. They just weren’t it for each other. He loved her. He always would. Just not the way he was supposed to.
Then her words had him in motion, he had to get to Alex. He couldn’t be alone, not right now, even though Michael was sure he’d demand it and then tear himself up in the process.
It was still light out when he pulled his truck up Alex’s drive. He was stunned for a moment to see not just Kyle’s car but Isobel’s as well. He debated turning around, pretend he’d never come until he saw the front door open and Isobel stepped out onto the porch.
No going back now, so he climbed out, boots kicking up dust. Isobel offered him a small smile.
“Is he…” Michael didn’t know what to ask. Of course he wasn’t okay. Jesse Manes was dead and even if he was the devil incarnate he was still Alex’s dad.
“No, but he will be. Kyle and him are on the back deck grilling steaks.” She was still blocking his path, and Michael knew how to read a room. “We’re going to get him wasted and put him to bed.”
He nodded at her, he’d never felt like he didn’t belong before, not with Isobel. Never with Alex. It felt like being a ship adrift on the water, nowhere to go.
“I just thought he could use a friend.”
“He can, that’s why we’re here.” She wrapped her arms around herself, the way she always did when she’s about to hurt him. Especially when she doesn’t mean to. “I don’t think it’s a good idea…”
He doesn’t let her finish the sentence, it’s already too much. “Yeah, I get it.”
Instead he turned away, felt ridiculous for coming there in the first place.
“Michael.” It’s soft but he hears it. So he stopped, took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder. “You’re more than that to him. So much more and he shouldn’t have to deal with that too. Not right now.”
He gave her a quick nod, because she has appointed herself Alex’s protector and he wants to thank her. Even if it meant keeping him away, Michael knows Alex is kept safe and loved. Even if it can’t be by him.
And whose decision was that?
The thought pounded in his head on repeat for the next three days.
He never stops.
It’s in the bunker, because of course it is. Just the two of them, Isobel’s stupid sign on the wall and a lab coat that no doubt belongs to Kyle thrown over a chair. They had been looking at something on the computer again, Michael leaned in too close as he tried to memorize everything he could.
He never gets to touch, not anymore, so his eyes are always hungry. It’s not sexual, at least not always, tonight he’s fascinated by the way Alex’s hair is in disarray. Frustrated hands running through it with every other click of the keyboard. Michael wants to replace them with his own, soothe the dark cloud Alex is giving off. Put fingers to tense shoulders and dig in.
He fights it, because that’s all he does around Alex anymore. Torture himself by looking and beat down the part of him that wants to do something about it.
Finally they gave up, Michael tried to make some stupid joke that failed miserably at being funny. Alex just lifts a corner of his mouth, like he appreciated Michael for even trying.
They both reach to grab Michael’s jacket at the same time, hands brushing for a moment, eyes locking in surprise.
With them, that’s all it takes. Match to gasoline and everything burns around them. Alex biting into his mouth, pushing him against the table, stealing his breath and his heart. He whimpered, because it’s them and he never thought he’d get this again. Wouldn’t let himself ask for it.
But the sound snapped Alex back to reality, made him lean away and fingers slipped from their grip in Michael’s hair. The sudden cold that slipped over him made his bones hurt.
“Michael, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“I love you.”
Alex stilled, hands squeezing hard where they rested on Michael’s arms. Alex doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t have to. His face is awe struck, his eyes bright. They both know, they’ve always known, they’ve just never said it.
Why had they never just said it?
But this time maybe it isn’t enough, maybe it’s too late and they didn’t figure it out in time. Maybe he’d let Alex push him far enough away that Michael hadn’t found his way back in time. Maybe they’d…
Then Alex is on him again, just as intense, just as needy but gentle, almost reverent. He’s unbuttoning Michael’s shirt, brushing their noses together..
“I love you.” Michael can taste it on his tongue.
“I love you.” It hums through his blood.
“I love you.” It’s whispered into his mouth.
“We’re going to talk, okay. After.” Michael can only nod in agreement as his shirt is pushed off his shoulders, as teeth drag at his lip and he’s welcomed home.
#alex manes#michael guerin#alex x michael#malex#isobel evans#isobel x alex#mavan#shauna’s roswell fic#rowell new mexico#fan fiction#what i did on Friday night#roswell nm
231 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happiness Overload Epilogue III
After a while, we finally won. It took more effort than we were told, but about as much effort as we expected. There was still much ground to cover even after the conflict died down. Like, I hated to admit it, but for a while I would just watch the fragmented remains of the world I once resided on. Meaning, there was a long gestation period where no new timeline was created. There was a lot of weight, y’know, and it was hard to remember the person I started that journey as, and whether I was different now that that journey had just about come to an end.
Beside me, at the front, was my girlfriend, my lover. Sometimes she’d shower me in kisses, but other times she would get annoyed with my antics. Couldn’t say that I blamed her, as it’s not like my growth meant I had to let go of my humor.
As for how we defeated the organization once and for all...we had some help. Some people went back to their time willingly. Some were less friendly. I didn’t really care to remember all those fancy little details. Only a few really stood out to me. Like after we booted Dr. Humble and Dr. Modest into some odd timeline in the year 1907 with just the clothing on their backs. Why 1907? Maybe that’s the time they thought they could pick up the pieces from and start fresh from the ashes, but when they told us that’s the time they were from, we just went with it. At least we gave them nothing.
Then, Coriander and I ran, firing away at guards along the way. There was a bit of a mess to clean up eventually, but that was neither here nor there.
Down some long sets of halls, we regrouped with Juniper, and were surprised to find she had made some new friends. With one in particular seeming rather close to her.
“Juniper! Thank goodness you’re okay!” I cried out in relief.
“Guys! I’m so glad to see you!” Juniper also looked overjoyed.
“Who’s this?” I asked.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Hepburn,” the taller figure answered. She extended her hand. I shook it. “I’m from the HR Department. Or was! It’s pretty cool that I can use past tense now!”
“Huh. What was your job, exactly?” Coriander asked.
“I mostly suggested things to departments. Though they usually got twisted and the way they got interpreted was a little out of my hands.”
“Really? How so?”
“Like, I thought we should have a Morale Department because I couldn’t help but notice our members had some pretty low morale. So I brought it up like, ‘hey, right now everyone’s kind of bummed out and demotivated, but I think if we had some kind of mascot, our company morale would be so much better. For example, Hatsune Miku is really popular and it’s a scientific fact that no one’s unhappy when Miku is around. So maybe if we got an AI to encourage us, we’d benefit. The same could be applied to humanity as a whole!’ Then later I guess they added a dash of evil to the proposed AI, but by then I was already suggesting things to other departments.”
“Dang,” I groaned. “Sucks when intentions get misrepresented like that.”
“Yeah, well this place is big so it can be like a giant game of telephone around here. I don’t blame anyone, really! Besides, at least they gave me credit on the project.”
“They did?” I was confused. I never heard of any Hepburn being factored into the plans.
“Well, I was actually named after the Mt. Etna in Italy. I later changed my name when I became a doctor, of course!” She informed me. That sounded like a potential shocker for information, but I didn’t know how.
“There’s a lot to dissect there, but I’m no scientist, so let’s put that aside for now. We still have much work to do!”
Coriander meanwhile, trying to show off her attitude as ever, grunted.
“So are you and her like a thing now?” She asked Juniper.
Juniper rolled her eyes. “Come on, guys! I’m not thinking about that stuff right now! I’m just glad to have made friends! Really!”
“All right. Can’t blame you. We can’t declare victory just yet.”
Indeed. Our reunion had to be cut short so we could round up more people. Thanks to the collective effort, though, at least it didn’t take ages, like many would have thought. I took it upon myself to destroy all time travel devices after someone left. Every little time cube in the room full of time cubes and then some.
All but one.
The same one I had pocketed. On the off chance that Coriander and I could ever leave that ship (or whatever it could be called), I wanted to hold on to it. For a while, we lived out our days on the ship, but we didn’t really seem to age. Not really, anyway. Maybe if we made it back to Earth, some version of it, we would find ourselves aged many years over. Or be just as young as we were before we entered The Flashbulb’s headquarters.
Before long, it was just a few of us. Coriander, Juniper, Dr. Hepburn, Dr. Katsushika (she said she’d leave eventually, it was just hard for her to leave all her art supplies behind), and I. Everyone else parted ways with us in some capacity or another. Many we grew to be friends with, but had to leave them behind all the same. That was fine with me, as a good few people always made me more comfortable than a whole crowd. Even with the company, it really was a lonely existence. Enough to drive anyone mad.
But we kept searching.
I would look around on a screen which displayed a nigh-endless supply of timelines. I narrowed it down to the year we lived in before we left home. Then, I looked for a place where Coriander and I didn’t already exist. At long last one day, I found such a place.
“Oh my god! Spicy! Meatball!”
“For the last time, don’t call me spicy meatball!” Coriander retorted. Yeah, yeah, so not all of my nicknames for her stuck, but I was excited enough to try.
“We can go back home!” I cheered.
Coriander leaned in close. “What?! Really?!”
It was decided long ago that if we ever decided to go back to Earth, it would have to be in a timeline where we didn’t already exist. I didn’t quite like the idea of killing myself off just to live on. I don’t know how it would have worked for Coriander, but she agreed that was for the best. What pained me was thinking that when this new timeline from the ashes of our destroyed world came about, was the uncertainty of not knowing what the version of Blanc would be like. If the version of me in that world would ever meet them or not. I think I would be content even if that Velvet didn’t meet that Blanc, but would I be content with the possibility that the Blanc of the new timeline wouldn’t be happy?
I didn’t want to focus on that. I really didn’t. I had my life, and my journey, and as painful as it was, I had to let such a possibility occur. It was better than no possibility at all.
“Hey Juniper!” I called over through the microphone. “I think I found a way to get home!”
If I had to guess, it was like an hour later when Juniper came through the doors, but time within those confines wasn’t something we really kept track of, as much as I wished we would. She was out of breath, having ran, but she was just as cute as a button as ever.
“Really? Guys?” She huffed, hunched over her knees. Jeez, I really should have told her to take her time.
Time...that was a strange word to use. But one that seemed unavoidable.
“There’s just one problem,” Coriander pointed out. “Apparently Juniper already exists on that version of Earth.”
“What?!” I balked. “That’s not fair!”
Popsigirl/Dr. Katsushika fell down from a ceiling vent and landed doing a cartwheel.
“That’s the way things go! You’re going to have to make a compromise to get your happy ending!” She snapped her fingers and grinned.
“Argh! I hate compromises, and I hate this ‘no perfect ending’ bullshit!” I turned to Juniper. “I wanted you to come along with us wherever we ended up.”
That was enough to get me to sulk. But Juniper just smiled.
“Aw, it’s okay, guys. I think it’s more important that you two get to go. Don’t worry about me!”
“But I’ll feel bad just leaving you behind like that.”
She shook her head. “Don’t think like that! I’m really glad to have met you guys, really. It’s not that I don’t want to return to Earth one day, it’s just that I’m fine with waiting. I always knew we would probably have to split, anyway.”
“What about you, though?”
“Honestly,” she looked away, still smiling, but she looked a little more nervous. “I’m not sure how my journey will continue, and I really will miss you guys, too, but I still consider you guys my friends and I’m more now that one day, I’ll have something of an idea. For now, I’m happy just having gone on this journey.”
“You say that, but I’m still worried about you being safe…”
“Please have a little more faith in me than that.”
I let out a long sigh. There was a handful of emotions attached, but when I drew in a new breath, I managed a smile.
“All right, then,” I said at last.
“So it’s decided, then? You guys are gonna go?” I could feel Dr. Katsushika’s excitement on her breath as she leaned in close to me. I wanted to shove her aside, especially when Coriander still couldn’t stand her presence, not that I blamed her for that, either.
“Not just yet,” I grimaced. “I want to make sure you’ll go home first.”
She flashed a grin, then wrested control of the monitor from me and with fervent motions, searched away until she found a time and place.
“I understand that I can’t really be forgiven for the stuff I’ve put you two through, but I think I’m going to enjoy being with nature again! Maybe I’ll be a sage or something, or take a vow of silence, or become a hermit who feeds ducks?”
“I’m sure you could pick up art again, too,” Juniper suggested. “You just gotta take it easy, is all.”
That got Popsigirl worked up into a storm of laughter.
“Hun, ‘art’ and ‘taking it easy’ don’t belong in the same sentence. But...I’d like to draw and paint, yes. And maybe I’ll get it right in time.”
I used the time travel device to open up a portal to the timeline Dr. Katsushika selected. I wasn’t sure which name she would choose in her timeline. Maybe she’d drop the doctor. Maybe she’d drop having a name entirely. There was a fondness I felt thinking about the possibilities, even if I couldn’t really forgive her.
When five became four (Dr. Hepburn, Juniper, Coriander, and I) I waited for Dr. Hepburn to enter the room, then I bade Juniper and her our final goodbyes.
“Hey, I can’t promise a perfect ending either, but for what it’s worth, I hope you the best,” Coriander told Juniper.
“I second that,” I added. If Coriander didn’t say it, chances are I would have. It was becoming more and more difficult to find the right words, so I was just glad Coriander could sometimes fill in the blanks for me.
“I would like to inform you that I had a board meeting with myself and it was unanimous that whatever happens, we’ll have fun,” Dr. Hepburn assured. I refrained from asking. Really, when you got down to it, she was a last minute character.
Juniper reached into her pocket and handed me something.
“Here, I made it. It’s a little invention of mine.” I looked at the object in my hand, a small metallic sculpture of a beetle.
“I call it a june bug! It can light up in the dark, but only in the month of June! That way you won’t really have to worry about leaving me behind too much.”
I laughed, though it almost came out like a cry. I had to wipe my face, even though it was more humorous than anything.
“That’s so dumb...I love it,” I told her.
I set the time travel device on the desk I had been sitting at. Coriander was the first to walk through the portal. I was sure I’d see her in just a little bit. But before I would, I turned to Juniper and Dr. Hepburn once again.
“If you guys do find a timeline you wished to go to and decide to leave, please destroy that for me. Or, if you decide to stay here...destroy it, too.”
Was it really necessary to do so? I mean, I could trust them, and all access to the headquarters from outside had been blocked off. Still, maybe it was the paranoia in me that told me it was better to be safe than sorry.
Wherever Coriander and I may end up next, with a good, a bad, somewhere in the middle as an ending awaiting us, I was just glad I would be brave enough to face it. No, that wasn’t just it. It meant even more to me to be able to spend the rest of my days, however that looked, not being alone.
#happiness overload#writing#after the end#epilogue#second to last epilogue#four will be the last one#then thats it#no more happiness#its time to calm down#fiction#whatever this story turned out to be#velvet#coriander#story
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
@spncoldesthits please allow me to share with you the wild ride that I just took, revisiting my abandoned writing for the first time in years. I’ve just finished reading through the sparse draft of a coldest hits fic that I very much wish I’d finished three years ago.
As a refresher, this fic was an AU with fairy tale elements. It featured Thief Dean, Thief Sam, Princess Anna, Princess Hannah, and Prince Cas. Rowena and Ruby are witches, Henriksen is the lawman, and Bela is Bela. Angel siblings, Cas and Hannah are twins.
It was planned as a multiship fic with endgame Dean/Cas and individual chapters dedicated to several other Dean ships in explicit detail. I never got around to writing that explicit detail, and the excerpts below are maybe PG-13 at worse, but this post is probably going to be a hard pass for anyone who wants to avoid any of the pairings. Officially that’s Dean/Rowena, Dean/Bela, Dean/Victor, Dean/Anna, Dean/Hannah, Dean/Cas.
Summary was: “It’s not quite the Midas touch, but still: Dean is cursed; every fabric that he touches turns to pink lace. Only true love’s kiss can cure him. Or something like that. Kind of inconvenient for a thief who’s on the run. Even more inconvenient for a thief locked in the palace dungeon. Then again, maybe not.”
Excerpts under the cut.
ONE CHAPTER WENT UP.
The published chapter 1 was about Dean and Rowena. Nothing new here if you already read what went up on AO3. Jump ahead to Bela for the “exclusive” content. :P
“You should consider it an honor. This is a variation on the gift granted to King Midas. You’re amongst royalty.” There was a slight upturn to her lips and it remained when she pressed them together. On anyone else, it might indicate someone holding in a laugh. On Rowena, it looked like an expression she’d set aside specifically for gloating.
“You don’t think you’re maybe overreacting a little bit here?” Dean spread his arms wide and dipped his head to gesture at his newly transformed attire. What had once been blue jeans, a black shirt, and green plaid over-shirt, now blended together in layers of baby pink lace. Even his black work-boots were drizzled in a pink lace overlay, strung together with pink lace laces.
&
“You insulted my choice of décor.” Rowena didn’t even look offended. She had an eyebrow raised now like she was attempting to teach manners to a naughty child.
“Look, I said sorry—” Dean started, but she interrupted him.
“You most certainly did not. As a matter of fact, you still haven’t.
”Dean sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I apologize.”
“You apologize for what?” Rowena was keeping up the scolding routine and Dean had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to stop himself from flinging a sarcastic remark at her. Don’t taunt the witch, don’t taunt the witch. He chanted to himself. If this is the kind of thing she did over a careless slight, he really didn’t want to find out what she’d do to him if he intentionally insulted her—especially with Sam still hiding out from the authorities one town over. Then again, maybe it was for the best that Sam didn’t see him like this.
“I apologize for making fun of your doilies.” Dean waved vaguely at the accents that had brought on all of this nonsense. “What do I know about decorations, right?”
“Indeed,” Rowena’s response was quick and sharp, free of the melodic false affection that her words had carried until that point. The change made Dean involuntarily flinch back and he was angry at himself for it. Frickin witches, man. Dean’s nostrils flared as he sneered at her. He was helpless and he knew it. It was times like this that he couldn’t stop himself; he did something aggressively stupid or he did something petty, sometimes a bit of both. Now, he stomped over to the couch tucked up against the front wall and slapped his palm against every throw pillow there before sitting on the couch itself and crossing his arms. He glared up at Rowena from atop the pink lace monstrosity.
Rowena inclined her head just slightly, only one side of her mouth curved up in a smirk now. The silence sat between them for a moment before she spoke. “It’s actually rather fetching, but you know, I do think I prefer things the way they were.”
With a waggle of her fingers, and a mumble of words that Dean didn’t think he would understand even if he could hear them clearly, Rowena changed the fabric of her couch and her pillows back, even as Dean remained sitting there clad in lace.
“So you can fix the curse.”
“Not quite.” Rowena didn’t look at Dean as she responded, instead raising her gaze to the ceiling in a mockery of someone playing coy.
“What do you mean ‘not quite’.” Anger was evident in the bite of Dean’s tone and the clench of his fists.
“I meeeeeeeaaann,” Rowena drew out the word as she turned her gaze back onto him, “Why sure, I can remedy the symptoms, should I choose, but an ailment is still an ailment.”
Rowena took two leisurely steps closer to the couch, drawing Dean’s attention briefly to her feet, but back up to her face when she stopped.
“A curse is still a curse.”
Two steps again. Dean watched her feet, watched her face, remained silent.
“And what would be the point of a curse if one could just casually remove it?”
Two steps.
Dean didn’t remove his attention from her face this time.
She smiled with teeth.
“But you needn’t worry. This curse is standard, as curses go. And it has a standard cure.”
“What’s the cure,” Dean didn’t hesitate to ask, but there was nothing eager in it. His voice was low and flat, experienced enough to know that he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“True love’s kiss, of course.”
“True love?” Dean scowled at her. “Bullshit. It doesn’t exist.”
Rowena laughed, full and bubbly. As far as Dean could tell, it was the first genuine emotion that Dean had seen from her this evening. “True love is a weakness, dear, of course it exists. Now, it may not last forever, and it may not be shared by both parties in just the same way, and it will probably happen between the most inconvenient people in the most inconvenient times, but it most certainly exists.”
“True love.” He felt like a parrot, but the very idea was ridiculous, possibly more ridiculous than the stupid curse itself. “A weakness and a cure.”
“That’s what the spell-book says…” Rowena trailed off.
“Does it?” Dean stood up and mimicked her two-steps-forward routine from earlier, which garnered her another one of those tiny smirks.
“I suppose more accurately it says ‘an intimate kiss from the one who is in the most awe and full of limitless adoration,’ but that is that not a bit wordy?”
Dean clenched his fists again and it drew Rowena’s eye.“
I must admit though, I am starting to see what you meant about the pink lace doilies. The fabric just looks ridiculous if one wants to appear intimidating,” Rowena shook her head in disapproval as she looked Dean over.
& then it gets pretty adult.
“This fabric, does it have the same effect when I’m wearing it as it has when you are?” Rowena clarified, “Does it make me less intimidating?”
The question alone made Dean’s throat feel suddenly tighter, he didn’t need to look her over to know the answer.
The swooping neckline of Rowena’s dress sat no lower than it had when it was made of royal blue velvet, but he didn’t have to lower his eyes to see that the broadly woven lace exposed more skin below her collar bone. Unlike his jeans, his boots, and the couch, Rowena’s dress had suffered the same fate as his t-shirt. The garment clung tightly in a single thin layer, stretched thinner where it pulled over muscles and curves.
&
“I think you’re lying,” Dean wanted to believe that she was lying, it was easier than if she were telling the truth. “I think you can fix this.”
“I said it before, and I meant it. The fix requires true love—or adoration of some sort—and you won’t find anything of that nature in this cottage…though you are welcome to try.”
In the end Dean left with a 10% discount on potions and an in-tact curse.
THE REST REMAINED UNFINISHED AND UNPUBLISHED.
But I just rediscovered all of these little portions I had for the unwritten chapters.
Jumping right in, I had some content drafted up for Dean and Bela.
“Alright, get it out of your system, say I look ridiculous.”
“That’s not…” Bela stopped herself mid-sentence, looked him up and down again, and then burst out laughing. “No, actually, that’s rather accurate. Ridiculous is exactly the word I’d use.”
Dean glared at her, but he couldn’t argue the point when she was simply agreeing with him.
Working with Bela was supposed to be a last resort, but in several short hours it had become his only viable course of action. She wasn’t going to be any help with the curse situation, but he and Sam did still need to get out of the kingdom where they were wanted men. Bela could help them with that at least.
He hadn’t even planned to see Bela before meeting up with Sam again, but he’d taken such a winding route to keep out of sight that she was now between him and his rendezvous point he’d agreed on with his brother. More importantly, she offered a place where he could duck inside and hide away from curious eyes come daylight.
He glanced down at himself again. At least his lace pants were thick enough and woven tightly enough that he couldn’t see the lace panties underneath. He could sure feel them though.
After he explained his predicament, she directed him into the kitchen, where there were wooden chairs and tile floors and slightly less chance that she’d threaten to claw his eyes out for turning some expensive piece of furniture into a gaudy conversation piece.
“So, now you’re off on a grand quest for true love and you came to me first? I’m flattered.”
& a scene with Dean, Bela, and Ruby which wasn’t really quotable but was apparently going to focus on...hand play.
There was clearly going to be a plot too though, because my outline for this chapter ends a totally plotty sentence.
He barely trusted Bela, he didn’t trust Ruby at all, but he was counting on them being decent enough to get his message to Sam since Dean had made it possible for them to get away.
& the same for a scene between Dean and Victor. I don’t even have any notes for how Dean and Victor end up in a scene together. Based on the final line that I wrote for the Bela and Ruby chapter I’m guessing he It’s just a few snippets of dialogue and the important scene summary that I used when figuring out what AO3 tags I would need ( ”masturbation, exhibitionism, exhibitionist dean”).
“What the fuck?” Victor… [... I guess I never finished writing that sentence. ...]
“Yeah, sorry about that, if I were you I’d just let me go…”
[... I also think something was supposed to go between these lines. ...]
Dean didn’t plan on jerking off while Victor watched, but you take what life throws at you.
& then Dean finally reunites with Sam and has to explain is predicament.
“So, let me get his straight. Instead of convincing the witch to help us flee the kingdom, you insulted her fashion choices and got cursed to turn things into pink lace?”
“Dude, she had a cauldron covered with a pink lace doily, tell me that’s not weird.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.
“We’re already wanted men throughout this entire region. It was hard enough trying to escape notice when we could be disguised.” Sam raised his arms, palms up and gestured at Dean. “That is kind of noticeable.”
Dean stiffly shrugged in a poor attempt at feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like everyone knows what happened. People don’t exactly associate Dean Winchester with baby pink lace.”
~*~
“Sonofabitch,” Dean snatched down the flyer from where it was tacked to an oak tree. How the hell did they update these things so fast? The drawings only depicted them from the waist up, but the way that Dean had been illustrated he looked like a damn cheesecake pinup with chest-hugging lace swirled over his body.
Sam sighed. “I told you.”
“Oh, well good for you,” Dean snapped, shoving the wanted poster into what had once been a green canvas duffel bag given to his father in the military. (Dean had thrown a fit when the bag transformed, morphing into a thickly woven pale pink lace, faded but surprisingly durable. That durability was the only saving grace because the bag still needed to hold most of their weapons and stolen loot. He had a feeling though that the bag he’d inherited from his father was gone forever.)
“Fuckin’ Henriksen,” Dean grumbled.
~*~
“It doesn’t make sense. In the myth of King Midas, he’s able to wash his magic touch away. There was no true kiss involved, true kisses are associated with fairy tales.”
“Yeah, well he had a God, and we’ve got Rowena.”
~*~
Dean was hiding in a copse of trees when he made his decision. They had to send Sam in alone to rent out rooms now. In some ways it was less risky, since the authorities were looking for two men traveling together. In other ways it was more risky because it meant more sneaking, a greater need to remain quiet, and it meant that Dean’s every entry and exit put them at risk.
This winter was warmer than usual, but wet nights outside were unbearable, especially when Dean could find no relief from thick flannel blankets or jackets. He’d ruined enough of their dwindling supplies over the first three days, eventually he stopped trying.
Next notes that I have jump ahead to Dean and Anna.
~*~
It was decent as far as dungeons go. It resembled the majority of small-town jails that Dean had seen in this region. The bars were wide enough apart that he could slip an entire thigh between them—a terrible design really, he and Sam had learned years ago that it meant destroying just a single bar could set them free. No one stood much chance at holding the Winchesters prisoner when a single metal cylinder stood between them and freedom.
~*~
Anna shrugged, “I don’t have the key. It doesn’t matter what my priorities are…but for the record, no, I don’t have any great interest in keeping you locked up.”
[... I have nothing written between these two paragraphs but obviously SOMETHING else needs to happen to get them from the previous sentence to the following result. ...]
Anna’s dress turned red. A rich coppery red, darker than the color of her hair, not just a rich pink, but a drastically different shade.
“Maybe it means something. Everything I’ve touched has turned to pink until now.”
“Maybe you’re getting closer to your true love.”
~*~
Yes. Fuck yes. Dean was definitely into what was happening here. Kissing Anna felt passionate and natural, that was a good sign, right? He had no idea how long they’d been kissing, but he could gladly keep going. Absolutely a good sign there. She tasted like lemonade and her tongue was kind of short.
In the back of his mind, Dean thought that was cute for some reason.
At the forefront of his mind though, he noticed that Anna was rubbing her breasts against his chest--at least as much as she could without jamming a jail cell bar into her sternum.
& that escalates a bit with them basically banging through the bars until Castiel shows up and pries them apart.
& then we have a chapter about Dean and Hannah.
~*~
Anna had another woman with her, a brunette with blue eyes. Both of them were carrying wash rags. It looked out of place against their delicate dresses.
“I highly doubt that this man is my true love,” Hannah spoke to Anna while she looked at Dean. She frowned.
[... I think something was supposed to go between these two lines here. ...]
Dean and Hannah pressed their lips together through the bars. It was an awkward closed-mouth thing that barely resembled a kiss. Anna and Sam simultaneously huffed in exasperation at the two of them.
[... Same. ...]
“Technically…” Dean started, but wavered on whether he should even bother.
“What?” Hannah looked genuinely curious, so Dean decided to go for it.
“The cure is supposed to involve an intimate kiss, which…could mean a lot of things, depending on how you’re taking it.”
“We might not have done enough,” Anna smiled up at him slyly, “Think of all the things that could be intimate kisses.”
Hannah looked between the two of them, unsure but thoughtful, “The language of curses and their cures can often be symbolic or poetic. A kiss may not mean a kiss…”
& then more explicit content and Hannah’s clothes turn to lacy lilac. So we’ve gone from everyone else’s clothes turning baby pink, to Anna’s turning a dark coppery red, to Hannah’s turning a light purple, so there’s clearly something special going on with the curse as it relates to that family line.
& then we have the final chapter, about Dean and Castiel.
Castiel unbuttoned his shirt and placed it on the bench.
“You,” Castiel spoke as he continued to undress, “Are going to stay away from my siblings. I am going to discipline you for the liberties that you took. And you are going to be beaten far too severely to make any further advances.”
[... There’s nothing between these two paragraphs but I feel like something was supposed to be here. Maybe some description. ...]
“I’m aware of your abilities. I have no intention of ruining my wardrobe. Turning things to lace, what an absurd power.” Stripped down to his white cotton boxers, Castiel moved to enter the cell.
“Is that a twin thing?” Dean asked and Castiel just tilted his head, looking confused, so Dean continued, “The white cotton undies. It’s cute. You two matched. Well, until I…you know.”
& there’s a few sentences after that, but past-me didn’t even start outlining a proper conclusion. Tsk tsk.
Anyway, thought that it would be fun to share some of my unpublished content that SPN Coldest Hits inspired. Might never see the light of day outside of this post, but if you’re one of the people who read the first chapter, then you now have a little glimpse into what was supposed to follow.
#fic excerpt#spncoldesthits#unfinished fic#tiff.txt#long post under the Read More break#please take note of the listed ships if you're not familiar with how random i used to get with these fics
1 note
·
View note