#you should all know by now that I live for impromptu proposals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

e1dritchjackal0pe · 1 year ago

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ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜰᴇʟʟᴏᴡ, ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴ'

Summary: When trouble in paradise ruins your otherwise perfect life, you find yourself fleeing in a rented car and heading off into the sunset. Stopping for a quick bite to eat along your journey in a dusty roadside diner, trouble finds you there too. And things quickly take a turn for the worse.

Notes: Around 11.4k words. This is a prequal to my first fic, Stripped Bare, but you don't have to read it for this one to make sense. Caleb remains turned and everyone lives AU.

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, death, blood. Severen is NOT nice in this. He sees the reader as prey and treats her as such until right up at the end. He gets a little nicer. The reader does not like Severen in this, apart from mild flirting in the beginning, but all those feelings quickly go out the window due to regular Hooker clan antics. The reader goes through it in this. Violence such as biting at and aggressive hair pulling is committed against her, so please don't read if that is triggering to you.

Part II

You should have known it would have turned out this way. It was doomed from the start, feigned interest and superficial attraction embellished underneath plastic "I love you's" and planned kisses. What hurts you the most is how blind you were to it all. Force fed lies by everyone in your life, Sam, his father, your friends- hell even your own parents had told you that you were just making assumptions. Being paranoid.

That all of the late work nights, the impromptu business meetings, the abrupt hushed phone calls throughout the day. They were perfectly normal things. Nothing to be concerned about. "It's just business, muffin. " Your father had told you once, reading the morning paper while sipping coffee from a ceramic mug. " He has to make money for all those pretty dresses you wear somehow."

God, you had been so stupid. You had let everyone blindfold you and muffle your ears because you were too afraid of the truth. Too scared to accept the fact that the man you have loved since you were nineteen had turned his back on you. He spat on your three-year long relationship like it was nothing. All for his secretary . . . And that cute blonde maid at his father's country club.

You can't help glancing away from the cracked backroad to sneer at your left hand that clutches the steering wheel in a death grip. Your ring finger is now startlingly bare, no longer shackled by the thick band of yellow gold and the obnoxiously large sapphire diamond - a horrid caricature of princess Diana's engagement ring. Lack of originality is what it was. And to think you had been so overjoyed when he had gotten down on one knee and proposed. But you do still feel some satisfaction to know that the ring is gone. Sold off in some greasy pawn shop off the street corner back in Scottsdale. About 90 miles behind you. You technically didn't need the money. You had your own little stash of savings despite Sam's insistence that you didn't need to worry about such things. That he'd provide for you. Yeah, right. Initially you had been tempted to flush it down the toilet. The less petty side of you had even contemplated simply leaving it on the table next to his side of the bed. But then you had a thought- why give up all of that free money? It is technically your ring. It was bought with you in mind, right? You could at least get something out of it.

And so that afternoon, you had found yourself standing behind the glass case of a pawn shop. Scanning the numerous arrays of items from the safety of the display case. Everything from antique pistols to frosted bracelets, passing the time while the man on the other side of the counter examined the ring you had proudly worn only a few hours ago, squinting at it through a loupe magnifying glass, delicately turning it this way and that.

"I'll give you five thousand for it," he suddenly speaks, pulling your attention away from a velvet tray showcasing old war medals. You can't even contain the scoff that leaves you, all decorum and self-restrain completely ran thin after the night before. "That's nearly a twenty-thousand-dollar ring." You counter, eyebrows pinching with poorly disguised frustration.

He chuckles with a loose shrug that telegraphs his opinion better than his words ever could. Not my problem, it had said. His stained dentures peeking out from behind his lips when he goes to bite in a horridly dry looking donut, flakes of the glaze chipping and falling onto his button up.

"That's my price. Take it or leave it."

As previously stated, you didn't technically need the money. You had your cheque book, but not all places took cheques. You had your bank card, but a lot of places outside of big, wealthy cities still didn't have the machines to even use them. You needed the cash. And despite the fact that the man is woefully skimming you on the price, five thousand is still five thousand.

So, with a great amount of swallowed pride and defeat you managed to grit out a stiff: "Fine. I'll take it."

And now you're driving down a desolate road, seated inside a rented Ford Escort, with long stretches of the vast desert on either side of you. It's a boxy little car that Sam would have absolutely turned his nose up at. Good. Both of the front windows are completely down, letting the warm summer air tunnel inside the cabin of the car and tussle your hair around. The radio is on full blast, with a random rock music blaring out the vehicle's speakers without care. You tried to find a steady station earlier but had quickly given up whenever the music would dip down low and speckle out into static every time you drove through a patch of slopping hills. It was gorgeous, you have to admit. The way the landscape shifted from soft creams and rich rusted oranges and browns, with saguaro cactuses looming across the expanse of the dry desert floor like tall watching figures.

But what struck you the most was sunsets. The ones you got back in New York were often dull. Muted by layers of pollution and the glow of the city lights, blocked by the sheer scale of the skyscrapers that blocked out the sun. It couldn't compare to the sheer vibrancy that painted the sky out here.

With the sun dipping low, just barely peeking over the horizon, splashing shocking shades of pink and gold across the faint blue. It was also a painful reminder that this was all temporary. That eventually your little joy ride would have to come to an end. You would have to return to New York and face reality. Listen to the barrage of questions and accusations that would no doubt be thrown your way like stones and rotten tomatoes. You couldn't wait for the disapproving glare your mother would give you. The disbelief and disappointment. The excuses from Sam and the arrogant satisfaction that would waft from his parents. They never liked you anyway. Luckily, you still had your own apartment. Thank God that past you had the foresight to keep it and drag your feet on it giving up. That at least means that you won't have to stay with your parents or burden one of your friends by laying up in their place. You're not sure if you could stomach that honestly.

Up ahead you notice a glint of a red light shining in the growing dark from a muted outline. It takes a few more minutes for the building to take shape, but you're quick to recognize it as a quaint little diner. The first thing you notice when you pull into the gravel parking lot is that the roof is in shambles, the old tiles cockeyed and skewed looking like they might take off in a good storm, and a red neon 'open' sign flickers unsteadily from behind a window - the only thing that would let you know that the building isn't abandoned, if not for the couple of cars scattered about out front. And there's a random statue of a horse standing next the dusty glass entrance. It looks like someone tried to paint it brown some time ago, but the paint has begun to chip from years of enduring open weather, exposing the grey base underneath.

It's . . . cute . . . in a rustic sort of way. But you could hardly care about the aesthetic. Your legs could use a stretch and you honestly haven't eaten much today apart from a hastily grabbed bag of potato chips the last time you were at a gas station. And you should have a decent amount of distance put between you and your fiancé - ex fiancé.

The bell above the door chimes when you enter, announcing your arrival. But the first thing you notice is how empty it is. Not that you were expecting it to be packed full and brimming. The lighting is a tired gray tone, which does nothing to combat the cool tones of the white walls and you can hear the light fixtures buzzing with electricity, almost competing with a low energy country song playing in the background. You don't notice any staff, but you do spot an older couple - the only customers apart from yourself - sitting at the first booth to your right, the pair leaning conspiratorially over a collection of post cards spread over the tabletop. Old love birds probably here to see the Grand Canyon and Tombstone. You wonder how long they've been together. How they've managed to find love in someone over all the years. "What do you think about this one, Curtis?" She's asking, tapping a glazed card with a manicured nail. "Do you think he'll like this one?"

You turn away from the private exchange to perch yourself at the L shaped counter, sitting on the tearing and stiff vinyl of the stool cushion and notice a sheet of pale paper sticking out against the faint yellow of the counter. The bold letters atop proudly declare that it's the menu that you notice as the standard font from a computer and the page is laminated with thick strips of packing tape. The low effort does have you wondering if you might be risking the chance of food poisoning, but with the combination of a shitty few days and a rumbling stomach, you can hardly find the energy to care.

Suddenly there's an exchange of yelling coming out from past the serving window that peers into the kitchen, making you pause in your examination of the menu. You can hardly make out the words thrown back and forth, but the tones are heated. It sounds like a man and a woman, and the latter is confirmed when a frazzled woman comes barreling out of the kitchen, leaving the swinging door to slam up against the bar, rattling the glass cake displays and napkin dispensers. And based on the name tag - Rachel it read - she seems to be the waitress. The man's voice must belong to the cook . . . or maybe the owner then. She looks mortified when she sees you, face flushing pink and you do your best to reassure her with a soft smile.

" I'm so sorry you had to hear that, " she tries to laugh but it's strained and short and not at all convincing.

"It's alright, " you replied with a light shrug. "I could hardly make out what was said. And I think the pair behind me are too engrossed in their post cards to notice."

That seems to settle her a bit, shoulders relaxing. Her eyes notice the menu in your hands, and she nods her chin. " You see anything on there you'd like?"

You glance back down on the back, going back down the quaint list available with a hum. "Just a cheeseburger with cheddar and a side of fries is fine. And a coke. "

She's quick to give you your drink before she leaves with your order, slipping back into the kitchen to deliver it personally. And you can't help but feel bad for sending her back into the hypothetical lion's den. You take a moment to breath and really focus on events of today. How you wound up in a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere after spending the first few days of your vacation alongside the country clubs pool in a sleek hot pink two-piece bikini, drinking mixed drinks and enjoying the sun while Sam spent his time playing golf with his father and new colleagues.

And that's how you found him. After days of trying to get him to go out, to go on a date like a normal couple, and him deflecting, saying that he was busy with his father's business friends, you found him balls deep in the young housekeeper that you had seen pushing a maid cart down one of the halls a few days before. She was moaning in that exaggerated way that porn stars do.

For a moment you all you did was stand there. You didn't know how to react, water soaking the carpet from your damp feet, still wet from your recent swim in the pool. And there was a nasty voice in your head telling you that it was your fault. That it was all of your paranoia and insecurities that had drew him away from you. That it had probably made you distant and cold and you were too caught up in your own fears to see the strain you had put on him and your relationship.

But it wasn't your fault. You weren't crazy. You were right the entire time. All of those little glances that his assistant used to send him, the looks that would linger a bit too long. Like the time that you had showed up to his office to surprise him. You had known how stressed he was at his job, the workload pilling up with no end in sight and so you figured you'd pop in and see him. It was after hours but the guard knew you and let you in regardless. And when you were rounding around the corner of cubicles the door of his office had swung open and she had walked out, tugging at the edge of her skirt to smooth it out. And when she had saw you, her body visibly stiffening while she blurted out a quick hello, quickly followed by a hasty excuse for her rushed leaving. Something about being late for something.

When you had entered Sam's office, he looked put together enough, except the first few buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie was on his desk. It was the first red flag that you had avoided, slipping on your rose-tinted glasses. And the worried phone calls to your mother did nothing but convince you that you were trying to make something out of nothing. "You're just nervous about the wedding, " she had said, " Sam is the best thing that's happened to you. Don't go and ruin this opportunity over some cold feet."

And then there you were last night. Him and the maid. She had screamed when she noticed you standing there, nearly kicking him with her foot and sending him off the bed. She was up faster than you could blink, snatching up her clothes and taking a linen sheet with her as makeshift cover, rambling apologies under her breath, saying that she didn't know as she slipped out of the room leaving you to numbly stand and stare at your naked fiancé.

He had tried everything to get you to stay. A pathetic amount of 'I'm sorry's" streaming out of him. Claiming that it wasn't you it was him, it was stress from work, that he didn't mean to, that he'd never do it again. You had spent the night in a separate room, and you were gone in the morning without as so much as a note.

The bell above the door chimes, too cheerful for its gritty environment, and you boredly look over your shoulder to see what other wayward soul has stumbled in. It's definitely an interesting band of characters to say the least, a family you'd assume. With a platinum haired woman ushering a young boy in by the shoulders who looks less than enthused about being guided to a booth on the left side of the diner, openly grumbling under his breath. They're closely followed by a lithe, stoic looking man who looked about as friendly as the mean dog that your old neighbors had chained out in front of their house. The one who would lunge at the fence and snarl whenever you'd walk past to get to the bus stop. The glare he had cast across the room felt like the blade of a cold knife running across your skin. And there was a young couple behind him, the young man's arm curled around the girl's shoulders while she tried to lean into him as they walked, whispering secretly to each other like they were the only people in left in the world.

Young love. They'd be at each other's throats soon enough. Or maybe you're just bitter.

And despite the clear dynamic between the group, the sense of family that comes from them you can't help but feel like you're looking at something odd. There's a faint chill that runs down your spine like some quiet subconscious part of you is trying to get you attention. You feel a bit of guilt gnaw at you. You had no right thinking about a random group of strangers like that.

And you nearly look away but then a hand is catching ahold of the door before it can swing closed and someone else is stepping inside with the sound of jingling accompanying each step. It takes you a second to notice the spurs strapped to the heels of his scuffed cowboy boots. Your eyes continue to trail upwards, past the glinting silver of his belt buckles - two belts? - and up the expanse of his torso, taking in the black leather jacket, decorated with badges and medals and other little embellishments like the tiny metal longhorn heads that decorate the edges of the coats collar. There's a beaded necklace around his throat in a pattern of yellow, red, yellow, and black. And it reminds you of that little rhyme you heard a long time ago about how to tell if a snake is venomous or not.

Red and black, safe for Jack. Red touching yellow, kill a fellow.

You can't help but wonder if it applies to him as well. Then you get up to his face where an all too wide grin sits. Like a jack o' lantern, you muse. But despite the unsettling quality to his smile, you can't deny that he's an attractive man in a rough and wild sort of way. He looked like someone you'd see mentioned in a Rolling Stone publication or in a messy pop culture magazine discussing rockstars.

" Looks like we struck gold again!" He hoots sarcastically, either completely unaware of the volume of his voice or simply not caring and you take note of the southern drawl that honeys his words. His eyes scan over the room, trailing over the older couple in the corner who have since looked up from their cards to squint at the man causing all the noise. He winks at them in a cheeky sort of way, completely shameless. "It's gonna be slim pickins' tonight!"

Before you have time to evaluate that little remark, the waitress is pushing the kitchen door open, carrying a plate holding a burger and fries in one hand. It's either the sudden sound or the weight of your stare that has the stranger looking over in your direction and the hold of his eyes on you seems to siphon the air from your lungs. Blue, the thought rings across your mind, they're a stormy sort of blue.

You turn away from him, like a scolded child who got caught doing something that they shouldn't have and focus down on your plate, the hollow pit of your stomach reminding you why you're even here. To eat, not to ogle at strange men. No matter how handsome they may be.

"Well, they sure are a colorful little group, aren't they," Rachel whispered in an amused sort of way, watching as the family piles into the booth. With the mother, her son and the father filling up one side and the couple on the other. The cowboy straggles behind, instead opting to stay outside the table, leaning over it and propping himself up on both hands while the group discusses something amongst themselves. But you see a bit of unease flit across her face, and it gives you some pause. Surely, they couldn't be that much different from the other types of people that frequent this place. It makes you wonder if she felt what you had. The feeling that came with crossing paths with something dangerous. Like walking into the grocery store and seeing a bear ransacking the shelves.

"I'm sure they aren't as bad as they look, " you encourage before biting into a fry. And she nods along like she's trying to amp herself up. " A customer's a customer. " She replies in a worn but robotic drone, like the words have been drilled into her head. Probably by management. And then she's dipping out from behind the counter leaving you to enjoy your meal by yourself. You nearly moan at the first bite of your burger. It's nothing show stopping. But it's good. Good enough to quell the empty rumbling in your gut with a couple of bites.

"What's a sweet thing like you doin' in a shithole like this?" That sugary voice breaks out across the quiet. And it takes a moment for you to realize that the question is even addressed to you. And you're twisting around on the stool with a mouthful of food bulging from your cheeks while your mothers voice scolds you from the recesses of you mind for having such bad manners. You come face to with a chest covered in a worn white wife beater that's definitely seen better days and you're swallowing the bite of food as your gaze continues upwards until it locks with a set of piercing baby blues.

The rockstar.

"I was hungry," you respond bluntly. Cut and dry. You figured that would have been enough to give him the hint that you weren't in the mood for idle chit chat or mindless flirting, but he doesn't remove himself from the way that he leans against the countertop, suspending his weight on a single elbow and cocking a hip. "Well, shit darlin' I've ate better slop from the inside of a jail cell," he chuckles at his own joke, and you honestly can't tell if the comment was a joke or not. Firstly, the food isn't even that bad. A bit greasy but not bad. Worse case you'd probably get a stomachache, which is pretty small in terms of how awful your past few days have been.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to flirt with me?" you ask, huffing incredulously. "Because, if you are, most guys like to leave out the fact that they've been arrested. "

He doesn't take offence to it like you'd expect, but instead little hiccups of laughter bubble up from his chest like it's the funniest thing he's heard in a while. " Oh, those? Just a coupla thievin' charges." He admitted airily, like he was talking about something casual. Like work or he was commenting on the weather. "Plus, that was years ago. " And he's waving a hand in the air, gesturing like it isn't important, and all you can do is watch him, smiling from disbelief - not amusement - while you rove over his features like they might be the answer to the oddness of the entire situation.

"What is your plan exactly? " You ask, sipping from the straw of your coke without looking away from him. "I mean, you're here with who I assume is your family. Probably on vacation. So, what was the goal? That you were going to sweep me off my feet and we'd grind one out in the bathroom?" You shake your head. At one time you would have had more tact. You would have chosen your words carefully and danced around the topic. But not tonight. You look away to read the clock that hangs above the serving window, silently reading the minute and hour hand. 8:13 it told you. You should probably get a move on in a bit and find lodgings for the night. Hopefully the next town over won't be too far over, but everything is so spread out on the west coast, less compact and huddled than the east." Classy." You remark without any sense to cover your scorn.

"Shit, girl what kinda John's are you used to? I was just tryin' to make a bit o' conversation," he laughs, combing a hand through his hair as he turns just a notch to look over at his family and Rachel is standing in front of their table, no doubt trying to get their order, but she looks tense and rattled. But then again. you've practically known her for five minutes and that seems to be her default state. "I ain't that bad, am I?"

The group doesn't answer verbally instead chortling at the question like a pack of coyotes yipping at the joy of a successful hunt and it gives you the feeling that he might be worse.

"You're about as welcomin' as shit on someone's doorstep, " the kid sneers, and you can't help but gawk at the language that comes out of his mouth and how openly he insults an adult and assumed relative. But what is even more surprising is the way that his mother doesn't make a move to scold him. Instead, it's the cowboy that speaks out, leaning forward like he might leap across the distance that separates them and throttle the kid, hissing out a strained " shut up, Homer before I tan yer hide," between his teeth and then he's turning his attention back to you, the irritated scowl that he wore was now gone in a flash, like a switch had been flipped he was smiling like the exchange hadn't happened. "Aw, shit darlin' - I've seemed to've left my manners at the door. The name's Severen," and he's extending his hand for you take. "Do I get a name to go with a pretty face?"

You let go of the hold you have around your plastic soda glass to accept his hand, exchanging a firm shake. You really don't know why you're even entertaining this random stranger. Severen. An odd name if you've ever heard one. It defiantly fits the leather cowboy rockstar aesthetic he has going on. Sure, he seems a little shady, but he has a sort of magnetic charm that keeps you from tossing a few bills on the counter and leaving the diner all together. It also helps that he seems to be a complete one-eighty of Sam, who was all forced politeness and feigned confidence. His words always seemed a bit too rehearsed, like he was a part of a scripted play and was forced to do improve on the spot. He was always trying to sell something, even outside of the office. Whatever dominate personality was in the room he'd mold himself to imitate it like a chameleon. An old business trick he had told you. And maybe it was. It had certainly worked on you. The empty promises, the constant stream of expensive gifts, the vacations to private islands and resorts. They were all just pretty distractions to keep you blind to his awful personality.

But this random stranger carries himself like time operates on his whim. Like he could tell the world to stop, and it'd quit breathing entirely until he gave it the okay. He was the kind of man that your mother warned you not to go near. The type you'd see hanging outside of seedy bars on the nights that you and your friends would sneak out of your homes to go wander around town, sipping from gas station slushies and gossiping near the old train tracks. And your mother was right to warn you all those years ago. Guys like him can be dangerous. Maybe it's all your bent out emotions getting the better of you, but you kind of like it.

And truthfully, it feels a little validating to have a guy - especially one as attractive as he is to approach you and strike up a conversation. After Sam's betrayal and the menagerie of twisted and self-depreciating emotions that came with it, it feels good to know that you're still wanted. Even if the attention is coming from a random man in a lonely roadside diner that ultimately won't go anywhere. You've never been the type to entertain men. Granted it's mostly due to the fact that you and Sam had officially put a label on your relationship when you were twenty-one, so your experience with flirting and one-night stands are quite limited. But this wasn't something that was going to go anywhere. It was simply something to pass the time before you set off and head back out on the road. Two strangers sharing a conversating before going on with their lives. It was harmless. So, you tell him your name and he parrots it back like he's trying to memorize it and it shocks you how much you like the sound of it dressed under his voice, sweetened under his southern drawl. It's Texan you think.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady."

"You lay it on thick, don't you?"

"Well, I've never been one to skim it when it comes to the truth. " He flashes that charming grin again, and you glance down at the fries and shuffle them around the plate to distract yourself from it. You hate the heated flutter that fills your stomach at the sight of it. "So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" You shoot back at him, not word for word but you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes that it amuses him, nonetheless.

"About what you said, family vacation. Sightseeing and all that. " You nod along with him, thumbing at the straw of your drink while you meet the dark blue of his eyes. The conversation fizzles out. But not in an awkward or uncomfortable manner. It feels completely natural; the silence that falls over you both. And you just barely register the outside noise. The soft, idle chatter of the elderly couple, the hum of the old lights, the dull drone an energetic rock song, but then a sharp abrupt sound is breaking the spell that fell over you. The sound of someone clearing their throat. Not in the way you might do to dislodge something from your throat but in a way that demands attention and both you and Severen are looking back over to the booth where his family sits. It's the older man who fixes Severen with a stare. Firm and a little chastising. There's another quality to it that you can't make out and it has a cold shiver trickling down your spine. Severen doesn't verbally respond, but the exasperated look he gives the man seems to carry words of its own, the two of them seemingly having an entire conversation with only two heavy stares. It makes you feel awfully singled out. The shift from the flirty banter and light energy to a looming, heavy air happens so quickly that your brain is still struggling to comprehend it. It's like you've been foolishly stumbling about and have suddenly walked into a room that you shouldn't have, and then there's a cold nagging feeling that you need to get up from the stool and leave the building. But you don't.

"We gotta get a move on now, Severen." His voice is resolute and fixed, holding no room for argument and despite the fact that his attention hasn't shifted from the man standing next to you, you feel just as affected by the piercing tone. You just so happen to glance down on the table, noticing the lack of drinks or appetizers on the counter and for some reason it flares up a little red flag in your brain.

Severen sighs in an exaggerated way, like a kid who's been told they couldn't have something and then his attention returns to you, but it feels too stifling. The playful warmth that was once lighting up the blue is now gone. His eyes are sharp and burning with laser focus and you feel like a rabbit caught between a lethal maw. "Sorry to cut our time short darlin,' " he purrs out from an almost manic grin. " You've been a real treat."

It's all a blur then, cuts of color and streaks of light, and you think that you can hear someone screaming, shrill and pained, but that can't be right, right? There's a white expanse above you, stained with water marks and muted from years of being exposed to cigarette smoke. It's all sluggish, like trying to focus when you're several drinks deep and seeing double, but there's a searing, overwhelming sting slicing throughout the column of your neck, and it grounds you somewhat. Enough to blink back the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Enough for you to realize that you're staring at the ceiling and that there's a rough, white knuckled grip threaded through your hair keeping your head tilted at an excruciating degree. And then you can feel a body pressed against yours, an arm cinched across your waist to hold you close.

You can feel a damp heat pouring down your throat and underneath your shirt. Every bit helps you focus. But it's the throbbing ache that takes ahold of your mind and jostles the fog free, lifting the curtain to expose you to all the pain. The sting, the white-hot scorching burn of teeth embedded in the flesh of your neck. There's a tongue laving at the skin held between his jaw, working blood into his mouth. Blood. Your blood. He's biting you. He's fucking biting you!

A freezing cold grips your heart. A terrified fluttering thing that seizes your limbs and keeps you frozen in place while your brain short-circuits between the conflicting commands of either fighting or remaining still in fear. In the midst of your panic some tiny shred of self-preservation takes ahold of you, and you reach into your front jean pocket with a shaking hand while the man continues to gulp at the red that flows from you, moaning around your neck. Your fingers quiver unsteadily, from the fear, the overflow of adrenaline, the blood loss that starts to mist the corners of your vision. But you continue your blind search until your fingertips curl around the set of keys in your pocket. Ignoring the other horrified cries that echo around the diner, the sharp clatter of glass breaking on the tiles, the squeal of someone's shoes slipping across the floor in a wild struggle you secure your grip on the keys and pull them from your pocket as quickly as possible without having them slip from your unsteady hold.

Your sight blurs just a bit. From the tears or the blood loss you aren't sure and the rock song, despite the low volume being projected over the speakers is suddenly too load, drumming in your ears along with the erratic pulse of your heart and the gulping of the man latched to your neck. And your sluggish brain is suddenly grappling with the fact that you might die here.

It's enough to still your shaky resolve, thumbing the key to direct the point of it forward like knife. It's small, the edge quite dull. You'd have to drive it in deep for it to do any damage. It won't kill him, but hopefully it will be enough to get him to let you go.

You draw in a frail gasp, pulling a weak draw of air into your lungs to try and give yourself more focus around the panic that's currently fraying your nerves. Securing your grip around your sweaty palm you don't give yourself time to think, to second guess yourself that it may not work. You're drawing your arm back and striking forward, hoping that you manage to hit something of importance in your visionless jab. You're right in your aim, and the tiny strip of steel is burrowing deep into his side, wiggling your wrist to work it in deeper.

There's a brief feeling of elation, of righteous satisfaction that courses through you when he jerks away from the crook of your neck with a startled yelp that tells you he's more surprised than injured. He practically pushes you away from himself, spitting out insults and curses. The shove sends you falling, your body too weak in your current state to keep you upright, lethargic and drained, and you land on your knees and the heels of your palms. The deep ache you feel from the impact is quickly shoved to the side, while you clumsily scramble back upright, shoes slipping in a puddle of a deep scarlet that you distantly register as blood.

You try not to look, to take in the carnage that taints the room. You try not to notice the young couple who now sit at the bar, sitting side by side while they both drink from Rachel's body like they're sharing a milkshake with their faces smeared red. You try not to see the elderly woman slumped at her booth with her neck sliced open cleanly; blood splattered across the little postcards that she had just been excitedly prattling about sending off to family or friends. And there's a blood trail dragging across the tiles and at the end of it is her husband. And the kid - Jesus even the kid is in on it, curled over her dead husband's body, latched onto his throat.

The sound of Severen's angry cursing has all of their attention snapping over to you, and you feel like a wounded rabbit surrounded by a pack of rabid coyotes.

Everything falls to a standstill like you're all collectively holding your breath, waiting to see who will make the next move. And it's you who does, bolting towards the exit, and you can hear them all collectively move after you, but you don't look back, not even when you hear someone shout out: "God dammit! Someone grab er!"

You're barreling out past the door, and Severen's swearing has melted into a deranged string of laughter, and it follows you on your way out like a taunt, still ringing in your ears while you're crossing the stretch of the parking lot, running faster than you've ever ran in your life. Like you've got the hounds of hell at your heels. Your shoes slip in the gravel, still slick from the blood that had coated the tiled floor and it feels like you're running in a dream, no matter how much distance you cross you're still in place, every foot between you and your car expanding out into a mile, and you think that you might not make it. You feel the tips of someone's fingers brush against the nape of your neck, but you don't even know if it's real or if your brain is just playing tricks on you. You almost miss the handle of the vehicle when you skid to a halt, key already at the ready to slip into the lock, but it's slick with blood and your grip is lose, and you're praying to someone out there, some higher power, or even the universe to not let it slip.

And you can hear the sound of rushed footsteps running up on you and it has another pump of adrenalin shooting into your already overloaded body, and it feels like its frying you alive. And one of them is shouting, a light feminine voice chanting "get her! You have to get her!" with a great deal of panic. You don't let yourself look back up to the diner, no matter how much you want gage the distance between you and them. You can't stomach the thought of glancing up and seeing one of them standing directly in front of you, dripping with blood and gore and so you force yourself to focus on working the key into the slot and twisting the lock open, and you nearly sob with relief when you swing the door open and slip inside the car.

You're peeling out of the parking lot before you can even fully register it, fumbling to slam the driver side door closed, tires spinning in the dirt and gravel while you wildly careen out of the lot and onto the road in an unsteady swerve. And there's an unsettled laughter bubbling from your chest, rupturing from it like a geyser in an uncontrollable fit even though all you really want to do is scream and cry instead, and the music blaring from the radio does little to dampen your current hysteria, but you can't be bothered to reach for the dial and turn it down. Trying your best to breathe so that you can place your attention on maintaining your grip on the steering wheel and getting the hell away from here as quickly as possible. You glance back in the rear-view mirror despite every cell in your body telling not to. You don't want to see them. But you do. Standing out in front of the diner as still as ghosts, faded into dimensionless dark figures from the red neon of the building projecting from behind them in a hellish glow, growing smaller and smaller until they fade into nothing, and the lights are but a tiny pinprick in the distance.

It takes you a moment to register that you're heading back in the direction of Scottsdale, which is now an uncomfortable distance away and now you're cursing the broad expanse of the desert. How everything out here stretches out for lonely, horrid distances. Mile's gapping between towns and houses. But you should have more than enough fuel to get to the gas station that you had stopped at about an hour or so into your journey. You should be okay. You just have to make it there and hopefully they'll have a landline phone that works, and you can call the cops. But what if they don't? A despairing voice laments somewhere in your mind, what if they aren't even open? You have to force the thought away to keep yourself from spiraling. You glance back into the rear-view mirror expecting to see headlights of a car speeding towards you, but it's nothing but a vast empty darkness. They aren't coming after you.

But their lack of chase does little to quell the fear and cold dread nestling inside your body, if anything it fuels the panic. It's suspicious, the way they just gave up once you got to your car. Surely, they had done this before, if the way that they had all walked in the diner with ease and promptly dispatched of all the patrons and employees with a horrifying air of calm was any indication. They did it like it was routine. Like it was normal. And perhaps it was. Maybe this was a normal thing for them, slaughtering the poor souls who cross their paths in obscene acts of violence. But this wasn't even the typical serial killer stuff you often hear about. Kidnappings and stabbings. They were drinking their blood. He was drinking your blood. It reminds you of all the times that your mother used to go off on worried tangents about all the supposed satanic cults that are apparently spreading throughout the country, poisoning the children through rock music and D & D of all things. "I heard it on the news," she had said with a vehemence that you didn't have the energy to challenge anymore. You had never put much stock into it all. The obvious fear mongering that daily new papers and overzealous preachers on the FM radio pumped out in a constant drivel. It had always sounded like bullshit to you, but now that you're speeding down the highway with a massive gash in the side of your neck, shaped by a set of teeth, you're starting to think that maybe there is a shred of possibility to it. You can't help but brokenly giggle at the prospect of it, the insanity of it all. Attacked by a psychotic blood cult. You sound crazy. This entire situation is crazy.

You reach up to touch the wound on the side of your neck, initially flinching at the tender sting. You should probably try to find something to clean it up with, one of your old bottles of water is probably lying around on the floor, tucked underneath some seat, but you can't stomach the thought of pulling over and parking the car long enough to find it. You don't have anything to dress the wound with but luckily it seems as though the bleeding has stopped despite the skin around it still being damp with recent blood. You pinpoint the inflamed edges of the bite with your fingertips, lightly brushing down the expanse of it so not to irritate it any further. It starts just a few inches beneath your ear and stops just short of meeting your shoulder. That's odd. It feels a whole lot thinner than you would expect and less gnarled. Especially considering that it was a grown man that took a bite out of you. It has you flipping the sun visor down and angling it down to properly investigate the damage in between careful glances at the road.

It's difficult to make out from underneath the grimy red coating your neck, but you can see the torn strips of flesh glinting underneath the dim glow casted by the rectangular lights bordering each side of the visor mirror. Two narrow gashes that are nowhere near the size you had expected. The wound is strangely small, the angry indents left by his teeth are thin like they're a few days into the healing process and not just a few minutes old. It must have been the adrenaline making it seem worse than it was. But then again, this entire night feels like it isn't real. Like it's a dream -a nightmare that you'd wake up from at any moment.

Images of the diner flash across your mind, the gore and violence. Rachel's lifeless eyes staring at you, jarringly blank and empty like a broken doll while the young couple fed from her wrist and neck. The red smearing the pale floor, the screaming and banging of pots and pans from the kitchen that had told you that one of them had gotten ahold of the cook somewhere in the back. And it sounded like he was trying to fight them off. And you had left him. You had left him behind without a second thought. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had been so desperate to get out and save your own skin that you didn't even think about anyone else or the chance that they might be alive before you ran out. But what were you supposed to? If you had stayed behind even a second longer, he would have killed you. You would have been dead-

A short metallic scrape sounds from the roof of your car. Sudden and jarring and abrupt enough for you to jump in your seat and nearly jerk the steering wheel from your shaky grip. A rattled breath leaves you while you glance up at the cloth ceiling like it'll help identify the cause of the sound, and you all you can do is hope that it's something like the wind even though the idea of it sounds completely stupid. But you can't let yourself think of the other possibilities right now. Not when you're still two seconds away from a panic attack while behind the wheel and doing 85 mph down the road. You should probably slow down some now that you've placed some distance between you and them, but you can't seem to move your foot from the gas pedal no matter how much common sense is telling you to.

And then you hear it again. That harsh cutting noise is slashing through the air over the droning of the engine and Joan Jett's blaring vocals. Definitely not the wind. And there's a dull shuffling that follows after it, heavy and scuffed, almost like -

A large bang erupts from above like a gun shot and a panicked fleeting looks up reveals that there's a dent in the roof, dipping inwards like someone had punched it, and it douses you like cold water and floods your system with another hefty load of adrenaline. The realization that someone is on top of the car. But before you can do anything, the roof above you is bursting open with a shrill grotesque shriek, splitting as easily as tinfoil and a hand is blindly reaching down, frantically snatching at the open air with bloodied fingers. You can't help the scream that escapes your lungs, tearing your already raw throat from its volume. And your already sluggish brain stalls between the directions of either slamming on the breaks or swerving across the road in the hopes of shaking them off that you don't do anything other than try to remain in control of the vehicle and evade the hand trying to claw its way into your hair, its rings snagging on the strands. Rings. You remember the jewelry that Severen had worn on his right hand, how he had tapped his knuckles on the counter when you were talking. He's the one on your car. That's why they didn't all bother chasing after you, because they already had you. He must have leapt on when you were speeding out of the parking lot, too rattled and busy panicking to notice him climbing up the roof.

While you're busy grappling with the situation his hand successfully snatches at your roots, pulling painfully tight at your scalp. You cry out in pain, trying to keep your eyes on the long stretch of road and keep control of the wheel while you reach up to claw at his wrist with your own nails, but it does nothing to deter him. If anything, he grips your hair harder, and you know that you're going to have to stop. Maybe if you break hard enough, you'll be able to shake him free and you can run him over on while you're on your way out of this shithole. So, you remove your foot from the gas pedal in the hopes of slamming on the brakes, but then he's securing his hold on your scalp and harshly jerking your head back against the head rest. Even though it's a dull pain, it's enough to disorient you and then the tires are squealing with the acrid scent of burnt rubber tainting the air.

From the angle he has your head held at you can't see out of the windshield, but you can catch glimpses of the world rushing past you out of your peripherals. Blurs of the desert floor and dried shrubbery rushing past, and the car is harshly jolting over what must be rocks and dips in the ground.

Admits the chaos you're able to free yourself from his grip just in time to see the barbed wire fence that you're approaching at full speed. But it's far too late to anything, not even the brakes would help to lessen the blow and all you can do is watch as the front of the car hits a heavy wooden fence post, crumpling inwards from the impact. Then it all flashes black under a blaze of searing white hot heat, a steady throb traveling across your skull in steady pulses. You can't help but groan from the pain. You have to force your eyes open and blink away the blurriness that obscures the edges of your vision. You don't know if it's been seconds or hours after the crash, but a quick scan of the pitch-black night around you and the thick stream of smoke that pours from the grill and twists up into the air lets you know that it couldn't have been too long.

Then you hear the shifting of feet above you, shuffling against the roof and every step is like a gunshot going off. Another nail in your coffin. It fills you with pure dread, but you're too weak- your brain too muddled to move. You watch as a pair of cowboy boots drop onto what's left of the hood, jostling the body of the car from the weight of it, the spurs jingling in a way that sounds light and cheery, like a set of mocking giggles.

He's dipping over at the waist so that he can look at you, eyes twinkling with crazed mirth and wearing a bloody grin that's too wide. And then he fucking waves at you. You're still too dazed to get out and run, or cuss him out, or do anything, so you settle for pinning him down with a steady glare, hoping that it conveys all of your boiling hatred while you try and shove down the fear running rampant inside your chest.

Then he's excitedly leaping from the hood and landing on the ground hollering into the air like he just got off a rollercoaster. It's horrifying, the blatant joy that he's exhibiting like the killing and the chase were the ultimate pleasure of life. And while he's celebrating, you're doing your best not vomit. From the head trauma or the sudden empty gnawing in the pit of your stomach you aren't sure. But nausea is swimming in your head and gut and you're blindly fumbling for the door latch. You need to get out, you need to vomit, you need to run. And all the while he's dancing in place, clearly riding some sort of adrenaline rush. "God damn, yer a wild cat!" He's hollering, practically skipping over to the driver side door. You whimper under your breath from the pain and the fear and pathetically try to crawl over the center console to get to the opposing seat, but you can hear the door being jerked open while he chuckles and snatches your ankle.

"Get off of me!" You shout, kicking out in the hopes that it would deter him some. Of course, it doesn't. If anything, it seems to amuse him further, even when one of them lands and you strike him dead center in the chest. It doesn't get so much as a gasp of air from him, like there isn't any in his lungs. He still has that unsettling feral grin on his face. "No can do, sugar. Shoulda thought about that before you went an' stabbed me."

The wild fear is overshadowed for a moment, as short as it is. "You fucking bit me!" You snap back, like a child bickering but you're still to dazed and caught up in the moment to even register how fruitless and bizarre the exchange is.

"But you smelt so good, " he croons in a sing-songy lilt, still pulling your wiggling body towards his, now gripping ahold of your hips. "You can't blame a man for wantin' a taste." And he's pulling you up by the shoulders completely unbothered by the way you try to claw and rip at his chest and the exposed skin of his throat. His eyes are lit up under the dull cast of the interior light, barring you completely to the wild nature that lurks inside them.

His teeth are fully exposed behind that horrible grin, and it feels like he's going to try and eat you alive. And you think he is. Of course, he is. Here to finish the job and drain you dry. They were always going to get you. Your car- your only chance of escape is totaled. And even if you somehow managed to overpower him and kill him the group he had traveled with is still out there. No doubt counting the seconds for his return. And the second they realize he's not coming back they'll be coming for you. In this dead empty desert with no houses or towns for miles. You'd collapse from exhaustion before you manage to find help, or some random person finds you alongside the road.

A sense of helplessness rushes over you. A reluctant defeat. And you look up at him like hundreds of others have probably done before you and ask the question that that you've always made fun of the heroines and victims of countless movies for asking: "Why are you doing this?"

But you need some sense of closure at least. A reason for all of the violence and horror that you've endured tonight. You try and focus through your blurred vision to search both of his eyes like you might find something of substance in them. Two deep pools of a smothering blue. There isn't a shred of sympathy in them. He's shushing you in a dramatic mocking sense of kindness, cradling your jaw in his hands like he cares. You try to remove your face from his hold, but he doesn't let you, following your retreating face and caging it between his calloused grip. "There ain't nothin' you coulda done. You were jus' at the wrong place at the wrong time." It's said so matter-of-factly it shreds the final bits of hope that you clung to.

And then he's leaning closer, dropping an arm to nuzzle at the wound on your neck, ignoring how you hiss and jerk away from him, desperate to evade the sting of his teeth, but it never comes. You feel him go still underneath you, muscles seizing like he's been struck, and it also gives you pause letting you focus through your aching muddled head and pick up on the little puffs of breath bursting across your throat. Is he . . . sniffing you?

Your head is suddenly back in his hands and he's peering down at you, squinting in the dim light like he's searching for something and all you can do is force your drooping eyelids open to warily watch him, trying to ignore the persistent vacant throb in your gut. A series of emotions cross his face, bewilderment, anger, and lastly a frustrated sort of acceptance. "You gotta be shittin' me." Then he's tearing away from you, leaving your body to weakly sag back up against the driver's seat while he stomps at the ground and swears. You think about trying to make a run for it while he's distracted and busy throwing a fit over . . . something, but when your place your feet on the ground and try to stand you're startled by how horribly they shake. A tremor runs up your body and has you falling right back down on your seat. The blood loss and your crashing adrenaline rush seems to be catching up to you, leaving your body nothing more than a useless painful quivering mess and you could cry but you'll be damned if you give this bastard the twisted satisfaction of seeing your tears.

The sound of you trying to stand seems to remind him of your presence and he's twisting around to look at you. And the two of you pause in a strange sort of standoff. He briefly gazes back off into the night like he might find an answer somewhere out among the darkness and rolling hills before looking back to you with a dejected sigh. Then he's walking back towards you, lifting his wrist up to his mouth and biting into it without flinching.

The sight of that alone has you trying to scramble back again, but he's on you before you can blink. "Oh, quit yer fussin'. " He chides while holding you close against his chest.

"Wha-" you can't even get the question out before he's sliding a bloody wrist against your open mouth. You flinch away from it, smearing it across your cheek and he tuts disapprovingly like he isn't trying to force feed you his blood. "C'mon now, don' be difficult."

You had fully intended to scold him, whip out some barbed quip to get some sense of having the upper hand, no matter how miniscule it was in the long run, but then a bit of his blood drops along your tongue, and your brain is wiped clean of any coherent thought. You don't know what compelled you to do it, honest to God. But suddenly you're latching onto his arm like it's a lifeline and gulping down the thick red that pours from the open wound. A thick metallic gush coats your tongue and it's almost too much but he's cradling the back of your head to keep you fixed to his arm. Then notes of something salted and faintly sweet rises up from the coppery flavor and you're pulling it into your mouth like its melted sugar. And you think you can hear him murmur something to you, something like, "see it ain't so bad, is it?" but his voice is distant and far away like he's talking to you from under water.

That strange hollow pinch inside of your gut is back. It's like hunger almost, but it's also leagues away from any hunger you've ever felt. It feels like a sharp rabid thing is lose in your stomach, all teeth and claws, scratching at you from the inside, begging for you to give it more. And the flow of blood the pours freely from his wrist suddenly isn't enough. And you're pulling away from him with as much strength as you can muster, successfully standing on your feet and snatching at the clothes on his chest for a completely different reason now. You catch the surprise in his eyes, the little puff of disbelieving laughter that leaves him when he lets you roughly nudge his head to the side and place you mouth on his throat, running the sensitive tip of your tongue along the rough texture of his five-o clock shadow. Just keeping the edges of your teeth there. But you can smell the blood underneath his skin and the wild, gnawing hunger inside of you demands to be fed and then you're sinking them in deep. His skin breaks underneath the pressure and the thick red fills your mouth like nectar. The flow of it is much stronger here, gushing across your tongue beautifully. You almost moan from the elation you feel, the stabbing pain muting out in pale distant throbs and the shaking in your arms and legs dies down.

He groans and grips your hips tightly and whether it's from discomfort or not you don't know. And you don't care. You can hardly think at all, left adrift under the pull the blood that steadily pours down your throat, and if it weren't for the sudden burst of sound to tether you, you might would have floated away under it. Somewhere in the distance a pack coyotes howls and yips rise up like a delighted strip of laughter, the wind rustles over the desert floor like a wane breath, and far past the horizon something warm and primordial rumbles, but it's still hard to focus on over the sound of your own feverish gulping. Even though the foreign, wild hunger has since died down, you don't want to stop. You want to stay here forever and drink and drink and drink.

You're being pulled back from his neck before you can register it, pitifully whining at the loss of his blood. It takes you a few moments to come to, the annoying steady tapping of his hand on your cheek helping to rouse you from your drunken stupor. And the grin on his face is too cocky and smug for your taste and something about the look in his eyes tells you that you've just done something irreversible. That you've sealed your fate and won't be able look back. It takes a minute for your slow-moving syrupy thoughts to catch up. The realization of what you've done hits you with the subtly of a charging bull and your entire body runs cold. He must see the change in you because he's lurching forward and snatching you before you can run off with your newfound strength. "Hold on now, " he's laughing. The bastard is laughing. " I mean, shit the way you were sucking on me, I thought I'd be seein' the big man upstairs soon!"

"Get your hands off of me!" You snarl. Because it had worked so well for you last time, but you don't care. You're angry, you're betrayed. But you can't blame anyone else but yourself and that's what terrifies you the most.

"I can't do that now. It's gonna be you and me sweetpea! " He practically sings." For a good long while."

You can't even form a sentence to ask him why. Why he suddenly has an interest in you, why he fed you his blood, why you wanted his blood. It all fades from the tip of your tongue before you can form the words, and then he's lifting you up like a bag of dog food and tossing you over his shoulder despite your protest. "Oh, hush now. " He scolds you lightly with a few pats on your rear and you try to knee him in the stomach but he's quick to catch the wayward limb. He walks past the totaled Ford, still smoking and crumpled against the fence post and heads off towards the road, whistling jovially as he goes with an arm secured around your waist to keep you held down in place. All while you limply hang from his shoulder, distantly watching the asphalt pass underneath his boots, and the way that the rowels of his spurs slightly rotate between their shanks with each step. You can't help but wonder what your family will think when you never come back home. When a cop or some person on their way into the nearest town spots your crumpled up car on the side of the road or whatever is left of the diner and reports you as a missing person. Or dead.

Will they look for you? You think about your father sitting at the dining room table, awake too early and drinking a mug full of coffee so black that it'll make your lips twists up like you ate something sour and your mother sitting in front of the TV every night to watch her reruns while she picks out a new novel for her book club- which is really just an excuse to gossip and complain about the neighbors.

You may never be a part of that again. You may never see them again. And a heavy lump is inside your throat threatening to push tears up. Even Sam and his cheating and his sweet, dimpled smile and his constant prattle about business sales - you'd take it all back in a heartbeat. You'd take the pain and the lying and the hurt but instead you're here. Tossed over some psychopath's shoulder.

"Calvary's here!" He suddenly cheers, breaking you from your spiral. You have to prop a hand on his lower back suspend yourself up enough to look back over your shoulder, but it gives enough leverage to make out a pair of headlights piercing the through the darkness ahead. The sight of it has a lump of dread forming in the pit of your stomach, heavy and unforgiving. And Severen seems to sense your unease, because he's working a hand up the back of your thigh in what he seems to think are soothing stokes. " Yer gonna be alright, the family is gonna love ya!"

And some helpless part of you still stupid enough to cling onto hope wants to cry out, to beg him to let you go. To pretend that this entire night never happened. But you know its fruitless. You're in too deep now. You were as soon as they stepped into that diner. Whatever happened now you'd just have to hope that you make it out alive. But maybe you wouldn't want to.

"Shit sugar, me and you might have some fun after all!"

#severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #near dark x reader #near dark #severen near dark #severen #near dark 1987

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darknight3904 · 1 year ago

Text

Reaching Out

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Asgard 2011

"We need to go get Thor," Hogun said

"It is treason." Sif pointed out

"We will need Astri as well. I'm sure Thor will wonder if she does not come." Volstagg said

"And how do you propose we get her? She lives practically under Loki's thumb. I'd bet he has guards watching her 24/7, reporting to him if she even so much as breaks a nail." Fandral pointed out, "I love Astri as much as all of you but she has always been closest with Loki. Getting her to go against his orders will be impossible."

"Astri is her own woman. She can do as she pleases, Loki does not hold her back." Sif defended, knowing her friend had defied the trickster many times in the past.

"We should not speak so loudly of treason. Heimdall might be listening." Fandral said

The doors opened to a guard entering.

"Heimdall demands your presence." The guard says "He also commands you to leave Astri here."

Sif followed the Warriors Three towards the Bifrost. They passed the library as they exited the castle. Oh how easy it would be to call to her friend who was most likely buried in a book on magic or histories of the surrounding realms. She cast one more look at the doors to the library before continuing, Astri would be fine, everyone in the castle knew Loki was enamored with her. Well, everyone except Astri and Loki who had been dancing around each other for hundreds of years.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Astri closed the book on mind linking with a heavy sigh. She was learning all sorts of new methods she hadn't been able to try since her and Loki's fight. She had reached out and tried to see what he was doing with his day but there was nothing. Sure, she could feel his presence and that he was alive but he never let her in to see exactly what he was doing or where he was.

Odin's room was quiet when Astri entered. Frigga was asleep by his side, her head resting on the golden frame of the bed. Her queen's dedication to her husband was admirable, Astri hoped to one day have someone to devote herself to the way Frigga did Odin. She sat down on the other side of Odin's bed frame. He looked rather peaceful as he lay there as still as a corpse. She was never close to Odin, he had preferred to spend more time with Thor and Loki, mainly Thor, when they were children. Still, there were moments when he had acted as her father figure and not just as her king. Astri smiled as she remembered the time he had chased her first boyfriend off after he had disrespected Astri's combat skills.

"Are you ever going to wake again? Loki sits on your throne and I fear he might just plunge us all into war." Astri softly said, her back turned to the sleeping Allfather.

The large fire on the wall behind them crackled as Astri observed the ornate door that the Allfather had. Golden flowers and vines adorned its metalwork. She would hear Frigga shifting behind her, breaking the peacefulness of the room.

"Astri." Frigga said, her voice laced with worry, "Get up. Get Loki, bring him here now."

Astri turned to Frigga, she was confused as to why they needed Loki who was on her last nerve. Frigga opened her mouth to explain but the crackle of the fire was replaced with the hiss of ice forming and taking over the beautiful door Astri had admired. Said doors nearly went flying from the frame when two huge Frost Giants stalked into the room. One of them Astri recognized from their impromptu trip to Jotunheim with Thor.

Frigga made the first move as she cut at one of the Frost Giant's legs with a sword. His large hand swooped at her before she could make her next move and she went flying across the room.

"A child guards the King of Asgard." the one Astri was sure was Laufey, Loki's birth father said.

Laufey pointed at her and his soldier came charging at her, ice sword drawn. He was quick but Astri was quicker. She let a sharp burst of power shoot from her hands, and the Frost Giant went flying into the large fire behind him. Screams of horror filled the room as he tried to get up, the fire hissed as his cool temperature began to put it out.

"I don't think so," Astri said, directing her magic so the fire would roar once more.

The frost giant screamed in pain as he burned to death, Astri's magic fueling the flames and keeping him from getting up.

"Know that your death came at the hands of Laufey."

Shit. She forgot all about Laufey. She quickly turned to see him ready to kill the Allfather. A sharp blast stopped her from making her move to burn Laufey to death like his friend.

"And your death came at the son of Odin."

Loki! Astri had never been so glad to see him and his giant helmet-clad self.

"You saved him!" Frigga exclaimed, rushing to hug her son

" I swear to you Mother, they will pay for this." Loki promised before looking at Astri, " Are you alright?"

Astri nodded glancing back at the charred body of the Frsot Giant she had killed. Loki's eyes widened at the sight, looking back and forth between the girl he hadn't factored into his plans and the freshly dead body. Astri could sense a comment coming from his mouth but the doors burst open again and Astri immediately turned, ready to burn another giant for daring to harm her family. Instead, she was met with a newly restored Thor, hammer and all.

"Thor!" She smiled as Frigga ran to her eldest, embracing him

Astri hugged him as well as he entered the room fully. He seemed distracted as he glared at Loki, not focused on reunions at all.

"Have you told them? How you sent the destroyer to kill our friends, to kill me?" Thor asked

Astri looked at Loki whose face seemed to paint the perfect picture of guilt. It couldn't be. Loki wouldn't. He had never been close with Sif and the warriors and Thor was a whole different story but he wouldn't try to kill them right? Her Loki was good, he had just saved Odin from certain doom for crying out loud.

"I must have been following Father's last command," Loki said, his spear raised, ready to defend against Thor.

Astri looked at Frigga who was distraught, looking between her two sons who were ready to tear each other apart.

"You're a talented liar, brother." Thor mocked

"It's good to have you home. Now I must destroy Jotunheim." Loki said

Before anyone could blink, Loki had Gungnir let out a strong blast. sending Thor through the walls and out of the castle. Astri gasped and ran to the hole Thor had left in Odin's room. Loki was moving quickly to the doors and she ran to block him.

"Tell me he's lying." She commanded, "Tell me that Thor's words of you trying to kill him was all some sick joke you dreamed up."

Loki's answer was only silence as he stared at her. Astri felt her eyes well with tears as she punched at his chest.

"How could you?" She cried angrily as Loki caught her hands in his.

"I have my reasons. I'll let you know all of them when I reach my goals, I promise." Loki said letting her go.

"And what of the Frost Giants today and on Thor's coronation? Did you have a hand in that?" She asked wiping at her eyes.

"How else would they have gotten into Asgard? Heimdall certainly didn't let them in." He said before stepping around her and walking away

Astri couldn't believe what he had just admitted. She knew Loki was one for tricks and mischief but attempting cold-blooded murder? She never dreamed he'd do all of this just for the throne. She raced after him as he moved quickly down the hall.

"You're a traitor!" She shouted "A monster!"

Loki froze when the words left her mouth and Astri couldn't tell if she regretted it. All she knew was that she couldn't let him destroy Jotunheim over a conflict he had organized all by himself. Her moral compass outweighed her guilt as her magic flew at Loki. It hit him in his back and he fell to the ground, hard. Astri walked to him as he pulled himself up.

"What are you doing?" He seethed, angry that she had knocked him down

"Saving innocent lives." She said, ready to let another blast free at any moment

"So am I. They would have rebelled eventually! Do you want to see Asgardian children frozen where they stand? Dead because of a war I can prevent?" Loki asked

"You don't know that!" Astri argued

"You're just like everyone else. You don't see the bigger picture. Don't you get it? I'm not doing this for a throne. Why do you think I saved Odin?" Loki questioned

"You do a lot of things that don't make sense to me. " Astri said, ready to knock him down again

"They will, soon," Loki said sincerely

Astri hadn't expected Loki's fist to come at her as fast as it did but by the time she had registered it, it was too late. A loud crunch of her bones was all she heard before everything went dark.

Months later, Asgard 2011

Astri had spent the past months bored. The castle she had grown up in sometimes felt like a prison rather than a home. Her face had healed up perfectly after Loki had knocked her out. The break in her nose had been clean, calculated almost and the healers that helped her said there'd be no issues with it in the future. Now, she spent her days reading, training with Sif, and talking with Thor who felt Loki's absence just as much as she did.

"So this mortal of yours, she's what Midgard calls a scientist?" Astri asked in between bites of food.

She and Thor had begun eating dinner together each night, something she used to do with Loki.

"Yes. She's quite brilliant. Heimdall says she's searching for me." Thor replied

Astri sadly smiled. Ever since Thor had destroyed the Bifrost, traveling had been completely cut and the only way to see into other worlds was through Heimdall. Sure, Loki had his secret passages but had never bothered to share them with anyone.

"And what of that fellow you've been meeting with, in the markets?" Thor asked

Astri blushed at his words. She had thought she was being more secretive about that.

"It's nothing. I think I just need to talk to someone that isn't you, Sif, or Frigga." She waved him off

"Well, you ought to tell him that. Those flowers he sent to your chambers the other day are telling a different tale." Thor laughed

"When the hell did you become so observant?" Astri groaned and covered her face with her hands.

"I've always been like this...I'm just that good." Thor explained

"How is it you go to Midgard and come back more humble yet somehow weirder?" Astri asked

"What do you mean I've always been like this." He shrugged

Gods Thor was going to actually drive Astri insane one day.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Astri had bid Thor goodnight after they finished eating. She was feeling tired after all her training with Sif today. Her friend never pulled her punches and thanks to that Astri was sure she'd have bruised on her skin for the next century. Beyond her physical exertion, Astri had a routine each night. It would start with a warm bath, followed by letting Drifa help her oil her hair while they talked about their lives. Drifa did most of the speaking since she had met a wonderful woman recently and were seeing each other. Astri supplied the doom and gloom to the conversation by often bringing up how tired she was of the calm that had followed Loki's demise. Following all of that, Astri would sit on top of her bed and search for him. For Loki.

"Tonight, I'll find you." She whispered to herself and closed her eyes.

She always tried to remain hopeful but there was nothing but darkness as usual. Whatever was left of Loki, if he was even alive was unreachable to her.

"Please. Just a glimpse." She pleaded to her empty room

A sharp pain fluttered across her face, followed by a flash of unbearable heat. Murmured voices joined the fray as Astri tried to focus on what she was feeling and hearing. Was this Loki? Or had she accidentally ended up in someone else's mind? Darkness was all she could see but whoever was speaking, their voice grew clearer the more she focused. Pained gasps followed another hot flash of something that felt as though her mind was melting.

"Do it again. He can handle it."

And so we have reached the end of the first Thor movie. If you take a quick look at the summary for this story you will see that I have added warnings for this story. I do suggest going to the masterlist of this story to read them. I have decided to change that and it will include both smut (hehe everyone's fave ) and suicidal/self-harm scenes. Material like this will be marked and have individual warnings when it pops up.

Taglist (to join comment below)

@buttercupcookies-blog

@666-gothic-bat-666

@cyberwears

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the-fiction-witch · 3 months ago

Text

Signet Ring

Media - The Queens Gambit Character - Benny Watts Couple - Benny X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 15 + Word Count - 2088

Benny and Y/n had known each other for years, having crossed paths numerous times on the competitive chess tournament circuit. However, this past weekend at the Vegas tournament, a series of unexpected events unfolded. Both Benny and Y/n found themselves blackout drunk and to their utter surprise, discovered that they had participated in a shotgun wedding at a hotel chapel. The morning after, they awoke in the same bed, with hazy recollections of the events leading up to their impromptu nuptials.

In the aftermath of this unexpected turn of events, Y/n made the decision to accompany Benny back to his basement in New York. So over the next few days, they could grapple with the implications of their sudden marriage, attempting to piece together the events of that fateful night and figure out their next steps.

So she looked around the apartment a few times, she hadn’t really expected this but then again she wasn’t sure really what she had expected.

Benny put both of their suitcases down and looked at her a small smile forming on his face, even if it was a stupid drunken wedding he couldn’t help being reminded every time he looked at her, that she was his wife. "Not much, but it's home" he stated and walked into the small kitchen looking in the fridge

"There's no food... would you like anything specifically at all?"

"I uhh I don't know, I don't want you spending too much on me if I won't be here too long," she said slowly coming inside fiddling with her fingers

"Don't be ridiculous," he chuckled and went over taking her hand,

"You're my Wife you're staying here for now either until we figure this out but for now I'm treating you well, okay?"

"you don't have to."

"I want to." He held her close and wrapped his arms around her waist as he bent down to rest his chin on her head, "This weekend was probably the best and the weirdest weekend of my life"

"you really mean that?" She chuckled

"Of course I do! I got married to the most beautiful girl I know, it was amazing, the whole damn thing, well the bits I can remember anyway"

"I don't remember much to be quiet honest. Supposedly the hotel should send the documents and such like over in a few days so hopefully that'll give us some ideas what exactly happened," she said nervously going to the living area just looming on the rug

"Well I've gotta say I'm thankful I was blackout drunk, never ever in a million years would my sober ass say I do,” he sat on the sofa and looked over at her, "Besides the ceremony, the thing I do remember is the wedding night," he smirked,

"I don't." She answered still looming yet to take a seat

he chuckled and patted the seat next to him, "Then I'll explain it to you, come on, come and sit down, you don't have to stand in the middle of the room,"

she nodded and sheepishly took a seat on the sofa tucking her feet in like a proper young lady, leaving a decent space between herself and Benny.

he chuckled and moved a bit closer to her his arm leaned on the back of the couch behind her and started to fiddle with her hair, "You remember the hotel room right? And the bed? And us on the bed?"

"I remember waking up with the worst hang over of my life. And you... Naked with a ciggerette in the bed next to me."

"That's just how I start my morning" he joked and kept fiddling with her hair, wrapping a strand around his finger and pulling it tight, "But you don't remember anything before that? Anything at all?"

"all I remember is having a drink at the bar after the tournament and then waking up with you." She explained glancing down to the signet ring on her finger. It was Benny's ring that he always wore and it was the ring he'd used to drunkenly propose to her. Making it now her wedding ring. She fiddled with it a little given it was too big for her finger

he watched her play with his ring and a small proud smile appeared on his face "Oh I don't blame you for trying to forget a lot of the wedding, that part was very sloppy, we were very very drunk" he chuckled it was strange for him, this felt almost domestic as if they were an actual married couple. he thought for a moment and spoke again, without taking his eyes off her delicate fiddling with the ring "You know we can get that ring resized so it actually fits?..."

"it's yours I should really give it back." She said

he chuckled and took her hands gently and held them in his "Y/n, darling, in just a few days you're probably going to get an annulment and we will no longer be married" he ran his thumb over her knuckles "I want you to keep the ring, a memento of our weird marriage weekend"

"are you sure, I don't want to just take it from you it's your ring I've never seen you without it" She shook her head and tries not to blush

he chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulder "Are you blushing darling? Aw how adorable" he teased, “I’m very sure,”

"...we probably should discuss things... What we plan to do... Going forward"

he became slightly serious and his face straightened up, he looked at her "Yes we probably should," he turned his whole body to sit facing her, resting his left arm on the back of the sofa, his other hand in his lap "So start of serious... are you gonna get the annulment or..?"

"... I... Don't know. It's alot of paperwork. And expensive. And..."

he sat in silence, his eyes just staring at her as if he was looking into her soul. He looked at her with a completely serious expression on his face, no longer cocky and arrogant. It was a look he almost never wore, only for serious moments "If you didn't get the annulment, would you stay married..?"

"I suppose those are the two options."

he looked down at his hands, thinking for a moment before looking up at her once again "And which option appeals to you more?"

"well I ... I honestly don't know benny. On the one hand the annulment is the smart choice, the sensible thing we are drunk it makes sense for us to just annual the marriage and pretend it never happened but... On the other hand, I must admit I have always wanted to get married, live the domestic life, and I mean we know each other better then anyone maybe... Staying married wouldn't be that bad."

he sat in total silence, his heart beating at a million miles per hour, he couldn't believe what she was saying. He thought for sure she'd want an annulment and to go separate ways and forget it ever happened but the words that just left her mouth had his heart thumping against his chest and his head spin "You.. you want to stay.. married..?"

"I'm considering it. How do you feel about it?"

he sat looking at her, the words he desperately wanted to say stuck in his throat. He tried desperately to stay his famous confident and cocky self but he suddenly could, in this moment he was nervous and scared. "I think... I'm happy with that, I'd be happy to stay married"

"you would?"

he was still nervous but he slowly gained a little of his confidence back and was starting to speak a little smoother. "Of course I would, why wouldn't I? It sounds like we both have wanted to get married and be domestic, I think it sound good, plus we already know all there is to know about each other, you'd be the perfect wife"

"your really sure about this benny? You want to stay married? Be my husband? Have me as your wife? You know that means we have to live together, be together, be committed to one another "

he took her hands again and smiled down at them "Y/n, I want you to be my wife, I promise I will be the best husband ever, I'll be the greatest, sweetest, most caring and loving husband ever. Yes I know that means we have to be together in every way possible, living together, being fully committed to each other, and i want that. I truly want that with you"

she softly smiled blush dusting her cheeks before she laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso

he was shocked at the sudden embrace for just a second before he immediately reciprocated and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her on his lap and into his chest, he began to wrap his fingers through her hair. he nuzzled his head into her neck, his arms wrapping tighter and tighter around her as he held her close to him, taking in the smell of her perfume, the feel of the soft jumper she was wearing he started to get a bit cheeky "Darling.. if we're going to stay married, I have to ask a question"

"Yes benny?"

he kissed her neck gently before slowly moving to her ear "If we're gonna stay married, does that mean I have to start calling you wife all the time?..."

"I suppose that's up to you, you can call me whatever you'd like... With some limitations of course"

he chuckled against her neck, his hot breath gently moving against her soft skin "Of course with some limitations" he ran his hands down her body, from her arms to her hips, he continued to nuzzle her neck, taking in her scent which smelled so sweet and delicate, he then suddenly spoke once more, his lips still against her neck, a cheeky smirk slowly began to form on his face as he began to slowly run his hands up her body, over those lovely curves of hers "If we're gonna stay married, and we're gonna be together in every way possible, does that mean we'll share a bed..?"

"I suppose so, unless you'd like me to stay in another bed. Another room perhaps."

he chuckled against her neck once again but this time the chuckle was deep and slightly more possessive "Oh I definitely don't want you sleeping in another bed, and you're certainly not going in a seperate room. You're sleeping with me in our bed" he ran his hands over her hips once more and continued to nuzzle her neck, kissing it gently as he spoke once more "You're my wife now, which means we get the have a proper bed, in our proper bedroom, right..?"

"our bed, in our bedroom?" She asked

he hummed and nodded against her neck "Our bed, in our bedroom in our apartment" he gave her neck a little bite before his hand moved over her skirt to her thigh "And we get to do these sorts of things. I get to do these things to you whenever and wherever I want.."

"within reason." She reminds standing up to get herself a drink "would my hubby like a cup of coffee?" She cooed as she went to the kitchen

his head shot up from her neck and followed her with his gaze, a smirk on his face as she called him hubby and he loved it. He wanted to hear her say it forever. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled "A nice coffee would be lovely darling, thank you"

she hummed softly and began making them each a cup of coffee

he sat and watched her, she looked so lovely, just in a pair of knee high socks, a cute pinafore dress, and a woolly white jumper, the signet ring on her delicate little hand. All he could think about is how this was his wife now and she was adorable and lovely and he wanted to make her happy, he didn't even care about his reputation anymore, he was so completely smitten and madly in love with her

Y/n soon finished with the coffee bringing the two mugs over "Here you are Hubby" she cooed as she passed him his coffee and gave him a kiss on the cheek as she took her seat

he took the coffee as she sat down "Aw thank you darling. You're so sweet you know that?" He smiled before he gave her lips a tender kiss, “I am really happy we got married.”

“Me too,” she smiled laying her head on his shoulder while they had their coffee.

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mariana-oconnor · 2 years ago

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The Final Problem pt 1

🎵It's the Fi-inal Proble-em🎶diddle-uh duh! Diddle-uduhduuuh!🎵

And now that's going to be stuck in my head all week.

I have seen multiple adaptations of this story and I believe I have read it twice in the original as well as having used it a few times for reference back in my days hanging out in the Sherlock comms on lj. So I know it pretty well. No rampant speculation this time, although there may be several highly inappropriate memes. I'll see what I can do.

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes was distinguished.

Ah, here we find the true dichotomy of Watsonian vs Doyleist, as depicted in the diagram below.

My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred.

ANOTHER FUCKING COLONEL! Colonels are the worst. I'm sure that at some poitn in his life ACD was in some way drastically wronged by a colonel in the British army whom he never forgot or forgave. Not a Major or a Lieutenant or a Captain, but definitely a Colonel.

Also, I thought Professor Moriarty was also called James. Did their parents just lack imagination? Or could they not be bothered to learn more than one name. Does it matter which child turns up, as long as one of them does? Is James just the name that ACD uses when he can't think of any others?

I alone know the absolute truth of the matter...

Are you sure about that, Watson? I feel like maybe there's like... one tiny thing you don't know. Just one. Absolutely minuscule thing. Not important at all. Barely worth knowing.

It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.

Literally the other day you were living with him in Baker Street again, and it seems like you spent more time with Holmes in the months after your marriage than you did with your wife or at work, so I'm not sure that starting this true account of events off with a bald-faced lie is the best course of action, but sure.

Reading these stories in this order and seeing with complete clarity that ACD paid no attention to his past writing with regards to timeline and continuity is kind of funny. There were only three cases in 1890? I'm sure we've had more than three cases give us specific dates in 1890. I can't remember exactly when he got married, but it wasn't that long before 1890 (1888 wikipedia tells me, and many stories take place in that nebulous 'months after I was married' period. The timeline is honestly just chaos. One of the last stories was set in 1892, which from the date of this story is clearly impossible, so... Watson just makes up the dates to suit his own agenda?)

I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonne and from Nîmes...

Now that I know he was recently in Nimes, I am going to be picturing Holmes in a pair of jeans for the rest of this story. That's just how it is. Sorry. And before you say it's anachronistic, denim trousers became popular in the 1870s in the states, iirc, so it's entirely plausible.

"...I must further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall."

Watson I have come to close your shutters, smoke a cigarette and climb over your backwall, and I'm all out of shutters and cigarettes.

"Is Mrs Watson in?" "She is away upon a visit." "Indeed! You are alone?" "Quite." "Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should come away with me for a week to the Continent."

Oh, and also to invite you on an impromptu romantic getaway to the continent, seeing as your wife's not around. I'm in fear for my life, but it's going to be great fun.

Watson suggesting that this is an 'aimless holiday' is odd. Watson, if your friend comes to you and admits that he's afraid of being shot and has been in a fight, wants to leave your house in an unconventional manner that will help him avoid being seen and simultaneously suggests you leave the country. It might be connected. The destination is clearly less important than the departing.

"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he.

This reveal was kind of spoiled for modern readers with the Colonel's name earlier, which is a bit of a shame. But I guess ACD had no idea that Moriarty would become such a household name that just this in itself would be able to make readers a century on go 'Oh!' Still a pity, though. Having that whole 'in danger for his life' thing and THEN the Moriarty reveal would be a better build up for modern readers.

"His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birth and excellent education, endowed by nature..."

👀

"...with a phenomenal mathematical faculty."

What is an 'army coach'? I mean, I know what I feel like it means, but I fail to see how it would be a good job for a professor of mathematics. Did he coach them in maths?

"He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them."

Me, trying to find the most ridiculous gif of Macavity from Cats (2019): There's so. many. to choose from.

"Again and again he strove to break away, but I as often headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection."

When I first realised that Moriarty appears in only 1 of the Sherlock Holmes stories, I was kind of astonished, because he always seemed like he must have been a recurring nemesis to have made such an impact on the canon. But no, it really is just this story and ACD gives him a lot of hype. It leaves a lot of space in the narrative, and as we all know, the plot holes are where the fanfic gets in. Sherlock Holmes, I believe, is the most adapted character in English literary history. More than Robin Hood, more than King Arthur, more than any Shakespeare play. And you've got to wonder if part of that is because of the gaps in the narrative that are mentioned, but not fleshed out.

I wonder if, at the time, there were Sherlock Holmes fan groups who pored over past cases trying to find evidence of Moriarty's hand in previous stories. I bet there were people scribbling their own ideas of what happened between Moriarty and Holmes and reading them to their friends and family in the evenings. Just as I bet, after this story, a million fix it stories were written/told. I've never heard of any existing, but it feels like there must have been.

"I was sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened and Professor Moriarty stood before me."

"His appearance was quite familiar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in this head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion."

Police officers are mammalian and criminal masterminds are reptilian. Good to know.

"'You have less frontal development that I should have expected,' said he, at last. 'It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.'"

"You have a small head." Interesting opening line. Although it is fair to say that he's right about the gun. Not best practice.

"'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,' said he. "'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I replied."

These lines are iconic, but also, as someone who has written on occasion, also genius. Why bother trying to work out a suitably intelligent and ominous conversation when you can do this instead and have it work ten times better. It's a lovely bit of writing.

"'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,' said he. 'On the 23d you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.'"

I do also love this matter of fact little summary, where Moriarty has clearly had his thesaurus open at the word 'blocked' and just picked words at random. The exasperation and yet strange calm of having this all written down in his diary is great. Moriarty is very well constructed as a character.

He goes on to say 'tut, tut' as well, which is just such a supercilious, condescending little thing to say. He is eminently hateable, and yet simultaneously has done nothing actually wrong on page.

Holmes refers to him as Mr Moriarty to his face and Professor Moriarty to Watson, which is a nice little bit of pettiness. Technically he isn't a professor any more, but just that little bit of disrespect to his face. Beautiful.

"I took a cab after that and reached my brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day."

Oh hai, Mycroft!

So far, Holmes has escaped death 3 times today. So he's doing pretty well.

I do find it odd that with so many days advance warning, Moriarty can't find another way to not be arrested on Monday that isn't killing Holmes. Can't he just... stop whatever thing is happening on Monday?

"The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an accommodating neighbour. I should be glad to come."

The return of Watson's accommodating neighbour, the true unsung hero of these tales. There had better be a fanfic on AO3 that's a bystander POV of Watson's long-suffering doctor neighbour and all the times Waton pops his head in and says 'I have to have adventures today, you don't mind keeping an eye on my practice do you, old chum? Splendid! See you in a week!'

I'm sure all of Holmes instructions about how Watson should get to the station are justified, but they are also very funny.

"...dash through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-past nine."

Ah yes, I know exactly how quickly to run through the arcade to make sure I get to the other side at exactly quarter past nine. Who doesn't?

This is only a two parter, and the next part is due tomorrow, it says, rather than on Tuesday. So, everyone get your mourning bands ready.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Final Problem #long post #I'd apologise for the Cats (2019) gif #but I'm not sorry #There might be more tomorrow

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tbgblr2 · 2 years ago

Text

Sophias Indecent Proposal

“Two coffees please, decaf” asked Sophia to the guy behind the cart, a few moments later, 2 steaming hot cups were presented, with Sophia handing over the cash to the seller.

She walked back over to the park bench to meet with Josie, who at this point was 7 months pregnant. It was a cold February morning, but that didn’t stop Sophia’s twins and Josie’s daughter playing in the park almost like they were siblings.

The mothers were wrapped up warm, but the coffee helped cool off the winter chill.

“As much as I love these little impromptu playdates” Josie said “I’m sensing you have something to tell me”

“Uh Huh” acknowledged Sophia, taking a sip from her coffee cup. “You know its Johns birthday soon…”

“Yeah”

“I was wondering if you would help me with his present.”

“Oh, sure… what is it you want to get him.”

“I want John to have a bumpjob.”

Josie almost spat out her coffee. “A what…?”

Sophia was almost giggling with the response “You know… his cock, your belly… jiggling” she announced, her latino accent which she still hadn’t lost after all the years living with John making the statement sound more innuendo filled than it should have been. “Honestly, John loved it so much when I was pregnant. I mean I know I had twins in me… and I was BIG as a result… but he’ll love it when you’re doing it to him.”

“And how’s this going to be your present to John. I mean, I’m the gift in this case” asked Josie, her smile giving away the fact that she had already basically agreed to do it.

“Oh I have a nice surprise for him at the end… Jo… I’m pregnant.” Josies smile and subsequent hug all the evidence needed that she was elated at the news. “I only took the test a few days ago… I mean I was 3 weeks late, and lets just say we had a fun time at Christmas this year. So DON’T you go telling people, you hear!”

Josie grinned, running her finger past her lips and motioning as if to fasten a lock. Mumbling without opening her lips so it was quite hard to understand “my lips are sealed.”

The group had shared each others beds many times in the past, Sophia, her husband John, Josie and her husband Steve, so as much as this proposal wasn’t really something that was unusual to either of them.

Roughly a week later, on the day of John’s birthday, he had taken both their and Josie’s collection of kids out for Ice cream, with them all going to Sarah’s for the evening on the pretense that Sophia and John were going to have an evening of intimacy for his birthday, and Josie was going to have an evening of being pampered by Steve just because she was pregnant, and she deserved it every now and again. Of course Steve was well aware of the true plans for the evening, Josie sharing her meeting with Sophia with him pretty much as soon as she walked back through the door after the discussion at the park.

Josie settled herself down on the edge of Sophia and Johns bed, peeling off her clothes she sat in front of Sophia in her lingerie.

“Look… I know this is for John, but considering what you’re showing here in front of me… I want you girl” Sophia practically purred as she looked Josie’s form up and down.

Josie took a moment to run her hands up and down her body, stopping at her breasts which she bounced and grabbed, then running her hands down to her belly. “Always room for a threesome after you give the big reveal” she smiled wickedly.

Suddenly there were sounds of the front door opening as Johns keys were pushed into the lock.

“Action stations” giggled Sophia as she shouted “come upstairs babe, got a surprise for you” as she sat down on a chair in the corner of the room.

John didn’t waste any time in coming upstairs, but stopped short when he saw the occupants of the room. “Hi Jo” he grinned, her lingerie clad body enough of an obvious indication of what had been planned.

“Happy birthday baby… I know how much you liked playing with my pregnant body when I was full with the twins… and its been years since then… so I got the next best thing… this gorgeous lady… all for you to enjoy.” Sophia was smiling. John looked from face to face, and Josie’s expression mirrored Sophias.

“I want your hard cock rubbing your cum all around this big baby belly” she cooed “get me all hot and heavy… aw fuck, I’m already heavy, get me hot” she took some lotion from a bottle placed next to her and squirted it onto her bump. “You first job is to rub this in.” John approached with his hands outstretched. “Hold up… not with your hands. Only cock to bump contact.”

Johns trousers gave way to the evidence that this was turning him on, his bulge was growing massive. Zipping down his fly and undoing his button, his trousers dropped down. He kicked them off and tugged down his boxers, finally exposing his manhood for the two ladies in the room. He hadn’t taken off his upper garments, but he dived in anyway, holding this now fully engorged cock against Josie’s bump and using the head of his cock to trace patterns with the lotion.

Josie leaned back and groaned, one hand behind her holding her weight, and the other cupping her breast as she played. The hand that had been playing was placed gently on top of John’s as she directed the cock in figure eight motions around her belly button, which had popped out.

Sophia lept up from her chair and moved behind John, lifting his tee shirt up. “You’re going to get messy, lets not ruin this top, I like it.” Josie momentarily let go of Johns hand so he could lift it up to help with the removal of the top, but her own hand then clamped back onto Johns cock like it was her personal plaything… I guess for the moment it was. The slick liquid that she had coated her belly with was now covering Johns cock, and she ran her hand up and down the shaft, twisting at the end like she was masturbating with it, but it remained constantly pressed against her pregnant belly.

“I need you to hump my hand John” purred Josie, which he obliged, thrusting his hips against the O shape formed by Josie’s fingers. The ‘shlick, shlick’ sound music to her ears as John pushed back and forth. “Sophia, do the honours please”

“But of course my dear” announced Sophia as she moved around to behind Josie, removing the clasps from the bra portion of her lingerie and whipped it off, Josies ample breasts flopping down onto her belly. John reacted with delight at the new target, forcing his cock up to rest between Josie’s breasts when she let out a ‘tsk’ sound. “Naughty naughty… on todays menu is a bumpjob not a tittyfuck. Down boy. These are mine.” She emphasised the point by leaving go of Johns cock and pushing her weight forward with her other hand, both now free to grab a nipple each and start rolling them between her thumb and forefinger.

Sophia dived in and took over control of Johns manhood, sliding the cock, now leaking precum in each movement back down to Josie’s belly button.

Sophia recognised the tensing in John’s movements, knowing he was close to the edge.

She leaned in and licked his cock which twitched in response, he almost lost it right there she thought.

Sophia leaned in and placed a sensual kiss on Josie’s lips, moving 1 hand to take place of Josie’s on her breast, Josie in turn placing her now free hand on top of Sophias guiding Johns cock.

Josie squeezed Sophias hand, which in turn tightened around John, and pushed out her belly.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming… fuck me” John blurted out a fraction of a second before his cock shot out several long streams of creamy cum all over Josie’s belly.

Josie started rubbing the sticky mess all over her belly. “That’s 100 percent prime baby making juice right there daddy.”

John wasn’t quite aware of what was said, he just knew there was something important with that sentence. Taking a second to regain his focus, he looked at Sophia who smiled.

“John, I’m pregnant, happy birthday daddy!”

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quill-pen · 2 years ago

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So I saw this gif while looking for gifs yesterday and just had to post and talk about it... AND BESS AND EBENEZER, OF COURSE.

IT'S HEADCANNON TIME, PEEPS!🤘

Idk what this gif is from, but I'm guessing the flower is in place of a wedding ring? And it just got me thinking: Ebenezer never gets Bess an engagement ring.

For various reasons their engagement is impromptu and rushed and lasts two months at most (maybe not even that long). And in that time everything is about the wedding planning and Ebenezer fighting to try and make sure at least some of the preparations are what Bess wants. (At this point, Bess is just so done and strung-out from dealing with her mother's family, she really has no bite left.) So it goes without say, an official engagement ring is the last thing on Eb's or Bess' mind, especially when there's already a wedding ring itself to be designed, never mind the dress! (Because, damn it all, if Bess can't get her perfect wedding day with her dream man (because he has no idea that man is actually him yet), she's at least going to get her perfect ring and her dream dress as long as Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge has any say in the matter!)

Now, Ebenezer is a proper gentleman, and he likes and understands the importance of tradition. So, much later on, after the wedding and after true feelings come to light, Eb probably asks Bess if she ever felt put out over not really having an engagement period and if she'd like to have an engagement ring despite already married. Bess of course assures him that, no, she wasn't upset about it (other things, sure, but not that) and, no, she doesn't need one. What would she do with it since she already has the wedding ring? Keep it in the box on her vanity to look at? (😉"Wolf, I only partially married you for your money, remember?" Oh, she's a cheeky lass, this one.) So no engagement ring is ever purchased.

BUT I can so see Ebenezer doing this: weaving rings out of little flowers he finds wherever he/they go and giving them to her. Walking down the street and there's a frail little flower poking up through the cobbles? It's going to die there, and should be granted one final blessing of residing on Bess's finger before it withers away. They're out on a picnic or a walk in the park or the countryside and there are wildflowers all around them? Eb will spend an unreasonable amount of time deciding what kind is prettiest and would look best on his wife's hand. Sometimes, he'll manage to weave more than one together so it's almost like a little mini-flower-crown sitting on Bess's ring finger.

For a while, the man gave her a flower ring every day--sometimes several throughout the day. Their gardener more or less put a stop to that, as Ebenezer was kind of wrecking havoc on the back garden and flowerbeds and pots around the house. Now he'll only take from there on occasion (typically whenever the first flower of each type blooms). The gardener still isn't thrilled about this but he also knows it's a bit of a losing battle. Besides, Eb pays well; he'd be an idiot to cross such a fine employer, particularly over something connected with said employer's wife.

Ironically enough, Ebenezer has never given Bess a ring made from her favorite flower: bluebells. He knows she wouldn't like watching them wilt and die away on her hand. She'd much rather enjoy them as they're meant to be: attached to the soil, living and growing and wilting and blossoming again after a long slumber--thriving through their natural cycle as they're meant to. So no bluebell flower rings or bouquets for Dearest and Best Wifey. Potted versions or seeds for the gardener to plant though? Absolutely!👍🏻

Honestly though, as adorable and sweet as the idea of Ebenezer taking the time to meticulously weave a flower ring (and sometimes even more carefully choose the flowers to do it with) is, my absolute favorite part of the headcannon? HE PROPOSES TO HER ALL OVER AGAIN EVERY TIME. DOWN ON ONE KNEE AND EVERYTHING. And he always makes a little speech about how much he loves her and wants to spend the rest of his life with her and how happy and loved she makes him feel and how even more happy and blessed he would be if he could continue being her husband and how he will always strive to make her feel as happy and loved as he does and to be the best possible man he's capable of being for her. A little excessive, perhaps, but, to be fair, there wasn't much of a proposal the first time around. (How did it go then? Wouldn't you like to know?😏 A writer must have some secrets, folks!🤫).

And of course Bess gets all flustered and giggly and tongue-tied, because how could she not? She has the absolute sweetest, handsomest, most loving, and most charming hubby ever! So she usually has to just nod her answer, but of course she accepts every time! And then she'll stroll around happily bearing her sweet smelling "re-engagement ring" for as long as it lasts. No, Bess doesn't feel like she missed out on the engagement stage at all, and she certainly doesn't care about never having a ring to mark it. (Engagement rings don't mean much in her experience anyway--they're just a pretty "maybe later" with no real commitment to back them up.) Besides, she's walking into all the engagement parties and weddings they're invited to on the arm of the world's most wonderful man, her perfect wedding ring on her finger, and a freshly woven, little flower ring nestled right beside it. (Because you best believe hopeless-romantic Eb was going to remind her how he wants to remain hers forever as they're going to help another couple celebrate their choice to make the same commitment.) How could she possibly fuss over what she didn't have? Look at everything she does have!

(Ebenezer better be careful, more than a few bride-to-bes and other ladies have absolutely fawned over Bess's cute little flower rings and become enamored with the idea of having ones themselves. I don't think flower ring weaving is a skill too many men possess: Eb will either have to face the wrath of annoyed suitors and husbands or else start up a flower ring side business. Bob could definitely help him--he's got massive flower ring weaving energy.)

#scrooge 2022 #ebenezer scrooge #netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge #fanfiction #scrooge x oc #ebenezer x bess #scrooge headcannons #scrooge fluff #scrooge romance #IT'S TOO DAMN CUTE--I'M DYING😩#flowers #rings #flower ring #why do i see the Scrooge's gardener as a short wiry short-tempered little Irish man?#you'd never guess he was the nurturing sort just by looking at or talking to him #he probably has stated outright he never liked children or cared for animals so he never had any #and he gripes and complains about how touchy and frail plants can be #but bloody hell if he ain't the best damn garden this side of Timbuktu #nobody knows how he does it and like hell he'd share his secrets #Bess is definitely the one to hire him #she likes his personality #he reminds her of someone from her past #Scrooge wasn't so sure #but he has to admit the man is an absolute marvel at his job #if only the man weren't so... prickly #gardener is definitely named O'Leary #ebeness

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remedialpotions · 6 years ago

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Hi! I was wondering if anyone prompted you for #42. The things you said when you asked me to marry you. I’m a Romione till my dying breath. Thank you! Love this, btw. You’re so talented!

A/N: Look at me, doing a prompt for the first time in approximately fifty years! This was a popular request, @5sara5 and a very sweet anon also requested it. I’ve actually changed the prompt just slightly to fit the perspective that this story requires... anyway, hope you enjoy! 💕

Warning: Language. It’s Ron’s POV, after all...

***

when I asked you to marry me

Upon reflection, Ron felt he should have known that what was billed as a quick after-work drink with George would escalate with alarming speed, culminating in several of George’s friends crammed into a circular booth at the back of the Leaky Cauldron, half-empty pitchers of beer and dirty shot glasses littering the table. He really should have known that every time he tried to escape, he’d be pulled back for “just one more” by Lee Jordan. And it didn’t help that they’d just run into Oliver Wood, who was fresh off of a very bad breakup and had wandered into the Leaky Cauldron looking for some form of escape. He was now, after several beers and shots of whiskey, grumbling incoherently about “bloody over-muscled Tutshill Chasers”, among other things.

Ron could recall all too well the feeling of being outdone by a professional athlete - even if all the business with Viktor Krum had taken place a good ten years ago - but he also had a girlfriend at home waiting for him, and he much preferred her company over a bunch of sweaty blokes in a pub.

“Know what though,” George slurred, thumping Oliver forcefully on the shoulder, “D’you even really want a girlfriend? Just be single for a while, it’s loads better.”

Ron, silently disagreeing, gulped down half of his beer in one go.

“Yes, I do,” moaned Oliver miserably, his forehead coming to rest on the sticky table before him.

“Really think about it though,” George continued on. “You’re a young bloke, you’re a professional Quidditch player, for Merlin’s sake - you’ve got your pick of girls, don’t get tied down like Ronnie over here.”

“Oi!” protested Ron. “I’m not tied down-“ His words died in a cacophony of laughter from the rest of the table, and he scowled and shoved his beer away. “All right, fuck all of you, I’m going home.”

“To your girlfriend?” teased Lee, his lips twitching as he fought to keep control. “No, no, c’mon, have one more.” He grabbed Ron’s arm with one hand, refilling his beer with another. “Look, just ‘cause you’ve been with the same girl since you were like, like twelve-“

“Eighteen,” Ron corrected with a chuckle. “But yeah, I have.”

“But then, wait a second,” said Lee as though having a revelation. “If you’ve been together since you were twelve-“

“Eighteen-“

“Does that mean - is she the only girl you’ve ever-“

“Shut up,” replied Ron at the same time that George nodded emphatically in confirmation.

“Really?” Lee straightened up, intrigued. “Wait, really? The same girl for six years?”

“This really isn’t that groundbreaking,” said Ron around a sip of beer as Oliver let out a low groan of discontent.

“And you haven’t gotten bored?”

“Not at all.”

“Maybe you just don’t know what you’re missing,” said Lee. “It’s like flavors of ice cream. You might like that one flavor well enough, but you haven’t tried any of the others, how do you really know?”

“It actually isn’t like that at all-“

“It’s like he left the party at half-nine,” George chimed in gleefully, “before it even got started.”

“Again, not really.”

“See?” Oliver whined, waving an errant hand in Ron’s direction and nearly smacking him in the face. “He’s in a relationship and he’s happy and he probably gets shagged more than all you lot combined.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Ron, patting him on the back. “I don’t know why you lot are so determined to prove that I’m bored.”

“Because!” said Lee, as though that would explain it. “Because it’s been six years of vanilla ice cream-“

“Not vanilla,” interrupted Ron before he could help it, to general amazement. “Honestly, it's just - I found the right person when I was really young and maybe you lot just haven’t yet, but if you ever do, you’ll get it. And now if you don’t mind, I’m going home.” Gently - the bloke was clearly having a time of it - he nudged Oliver out of the way so he could exit the booth. “See you tomorrow, George.”

He didn’t quite feel sober enough to Apparate, so he decided to walk the six blocks to the Charing Cross flat he had shared with Hermione for the past four years, and as he went, the fog in his mind steadily dissipated. He couldn’t understand how his solid, happy relationship with an amazing woman was so difficult to comprehend, but then, he had always thought that what he had with Hermione was rare and precious. And maybe that was why he had never taken it for granted, why he made such an effort to show her how much he loved her and to prioritize them. Knowing it was forever hadn’t made him complacent; rather, it had only served to deepen his devotion.

Hermione was in the kitchen when he walked in the door, peering thoughtfully into a pot on the stove.

“Oh, there you are,” she said with relief as he walked over to kiss her in greeting. She rose up on her toes to meet him halfway, her hand lightly resting on his chest. “I was starting to wonder.”

“Yeah, I should have learned by now that George never actually means it when he says ‘just one drink’.”

“Well, I’m trying to make dinner,” she said, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon as Ron hopped up to sit on the counter behind her, “but you might want to start looking at takeaway menus, I think I’ve burned this.”

“Is that what that smell is?” he teased, grinning as she scowled playfully over her shoulder at him.

Shamelessly he watched her as she attempted to cook, committing to memory the errant curls that had escaped the messy knot at the back of her head, the way his Chudley Cannons t-shirt dwarfed her frame and her black lounge pants hugged the curve of her hips.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s get married.”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” she replied casually, still studying the contents on the stove.

“No, I haven’t.” On the contrary, his mind had never felt so clear. “I’m serious. We should get married.”

The wooden spoon fell from Hermione’s hands to the floor with a clatter as she spun to face him.

“Are you really asking me to marry you?”

“Yes,” said Ron, jumping down from the counter to take her hands in his. “Yes, I am. I want to marry you, I want to be your husband, I want you for the rest of my life - I know I don’t have a ring for you-“

“I don’t need a ring,” she interrupted, tears brimming in her big brown eyes, “I - oh, I must look such a mess right now-“

“No, you look beautiful - wait, I’ve got to do this properly-“ He got down to one knee, still clutching her hand tightly in his. “Hermione Granger... will you marry me?”

She flung herself upon him, arms encircling his neck, and began to sob unabashedly into his shoulder.

“Is - is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes!” she cried, kissing him squarely on the lips. “I love you - I love you so much-“

“Love you,” he managed to murmur back around another kiss, using the sides of her shirt to pull her close…

An hour later saw them seated on the floor of the kitchen, Ron in just his boxers, Hermione in the Chudley Cannons shirt and her knickers, a tub of ice cream between them. Hermione kept kissing him between bites, her mouth cool and sweet against his. The half-finished dinner on the stove sat abandoned, the flame having been turned off around the time Ron’s shirt had hit the floor. Hermione used one finger to smear a dab of chocolate ice cream across Ron’s collarbone before kissing it away.

If this was leaving the party at half-nine, then Ron was damn glad he had.

***

you can find more things you said prompts here!

#romione #romione fanfiction #rhr fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #my writing #you should all know by now that I live for impromptu proposals #thanks to oliver and lee for being plot devices for me!#also im not trying to paint lee jordan as some sort of womanizer #im mostly thinking of that early episode of friends where ross and joey have a conversation like this #ANYWAY #remedial rambles

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robobarbie · 3 years ago

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Hi! First off, I’m absolutely obsessed with this game. I played the original and then the new edition as soon as it released! Your team did such an amazing job with character and story crafting within the scope of the server. I’m definitely a diehard xyx simp lol. “Romance Hours” : what is the most romantic way each LI would propose to their s/o?

B) xyx time -- this one was written by one of the xyx writers, allie

Xyx lives for impromptu vacations with you, filling your itinerary with activities or just pulling you away from work for a day to explore wherever his bike takes you. Today doesn’t feel any different- at first.

It starts when you’re getting lunch at a swanky rooftop café. Xyx has a habit of casually holding your hand on the table while you wait for your food, but today his fingers are drumming restlessly on the back of your hand. You point out his fidgeting, expecting a quick retort, and you do get one- sort of.

“Sorry doll, letting my mind wander when you’re right here…should be a crime.” He laughs lamely, letting the joke sink between you. His fingers lace in yours, and he gives you a smile that lacks just a little bit of his usual verve.

You make to ask him about his stumble, but a waiter interrupts with your entrees, and his mask of confidence slips back on for the moment.

It falls again when you’re out at a festival, taking a moment to listen to the live music and dance in your own corner tucked away from the crowds. He spins you around until you’re dizzy and lets you crash into him, laughing as he keeps you on your feet.

“Had enough, doll? You’re just about to topple.”

“No way! I could keep doing this forever.”

He hesitates. “…Me too.” The pause hangs for just a little too long. He kisses the top of your head.

“Xyx…?”

“Mm, sorry. Thinking.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that today.”

“Have I?” He pulls away, giving you his usual grin as you look over him. “You’re watching me that closely? Should’ve told me, doll, I’d have put on more of a show.”

“Wait, wha-”

“Kidding. That was worth the look on your face, though.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket, twirling them on his finger. “Up for more adventuring?”

“We’ve done so much today I think my legs will fall off if we keep this up.”

He catches his keys in his palm. “Fair enough. One more stop, then?”

“One more?”

“For me?” His voice drops into a soft plea. “Please, love.”

You bite back the joke you had prepared- you didn’t expect this kind of response. “Hey, of course. Let’s go.” You slip behind him on his bike, and as you wrap your arms around him you give him a little squeeze. You feel him take a deep breath in your embrace before he raises the kickstand.

This drive is much quieter than the ones before. You spy a familiar coastline- he’s taking you to the beach you two have been to so many times before, one of your favorite spots to finish out your dates. You swear you can feel his breath shuddering now, but you decide to stay quiet, and let him talk to you on his own time.

It takes him a minute to do so. He leads you by the hand to your special spot, high enough to avoid the lapping waves but low enough to feel the sea spray. Xyx closes his eyes, feeling the ocean breeze on his face. His voice shakes when he finally speaks.

“I, uh…I know I’ve been a little off my game today, love. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Are you alright?”

“We’ll…see. If I’m going to be honest with you, I’ve been trying not to jump out of my skin all day.”

“What’s going on?”

“I…really…care about you. I love you. And I’m terrified.” He fumbles about with his pocket, and your breath catches. Is he…? “I’ve been thinking about this for a very, very long time. An embarrassingly long time. Cat’s heard my speech a thousand times by now, and I’ve already forgotten it all.”

He sinks to one knee and produces a ring that glints as it catches the fading light of dusk that surrounds you. His eyes screw shut before he forces them open to meet your own. “I want to keep having days like this with you. I want to keep being close with you. A-and…I want you to know that you’re the most important person I’ve ever had in my life. You mean so much to me, love.” His voice breaks. “Please. Marry me?”

#bp au hour wedding bells #bp ask #thesimphouse #xyx

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shroudcore · 3 years ago

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Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (III)

Summary: You successfully convinced Eliza to stop the wedding. Unfortunately (or is it really), Eliza has come to a solution that she thinks would be best for everybody and it’s happening no matter what.

Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

As if by some miracle, he was still standing—even after you failed to convince Eliza how unnecessary a wedding would be. Now face-to-face with you on the altar, he still couldn’t believe how things turned out. This wasn’t supposed to happen in real-life. Things like these were the stuff of movies. Or anime. Or dating sims.

Ace, Epel, Rook, and Riddle were freed at your request. They, along with Ortho, were now arranging the paralyzed students into chairs, since Eliza refused to let them move for disrespecting the “couple”. When you ran out of excuses, some heavily opposed the impromptu wedding. Idia knew why: he wasn’t the only one in NRC who liked you like that. He’d been aware of some schoolmates’ attempts to romance you for a while now. Really, all you had to do was pick a route.

How did he know, you might ask? It’s not like he secretly researched and listed down his competition so he could keep an eye on them.

Alright… maybe he did. Heat crawled up to his neck at the thought of anyone finding out.

“So… we’re getting married,” you said, pulling him out of his thoughts. You spoke slowly, as if testing the words in your mouth. Like him, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fake wedding just yet. You fidgeted more than usual—barely looking at his face or talking to him since you joined him at the altar.

Were you thinking of the same thing? The inevitable kiss after you say your vows?

A weak hum was all he could manage. A smile appeared on your face, showing that you understood. You didn’t tell him to speak up; you never told him to. Somehow, the sight of that smile put him at ease like a recovery potion after a Despair battle ailment. It felt like another day in his room, the two of you hanging out and eating candy.

“Nice suit, by the way.”

“Th...anks?” Idia turned his head to the side. If he looked at you any longer, he might combust. Not that he didn’t already. Which was embarrassing btw.

You inched closer, making him gasp and jump back as multiple alarms went off in his head. Really… mind the Personal Space Bubble! Oh wait… that’s right. He’d stopped telling you off for getting too close long ago.

Your face flashed a look of surprise, which quickly faded into concern as you observed him. When you whispered, your breath grazed his neck and ear. Hopefully his shudder escaped your notice.

“You okay?” Immediately, you backtrack. “Wait, that was stupid. I know you’re not.”

“So many people watching...” he mumbled. His eyes quickly scanned the hall. “I can’t do this.” And he ended it there. You didn’t need to know how he felt about marrying you.

Again, you understood. Your smile faded and Idia found himself missing it immediately as it went.

“Sorry, I...” you look down, fiddling with your fingers again. “I really should’ve tried harder to stop this.”

Idia silently wished for dialogue options, because he didn’t quite know what to say to that. However, it looked like he didn’t need to. You took his hand and squeezed it, a determined fire flickering behind your eyes.

“This’ll be over soon. Just hold on,” you said, squeezing his hand. “It’s just another quest, player 1.”

At the familiar nickname, he smiled in spite of his thumping heartbeat and everything that had happened. “Let’s do it, player 2.”

“Let us proceed with the ceremony!” Eliza, who had been watching the two of you closely, was eager for the wedding to commence. She clasped her hands in anticipation, looking no different from a normie watching a Rom-com. At her command, the wedding music played again—the same one as before. You gave Idia a look and shrugged.

“Can’t believe we’re getting married to this music...”

“Sounds like doom, doesn’t it?”

“Isn’t that what marriage is? Doom?”

“Haha! E-exactly…” Normally, he would’ve agreed wholeheartedly. This time, he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how you felt marrying him.

The ghost officiant returned to the makeshift altar (maintaining a good distance from you). Each NRC student who had the misfortune of attempting a proposal sat in a chair, watching the event. You smiled reassuringly, eyes sparkling like embers.

“We are gathered here today to unite these two lovers in the bonds of matrimony,” the officiant begins. The darkness of the hall gave him quite a sight: the flickering flames of his hair illuminating your face in blue light. Seeing it, when in the safety and darkness of his room, made him feel this warm, fuzzy feeling he thought was reserved for 2D characters.

“Do you, Idia Shroud, take … as your lawful spouse, to have and to hold from this day forward—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, keeping yourself solely unto them for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer " I do".

This’ll never happen in real life. “I do.” I don’t have a chance, do I?

Confessing would only ruin the bond he had with you. If it meant never losing your friendship, then this fake wedding would be enough.

He looked at you, standing in front of him as you were about to say your own vows and silently implored Mnemosyne to burn this scene into his memory forever.

“Do you take Idia Shroud as your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer "I do."”

It seemed that you were doing the same. Idia faltered under the intensity of your gaze. “I do.”

“I now pronounce you as spouses. You may now kiss!”

Here it comes. CODE RED! CODE RED!

The way Idia’s face burned rivaled that of his hair. He was becoming hyper-aware of the snickers coming from his schoolmates. Seeing you made him worse—the corners of your mouth twitched and your shoulders shook as you fought back a laugh.

“Hey! We’re about to kiss and you’re laughing?!” he cried, covering his face. “Kill me now.”

Just like that, your quiet and tender moment was gone. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Covering your face like he did, you erupted in giggles. Peeking out from the gaps of his fingers, Idia thought about #3 from the Signs of Attraction list he found on the Internet:

“Another unconscious sign of attraction is mirroring, or matching another person's movements. When people are interested in one another, researchers have found that they tend to mimic each other's movements and gestures.”

Nah. Can’t be. He would have thought it was cute, if you weren’t laughing at his expense.

“S-sorry! Your hair’s just—” another round of giggles interrupted you. “...burning really brightly!”

“I can’t help it, okay?” he said, face red from annoyance and of course, the thought of what you were about to do. “Stop!”

You tried to stop, but just the sight of his red face and hair sent you into another round of wheezing laughter. So hard you laughed, that an inhuman sound came out of you. Immediately, you stopped and looked at him, eyes wide.

But it was Idia’s turn to lose it.

“You… sound like… a Minecube pig!” he said, each word punctuated by uncontrollable peals of laughter. The wedding attendees had no choice but to watch on as you and your groom wheezed at the altar instead of kissing.

“Baaya, what is wrong with them?” a confused Eliza asks.

“I do not know, but it is apparent that they were made for each other.”

It wasn’t until the annoyed officiant cleared his throat that you and Idia stopped. You straightened up, wiping tears from your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. It was only then that your expression turned serious, but not without a few traces of your mirth from a few seconds ago.

“Idia, we don’t have to—I’m really, really sorry about this, okay?” you whisper to him. “I know how much you value your firsts…”

“It’s fi—”

“...not that I’m assuming you haven’t had your first uh, kiss yet but—oh god, I uh… ”

No dating sim—nothing could have prepared him for this situation. But strangely, laughing his ass off with you gave him a spark of courage that he rarely ever felt. In a moment, he would be kissing you. He hopes that courage lasts.

“Let’s get this over with,” Idia surprised even himself with how steady his voice sounded.

“Oh…”

You were still, staring at him open-mouthed for what seemed like a few minutes. He stared back, until you were forced to avert your gaze to the ground. Something told him that he was doing something right. A lone voice from the audience chanting “Kiss!” pulled the two of you back to reality. Someone was making an obnoxious kissing sound. Neither of you dared to look and see who it was.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the ghosts joined in on the chant.

Shyly, you lifted your head back up. “O-okay. Here goes nothing!”

He tried recounting how first kisses were described by people on the Internet, from his manga, and the countless dating sims he played. Some said there were fireworks. Some said it felt electric. Some described the feeling as the rest of the world falling away. One swore it made them feel like the ground disappearing beneath their feet and before they knew it, they were floating.

Should he close his eyes? Which side should he tilt his head? Where does he put his hands? How exactly do you kiss? Questions, panicky thoughts, and movie kissing scenes ran through his head like a computer reading code. When you leaned in, someone pressed ‘mute’ on the sounds in the hall and all that was left was him and you.

When you held his face in your gloved hands, it was Error 404. He let his eyes flutter closed. When everything went dark, all he felt was the shy, feather-light brush of lips against the corner of his mouth. Not quite on his lips, just dangerously close.

Purer than a first kiss, but more than just a friendly peck. The students of NRC witnessed Idia’s hair at its most fiery just the same.

To be continued.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA Characterization hard

Hehe, hope you liked this. Part 4, the finale, coming soon.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

#twst x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fic

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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“You know I prefer apple jacks.”

yoongi x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.3K

a/n: Eeeek ok this is actually nerve-wracking posting this because like, it’s min and kid!!!! Anyways, you know the drill- they’re soft and in love and nothing is different here. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! :))

Mornings with Yoongi were always your favorite. The stress of the outside world was yet to intrude upon you both as you slowly moved about the apartment. It was quiet, peaceful, serene.

Or maybe you loved mornings with Yoongi so much because of his adorable bed head that he waddled around with, yet to comb out the evidence of a heavy slumber.

With a coffee cup in hand as you sat on the kitchen stool, you fondly watched Yoongi water your small patio garden outside the glass door. He was especially stunning under the glow of the warm rising sun, making it a challenge to look away from him. So you didn’t look away.

Emptying the watering can, his puffy sleep-filled eyes looked toward you through the glass barrier, a cute honey boy smile overtaking his features as he realized you were watching him. Ducking his head, he bashfully evaded your stare as you giggled from inside.

“Stop staring,” Yoongi complained in a playful grumpy tone the moment he stepped back inside the apartment.

“You’re so cute though,” you told him with a pout, the man scoffing as he set the watering can on the table next to the patio door. “My favorite movie,” you added with a smirk.

Avoiding your gaze, he walked across the living space toward you. “Speaking of, you fell asleep again last night,” he pouted adorably, you giggling as he easily slotted his legs between the v of yours.

“It was late,” you defended as he took the mug from your hands, bringing it to his lips to take a drink despite your glare. “And that movie was boring,” you whispered under your breath, the man meeting your words with an exaggerated gasp.

“That is one of the best movies ever made,” he pointed out, handing your coffee back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you put sugar in that?” He questioned, nodding down to the beige beverage with a small winced expression.

“Why would I?” You teased, Yoongi chuckling lowly as he leaned toward you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thanks for watering my plants,” you told him softly.

“Someone has to,” he joked in a whisper against your skin. You tried to hold back your laugh but a single giggle left your lips before you used one hand to reach around his frame and playfully smack the side of his ass. “Do you want breakfast?”

Looking down at you as you sat on the stool, he raised his eyebrows. “Are you cooking?”

“I can make you something,” you told him with a smirk, acting cocky all of a sudden in your average cooking skills.

“If you really want to,” he chuckled, triggering you to push him away just slightly so you could stand. “Ok, Kid, show me what you got,” he teased.

Setting your coffee cup down on the counter, you then stepped behind your boyfriend, placing your hands on his hips as you directed him to sit on the stool. “Watch and learn,” you bragged, appreciating the way Yoongi’s shoulders shook slightly in laughter. Placing a kiss to the back of his head, your lips touching his messy hair, you stepped away and made your way around the kitchen island.

“Welcome to Cooking with Kid,” you announced, your arms held out to your sides as you showed off the space. “I’m Kid,” you said with a smile, Yoongi flashing his own gummy grin at you as he watched you in amusement. “Today we’ll be cooking a bit of a controversial meal, as many disagree on the order in which you prepare this queen of all breakfast foods but first,” you paused, Yoongi’s eyes widening in response, “coffee for grampa.” The smile on Yoongi’s face only widened as he shook his head at your antics. Pouring him a cup, you placed it in front of him. “Made by my boyfriend, of course,” you informed him.

“Ah,” Yoongi said with a nod as he chuckled lightly. “Thank you, Kid”

“No flirting, I’m working,” you told him in feigned offense, Yoongi’s mouth falling open just slightly as he scoffed at you because that was hardly flirting. “See me after the show,” you winked before moving right back into your act. “Ok, for this meal, we’re going to need two bowls,” you continued, Yoongi’s eyes intently watching you as you moved around the kitchen, fetching the ceramic bowls from the cupboard. “Any guesses on what the main ingredient is?” You pointed to your boyfriend, the man opening his mouth to respond, but you cutting him off before he could. “That’s right, it’s cereal,” you said enthusiastically with a nod. “But what kind?” You exaggerated the excitement of the decision.

Bounding over to the cupboard, you opened it to display a box of fruit loops. Raising his hand, your eyes widening. “Audience participation, love it,” you called out excitedly, gesturing at him to answer.

“I’m gonna guess fruit loops,” he played along with your act as he scanned the cabinet and saw just one single box of cereal, a wide smile spreading across your face in response to his cute playfulness.

“That would be correct!” You cheered. “Because I forgot to go to the store yesterday so it’s literally all we have,” you added in your celebratory voice, Yoongi silently chuckling at you.

Grabbing the cereal, you set it on the counter next to the bowls before going to the refrigerator. “Anyone who has made cereal before knows that milk is absolutely necessary. A crucial ingredient,” you noted, Yoongi giggling as he took a drink of his coffee. Raising his hand once more, you gasped. “Yes, Mr. Min?”

“Does the cereal or milk come first?” He asked curiously, leaning forward to hear your answer.

“Ah, that’s what makes this meal so controversial,” you noted, trying not to smile at the feigned seriousness in Yoongi’s face. “Some idiots like my good pal Jeon Jeongguk will do stupid things like pour the milk first, but that’s wrong,” you said, Yoongi nodding as if he was actually interested. Well, perhaps he was. “The cereal should come first if you have any common sense, I mean milk first? Why would you do that?” You ranted, falling out of character for a moment. “You know, that’s actually so annoying of him, you should douse the cereal, what good does putting cereal into mi-”

An adorable giggle left your boyfriend’s lips, his glowing face stealing your attention and cutting off your rant as you both stared at one another. His eyes were amused and fond, and as soft as ever. Biting your bottom lip, you shyly looked to the bowl on the counter in front of you. “Let me show you how this is done,” you commented quietly, feeling Yoongi’s adoring gaze still on you.

As you poured the cereal into one bowl, you watched as Yoongi’s hand came into your vision as he closed it over your free one that held the bowl lightly. Your orbs settled on his hand as you began slowly trailing them up his arm toward his face. “I said no flirting until after-” you started to playfully protest.

“You should marry me,” he suddenly spoke, cutting you off, your heart racing instantly as your gaze met his stunning features. His hand enclosed over yours, holding it sweetly, his eyes dripping with honey sweet affection and a sincere intention.

“What?” You asked just as a small breathy laugh left your lips while they spread into a smile.

“Will you?” He asked, letting you know it wasn’t a slip of the tongue. He meant it. He wanted to marry you. “Marry me?

“Really?” You questioned him, setting the box of cereal down as the man chuckled fondly.

“It would make me very happy,” he told you sincerely. To emphasize his point, he scooped up a fruit loop from the bowl with his hand that wasn’t holding yours. Holding it up to you as if it was a ring, he asked once more. “Will you marry me, Kid?”

As tears gathered in your eyes, a smile spreading on your face, you cocked your head to the side. “You know I prefer apple jacks,” you teased, Yoongi’s gummy grin growing affectionately.

“I can get you apple jacks,” he assured with a fond grin. “I’ll make that happen,” he added with a tiny nod.

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Min,” you told him, tears forming in his own orbs.

You both started around the kitchen island quickly to get to each other, meeting at the side of the counter as Yoongi’s hands found the sides of your face, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Fruit loop ring, or apple jacks, a real ring or no ring, you wanted to marry that man. Before you knew Yoongi, you hadn’t thought much about marriage, or what it all meant. But now, you just knew you wanted to marry him.

It wasn’t until later that night that you realized his proposal that morning wasn’t quite as sudden as it appeared. Yoongi took you out to celebrate your engagement, returning to the café where your second date took place; an impromptu meeting in which Yoongi had trekked several blocks in the snow to surprise you with a visit simply because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

As you sat together, Yoongi suddenly interrupted your mindless but never meaningless conversation by saying, “I know you don’t mind, but I’m sorry it took me so long to propose.” Shaking your head at him, you disagreed with the apology because he was right, you didn’t mind. However, before you could say anything, he reached across the table and you expected him to intertwine his fingers with yours. When you didn’t feel their touch, you looked down at his hand to find a ring sitting in his grasp, your jaw dropping open. “I’ve had this for a few weeks now,” he admitted.

Pulling your gaze from the jewelry to inspect his features, you found him smiling at you with that soft gummy grin you adored so much. His cheeks were plush, a pink tint upon them as he chuckled at himself.

“I was on my way home from the studio one afternoon and you called me just to tell me that Holly had actually eaten some celery,” he smiled as he recalled the conversation. “Then you told me to hurry home because you missed me and I just- realized I want to be your husband.”

“Yoongi,” you whispered in surprise as he slid the ring on your finger. Both of your gazes bounced to the ring, you and Yoongi appreciating the way it looked at home on your digit.

“I started ring shopping the next day,” he informed you, you giggling as tears formed in your orbs.

Despite the touching moment, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease your now fiancé, shooting him a smirk as he sighed, knowing something was coming. “Who helped you?” You joked, Yoongi feigning offense as he sat back against his chair and scoffed.

“You think I need help picking out a ring for the love of my life?” He asked through a pout, you laughing as you leaned across the table, grabbing his hand in yours, the ring twinkling beautifully on your finger.

“The ring is stunning,” you assured him. “I love you so much,” you continued, a soft smile overtaking Yoongi’s features. Standing, you made your way to Yoongi, hovering over him as you stared down at him fondly.

Brushing your fingers through his hair, his hand grasped your waist. “I love you more,” he confessed, you smiling as you lowered your head toward his, kissing his lips softly.

“I still want my apple jacks ring,” you teased against his mouth, Yoongi chuckling as he squeezed the flesh of your side in response.

“Whatever you want, Kid,” he mumbled before deepening the kiss just slightly.

Though a marriage proposal didn’t change much in regards to the feelings you shared for one another, you were thrilled to be able to spend forever with him, devoted as husband and wife.

You both finished the day a few hours later, wrapped up in bed in one another’s arms, your bare skin pressed together as you dozed into slumber. And it was then that he revealed with a gummy smile that he didn’t just recruit the help from one or two people for ring shopping, but rather had an entire posse made up of Jin and his soon-to-be wife, Jungkook and his girlfriend, and Taehyung and his girlfriend.

“They were no help at all though,” he insisted.

“Oh my god, you had a whole ring shopping gang,” you giggled against his chest, staring at the jewelry adorning your finger.

“I actually took them all at different times and had them look at the same rings to ensure I was making the right decision,” he laughed at himself as you kissed his chest before your lips spread into a massive smile. “They all chose different rings though, but Tae and Peachy Keen agreed with me on this one.”

“You’re so fucking cute,” you beamed, trailing kisses up his body, pressing them to his neck alluringly. “You made the right choice,” you assure him as you glanced once more at the ring. “Just slightly better than an apple jack,” you teased, Yoongi groaning as he suddenly pushed you so your back was against the mattress, the man hovering over you.

“Would you shut up about the fucking apple jacks?” He beamed, unable to even feign annoyance.

“Make me,” you flirted, the man chuckling as he brought his lips to yours. And he did make you. At least until the next morning when you woke up and ate fruit loops for the second morning in a row.

Everything was different but the same; better but as good as ever. Watching him eat his fruit loops as he zoned out looking at your ring on your finger, you once again realized, for the millionth time since you’d met him, that you would be loving him for a very, very long time. But sooner rather than later he’d be your husband, and that was pretty fucking cool.

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uncreative-little-shit · 4 years ago

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Redamancy

A/n: I wrote this from a random idea and ended up writing 1k words about it, this is literally nothing but pure fluff anyways time to write sometime for Iwaizumi’s birthday

Warnings: mentions of food, nothing but pure fluff, not proofread as usual

wc: 1.2k

You’re six when you first meet Atsumu, you’re sitting on a swing in some park, and there’s only a few other kids there. So you’re pretty confused when this brown haired kid runs up to you and enthusiastically asks if you would like to play with him and ‘his brother ‘samu’, but you agree nonetheless. Of course, you’re even more confused when you follow him to see someone who looks just like him. You stand there watching as the small boy runs up to another, his light blue sweatshirt mirroring the enthusiastic boys yellow one. “A found someone ta play with us ‘samu!” The boy in question looks at you, seeming just a bit more aloof than his brother, and says “Ma names Osamu Miya, hi.” You nod your head, then turn to the other Miya, and say “So what’s your name? You never told me y’know.” A small look of surprise flashes across the boys face, followed by a bright grin and a “Ma names Atsumu Miya!” You spent the rest of that day with those boys, and when you leave, Atsumu gives you a quick hug before shouting a “See ya later!” You wonder if you really will see him again.

You’re seven when, only a bit more than a year after you first met him, Atsumu declares that he will marry you one day. He gets one of those dollar rings with the plastic gemstones and hands it to you, as a sort of proposal. When you put it on your finger and look back up at him, and see him smiling brightly, and you smile back. He takes your hand and drags you over to him brother, exclaiming “Look, we’re married now ‘Samu!” Osamu looks at the ring on your finger, then back at his brother, and simply replies “I don’t think that’s how it works, but cool.” Later, you’re chatting with him in his backyard under the stars, when you say “I think we’re too young to be married ‘tsumu.” He looks at you, then he pouts, saying “but ‘a gave ya a ring!” You shake your head, simply replying “Well yeah, but I do think we’re too young still.” He looks up at the sky with a concentrated look, before he looks back at you with another of his huge grins. “Well than it can be a ring until we are old enough, to remind us that we need to get married! Like a, uhm-” “Promise ring?” “Yeah! A promise ring! That’s my promise to marry ya one day, once we’re old enough, and I’ll get ya the prettiest ring they have, prettier than that one!” You look at the way the plastic gem seems to reflect the moonlight, and at the way Atsumu’s head now rests on your shoulder. “Ok, sure, it’s a promise then.”

You’re fifteen when you realize your feelings for Atsumu. It’s been a bad day, and all you wanted to do was lay in your bed and fall asleep. That was, until the faux blond boy shows up at your door, your favorite snacks and a movie you two had always loved in hand. He flashes his (stupidly handsome) smile at you, and he spends the rest of the night sitting in your living room with you, doing stupid things and making you laugh. He opts to stay the night at your house, and although the movie was paused and long forgotten, he uses it as an example to stay. “A wanna finish it with ya, a need to see what happens” is what he says, but you know he’s already seen this movie, and you know that he’s just using this as an excuse, but you settle down on the couch next to him anyways. It’s really late, and you aren’t even sure at first if you’re thinking straight, but it was this moment you realized you liked him, and this was just the beginning of your fall for Atsumu Miya.

You’re seventeen when Atsumu first tells you he loves you. You’re both walking around on an impromptu midnight walk, and you’re looking up at the bright stars in the sky. You’re chatting idly as he listens, and looking up at the bright stars in the sky, you feel at peace. While you’re talking about some random show you’ve been watching, you’re interrupted by a voice you’ve grown familiar with quietly says, “God, a love ya so much.” You pause, looking at him only to see a look of adoration in his eyes. You smile at him, and say “I love you too, ‘tsum.” He smiles at you, and you think that even compared to the sun he was the brightest star there was, and he pulls you into a hug. “Thank god, a thought ya were gonna reject me.” he mumbles into your hair. You giggle at him, pulling away, and you smile at him. As you two walk home, this time hands intertwined, you wonder if meeting in the park all those years ago was fate bringing you two together.

You’re twenty-one when he asks you to marry him. It’s surprising, actually, because when he does it you’re both on a late night walk together, sitting on some swinging (no matter how many times you tell him your both too old for this, he insists you should live a little) and looking at the stars. Atsumu breaks the silence, as he says, “y’know, this is the park we met at.” You look at him, but he’s still staring at the stars, and you simple reply, “oh, really.” He hums, and looks at you. “Yeah, a remember seeing ya sittin on that swing and comin over to you because ya looked lonely.” You snorted at this, and he turns his gaze from the sky to you. “What! It’s true, ya know, ya looked all mopey on yer swing.” You send a smile at him, but as your about to say something, he continues talking. “A think that was maybe the best day of ma life ya know, because that’s when a met you.” Surprised at his words, you look back at the stars, “Yeah, me too ‘tsum, i was surprised when you came and asked me to play with you that day, but I'm glad i said yes." You both sit there in a comfortable silence for a moment, then you hear him say "Marry me?" you look back at him wide eyed, but he's already rambling. "A know we’re young but a just love ya so much and a want to spend the rest of ma life with ya, and it's alright if ya wanna say no-" “yes, of course I’ll marry you ‘tsumu.” For a second he looks stunned, then he smiles widely and leans over to your swing and kisses you. It’s uncomfortable and messy, but it’s happy and full of so much emotion that neither of you mind. When he pulls back, he pulls a ring out of his pocket and puts it on your finger, and when he looks up at you he says “Look, just like a promised angel, didn’t a tell ya this one was gonna be prettier than the one a got when we were kids.” You laugh at this, surprised he even remembered the promise he made to you when you were children (fourteen years seemed to pass quickly). You’re both young, just starting out in the world, but kissing him under the stars, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#atsumu miya #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu drabbles #childhood friends #childhood friends to lovers #produced by bel

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joaquinwhorres · 4 years ago

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Blank Out - Ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[ Masterlist ]

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names–amends he needs to make. When he gets to yours, he finds the amends process a bit more…difficult than it should be.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,550-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› I’ve decided that this story calls for alternating perspectives. Also, lemme know what you think about how this explores post-End Game life.

"You know Bucky Barnes?!"

Rocio was upon you before you had even fully entered the dining room. Despite the fact that it was probably cutting off her circulation, the eight year old was still proudly wearing her "Soldier Arm". You were surprised she could even put it on anymore, a thought that brought on the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia. When the two of you had constructed the costume four years ago, you had needed to roll the ends of the glove up and then safety pin it to the top of Rocio's sleeve to keep it from sliding off. Now it didn't even reach her shoulder anymore.

"I never mentioned that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Rocio exclaimed

"Oh," you shrugged, rounding the table and passing by a wiggling Ravi in his booster seat.

Rocio fell into step behind you letting out an indignant and frustrated sound. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She had an amazing and irritating talent for both shouting and whining at the same time. You breathed out your annoyance through her nose.

"Rocio," you said, flatly. "Do you really think I know Bucky Barnes and kept it a secret from you?"

The little girl pouted for a second as she thought it over before slowly shaking her head. "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"Hey," you pointed a finger at her. "I never told anyone about your crush on Spider-Man did I?"

"I was six!"

"And yet, old enough to propose," you grinned, remembering finding the letter Rocio had addressed to Spider-Man with haphazardly spaced and sized letters. It had taken a few attempts to decipher some of the spelling, but it had proven excellent material to tease Rocio about for the past two years.

Your niece scowled at you and marched back to the table, dramatically throwing herself back into her chair.

You turned back to the stove and the probably cold eggs, smiling to yourself in victory. It was a brief moment of peace as you dished eggs onto three plates because the moment you popped the first one in the microwave, the interrogation started back up.

"Well, if you don't know him, why was he here?"

"He wanted to talk to me and your mom," you said, watching the eggs spin round and round.

"About what?"

"The weather."

"Y/N!" Rocio hit her hand against the table, causing Ravi to jump in his seat and stare at his sister with wide eyes.

You whirled on your niece. "Rocio Ishani, you know better."

"Sorry," Rocio mumbled, casting her eyes down to the table--one of her tells of genuine embarrassment and regret. The microwave beeped, and you sighed, switching the plate out for another one.

"I don't know what he wants to have a conversation about. He was here for three minutes and you did most of the talking. And even if I did know," you added on, stopping Rocio before words could come out of the little girl's open mouth. "I don't think it's a child friendly conversation. Which means when he comes, you're going to your room."

"He's coming back?"

You nodded. "When your mom comes to pick you up," you said, stopping the eggs with six seconds left on the clock. You took the two plates to the table, setting the hot one down in front of your seat and the warm one in front of Rocio. You raised your eyebrows at your niece, gesturing with your head to the kitchen before turning back to get Ravi's plate. Rocio trailed you in, pulling out the silverware drawer to get forks for the three of you and tearing off three paper towels as napkins. She still hadn't quite grasped that Ravi wouldn't be using a napkin however much he needed one. Instead, she ripped one half sheet into a quarter, as if that would convince him to use it in the same way that the small bright green fork convinced him to be somewhat civilized in his eating instead of using his hands.

It was a few more minutes before you were all at the table, ready to eat.

"Your arm, please," you said, gesturing to Rocio's glove. The little girl put up no fight, shimmying out of it and lightly laying it on the empty chair next to her, signature side up so she could admire it all of breakfast.

While the interrogation seemed to be over, talk of the Avengers was not. Most of the breakfast conversation revolved around ranking the Avengers from most powerful to least powerful, and most helpful to least helpful, and the ever ambiguous "best" to "worst." And then, as it did with young kids, talk bounced from subject to subject--connected only by the vaguest semblance of eight year old logic. It ended with a request to watch Wild Kratts after breakfast.

You did.

You did a lot of other things after breakfast too.

You made and played with play dough and stopped when you noticed Ravi was alternating between building with his and eating it.

You each drew pictures for Lilly with varying degrees of realism, had a fashion show turned impromptu dance party, and played hide and seek during Ravi's nap. (Rocio was such a good hider that you hadn't found her until after Ravi woke up, and you were definitely looking very hard and not reading a book.)

You painted each other's nails, and built an epic race car track for Ravi and made individual pizzas.

You raked leaves outside and picked a few favorites to press in books and even found time to fit in a small hurt self/strong self activity before Lilly arrived.

You were in the middle of deconstructing eating your creations when the front door opened.

"Where is my family?"

You looked up with a smile and gestured towards the door, but Rocio remained put. "We're in here!" she shouted, fingers sticky with peanut butter and fluff.

Lilly sauntered into the room, her emerald green suit still pressed and wrinkleless despite a day on the job. She arched her perfectly threaded eyebrows as she looked at you and daughter and the table all covered in graham cracker crumbs. "Looks like you three had a good day."

"Yep!" Rocio chirped, and Lilly clicked forward and into the corner of the room where Ravi was playing with his two cars on a section of the track.

"How is it my two year old is the least messy of the three of you?" she asked, bending over to press a kiss to Ravi's head. He squirmed away, continuing to move his cars along the track.

You laughed as Rocio licked a finger clean of peanut butter. "Because Ravi takes after you, and Rocio takes after me," you said, grinning at Rocio. Lilly frowned and crossed back over to the girls. "Don't worry though, I think we're all adventured out, so tomorrow we're just going to sit and stare at the walls."

"No!" Rocio shouted, and Lilly hushed her.

You tilted your head as if thinking. "I guess we could wash my car," you said, tapping your chin with a finger. "And the baseboards do need some dusting."

Rocio let out a dramatic groan, and you laughed, picking up a napkin to rub away at the spot of marshmallow fluff on her chin.

"Well, if you're not going to clean my house, you can at least clean your hands."

Rocio gave you a look of exasperation that she should have been much too young to even think about giving. Nevertheless, she slid out of her chair and headed to the sink, Lilly stopping her en route so she could press a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"How was work?" you asked as Lilly sunk into Rocio's vacated chair.

"People are idiots," Lilly rolled her eyes, giving a sigh.

"Says the literal genius," you returned, and Lilly snorted, shaking her head.

"It doesn't take a genius to follow simple instructions. I'll lay everything out for them, and even with pictures, they can't complete a single build without running into some potentially catastrophic error."

"That's not what you want to hear from the lead engineer at Stark Energy."

Rocio skipped back to the table, and Lilly scooched out her chair, gesturing for Rocio to come sit on her lap. The little girl veered off early though, instead attempting to climb into your lap. You shook her head, casting a quick glance at your sister who dropped her open arms.

"Your mom's missed you," you said, gesturing with her head across the table.

"I live with her," Rocio whined.

"And?" Lilly asked, moving her chair back up to the table. "I still miss you when I work."

"Really?" Rocio asked, walking over to the chair next to Lilly, and claiming it.

"Really," Lilly assured, placing an arm on the back of Rocio's chair, gently combing through her daughter's hair with her fingers. She looked up at you offering a small, weak smile before looking back down at her daughter. Her brow creased. "What are you sitting on?" she asked, tugging at something underneath Rocio. The little girl joined her mom in looking down, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the object.

"My Soldier Arm! Oh yeah! Guess who we met today!"

"Who?" Lilly asked.

"No, guess!"

You would have to teach your niece about the art of not playing a guessing game after making the answer so obvious. Then again, it still seemed so surreal that Bucky Barnes would turn up at your doorstep, that even with the "Soldier Arm", you doubted that Lilly would guess.

Lilly pursed her lips, putting on a show of thought. "Was it--"

There was a knock at the front door interrupting Lilly's guess. Rocio practically launched herself from the chair, already halfway out of the room by the time she could scream "I'll get it!"

"No!" Ravi shouted. His usual reaction when Rocio was too loud, too energetic, too Rocio.

Lilly exhaled a laugh at her son before turning back to you. "This was too much sugar," she said, circling a finger around Rocio's half-eaten creation. You laughed and Lilly smiled, and it felt nice for things to be normal between you--easy. Even if it was just for a moment.

A moment that was brought to a screeching halt by Rocio dragging Bucky Barnes into the combined kitchen and dining room by the hand.

"We met Bucky Barnes!" she chirped.

Lilly's face went slack, only managing to get out a small "Holy shit." Your eyes didn't linger long on your sister though. Instead your gaze was drawn to Bucky Barnes who looked vaguely amused at Rocio.

"Rocio, release your captive," you prompted, and reluctantly, Rocio released his hand, taking a few steps back towards her mother to give him some space.

"Is this--are you--what is happening here?" Lilly asked, looking between Bucky and you and Rocio, as if one of you had a reasonable explanation for this.You had only ever seen your sister this flustered twice before. Both of the previous occasions had been heartbreaking and traumatic, and you'd never quite gotten to experience how funny flustered Lilly was.

"He wants to talk to you and Y/N about something!" Rocio filled in.

Lilly's head whipped to you. "You know him?" she whispered, as if this was some secret conversation for your ears only.

You shook her head. "No, he just came by this morning and asked to speak with us."

"About what?" Lilly asked, furrowing her eyebrows and looking back to Bucky.

"I don't know."

For all of the differences between Lilly and Rocio--and there were many--their brain processing was eerily similar.

Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. "I um--I don't know if you want--" he gestured to Rocio. "Here for this."

"Rocio, go to your ro--the playroom," you corrected.

"I promise I'll be quiet if you let me--" Rocio started, and Lilly cut her off.

"Rocio, take your brother and go up to the playroom please,"

"But--" Rocio's face melted into the start of a complaint, but there a sharp cut of her mother's eyes stopped her dead. You remembered being on the receiving end of that look quite a few times while she was growing up. If anything it'd grown in power.

Rocio stomped forward, taking Ravi by the hand who whined and complained until she let him pick up a few cars to take with him, and the two exited the room, heavy footsteps echoing up the staircase.

You turned back to Bucky who was staring over Lilly's head, at the wall of family pictures.

The idea had hit you four years ago after Rocio woke up crying from a nightmare. Together, you spent the night going through old photo albums and Facebook albums, searching for the best pictures of the family. You ended the night with about forty pictures that needed to be framed, and the whole project took about a week to finish.

Every time the two of you ate lunch together over the past four years, Rocio would choose a picture, and you would tell her the story behind the picture. Your eyes flitted amongst them now.

There was the first time Lilly held you as a baby which was also the first time you smiled. Lilly's high school graduation--one of the few pictures with both of your parents in it, hovering on either side of Lilly as a six year old you sat on her hip. Lilly and Hector's beautiful wedding day. Lilly and Hector at your high school graduation. Lilly and you at the baby shower for Rocio, and Lilly and Hector at the shower for Ravi. There was one of Rocio's grandparents meeting her for the first time, and a good number of photos documenting your visits out to the family. Before the blip.

During your four years together, you and Rocio had also taken pictures of memories the family couldn't be there for and hung them on the wall; reminders of stories to tell should they ever return.

Rocio and you moving into a new house.

Rocio's first day of Kindergarten, first, and second grade.

The two of you and Rocio's ill-fated hamster, Churro.

Birthday parties and day trips that the rest of the family should have attended.

Bucky stared at the pictures, his frown deepening.

"Would you like to sit?" Lilly invited, allowing her collected professional persona to seep into her voice and straighten her spine.

The super soldier nodded, choosing the chair at the end of the table, closest to the door. He wet his lips, his eyes drawn from the pictures and down to the wooden table. It was strange seeing an Avenger--someone who had fought Thanos--seem so nervous in the company of two ordinary women.

He reminded you of the fourth graders who entered your office.

The fourth graders were always so hesitant to work with you--terrified of opening up and showing even a glimpse of vulnerability. It took three sessions just to get them to admit that they weren't fine and a few more before they lost the skittish look in their eyes. You doubted Bucky would be pried open by bags of chips or any of her fidgets, but figured you could at least try.

"Can I get you something to drink?" you asked, and Bucky shook his head.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time."

You nodded, and Lilly cocked her head. "So what brings an Avenger to my sister's house?"

He wet his lips and then looked up at the pair of you. "You're part of my efforts to make amends." Bucky made an attempt at a smile.

Across the table, Lilly's chest constricted with barely suppressed laughter, and the corners of your lips twitched in and out of a smile. Whoever had advised him to smile, surely hadn't meant for him to smile like that.

"What are you here to make amends for?" Lilly asked, her voice steady and betraying none of her amusement.

"I…" his eyes drifted back to the wall of pictures looming beside the group. "I'm the one responsible for your parents death."

You felt the world stop.

Or maybe it wasn't the world, maybe you stopped. Maybe every single atom within you stilled for a moment. Maybe your brain shut down and heart paused its beating, keeping you from thinking or feeling anything other than the numbness of shock. Because as surprising as it was for Bucky Barnes to show up on your doorstep at ten in the morning, you never expected he was responsible for changing your entire life.

"I know there's nothing, I could ever do to truly make amends--"

"You don't need to make amends."

Everything seemed to restart then. Your heart picked up its beating and brain whirred into action, sifting through memories and thoughts you'd long ago pushed to the back of your mind and locked there to remain untouched even by years of therapy.

Your skin prickled with flashes of images. The dark figure at the top of the staircase, the glint of metal you'd assumed was a gun in his hand, the cold blankness of his stare as his eyes bore into yours. And then the horror and sick relief of finding your parents in the moments after his disappearance.

"They were horrible people, and I'm glad they're dead. Thank you for salvaging my childhood"

"Y/N," Lilly gasped, horrified.

"You hated them too," you argued back. "Don't pretend you're not glad that Rocio and Ravi never have to meet them."

"Our relationship with our parents aside, they were still our parents. The least we can do is not thank the man who murdered them in their sleep."

Bucky for his part looked completely bewildered as his eyes darted between the two arguing sisters.

You shook your head. "You were more of a parent to me than they ever were."

"And it's because of that that I remember you waking up screaming every night for three years. So if you're not going to ask for amends for our parents' murder, at least ask for amends for what you had to go through because of him."

"My nightmares aren't because of him," you dismissed. Lilly would never believe--let alone understand--the reason behind your nightmares.

Seeing the argument was fruitless, Lilly tsked and dismissed you with a flip of her hair, turning instead to address Bucky. "Why?"

"Why…" Bucky stumbled along, confused by the conversational whiplash or the vague question.

"Why did you kill our parents?" Lilly demanded.

"Does it matter?" you asked.

"It matters to me."

You stared at your sister for a solid thirty seconds before, and shutting your eyes and bowing your head in surrender. Lilly didn't understand. If you had it your way, Lilly would never understand. You would never burden your sister like that.

Bucky swallowed hard. "I wasn't told the specifics of every...assignment. All I know is that your parents were working on something HYDRA wanted, and when they were offered a chance to join the cause, they declined. I was tasked with eliyoution and retrieval."

"Retrieval?" Lilly pressed

"Of their research."

Lilly gave him a single nod before looking down at the table in front of her. "I didn't even know they were conducting their own research."

You felt her skin prickle, an icy hot sensation shooting through your veins. Carefully calm, you reached across the table, palms open for your sister's hands. Lilly placed her hands into yours. "They never let us get to know them," you said gently, squeezing Lilly's hands. "That's why I'm angry and you're hurt."

Even as you said this, you could feel Bucky's gaze on you, intently studying your motions and facial expressions.

You looked back at him. "Thank you for coming to tell us. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

He nodded, his brow still slightly creased as he looked at her. And then his gaze flicked to Lilly, and you released a breath.

"I know it doesn't mean much--it doesn't change anything, but I'm not the person who did that anymore. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James "Bucky" Barnes."

Lilly nodded, releasing your hands and looking Bucky square in the face. Her own expression was completely neutral, not a trace of a tear or any of the hurt she'd voiced.

"If you want to make amends, you should come here for Thanksgiving."

Neither you nor Bucky had been expecting that. Your instinctive reaction was to snort out a laugh as if it were a joke, and Bucky looked like the very dictionary definition of confusion: brow knitted together, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging open.

"It would mean the world to my daughter. You can think about it as replacing a memory of my daughter meeting her grandparents. you's right, this will probably be a happier memory anyway."

"You have to come!" Rocio rushed into the room, you and Lilly shouting her name in a mixture of surprise, horror, and reprimand. The eight year old made no excuses or explanations. Instead she stood by Bucky's chair, peering up at him with a bright intensity only a child could muster. "Please."

Bucky looked away from Rocio to Lilly and then you. "Ok."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #tfatws #fatws #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #falcon and the winter soldier #fatws fic #tfatws fic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #post-end game #james buchanan barnes #marvel #avengers #marvel fic #avengers fic

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sisterspooky1013 · 4 years ago

Text

As Ethan Sees It

Author:SisterSpooky1013

Rating: Mature

Words: 3698

Read it on AO3 Here

Tagging @today-in-fic

The first thing I’d noticed about her was how self-assured she was, particularly in contrast to her diminutive stature. I’d been grabbing lunch at a local deli between classes and some high school kids were picking on a third boy who may have been a classmate. Everyone in line was just ignoring it, looking away, when this tiny redhead steps out of line and walks up to the tallest, bulkiest guy in the group and tells him to fuck off, in so many words. She barely reached his shoulder and was probably 100lbs soaking wet, but she had no problem standing up for the little guy. After I picked up my order, I noticed her sitting alone at a table near the window and asked if I could join her. She was hesitant, but agreed and listened politely while I told her how impressed I was by her bravado with those kids. That’s when I noticed the second thing about her; her incredible smile. It was like the first burst of sunlight over the horizon in the morning, blinding in its beauty. I introduced myself and learned that her name was Dana, and she had just moved to DC to accept a job with the FBI. We talked for so long I missed my class, but I didn’t care. I was fascinated by her. Aside from being strikingly beautiful with rich auburn hair and porcelain skin, her blue eyes some intoxicating shade of blue I had never seen before, she was also wickedly smart. She seemed to know about everything, any topic that came up she could speak to, and I learned more during that 90 minute conversation than I probably would have if I’d made it to class. She was a doctor, and a scientist, and even the way her voice sounded was enchanting to me, the S’s softly sibilant as they poured from her pouty pink lips. She had realized the time and stood suddenly to leave, and I was so flustered by our impromptu date ending so abruptly that I stupidly forgot to get her phone number. The sinking feeling in my gut when I realized this fact, right about the time her cab disappeared into a sea of other cabs, still ranks as one of the worst moments of my life.

I thought about her every single day for two weeks. I talked about her every single day for two weeks, until my roommates begged me to either figure out a way to get in touch with her, or shut the hell up. All I knew about her was her first name, that she had recently graduated from Stanford, and that she works at the FBI. First I tried calling the FBI and asking for Dana, but they had more than one Dana who worked there and were unwilling to let me try them one by one. Next I contacted Stanford and was able to have a list of the last two classes of graduates faxed to me. Thankfully, there was only one Dana on that list; Dana Scully. I called back to FBI headquarters and asked for Dana Scully, and the next thing I knew she was on the line, her sing-song voice saying “This is Dana Scully.” My mouth went dry, I forgot how to speak, how to breathe.

“Uh, um, hi, hello.”

“…Who is this?” Her tone was the one I’d heard her use with the high school bullies

“Uh, this is Ethan? From the deli, a couple weeks ago?”

“Ethan from the deli? The guy who’s getting his masters in journalism?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Oh! Hi! How…how did you get this number?”

“Well, I hope this isn’t too weird but I forgot to ask for your number and I remembered you said you worked at the FBI, so I kind of tracked you down.”

“Oh. That’s kind of sweet.”

I let out huge breath of relief.

“I’d really like to see you again, if you’re interested. It’s alright if not, I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least ask.”

She was quiet for a moment but he had a feeling she was smiling.

“I’d love to, Ethan. Do you have something to write with? I’ll give you my number.”

**********************************

The first real date we had, I took her to a fancy Italian place that my buddies said was sufficiently romantic. She let me pick her up at her apartment in Georgetown and when she answered the door, I nearly passed out. She had on a strapless blue cocktail dress and tall black heels, her hair down and soft around her face. Her lips were red and plump and I wanted to kiss her right then, but I knew it was too soon. I held doors for her and watched closely for her reaction, unsure if she was the kind of woman who found chivalry insulting, but she seemed to appreciate it. She was so petite and delicate, like a beautiful bird, but also had this incredible air of confidence that made her so captivating. I was careful not to outright stare at her, so I didn’t make her uncomfortable. She told me more about herself as we ate, what she had studied in school and the things she was doing now at the FBI academy, working in forensics. She asked me about my school and my plans for after graduation, and she really listened when I talked, asking thoughtful questions and wanting to learn more about journalism and broadcasting, so eager to know as much as possible about everything she could. I told some stupid joke, and she laughed, and I think that’s when I fell in love with her. That laugh worked its way into my bones, vibrated in my blood stream and sent a shiver down my spine. I had to imagine that the only reason she was single was that she was so new to the area, because a woman like this was never single for long. I didn’t want the night to end, so I asked her out to drinks afterward and to my delighted surprise she suggested that we have them back at her place. I didn’t want to assume anything, so I didn’t make a move, just talked with her more on her sofa, learned about her family and her childhood as an army brat, her love of reading and bubble baths, her fondness for children and animals. When she leaned in and kissed me, I thought that I may be hallucinating. Maybe I was having an intensely long, lucid dream. How did someone like Dana Scully cross my path of all the places on earth she might have been, and how did I have the nerve to approach her, and how was she interested in me, and how was it possible that right then she had her tongue in my mouth on her sofa?

We didn’t have sex that first night, but it wasn’t too long before we did. And it wasn’t too long after that that we decided to be exclusive, and 6 months later that I told her that I loved her. Two weeks after that, she said it back, and for two years, we were happy. It’s typically the case that when you’re newly in love with someone you have that divine infatuation that makes you see everything about them as perfect, but over time it wears off and the things that were once cute become annoying. That never happened with Dana. I was obsessed with her, everything she did was the most incredible thing a human could accomplish or be. Aside from the megawatt smile and musical laugh, she had this sweet little beauty mark on her lip that I loved to kiss. She was witty and skilled at debate, and we’d spend evenings arguing over something like the moon landing conspiracy before fucking like animals over the back of the couch. And the sex. Oh my god the sex. She was an absolute vixen in the way she played, teased, and ultimately delivered on every promise she made, and she would smile in this self-satisfied way when she came, looking me right in the eye like she’d tricked me out of my last dollar. She could be dominant, or dismissive, sometimes one then the other in the same night. She could be anything and everything, and she was.

I loved to hear her talk about her work and new assignments she was getting, and I was so proud of her and her goals and dreams. I wanted to be right beside her as she climbed the ranks at the bureau, and knew that she would be anything she set her mind to. She was equally supportive of me as I graduated and then worked my way up at a local broadcasting company with dreams of being a news anchor. She made me feel important and worthy, showed interest in the things that I cared about and was so loyal to me that she cussed out one of my friends for making jokes at my expense. We never moved in together technically (her choice) but we slept together at one or the other’s apartment every night, rented a movie every Friday, had dinner with her parents every Sunday. Her sister, who she was close to, seemed to like me okay, and her friend Ellen confided in me that she thought I should propose soon, that Dana was ready for that step. I picked out a ring, a slender gold band with a princess cut solitaire, only half a karat because I knew she didn’t like to be flashy, and hid it in my sock drawer. Our anniversary was coming up on March 23 and I decided to do it then, which was a little ways away, but I wanted it to be perfect.

For her birthday, I took her out to dinner and she had exciting news to share. She’d been offered an assignment with an obscure unit at the FBI, requested specifically by Section Chief Blevins for her background as a scientist. I didn’t fully understand what the unit did or why they’d want Dana for it, but it was something about unsolved mysteries, by the sound of it. She was so happy and felt like this was a great sign, her big break, the fact that Blevins even knew she existed and wanted her on this team was an indication of the reputation she was building for herself there. I bought a bottle of champagne, told her how proud I was and that I couldn’t wait to hear more about it. She let me know there would be travel, it was a field agent role, and that she’d be on the road sometimes. As much as I didn’t look forward to being away from her, I couldn’t help but share her excitement at this new step in her career. That night we had the most incredible birthday/promotion sex you could imagine. I made her come three times before she finally tapped out and told me how much she loved me, and how excited she was for the rest of our lives together, how much she appreciated that I understood that her career was important, and that I supported her. If we would have been at my place, I would have grabbed the ring and proposed to her right then, but we were at hers. So I just kissed her and told her that I was the luckiest man on earth because I had the opportunity to be her partner in life.

The first day of her new assignment, she was nervous. She’d heard some stories about the agent she was going to be working with, her partner, a guy named Mulder. He sounded like somewhat of an oddball, and a ladies man to boot. I made a joke about him staying away from my woman and she rolled her eyes, had me help her choose between the plaid suit or the maroon one, kissed me goodbye and told me that she loved me and I didn’t need to worry about this or any other male agent, or male person for that matter, stealing her away. That afternoon at the station I got a message from her saying that she had to fly out to Oregon for a case they were investigating, which caught me by surprise. She had said she’d be on the road, but I didn’t expect it to happen that fast. I heard from her only once in the three days she was gone, and when she came back, she was different.

It’s hard to explain in what way she changed. She was distracted, spacey, staring into nothing when we watched TV in the evening, not really listening to what I was saying when I told her about my day. She told me a little bit about the work she was doing, but she was suddenly guarded and defensive about what she did all day, most of her sentences starting with “Mulder says...” The phone would ring at odd times, she worked late or was out of town almost constantly. I felt her slipping away. I did all I could to make things easy for her when she was home. I did all the cleaning, all her laundry. I cooked her dinner each night, though half the time she would say that she had already eaten with Mulder. She didn’t seem as interested in kissing or sex, but she would let me go down on her and I did, every night, trying to hold on to her attention and her affection with my tongue on her clit. I tried to talk to her, to ask her what was wrong, if I should be doing anything differently, and she’d say “no, of course not. Everything’s fine, I’m just tired.”

Then it was our anniversary, and I made a reservation at the same place we’d gone to that very first time. I picked up flowers for her, dahlias which I knew she loved. I went by her apartment at the agreed upon time, but she didn’t answer the door. I used my key to enter and it was quiet and cold, no sign she’d been there anytime recently. I called her office at work and Mulder answered, said she was up at Quantico performing an autopsy and could he take a message. I just hung up the phone. I went to bed at her place, and when she finally crawled in at 3am she was startled to find me there. The way she looked at me made me feel like she’d forgotten I existed, and I didn’t even bother to remind her that it was our anniversary. I decided to start fresh the next morning, with a new plan. Maybe I was being too demanding, expecting too much. Maybe this Mulder was difficult to work with and she didn’t want to bother me with horror stories. I would just have to be the most supportive, accommodating, wonderful boyfriend possible, and we could come through this together. When I woke up, she was still snoring softly beside me. I slipped my head under the covers and pushed her legs open gently, sliding her nightgown up over her hips. She stirred and moaned as I pressed my lips to her clit, kissing her there before beginning to lap at her labia, two fingers sliding inside just how she liked it. She responded readily, flexing her hips and pushing her hands into my hair, and I flipped the blankets off my head so I could see her face. I loved the way she liked to watch me, to hold my eye as she went over the edge, so intensely intimate. To my disappointment, her eyes were closed, head back against the pillow. When she came, she didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything. I crawled back up to lie beside her and when her eyes met mine they were so full of sadness it sent me into a panic.

“Dana, what’s wrong?” I implored, seeing tears welling under her blue irises.

She shook her head and scooted up so that she was sitting with her back against the headboard.

“Ethan-“ her voice caught under a sob that she quickly swallowed down.

My stomach dropped. No, this can not be happening.

“Ethan” she began again. “I care about you so much.” Tears were falling now, trailing down her alabaster cheeks and dripping off of her angular chin. “I just don’t think I can give you what you need right now.”

My mind was racing, I looked around the room like there might be something, or someone, who could help me.

“I think it might be best if we took a break for a bit. Took some space from each other.”

I sat up on my knees and grabbed her arm, suddenly regretful that I had chosen to sleep naked.

“Dana, what are you talking about? We don’t need space. I don’t need space from you!”

She closed her eyes. “Ethan, it’s not fair to you. I can’t be available to you right now. My new assignment, I’m just so busy-“

“No, it’s okay, Dana. I know you work more now but I don’t mind, I’ll always be here when you come home. I support you, I support your work, you know that.”

Pulling her arm from my grasp, she stood and went to her dresser. Pulled on panties and then jeans before stripping off her nightgown and putting on a bra and sweater. “Ethan. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. It’s just not a good time for me, right now.”

“Is it that Mulder guy? Is he making moves on you?” I hated how desperate my voice sounded.

“No, Ethan. This has nothing to do with Mulder, he’s been nothing but professional. This is about me, and what I need right now. What I’m capable of. And I’m just not in a good place for a relationship, I’m sorry. I need some time.”

She was standing near her bedroom door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She was ready to walk out.

“How much time? How much time do you need?”

She looked at the floor and whispered “I don’t know.”

I slid off the bed and went to her, dropped to my knees on the floor, wrapping my arms around her hips as I pressed the side of my head into her belly.

“Please don’t do this. We can work through it. I love you, I love you so much. I’ll do whatever you need, just tell me.” The humiliation of begging on my knees while nude makes my skin crawl to this day.

She put her hand on my head, petting my hair as she often did. I felt hot tears drip from her eyes and fall against my scalp. “What I need is for you to let me go” she finally said, and she sounded very sad but also very resolute.

“I’m going to go to my mothers for the day, and I’d like you to pack up the things you have here. You can leave your key on the table. I’ll call you soon, to see how you’re doing, okay?”

“Dana, no, I won’t let you go. Please let me try to make this better.” I clung to her like a child, physically keeping her from leaving me. She crouched down and kneeled in front of me, taking my face in her hands. She kissed me softly on the lips, once.

“You have been a wonderful boyfriend, Ethan. You have loved me so well. I don’t want you to think that this is your fault, okay? You are the best. I just can’t be with someone right now. I know you’ll be okay.”

She stood and walked out of her apartment, pausing once at the door to look back at me, naked and destroyed on the floor in her bedroom doorway, and then she was gone.

She didn’t call me, not in a day or a week or a month. She deleted me from her life like a file she no longer needed. I didn’t know how to explain to my friends what had happened, because I didn’t really know myself. I thought about her every day, ate at restaurants around her work and apartment hoping to catch sight of her, so we could chance a meeting and maybe she’d be willing to talk. When I finally did see her, it was at a sandwich shop a few blocks from the Hoover building. She walked in looking like…well an FBI agent. Now in a black, tailored skirt suit that fit her perfectly, her hair cut shorter and more styled, her heels tall and her posture confident. A man was with her, and my stomach turned at his hand on her back, the familiar way they stood close as they waited in line. He was remarkably tall with dark features, handsome in a kind of mysterious way. I wondered if that was Mulder, assumed that it was. They sat down and I watched her face, the intensity in her eyes and the curl at her lip, recognized the way her features danced as she talked about something she found interesting, the rapturous way she listened while her male counterpart spoke. I remembered when she used to look at me that way. She must have felt my eyes on her because she looked at me suddenly, registering surprise and then sadness, offering me a tiny wave as the man turned to see who she was looking at. I gathered the rest of my sandwich and chucked it in the trash can as I stalked out, suddenly having lost my appetite. I wanted to hate her, to be angry at her betrayal, her abandonment. I wanted to hate him, for taking her from me. All I could muster was the same hallow acceptance that I had my chance, and somehow let it slip away. I just hope that he appreciates her smile as much as I do.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #xf fanfic

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