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hrina · 3 years

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The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon.

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #uhhhh yeah so here u go. if this flops it never happened i guess #hunterry #harry writing

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eberles · 3 years

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On The Course

Rafe Cameron

if this gif is yours, lmk and i’ll tag you!

A/N: this is the longest thing i’ve ever written coming in at 3.8K!! it’s set the summer AFTER the show so like a year later basically and rafe isn’t a murderer obv, it’s also loosely based on A Cinderella Story - the one with Hilary Duff, okay enjoy :)

Warnings: mentions of parent death, brief mention of toxic living environments, swearing, lots of dialogue (idk if that needs a warning but)

You never had many friends growing up, or any really. Except JJ, he was always there for you, your very best friend and even though he offered all the time for you to hangout with the other pogues, you always declined. Of course, you went to school with them and had classes together and sure they were nice, but you never actually felt welcome. JJ was the first friend you made when you moved to the Outer Banks after your parents died. It’s been 4 years since then and living with your ugly aunt and her horrible twin daughters was the last thing you ever wanted for yourself. The only upside of moving to Outer Banks all those years ago was meeting JJ.

Everyone assumed you were dating and both of you had considered the fact, but quickly decided that it wasn’t meant to be for the two of you. JJ liked to be a playboy and he wasn’t really your type anyways. for years you watched him get with girl after girl while you sat idly by watching and looking out for him, never having a guy of your own to trot around with. You never minded it though, being by yourself gave you a sense of comfort and with your current living situations, your cousins made it difficult for you to have many friends or otherwise anyways. JJ always made you feel better about it though and assured you that you didn’t need a man to be happy because of how independent you were and how ‘one day you’re gonna get out of here and meet the guy of dreams, the one that lives up to your standards.” You would always shake your head and roll your eyes at him when he said that, but he believed it. At least the getting out of here part. JJ knew from the moment he met you 4 years ago that you weren’t destined to be on a little island like Outer Banks and you had bigger things coming to you. For now, this was home and you were making the best of it.

“JJ, please talk to your boss. I need a job, I have to get out of my house this summer.” you begged JJ one sunny afternoon, knowing that school was ending in a few days.

“Y/N, you’re gonna hate it. Trust me, you don’t wanna serve a bunch of rich pricks.” JJ sighed, looking over at you briefly and noticing you had your best puppy dog look plastered onto your face, the one you always knew got him to cave. “Fucking fine, i’ll talk to him.”

A few days passed and you were finally done with school. This was your last summer before heading off to college and as much as you didn’t want to spend it working, you knew your aunt had no intention of giving you any money for college. So here you were, serving your first day as a cart girl at the most prestigious country club on Figure 8. The course was fairly slow today and you had a small training session for the first few hours of your shift, but it wasn’t all that hard. Drive around, serve drinks, get tipped. As you were riding around on your little golf cart you noticed none other than Rafe Cameron flagging you down.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you refrained from immediately rolling your eyes at him and forcing a smile onto your face as you climbed out of your cart.

“I’ll just get a beer, thanks.” he pointed to his beer of choice and watched as you poured the beverage slowly into the plastic cup. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“That’s because I just started.” you stated pointedly, handing Rafe the drink and giving him a small smile. “Can i get you anything else?”

“Do you know how to golf?” Rafe was speaking before he could stop himself and you were taken aback by his question, let alone his politeness towards you. You’d never actually come in contact with the boy in front of you, but you’d heard horror stories from JJ surrounding the summer before. You shook your head no, not moving back to your cart just yet curious to where this was heading. “Do you wanna give it a shot? I can teach you.”

You knew you shouldn’t, JJ would scold you up and down for it, after previously warning you Rafe was an often golfer and that you’d probably see him quite a bit, but this wasn’t the Rafe you were expecting. Not after JJ’s multiple stories of Rafe beating him and the other pogues up and constantly giving them a hard time. However, you couldn’t stop yourself from agreeing to Rafe’s offer. Moving closer to him and grabbing the club from him you did exactly what you’d seen in the movies: knees spread, club down, aimed at the small golf ball and raising your arms back only for them to swing the club right into the dirt.

“Damn, you weren’t lying.” Rafe chuckled, taking a spot behind you making sure it was okay that he helped you first. Rafe was a good 6 inches taller than you, but when he came up you could still feel his breath hitting your ear causing your heart to beat out of your chest and goosebumps to erupt all over. He wrapped his arms around yours, placing his hands over yours adjusting your grip on the club. “Ready? One...two...three.”

“Oh- oh my god! I did it! Well you did it, but I did it!” you turned around in Rafe’s grasp jumping up excitedly after watching the ball move this time. Before Rafe could react, realization hit you that you were at work and not making a very good first impression. “I have to go, I'm sorry.”

You ran back towards your golf cart, jumping in and driving off checking in on the other golfers. Rafe had a big smile on his face watching the cute new girl drive off. He felt a sense of home building in his chest after your small interaction and he wasn’t sure what was going on. No girl had ever affected him the way you did and he didn’t even know your name. Yet.

“Dude, what’s got you blushing?” Topper asked, joining him on the course and snapping Rafe out of his thoughts about you.

“Have you seen the new cart girl?”

“Yea she’s cute but she’s a pogue.” Topper stated and Rafe looked at him skeptically not wanting to believe the words. Rafe was almost positive he’d never seen you around before and definitely not with the other pogues. Granted, the way everything happened last summer he never saw the pogues anymore, choosing the high road and turning himself into a better man so he could eventually leave Figure 8 on his own.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/N!” you turned around hearing JJ calling your name. You just entered the cut after having to walk home from your first shift at the country club. “I’ve been texting you for hours.”

“Oh sorry JJ, my shitty phone died.” you shrugged letting JJ catch up with you before continuing your walk home.

“How was your first day?” you knew JJ would ask, but you hadn’t quite figured out what you were planning on telling him. Do you bring up your weird but pleasant interaction with Rafe?

“It was good! It was a pretty slow day, perfect for learning.” JJ hummed in response, looking at you quizzically not fully believing you didn’t have anything more to say. You decided to keep it short, not looking forward to JJ mocking your newfound connection with his enemy. You felt bad enough about it without having him breathing down your neck. JJ walked you home, the two of you making small talk for the rest of the short distance to your house.

“Charge your phone, how else will I annoy you?” you rolled eyes, laughing at what JJ said, pushing on his chest.

“Goodbye JJ, Y/N has things to do.” your aunt spoke, catching you off guard as you were saying bye to JJ outside your house. JJ gave you a sympathetic look before walking off, never wanting to leave you alone with them. “Y/N, I’m going out of town tomorrow. I’ll be leaving you this list to work on while I'm gone. I expect everything to be finished. You will go to work, come home and work some more. Zero play time and in the house everyday by 6 pm, missy.”

“Okay but there’s this one event the country club is having and it’s a night shift for me.” you followed your aunt around the small house, hoping she would let you out of the house for Midsummers knowing the tips would be great.

“Well that’s not going to work, now is it?” she huffed, shoving the 7 page list into your hands and storming off, her heels clicking with every step. “One page for everyday, don’t miss anything.”

The next day your aunt left just like she planned to, her twin daughters staying behind to ‘keep an eye on you’ but really, they were just going to annoy you the whole time. The only thing you could really look forward to anymore was going to work and hoping the customers were nicer than your cousins.

“Y/N, we’re coming with you today!” the twins spoke at the same time with fake chipper voices.

“Great.” you deadpanned, turning away from them and making your way towards their shared car and climbing in the back seat. The drive was short and they talked the whole way there so you practically jumped out before the car stopped moving noticing your arrival. You were feeling giddy to be at work today secretly hoping you would see a certain kook boy again. You didn’t know much about him, only the awful things JJ had spoken about him briefly but didn’t see that side of him only enticing you to know more.

After a few hours driving around the course serving drinks to mostly middle aged white men you finally noticed Rafe with a few of his friends. You wanted to talk to him again, but having his friends around made you unsure about the situation so you decided to play it cool.

“Did you guys want drinks?” you stopped on the path behind them before getting off the cart and making your way to them.

“Rafe, is this your cute cart girl from yesterday?” Topper laughed, hitting Rafe’s back pushing him towards you and you noticed a blushing Rafe shoot a quick glare in his direction.

“Hey, how’s your second day going?” Rafe moved closer to you and the cart hoping to get out of ear shot from Topper and Kelce.

“It’s been good, lots of older men come around here I’ve noticed.” you laughed handing Rafe the same drink as yesterday since you remembered the specific beer he wanted. “It makes for good tips though so I can't complain.”

“Yea these guys might be old but they’re rich as fuck.” Rafe sipped his beer, smiling at you and apologizing for his friends being stupid behind him. “Hey so I never got your name-”

“Hey Y/N!” you turned, hearing your name being called and saw JJ running towards you. You mentally cursed because of course this was the one time he would ever step foot on the course to look for you. Rafe looked at you confused even though Topper previously told him you were technically a pogue yourself. “Y/N, your cousins are inside and they’re driving me crazy. I needed a break. What’s going on here?”

“Oh JJ, I’m sorry about them, they insisted on being here for my whole shift.” you ignored JJ’s last question, putting all the attention on your cousins, hoping it would deflect from you and Rafe chatting.

“You okay?” JJ asked in a hushed tone, glaring at Rafe and you laughed nodding your head yes. “Okay I guess I’ll go back inside then. Be careful.”

“So your name’s Y/N?” Rafe stood back a few feet while you had your short conversation with JJ and returned to your side once JJ started walking away. “I’m assuming since you know Maybank that you already know who I am.”

“Well I know of you, but if we keep meeting like this maybe i’ll be able to find out more.” you were feeling brave all of a sudden, hoping putting yourself out there would get your somewhere with Rafe. Everything felt natural with him, and you didn’t want to let that feeling escape you by ruining it.

“Why don’t you give me your number and then it won’t have to be exclusive to only here?” Rafe smirked, pulling his phone out and placing it in your hands. You laughed, typing your phone number in quickly and returning it back to him.

“I should really get back to work, Rafe but I’ll see you around yea?” you climbed back into your golf cart as Rafe smiled and waved bye to you.

The next few days passed and you hadn’t seen Rafe at the club, but you had been texting quite a bit. Just in a few days of talking you felt like you were already learning so much about him and his life. He told you everything from who his friends are to how overbearing and controlling his father was. He explained that he went to college at Chapel Hill for a year before dropping out and his father never forgave him. You shared your deepest feelings with him about your parents deaths and how your aunt and cousins were Satan's children. You told him you couldn’t wait to get out of Outer Banks and go off to college at the end of the summer. He understood you and you meshed together so well just after a few days.

i haven’t told my dad, but after getting my shit together this past year i started applying to schools. my first choice is princeton.

princeton?! rafe, no way! that’s where i’m hoping to go.

You couldn’t deny the fast connection you felt with rafe, everything in your body was telling you that you belonged together. Rafe told you he was looking forward to seeing you at the Midsummers event tonight, but you had to break the devastating news that there was no way you could go.

curfew is 6 pm cameron, get with it😂

jesus, i’m sorry i didn’t know you were 7

You laughed at the text on your phone when a tapping noise on your window startled you. You dragged yourself out of bed to see JJ standing on the ground below you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” you whispered after opening the window and sticking your head out.

“I'm coming up!” JJ whispered back, scaling the side of your house next to your bedroom window. Lucky for him there was a small rock wall giving him the perfect entrance. “I'm breaking you out, you’re coming to Midsummers.”

“JJ, I can't! They’ll kill me if I leave!” JJ gave you a look as if to say ‘stop being a baby.’ It only took a few more seconds of convincing from JJ for you to agree. He successfully helped you out your window and down the rock wall without your cousins noticing you had left for the night. JJ borrowed John B's van and left it parked a few houses down so the twins wouldn’t be suspicious.

“Thanks for this, JJ. You’re the best.” you smiled wide, feeling free for the first time in a while. It was nice getting out of the house while it was dark out.

“As much as I want to take credit, I can’t. This was Rafe’s idea.” you looked at JJ with wide eyes, completely caught off guard.

“What?!” you all but screamed, not sure why JJ would ever talk to Rafe about you. Especially since you hadn’t even told JJ that you and Rafe were talking almost constantly.

“I’ll try to forgive you for not mentioning your budding relationship, but yea. Rafe came to me and apologized for everything last summer and although I don’t forgive him. He does talk pretty highly about you and I can't deny that.” JJ explained and you couldn’t have been more proud to call him your best friend in these moments.

Once you arrived, JJ snuck you in the back and you couldn’t help but take a peek out and notice Rafe standing by the bar dressed in a navy colored suit with his dad who looked like he was scolding him for something. He looked good, really good. JJ pulled you into the locker room handing you a uniform with a white shirt and a black vest to put over it and informing you that you were on drink serving duty. You made your rounds looking over at Rafe every so often wanting nothing more than to approach him. You noticed Rafe's dad pulling him away from the crowd with a yank to his collar and watching as he stood in front of him yelling and pointing a finger in his face. Your feet were moving before your brain could process it and before you knew it you were in front of the two.

“Hi, can I get you guys anything to drink?” you put the sweetest smile on your face, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that you were trying to distract Rafe’s dad. Ward cleared his throat before looking at you and ordering a whiskey on the rocks with a fake smile on his face. Rafe took the opportunity to make a break for it while you wrote down his fathers drink, exactly what you hoped would happen. After returning to Ward with his drink you went looking for Rafe only to find him back inside the club.

“Oh look who it is, my savior.” Rafe teased, watching you approach him before pulling out a chair for you to sit next to him. “Thanks for that by the way, you didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did, I understand family issues all too well, Cameron.” you laughed, taking the seat beside him.

“I’m surprised to see you here, so much for that curfew huh?” Rafe smirked, eyeing you from across the table.

“Funny enough, JJ came up with this super smart plan to sneak me out. Usually he’s not that on top of it, but I guess something changed.” you joked and reached for Rafe’s hand across the table. “Thank you for talking to him, you have no idea how much it means to me.”

“I know it sounds weird, but I think I would do anything for you.” Rafe blushed, squeezing your hand in his and putting his head down to hide the pink tint on his cheeks. You pulled your hand from his and reached up to lift his face to look at your before moving in closer to him. Your lips brushed his softly before he pulled you closer by your waist and your lips molded to each other and you melted into your first kiss with Rafe.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt but Y/N your aunts outside.” you pulled away from Rafe hearing JJ’s voice and you couldn’t believe what you heard. You looked between the boys with a horrified expression on your face and walked passed JJ outside to where your aunt and cousins were standing and causing a scene.

“Where the hell is she?!” you frowned, running up to them, hoping you could get her to leave without losing your job.

“There you are! You ungrateful piece of trash! How dare you sneak out with this scum of a boy!?” with each word your ugly aunt used her finger to push on her chest and you felt the anger bubbling up inside of you.

“Don’t touch me! And don’t talk about him like that. I’m 18 now, you can’t tell me what to do anymore!” you pushed her hand away, yelling back in her face with JJ and Rafe watching you from a few feet away, everyone else at the party enjoying the show.

“I sure as hell can if you’re living under MY roof!” you could hear your cousins laughing from behind her and that only fueled more anger in you.

“Don’t worry about me, because I'm moving out.” you finally had it, you couldn’t take dealing with her for another second longer. Unbeknownst to you, Rafe and JJ were sharing knowing looks at each other as the scene unfolded in front of them.

“And where do you think you’re gonna go?”

“With us!” JJ spoke up, and you felt him take a place at your side with Rafe following his actions on your other side.

“Good luck with that. They’ll be tired of you soon enough, don’t come crawling back.” your aunt scoffed, rolling her eyes at the two boys and retreating back to her SUV, “Girls! Here! Now!”

You felt tears start to roll down your cheeks and you laughed feeling both the boys wrap their arms around you. “Everything’s gonna be okay now, y/n.”

“Jeez, I don’t know what to say. Thank you guys for being here.” The rest of the party goers were clapping at you standing up for yourself and finally being free of her even though they didn’t know you or your situation.

“You don’t have to thank us, Y/N.” Rafe smiled as you pulled him into a tight hug feeling safe as his arms wrapped around you.

••epilogue••

Summer was officially over and you were sad to be moving on, but you could easily say this was the best summer of your entire life. After the screaming match with your aunt you moved in with JJ and John B and yes it was tough adjusting to living with boys but it was amazing. You were finally getting close with the other pogues Rafe’s sister Sarah and you just wish you hadn’t waited 4 years for it to happen.

Rafe did some digging with a private investigator and found a savings account in your name for your full college tuition that your aunt had been hiding from you. Everything was falling into place for you and speaking of Rafe: you guys were officially dating and going two months strong. You felt the happiest you ever had in your entire life and he was partly to thank for that.

You wound up going to Princeton together and lived happily ever after. At least for now. Hey, you’re only a freshman.

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

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron blurbs #rafe cameron x reader

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thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

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👉👈 hey so I rlly love your characterisation of sniper and I was wondering if you could write about something from his childhood? Thank you!

sniper as a kid is like hilarious to me because i think he really was some sweet and clever little shy dorky kid who always like stole and wore his dad’s hat and then one day one of his like classmates from high school asks his mum like “hey so what does he do these days” assuming it’s just a ton of weed and she goes “oh he kills people”

(warnings for passing implications of bullying)

The gaggle of children stood in a three-person semi-circle, staring up into the tree. Up, high above their heads, crushed helplessly into the branches and leaves, was a large, faded blue ball, quite firmly planted in place. Silence reigned, all of them looking at the rubber ball, sat resolutely much higher than any seven-year-old could feasibly reach, even with a particularly big stick.

“Nice one, Bruce,” murmured one little girl, and was elbowed.

“Well what are we going to do now?” another girl demanded, hands on her hips, glaring around at the other two of them from under her hat. “We can’t play without a ball.”

“Um,” the boy said, squinting up into the tree. “We should get it down.”

“We can’t just get it down, Bruce,” the girl said, deeply exasperated in a distinctly seven-year-old manner.

“We can’t just leave it there, Millie,” Bruce said right back.

“Well how are we going to get it down?” Millie demanded. “We haven’t got a ladder. And Katie’s parents aren’t home yet.”

“We could wait until tomorrow when we come to school,” Katie suggested, and both Bruce and Millie groaned. “It’d only be until tomorrow!”

“I’m not waiting until tomorrow!” Bruce declared. “We can get it down.”

“How?” Katie asked.

“I can get it down.”

All three children turned to look, and two frowned the moment they saw the boy standing there.

“Oh, ‘llo, Mickey,” greeted the third, Katie, waving at him.

“Hullo,” he greeted back quietly, hands still firmly tucked into his pockets, chin still firmly tucked down into the collar of his too-big vest, eyes tucked away under the brim of his hat.

“What are you gonna do?” Bruce challenged.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Millie echoed. “You can’t reach that high either!”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, drew a hand from his pockets just long enough to itch at the back his his neck, to tug on his hat, to push up his glasses. “Thought I could try to help, at least,” he mumbled. “I really can get it down if you’d like.”

“As if!” Millie said, voice tinted high in disbelief.

“I can do it myself!” Bruce announced with much more confidence than he had before. He rolled his shoulders, took three big steps towards the tree, and grabbed on with both hands. “Look, watch this!”

All the other children watched as Bruce, with absolute conviction, started pulling and shoving at the tree.

After a long few moments of watching the spectacle, Millie spoke up. “What exactly are you doing?” she asked politely.

“Shaking the ball down!” Bruce announced, and got right back to it. And in his defense, the tree did sway the smallest amount, but it wasn’t nearly enough to shake the ball free.

“Bruce, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Katie chimed in gently.

“I’ve almost got it!” Bruce insisted, entirely incorrectly.

“I’ll help!” Millie announced, and hurried over to the opposite side of the tree, also straining to push and pull and shove and tug on the tree, and it did help significantly, the entire tree starting to shake and sway. Still, it was entirely obvious that it wasn’t going to do anything anytime soon, the ball staying largely unshifted from within the branches.

“Maybe we should let Mickey help,” Katie tried, and got a glare from the other two children, who then promptly ignored her.

The tree shook more violently. The ball remained unmoved. Katie grew more worried. The tree shook more violently. The ball remained unmoved. Katie grew more worried.  The tree shook more violently. One of the branches, having had enough, fell loose and hit Bruce directly on the top of the head.

“Ow!” Bruce hollered, stumbling back and whipping his head in every direction, trying to find the culprit, eyes finally landing on Mickey then falling narrow and angry. “What’d you do that for?!”

“It fell out of the tree,” Katie protested.

“Can I try now?” Mickey mumbled.

“No,” Millie said, entirely firm. “We don’t need your help anyways!”

“Yeah, what are you going to do, hit it with your stupid rocks?” Bruce taunted. “With your stupid slingshot?”

“I don’t have my slingshot,” Mickey murmured. “I’m not supposed to bring it to school anymore. The teacher said it’s not allowed.”

“Doesn’t even have a slingshot anymore!” Millie laughed. “What are you going to do now, then?”

Mickey scratched the back of his neck, tugged on his hat, nudged up his glasses. “Just throw them, I s’pose,” he shrugged.

“We’ll tell on you for throwing rocks at us!” Bruce threatened.

“Then I’ll tell on you for chasing me around and trying to hit me,” Mickey snapped. Bruce and Millie recoiled. He shoved his hands down deep into his pockets again. “I’m just trying to help get your ball down.”

“You think you could hit it down, tattletail?” Millie asked, incredulous.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Because you couldn’t hit it!” she scoffed next.

Mickey paused for a moment before he bent to pick up a pebble. He rolled it in his palm for a minute before taking it between his thumb and forefinger, rearing back, and throwing it.

All eyes turned up into the tree. The pebble tonk’d harmlessly against the ball in the tree and landed down by Bruce’s feet.

“You didn’t even hit it down!” Bruce exclaimed.

“I wasn’t saying I could hit it d—“

“That was a little pebble! That’s stupid!” Bruce declared, and looked around, moving over to a rock embedded in the ground and starting to haul it out of the dirt. “You need a big rock like this one!”

“That’s not going to work,” Mickey said.

“Thanks for trying, Mick,” Katie assured quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to knock it down, I was just going to—“

“Watch this!” Bruce declared, managing to heft the rock into his arms despite it being visibly difficult. “This is how you knock a ball out of a tree!”

“Show him, Bruce!” Millie agreed, just as confident.

“You’re just going to hurt yourself,” Mickey said, a little more firmly now.

“Am not!” Bruce said, and reared back, swung forward, swung back once more, and used the momentum to launch the rock as hard as he could muster.

It thunked against the trunk of the tree hard before flopping back down the two feet to the ground, shaking the thing profusely. Another branch tumbled down, landing soundly on the top of his head.

“Ow!” Bruce yelped, and turned to glare at him again, angry. “That one had to be you!”

“Branch, again,” Katie replied.

“I’m just going to get the ball down,” Mickey said, a little annoyed.

“Don’t you dare!” Millie said, and turned to the other two. “Right. So we need a rock big enough to knock it down, but small enough to throw.”

“Maybe we don’t throw any more rocks,” Katie said. “Maybe we wait for my mum to get home and I can go get a ladder.”

“That will take ages!” Bruce complained. “I don’t want to wait that long!”

“We can play other games. We can jump rope, maybe—“

“You two never let me jump!” Bruce whined. “I never get a turn!”

“Yes you do, but you’re awful at it,” Millie replied. “But if you’re going to complain, then no jumping rope.”

“I just want to get the ball down!” Bruce said.

“Well we can’t, so we have to either wait or do something else,” Millie said. “Want to run a race?”

“I hate running races,” Katie huffed. “You two never want to race me.”

“You’re a really good referee! And you’re really really slow!” Bruce replied.

“Maybe we should just go home,” Millie said, arms crossed again. “Since we can’t do anything fun if you two are just going to whine.”

“Oi.”

All three looked up towards the source of the voice, and Bruce squawked in indignation as a rubber ball beaned him right in the forehead.

“That time, it was me,” Mickey said from his place up in the tree.

“How’d you get up there?” Katie asked, eyes wide.

“Climbed.”

“But how?” she insisted.

“Branches, mostly. Anyways. There’s your ball,” Mickey said, swinging his legs slightly.

“Oh, you—!” Bruce grumbled, trying to throw the ball back at Mickey. Mickey just followed the ball’s path with the turn of his head as it instead hit a branch a good two meters away and fell back down.

“Climbing trees again, didn’t your dad already tell you off for that?” Millie taunted.

“Here I thought you didn’t like tattletails,” Mickey said right back.

“Maybe we should call you Koala Mundy,” Bruce teased, picking the ball back up again, face red. “Sitting up in trees. Having those dumb pointy teeth.”

“Koalas don’t have pointy teeth. They’re herbivores,” Mickey pointed out. “And I like koalas, besides.”

“Well, maybe we should just leave you stuck up there!” Millie said.

“I can get down just fine,” he shrugged, nudged up his glasses.

“Well—well, we don’t need you anyways!” she said, and turned on heel and stomped off and away. Bruce made a vaguely affirmative noise, following after. “And you don’t get to play with us just because you got down our ball!”

“Awright,” he mumbled, watching them leave.

“Thanks for getting the ball down! Bye, Mickey!” Katie was kind enough to call before hurrying back away.

“Bye, Katie.” A pause. “Oh! Katie!”

“Yeah?” she asked, turning back around to look at him.

“Er. My mum said to tell your mum. One of the herding dogs had her puppies. Wanted to know if you were all still looking for more. They’re koolies. Er. They’re... they’re really good dogs and we can’t keep them all and my mum said your mum is really nice so to ask her before we just sell them.”

“Okay! Thanks Mickey!” she called, and waved again, and hurried off.

“Okay. Bye,” he mumbled, and looked towards the ground below to start figuring out how exactly he was meant to get back down again.

#shut up me #tf2 #team fortress 2 #everybody talks #my fanfiction #que?#we stan a tiny king

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Text

More HCs about Mac being a big brother

(yes I was supposed to get more than 4 hours of sleep last night no I was not up half the time thinking about this)

- while he’s sceptical about Maya as a baby, he definitely goes full big-brother-obsessed when she gets to the toddling stage and he deems himself The Protector and they basically don’t need to find anyone to babysit because he’s always watching her

- likewise there comes a time when Maya wants to be with him at all times and do what he’s doing and know what’s going on and Mac? Where Mac? Wha’ doin’ Mac?

- she’s right at that phase when he starts reading little, easy short story books (Amy is so proud) and so he lets her climb into his lap with the book in front of them like Jake does with both of them during story time, and he tells her about the short stories he’s already finished reading (because reading out loud to others is still a bit difficult). Amy cries only a little bit when she sees them snuggled up on the book nook armchair like that

- when she starts her first year at Mac’s elementary school, Jake makes him promise that he’ll look out for her a little bit, but Mac’s afraid his classmates will make fun of him when they see him constantly play with a ‘stupid first grader’ (kids are mean yo) so he vows to pretend like he doesn’t know her instead. But then he sees her alone in a corner during first recess, scared like hell now that mom+dad are not there anymore, and he goes over and holds her hand and shows her all the cool corners of the playground and brings her over to her classroom when recess is over

- Amy picks them up after school’s afternoon playtime (is that a thing in the US? Basically we’d stay for 1-2 hours after school like another round of recess if parents had to work longer) while Jake waits in the car because of the shit parking situation. Maya’s once perfect little braid is a knotted mess and her knees are scraped up and her skirt is covered in dust, Mac’s jeans and elbows don’t look much better, but they’re holding hands again and Amy hugs a squealing Maya when she asks if she had a good first day at school. They both beam at her with that smile she used to only know from their dad.

- he teases Maya and bothers her all the time, big brother stylez, but he picks his first actual fight at school when he hears that second grade Maya is being bullied by some boy from his grade. The school calls Jake + Amy because he actually has a black eye and the other kid has lost two baby teeth. He does not get punished for it at all by them once he explains. (They all go for fancy ice cream instead instead of the smoothie popsicles they usually are allowed)

- when Maya gets her first loose tooth, Mac convinces her that once the first one falls out all the others will follow really quick and she’ll have no teeth for a few months and will have to eat nothing but mashed potatoes and jello. Amy finds her trying to tape her wiggling tooth up somehow and it ends up pulling it out when she tries to remove the sticky tape and Maya is unconsolable until she finally explains through the sobs. Amy scolds Mac of course but Jake will definitely laugh about the prank when she tells him later that night.

- Mac convinces Maya of many things that are equally funny and troublesome. If you let the TV on too late at night, the people in the shows get super-tired and cranky like daddy sometimes gets in the morning if there’s no coffee so Maya waddles into the room long after bedtime and scolds Jake + Amy for watching their recorded shows. Kiwis actually come from little fluffy birds and all other round-ish fruits also come from different birds and Maya refuses to eat any fruit for weeks. If you run up the stairs at grandma’s house fast enough time actually goes backwards and you go back down and Maya faceplants and loses another baby tooth.

- During a summer sleepover at the grandpas’ house, they get to sleep outside! in a tent!! as a special treat (inside the fenced off garden, within direct view of Holt’s bedroom window, with Cheddar with them as a guard dog). Mac obviously wants to tell Maya spooky stories as you’re supposed to do during camping and as a big brother, but then Cheddar does one little bark at some bird and Maya shrieks and practically jumps over onto Mac’s sleeping mat and he cuddles her as the little spoon instead until they both fall asleep.

- they make a joint birthday gift for Jake during arts&crafts time at the library after-school program. It’s a multipurpose pen holder / mug / vase / decorative piece of art. Basically it’s a cup with dry pasta glued on, covered in paint and green glitter (turtle green, Mac explains). The pasta is supposed to spell Best Dad and if he squints hard enough Jake can almost read it. He promises to put it on his desk and actually clears off some of his clutter for it so it gets a prime spot.

- but before that, he puts it on his nightstand so he won’t forget it in the morning. It’s only minutes after they kissed goodnight and the light next to the cup has been turned off that Amy hears sniffling and reaches over to cup his cheek. He’s not crying, but he’s pretty damn close. “I can’t believe I almost missed out on all this.” He whispers and her heart aches. “I want to go back in time and punch myself in the face for thinking I don’t want kids.” “Don’t go back to punch yourself. Go back and explain what great things you’d miss out on. Like the fact that a dollar-store mug with glittery noodles on it will be the best birthday gift ever.” Amy whispers back as she strokes his cheek and he laughs, because she always knows how to make him laugh, and god he loves her and how she makes him feel better about himself and his role as the world’s Best Dad.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #baby mac #baby maya #headcanons

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

Cherry Cola Sundays.

Harringrove April, Day Twelve : Soda.

For @cherrydreamer , who inspires me always.

Dawn should be covered in bubble wrap, just. Head to toe and back up again. Protective layers securing each pigtail and both perpetually skinned knees until they feel comfortable letting her out of the house.

As a precaution, you know, an insurance policy. Billy laughs at him, like, “Kids get hurt sometimes, baby.”

And Steve scowls, because. He doesn’t understand that.

The way Billy, who was put on his mother’s back in a baby bjorn and rowed out to surf the first wave as soon as he learned to walk, can sit there and fucking.

Say that.

“Not our kid.” Steve hates the way his voice quivers. Weak and pathetic, like some sort of wet nurse losing control as time goes on. “One skinned knee and they’ll come take her from us, Bill, I cant--”

Billy slides in behind him, kissing up the back of Steve’s neck and petting the hair out of his face, like. He always does when it gets difficult to breathe.

“I won’t let them do that,”

Steve snorts around the sob in his chest. “You’re dying to teach the kid to cut a wave, I see the way your eyes light up when she grips the edge of the coffee table.”

Billy considers it, mouth scrunching up on one side, like, “There aren’t any waves to surf in Hawkins, but if there were--”

“We don’t do that kind of shit in the Midwest.”

“What? Have fun?”

“No.” Steve turns in the circle of Billy’s arms, sighing. “We have fun without wheels attached to our feet. Y’know; hop scotch and jump rope until the appropriate age and then we stop. Move on to other sports like football and cheerleading.”

Billy studies his face. “You’d let Dawn--”

“No. No, I. Wouldn’t.” Steve says gently. But. “I have a feeling we aren’t gonna let that girl do anything, she’ll just--”

“Do it.” Billy agrees. “Yeah.”

So Steve tries not to hover.

Tries not to hold his breath every time Dawn encounters something new and stressful; slip ‘n slides, bounce castles, hop scotch, t-ball, and eventually.

The shit Billy’s into.

Dangerous, exciting, horrifying shit that makes Steve reconsider the whole bubble wrap situation.

Like skating. Dawn strapped to Billy’s chest just like his mother before him, the first time she sees Billy break out the longboard for their trip to the park with Max.

Steve will never forget the look on her face.

Eyes wide and glassy. Tiny, quivering chin obviously worried that Billy would hurt himself so he asks, “Wanna ride with me, little mama? Keep me safe?”

And Steve makes a noise.

A concerned, fatherly, responsible noise that’s completely drowned out an vetoed when Billy adds, “Keep each other safe,” and Dawn climbs on the board in front of him, tiny smile turning into thrilled giggles as he maneuvers around cracks in the pavement.

Steve follows close behind, arms ready to catch precious cargo when Dawn yells, “Go faster Daddy!”

And Steve has to jog to keep up, practically dry heaving as Max skates lazily down the road beside him.

The idea of roller hockey surfaces two weeks before Dawn’s sixth birthday and four days after grandma and grandpa Hop sent a pair of lady bug skates in the mail.

“You know what would be cool,” Billy says distantly, head bent over the newest vase from their fall collection, “Is if we learned roller hockey and had Dawn’s birthday bash at the rink.” He looks up, left cheek covered in paint and a stupid, honey sweet smile on his face, like, “Wouldn’t that be cool, dad?”

Dawn begs.

And begs, begbegbegs when Billy wipes his hands on Steve’s apron. Hugging him around the neck and suggesting they all get a pair of roller skates and practice in the park together, dressed as different insects, maybe. Dawn as the lady bug, Billy as the butterfly and Steve as the sunflower they land on.

Billy kisses him slow and sweet. “And maybe, if Dawn gets really good, she could try out for real in the fall--”

Steve feels like the bad guy when his answer is no.

Billy frowns, pulling away. “No to the rink party or no to the--”

No.

Just flat out. Simple. Steve turns into the villain with his parade of:

No, you might get hurt.

No, you don’t even know how to skate.

No, I’d feel better if you learned to play the flute, baby--

Watching as Billy looks like a kicked puppy dog and Dawn’s cheeks turn bright red. She screams at him for the first time that day. Insists that she’s not a baby, she’s a big girl, and Steve is a big fat poopy-scoopy-butt head.

Her bedroom door slams shut, walls vibrating as if the Earth were splitting in two. Steve and Dawn's worlds cracking together and apart.

Steve’s answer is still no.

No. Everyday for the next week and a half, when Billy brings it up in bed that night and Dawn gifts him the last cherry cola.

Steve won’t be bribed. He sticks by his guns, all the solid, sure-fire reasons that come across his lips in the mirror every morning.

No, Bills. She isn’t old enough.

No, Dawn. You’re a big girl but you aren’t ready yet.

And eventually, when Steve’s husband and daughter join forces like some sort of nightmare dream team:

No. Daddy’s not ready to see you grow up.

Max is the determining factor.

“I play roller derby,” She says. “Let me teach the brat to skate.”

Steve opens his mouth.

Billy beats him to it. “No.” He mimics bitterly. “Steve is 100% against our child having any of the fun we had as kids. Any of the adventure.”

“She can have adventure, Bills.” Steve ignores Max’s eyes on them as the argue over the patio table. “She can do all sorts of fun, normal, decent shit that keeps her safe--”

“Fuck safe. Max. This guy won’t let her do anything.” Billy leans forward with a cigarette pinched between his teeth. Listing things on his fingers. “No skating, no gymnastics, no climbing up big rocks at the park without a helmet--”

Steve scoffs, like, “I just don’t want our kid to have scrambled eggs for brains--”

“Martha and Neil practically set me loose when I was half the size Dawn is, and I turned out fine.” Billy says, tapping his noggin, like.

See. No cracks.

Steve scowls, turning to face his sister in law. “Do you see what I--”

Max is laughing.

Shoulders bouncing, face buried in hands, laughing at the two of them. Steve opens his mouth to demand, like, what’s so fucking funny when Billy beats him to it. Again.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Not me. You guys.”

“Us?” Billy and Steve demand, because. This isn’t a them problem, this is. Like. A world problem. A difference in parenting styles. Something to be expected.

But Max just nods, like, “Yeah. It’s funny because she’s going to do it anyway, I just think it’s better that she knows how to do it properly to avoid getting hurt.”

And Steve.

Thinks maybe Billy paid Max to say that. Thinks they conspired on the phone every night, coming up with the perfect plan. The most fool proof argument that will have Steve sighing. Shaking his head. Scrubbing at his face and saying;

“Alright.”

Billy sits up like someone electrocuted him. “Alright? We win?”

“You win.” Steve admits glumly.

He isn’t ready for the armful of muscle he gets when Billy throws himself into Steve’s lap, smooching his eyelids and throat, like, “I knew you weren’t such a goddamn stick in the mud, Harrington!”

Steve nods stiffy. “Yeah, yeah, but look. I have conditions.”

Billy pulls himself together.

Steve looks into those sparkling blue eyes and holds out a single, solitary finger. “Any time she gets hurt, you owe me a cherry cola.”

He gets a whole case of them after that just to save time.

#harringrove #harringrove april #day twelve #soda #yes it's more dawn #no i do not take criticism #this one's for cherry #who sent me a cute little video of a six year old absolutely shredding at her local skate park #I just love writing dawn #sorry #lmao

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Promises Not Kept Part 20

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 20: The Shelbys return to Arrow House and Tommy arranges for a proper wedding but not before he pays someone a visit and brings home a surprise.

Charlie was elated to be back at Arrow House. He leaped out of the car and dashed across the lawn. “Mumma!” He beckoned Leah, pointing at the stables. The entire drive back he’d chattered nonstop about seeing the horses again. Listing them all off one by one by name. Reminding Leah which one was which. Although Toffee and Honey were the exact same color, Toffee had a white blaze and Honey had three white socks.

Leah smiled; I was so nice to see the little boy able to run about. She didn’t have to worry if he was outside. He could roam the large space as long as she had him in eyesight.

Tommy opened the passenger side door for her and helped her out. “Glad he’ll be able to tire himself out.”

She hummed in agreement. “I suppose we should walk with him to the stables though. He’ll never stop pestering us.” She began to walk but his fingers slipped from hers.

“There’s one last thing I need to do.” The fall in her face was unmistakable. Things were supposed to be perfect once everything was settled. But there was still one loose end Tommy needed to take care of.

“Tom…”

“I’ll be back later tonight with a bouquet of flowers that’ll be too heavy to carry.” He promised with an endearing look.

Leah pouted but sighed. “Be quick then.”

He kissed her cheek and waited until she was off with Charlie to the stables. Then, he got back in the car and headed for Margate.

~~~~~~~~

Tommy returned just after Leah and Charlie finished dinner. He wasn’t lugging along the purported bouquet. Instead, he was holding his side and leading a massive dog.

Mary was the first to spot him from the window. The man stumbling up to the front steps. The older woman hurried out to help him.

“Is Johnny here?” Tommy wheezed and tossed the dog leash to Mary who looked bewildered.

“He’s in the dining room with your wife and son. Mr. Shelby…”

He waved her off. “Take Cyril inside, he’ll be needing water. Maybe some food as well.”

Mary awkwardly held the lead and looked at the slobbering dog. The beast was huge but seemed very docile despite the circumstances they’d just come from.

Tommy managed to get inside and to the dining room. The room was starting to spin from the pain he’d been in for the long drive back home. He burst through the doors of the dining room where Leah was talking with Johnny; Charlie was sitting on her lap nearly half-asleep.

Leah jumped up when she saw her husband doubled over in pain. Blood was seeping through the fingers that were pressed to his side. The white shirt he’d left in, had been stained deep red. “Tommy!”

“Johnny, I need you to take a bullet out for me.”

“Daddy?” Charlie’s eyes widened and he clung to Leah. Weighing the consequences, she swept the little boy out of the room so he wouldn’t have to see his father bleeding. “Dog!” Charlie’s attention quickly turned when she brought him into the foyer.

Leah jolted to a halt when she saw Mary standing there with a bull mastiff. “What on Earth is going on?” She exclaimed by the maid seemed just as dumbfounded as she was.

Charlie squirmed out of Leah’s arms and rushed over to greet the four-legged visitor. “Hi!” Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the dog to give him a great big hug.

Cyril sniffed his blond hair, his tail beginning to wag happily. After he lost his owner, the little boy’s affection was a welcome one.

“Mary, please watch him,” Leah said before turning back into the dining room.

Tommy’s blood-stained shirt was on the floor and Johnny had pulled out a blade.

“Leah, wouldya bring that vodka over?” Johnny asked.

Shaking, she grabbed the bottle of clear liquid and handed it to him. “Tommy, what happened? Who did this?”

Her husband had gone pale and was sweating from the pain and blood loss. He simply shook his head.

“Gonna hafta hold him down, this won’t be pretty,” Johnny informed Leah. “Take a drink, Tom.”

Tommy took a swig from the bottle. Then Johnny doused the bullet wound and his blade with the rest of the vodka.

Leah got behind Tommy and wrapped her arms around his upper body. His sweat soaking into the thin sleeves of her silk blouse. She pressed her cheek to his temple. “I’ve got you. It’ll be alright.”

Tommy tensed up when he felt the tip of Johnny’s blade start to work at the bullet lodged in his skin. He jerked against Leah’s arms and pinched his eyes shut.

“Sh, sh…” His wife hushed as steadily as she could. She tightened her grip around him, doing her best to hold him back as he fought against her.

“Easy, Tom, nearly got it out.”

Tommy let out a loud shout of pain and he struggled in Leah’s arms. “Fuck!”

“Breathe.” Leah kissed his cheek and tried to keep his attention away from the pain.

“There ya go.” Johnny dropped the blood-covered bullet onto the pristine tablecloth. “Keep that on it, put pressure on it. I’ll find some proper bandages.” He handed Leah a cloth napkin to press on the wound.

She held the napkin in place and came around to face Tommy. “It’s over.” She grabbed another napkin to dab the sweat off his face.

His chest heaved as the pain slowly diminished. He tilted his head back and he blindly reached out for Leah. His hand met her cheek, thumb smoothing over her skin.

“What happened, Tommy?” She whispered.

“I killed Alfie.” He responded with brutal honesty. “He shot me to get me to pull the trigger.”

“Why would he do that?” The notion sounded outrageous to Leah.

Tommy opened his eyes and lifted his head. The feeling of water sloshing around in his brain made him dizzy again. “He wanted to die. Knew it was all over, said he had cancer. Wanted to die on his own terms.”

It sent a shiver down Leah’s spine and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She swallowed and briefly checked the bullet wound. “And the dog?”

“He was Alfie’s, he wanted me to take him when he died. His name is Cyril. I couldn’t leave him.”

“Is this over now?”

His eyes slid closed again. “Yeah, love. We’ll get married and I’ll take a break. Told Polly I would.”

“Good.”

Tommy’s hand fell from her cheek and he let out a heavy exhale. “Need to rest.” He needed to rest before he walked into the House of Commons.

~~~~~~~~~

Cyril was loyal to a strong presence. Before his death, it had been Alfie. But once the bullmastiff adjusted to living at Arrow House, it was Tommy. Cyril loved Charlie, adored trotting after the little boy as he romped about the manicured lawns. He also liked Leah who called him handsome and gave him tummy rubs.

But at the end of the day, Cyril listened to Tommy. Always came when he called, sat at his feet when he sat down, curled up on the floor on Tommy’s side of the bed every night. Tucked his tail between his legs in shame when Tommy scolded him. Not that the man could be mad at him for more than a few seconds. Cyril’s sad eyes and droopy face were too difficult to stay mad at.

So on Tommy’s wedding day, Cyril followed the man around, as he got ready. Pushing aside the other Shelbys to get the closest to his owner.

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the large dog. “Tell me why you kept it?”

“He’s a good companion for Charlie,” Tommy replied, concentrating on fixing his bowtie.

Of course, that was an afterthought on the beach. What sealed the deal was when Tommy gathered the strength to sit up. The mastiff was sitting over Alfie’s body as it bled out. The dog’s harmless eyes met his and Tommy’s gut wrenched. He tried standing and was going to turn to leave without the mastiff.

But he couldn’t get more than a few shuffling steps across the sand he’d stained red. So he stopped and turned around. “C’mon, then.” He’d called.

But Cyril didn’t move. He sniffed at Alfie again, nosing at his shoulder.

“C’mon Cyril.”

He didn’t budge.

“He’s gone, come along.” Tommy winced in pain as he patted his thigh and whistled, trying everything to get the dog to follow. Eventually, after calling several times and feeling like an idiot, he crossed the gap between him and Alfie and gathered Cyril’s leash. Pulling it from Alfie’s limp hand. “He wanted me to take you. You’ll be alright.”

“Sorta…goofy ain’t he?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at the comically large dog.

Indeed, he was goofy. Didn’t seem to acknowledge his own size. Despite it never working, Cyril tried to climb up on Tommy’s desk chair while he was working in his office. There was absolutely no way a dog of his size would fit but it didn’t seem to bother him as he smushed his way into Tommy’s lap before the man shook him away.

Leah said he was a living vacuum cleaner, always able to find the tiniest of crumbs on the floor. He crawled his way under the tablecloth and rested his chin in Charlie’s lap, his eyes begging for scraps of food. Even after inhaling his own dinner, the dog seemed to always have room for more.

Tommy especially loved when he found Cyril curled up with Charlie in bed. The two listening to Leah tell them a story. The mastiff waited, along with Leah, until the little boy fell asleep. Then, Cyril carefully jumped off Charlie’s bed and followed Leah to bed.

He was goofy, but he was a member of the family.

“Well, how’d you feel then?” Arthur smiled and clapped his brother on the back. “Walking down the aisle, again?”

Tommy hinted a smile and nodded. “A long time coming.”

“Well, rumor is the bride looks a picture.” Arthur passed him a flask. Tommy took a quick drink. “Now let’s get you to the church.”

~~~~~~~~

Since Charlie was older than he was when Grace and Tommy got married, he was able to be at the wedding. In fact, he was given the task of being the ring bearer. All dressed up in a little suit and practicing walking down the aisle with his aunts and uncles before the big day arrived. Leah encouraged it because Charlie was a big part of the arrangement. She was marrying Tommy but they were formally creating a family. And although Charlie wasn’t her blood, she had left behind the worries she once had. Never would she disparage Grace’s memory. But Charlie was her son now and would be until her dying days. Nothing would ever change that.

While they waited for the bride, Charlie clung to Tommy’s leg. He looked up at his father with innocent eyes.

“Mumma’s coming now?” He asked for the third time.

Tommy smiled and ruffled his hair. “She’s on her way.” There wasn’t any doubt that Leah would show up. Perhaps that was his ego being overconfident, or maybe it was simply the trust they’d built up.

“She’s gonna look pretty. That’s what Auntie Ada said.” Charlie pressed his cheek to Tommy’s leg.

“She always looks pretty.” But Tommy couldn’t help the stunned look on his face when the doors to the church opened and Leah walked out. Tradition be damned, Polly was escorting the bride down the aisle.

Leah was draped in a delicate blush dress, a thin veil of the same color concealing her face. She held a bouquet of roses and baby’s breath. She linked arms with Polly, tilting her head slightly to say something. Tommy’s aunt simply smiled in response.

Charlie shyly peered up at Leah as Tommy took her hand from Polly.

Tommy had to steady his heart as he gingerly lifted the veil from her face. Her blonde hair was curled to perfection and she wore a glow that couldn’t possibly be created by makeup. The two smiled at each other, almost in disbelief that they’d made it to the altar.

“Mumma,” Charlie whispered. “You look pretty.”

Leah crouched down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, poppet.”

Tommy couldn’t keep his eyes off his bride even as Jeremiah began the ceremony.

~~~~~~~~~

The reception was in full swing and Arrow House was lit up like a Christmas Tree. The inside and outside were flooded with people all dancing, drinking, and laughing. Two bands kept the party going and most of the Blinders were already drunk enough to start up some sport. Johnny had already received permission to start up bets on a race.

Unlike his last wedding, there wasn’t much for Tommy to worry about. No Russians trying to ruin the evening. There was no one that needed to die. Everything was running smoothly.

It was around ten when Charlie began to sulk and grimace crankily at everyone. Crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his lower lip out. So Leah scooped him up to bring him upstairs to bed.

“Wanna stay up!” He whined.

“It’s well past your bedtime, poppet.” She murmured softly. “Besides, it’s a boring grown-up party.”

Cyril padded behind them, his ears perking up at every sound that traveled up the stairs from the party.

Charlie scrunched up his face. “No…”

“Yes, it’s no fun. I wish I could go to bed.” She teased and kissed his cheek. “I’m awfully tired.”

That prompted a yawn from the child who hadn’t realized how tired he was. “Okay.” He ceded, too exhausted to argue.

Leah got him dressed in pajamas and tucked into bed. She didn’t need to read him any stories or sing a lullaby because he was out cold by the time his head hit the pillow. She instructed Cyril to stay there and shut the door behind her to vainly try to block out any noise of the reveling downstairs. Hopefully, Charlie would be tired enough to sleep through the rowdiness.

As she stepped into the hall, she found Tommy was smoking by one of the large windows. “Ada said you brought him up to bed.”

“He was exhausted, took only a second to fall asleep.” She smiled and gathered the skirt of her dress in her hand to walk over to him. “Why’re you up here?”

“Needed some time away with my wife.”

“Is that so?” Mischief glinted in his blue eyes and he jerked his head towards the bedroom door. Not saying anything else but speaking with his eyes. “We’ve guests downstairs.” She reminded him but was already gravitating towards him.

“I have a reputation for disappearing during parties. They’ll understand.”

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thewarriorandtheking · 3 years

Text

The Night Ride

This is the first Warrior and The King piece that I wrote, their first meeting on the road to Rivendell. I remember writing it almost in one sitting, I could see the whole thing so clearly in my head. It later became Chapter 2 of The Warrior and The King.

Find the rest of the story here

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

During the night the rain stopped and a warm sun dried the party as they ate a hurried breakfast and packed up their camp. The warg howls they had heard the previous night were on all their minds, but the day passed without incident. At midday Gandalf turned off the road onto a wide path that followed beside a swift running stream and the way started to climb into the foothills of the mountains. As the sun began to dip into the west the path opened up into a kind of grassy meadow, ringed round one side with fir trees and the other with tall, sharp rocks. To Gandalf’s eye it looked an ideal campsite, and it had seen use by other travelers as the presence of an old fire ring attested. The mountains marched upwards behind them and they could see the path they had travelled for some distance, nothing could come that way without being seen. Thorin called a halt for the night and the Dwarves busied themselves setting up camp.

Fili was setting the picket line for the ponies with his brother when he looked up and saw a rider on the path coming towards them. A large, black horse followed by a big, rangy dog, he could see the rays of the setting sun glint off the rider’s golden hair. “There’s a horse coming this way!” He cried to the others. “An Elf, maybe.”

“Not an Elf, I think.” Gandalf said thoughtfully as he came up between Kili and his brother. “But certainly welcome company!” He stepped forward as the rider drew her horse up, smiling under his bushy beard. “Kaylea Wolf, you are a sight for sore eyes!”

They could all see now the rider was a woman. She smiled at the wizard as she surveyed him and his companions. “I have found you in odd company before, Gandalf the Grey. But none quite so strange as this.”

The woman who rode into their camp was a striking figure indeed. Thorin thought her the fairest woman he had ever seen. Though not an Elf she had the grace of that people, but there was a hardness to her the Fair Folk lacked. As if the beauty of Luthien Tinuviel herself had been poured over a core of thrice-forged steel. She had the appearance of a fell fighter and was armed with many weapons – sword, bow and knives, all bearing the signs of much use and expert care. Her close-fitting black garments of leather and heavy cloth would not have looked out of place worn by a man but were obviously made for her, tailored in a style he had not seen before. Her hair, shining like polished gold in the evening light was gathered in a tight braid down her back. She rode a tall, clean-limbed horse black as midnight. What Fili had taken to be a dog was actually a large black wolf not much smaller than a warg, wearing a wide collar. The wolf had stopped at the edge of the clearing, waiting and watching the company with evident interest. Both rider and horse bore the signs of long travel. Kaylea looked over the company, her glance returning several times to Thorin. He and the other Dwarves were staring at her curiously, her appearance was so unusual they were all taken aback. Thorin was the first of them to move next to her horse beside the wizard. He felt his heart leap when his eyes met those of this warrior woman, like he was connected to her somehow, although he had never met her. Thorin felt it must be just because he thought her so beautiful but it felt deeper, her eyes seemed to look right into his heart.

“This is the company of Thorin Oakenshield”, Gandalf was saying. He indicated Thorin, who inclined his head as Kaylea’s grey-blue eyes returned to meet his.”Kaylea Wolf is a great warrior from a far country across the sea. She has ridden to Middle Earth’s aid before and is well known to the Rangers of the North. You would do us a great honor if you will travel with us, my lady.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Kaylea answered. “I have hurried to catch you to say there is an orc pack on your trail, from the look of it they have been following you for several days.”

“We heard warg howls last night,” Thorin replied gravely. “How many and how far back are they?”

“A little less than a league, my lord. There are more than two score, unless I miss my guess. They have been keeping their distance, for some reason of their own. I expect they will wait until full dark before they come closer.”

Gandalf looked back down the path, then at the ring of stones behind the camp. “We are four days from Rivendell and any help, we must make a stand here. But this is a good place to mount a defense.”

Kaylea nodded, also appraising the campsite. “It would be hard to pick a better sight. But I was thinking I might thin out the pack a bit for you. I can easily get behind the pack and pick off a few.” She looked down at the wizard with a crooked smile.

“If you are hunting orcs, I’m coming with you,” said Thorin, he turned back to reach for his pony’s bridle. The other Dwarves also moved to toward their ponies, not wanting to be left behind if there was going to be a fight.

“Another sword would be welcome, my lord. But to catch warg-mounted orcs we must ride at great speed, ponies will not be able to keep up.”

Thorin quickly turned around, astonished. Kaylea had addressed him in perfect Khuzdul. He saw her holding a hand out to him, a foot loosed from the stirrup. Thorin did not hesitate, he took her hand, stepping up on her booted foot. She easily pulled him up behind her and reined her horse around.

“Hang on tight, my lord. We have a hard ride ahead of us,” she clicked her tongue and the big horse shot forward into the evening light, the wolf followed running into the trees. In seconds they had disappeared down the way they had come.

Gandalf chuckled, leaning on his staff. “Now I have now officially seen everything! Thorin Oakenshield on the back of a horse, who would have thought!”

“I’ll wager any one of us would give his right arm to be sitting where Thorin is right now,” said Dwalin, shaking his head. “I certainly wish I had spoken first!” The other Dwarves all muttered in agreement.

“I do not think being the first one to speak had anything to do with it”, said Gandalf with a twinkle in his eye. “Now, we have several hours before this orc pack gets here, if those two leave any alive. I think we could all do with a little cold supper and then we can prepare our defense.”

For Thorin’s part he was wondering if he was going to live through the ride to do any fighting. Kaylea’s horse set a tremendous pace and seemed to be part mountain goat. They soon turned off the path, the big horse jumping boulders and scaling steep climbs as easily as if they were flat ground. Dwarves are not enthusiastic riders and the ground seemed very far away. But even though the terrain was difficult the horse’s gait was very smooth, his footfalls eerily quiet. They passed through the forest almost like a shadow. Thorin held on to Kaylea tightly and despite his fear of falling found himself becoming very conscious of her body under her clothes, the smell of her hair. Closing his eyes he could smell sage and pine and something like cinnamon, on her clothes the smell of the desert, sun on hot sand.

“How is it that you speak my language?” He asked, opening his eyes again. He kept his voice low, hoping some conversation would distract his mind.

“I speak all the languages of Middle Earth, my lord” Kaylea replied, ducking to avoid a low-hanging branch. The trees had grown thicker as they travelled up the slopes, her horse was alternately trotting and cantering. “As the wizard said, I have travelled here often. But how does Thorin son of Thrain come to be on the road with such an odd assortment of companions?”

Thorin scowled. “You have me at a disadvantage, my lady! You seem to know me but I know nothing of you!” Kaylea chuckled at his anger, but she did tell him a bit about herself as they rode into the night.

She came from a country far across the sea called Dorsai, she said. The lord she served had once lived in Middle Earth and still had a great fondness for the land. He kept a watchful eye on it and upon receiving word that evil was once again abroad, he had sent Kaylea to investigate. She explained that since she knew Middle Earth and its people well, she often got these sorts of assignments.

Kaylea stopped speaking and began to look closely at the ground. Thorin was about to ask about the nature of this evil, but she held up a hand. They were on a well-worn game trail now that wound its way between the trees, as they approached a stream crossing she reined in her horse. Although the light was nearly gone Thorin could see a large number of warg tracks on the muddy banks. “The pack is close before us now,” Kaylea said quietly. ”We must go forward on foot.”

Kaylea reached back and Thorin took her arm. She swung him down, he stepped again on her boot and then somewhat awkwardly to the ground. He shook his head, feeling if he could practice that a few more times he would be able to do it smoothly and not feel so foolish. Now that they stood side by side Thorin could see how tall she really was, his head reached just above her shoulder. Thorin did not find it intimidating, if anything it just made him more curious. The black wolf appeared out of the underbrush and looked meaningfully at Kaylea. Thorin had the impression some kind of silent conversation was going on.

After a moment the wolf turned away and disappeared into the woods again. Kaylea pulled her hood over her golden hair and followed him. “Quiet, my lord,” she whispered. “Step where I step.” Thorin fell in behind her, moving as quietly as he could. Dwarves see very well in the dark, but they are not masters of moving silently like Elves and Hobbits. Kaylea moved more quietly than either, in her black clothing invisible in the growing dark. When Thorin stepped on a branch with a snap she held her finger to her lips and then started to point behind her where he should place his feet, carefully holding branches up so he could pass beneath. Watching her closely and with some practice Thorin started to get the hang of it, placing his feet carefully. They soon heard much growling and harsh voices ahead; it appeared as if the orcs had paused in their hunt.

They moved forward carefully and came to a place where they could see a clearing in the woods, illuminated by a pale moon. The orc pack had killed an elk and the wargs were engaged in a fight for the remains. The orcs were standing around the edges of the clearing, cheering on the wargs amid much laughter. There were several orcs sitting close by on rocks with their backs to Thorin and Kaylea. Kaylea pointed to the orc closest to her and then to herself, she drew a long knife from her boot. She pointed at Thorin and then to the next orc, Thorin took her meaning and nodded, then drew his own blade. Together they each grabbed an orc, both fell silently with a blade to the neck. Several more orcs were slain in this fashion, then one made a slight sound and one of the wargs looked in their direction. With a growl the animal leaped forward, only to have Kaylea’s big wolf intercept him, closing his jaws on the warg’s throat. The two rolled into the middle of the clearing, the wolf rose over his slain enemy to engage the next warg that launched itself at him. Kaylea drew her sword and vaulted over the boulders into the fray, Thorin right behind her. In the ensuing fight Thorin had a few moments to observe Kaylea’s skill. She moved impossibly fast and never seemed to waste a single movement; every sword stroke hit its mark, every move settling up the next. Although he had not felt any mail when they were riding together the swords and arrows of the orcs could not penetrate her garments. Thorin had a close call when the warg mount of an orc he had just slain managed to deflect his sword and knock him backwards to the ground. The warg lunged forward to grab him but Kaylea was suddenly there. In one smooth movement she wrapped an arm up around the warg’s head and, with a savage twist, spun the animal away from her. Thorin saw the creature’s feet come off the ground, heard its neck crack, the beast fell to the ground and lay still. Seemingly always in motion, Kaylea pivoted towards him and, almost in the same instant a knife left her hand, piercing the neck of the orc behind him.

“Mind your surroundings, my lord!” She offered him a hand up then stepped to free her sword from the body of a fallen warg. Together they turned to face the next attackers and moments later it was over, the Dwarf king, the tall warrior woman and her black wolf stood in the hollow surrounded by their dead opponents,

“Looks like a good part of the raiding party,” Kaylea said, looking around. She flicked the blood off her sword and sheathed it, moved among the dead retrieving her knives and arrows. Thorin found his attention drawn to the wolf, he had thought during the fight it somehow looked different, now he could see it was wearing a thin kind of armor that covered its body and the top of its head. As he watched, the armor retracted itself swiftly into the collar the animal was wearing. Thorin blinked, not at all sure what he was seeing. Some kind of enchanted armor? Meanwhile the wolf looked pointedly at Kaylea for a moment then loped into the woods. Kaylea gave a low whistle, a moment later her horse trotted out of the trees. “Let us see if we can find the rest of them.”

Kaylea swung up on her horse, pulling Thorin up behind. They took off after the wolf at a swift canter. They had not gone far when Thorin saw movement off to one side, he tapped Kaylea’s shoulder and pointed. Just at that moment Kaylea’s wolf shot out of the underbrush, right under the nose of her horse, two warg-mounted orcs followed at speed. Thorin loosed his bow and turned, kneeling on the back of the saddle. Kaylea notched an arrow in her bow as well, shooting left handed to not interfere with Thorin’s shot. Both orcs and wargs fell dead. Thorin drew a breath and suddenly realized he had braced his body against Kaylea’s back and was still leaning against her.

“Pardon me,” he muttered, a bit flustered. It would have been fine if he was leaning on Dwalin, or some other member of his company he had been fighting with for years but it seemed overly familiar when it was a beautiful woman he had just met.

Kaylea however seemed unconcerned. “No offence taken, my lord” she said with a smile. “Not if you are going to shoot that well.” She let him down and jumped down herself to retrieve her arrows.

And so it continued through the night. At times the wolf would draw the wargs and their riders close, some they surprised and engaged with swords on the ground. They were on and off her big horse so many times Kaylea could pull Thorin up behind her without breaking stride. For Thorin it was a very different way of hunting orcs, in the past he had always engaged them directly with a large force, to pick them off a few at a time by stealth was new to him. As the night wore on he also found himself thinking he and Kaylea fought as if they had been companions for years instead of hours. Each seemed to know instinctively where the other was going to turn and which attacker to engage. While he very much enjoyed fighting with her, Thorin did wonder where this familiarity came from. They had just dispatched two wargs and their riders, Thorin was pulling his sword out of a wargs neck when he felt Kaylea”s hand on his arm.

“You are wounded,” she said, indicating a long gash above his elbow that was dripping blood. Thorin shook his head.

“It is nothing,” he said, and in fact he had hardly noticed the wound. But Kaylea would have none of it, her grip was like iron.

“Orc blades are often poisoned,” she said, not letting go of his arm. “Please let me take a look at it, my lord.”

While Thorin removed his bracer and rolled up his sleeve she retrieved a soft case from one of her saddlebags and opened it, removing a slim black cylinder. She pressed the side of the instrument, a tiny bright light shone out which she used to inspect Thorin’s arm. She had knelt on a rock to get closer to his wound, her head below Thorin’s for once. The cut was deep, but the edges were clean, no sign of blackening from a poisoned blade. The touch of her hands on his bare arm stirred Thorin’s blood, already up from the fighting. Looking at her in the moonlight he thought again he had never seen a woman more beautiful. His eyes wandered to the laces of her tunic, loosened by the fighting, revealing the curve of her breast. He wanted to draw her to him and kiss her but instead forced himself to look away, reminding himself he had just watched her kill a warg with her bare hands. Thorin was used to getting what he wanted, but felt this was not a conquest that would be easily won. Kaylea meanwhile took a vial from her case and spread some kind of ointment on his wound, she then quickly bound it with soft cloth. “You are lucky, my lord. The cut is clean and will soon heal,” her eyes came up to meet his and she smiled warmly. “I will not have the famous Thorin Oakenshield dying on my watch.”

Thorin nodded and smiled back at her. “Thank you, my lady,” there was more he wished to say but held his tongue. Kaylea whistled for her horse and they continued the hunt.

It was past midnight and when they came upon a spot where the orc pack had split in two, a number headed down the mountain and back, the rest continuing ahead. Kaylea set Thorin down and dismounted to inspect the tracks carefully. Thorin looked them over but he was not much of a tracker so he could make little of them. He looked around at the slope they were standing on, the trees were much thinner here and the hills were covered with broken rocks amid the new grass. The slope looked flat but concealed many rises and sudden ravines.

“Some have broken off, no doubt to double back and attack your company,” she told Thorin. “Do we pursue them, or those that continue along this trail?”

“Let us follow the trail, my lady,” he replied with a smile. “Those that have headed back will get a fine welcome from my companions.”

In the first light before dawn Kaylea’s horse came out of the trees into a wide meadow that spanned a whole hillside. They could see a half dozen wargs, some with riders at the far side of the meadow running for their lives, they went over the next crest and disappeared. When her horse reached the spot Kaylea could see the the hill fell away sharply to a river below. From this overlook the heads of several swimming wargs and their riders could be seen in the water far below, some very close to a bend in the river that would take them from view. Kaylea uttered a word that was surely a curse in her native language, swiftly she set Thorin down and swung off her horse. She reached into the long scabbard that lay under her saddle and drew forth a strange weapon the like of which Thorin had never seen. It had a stock at one end that Kaylea fitted to her shoulder, some kind of trigger and a sort of sighting device mounted on top. Made of some dark metal Thorin did not recognize, flat-sided and deadly looking. Kaylea looked down the weapon at their now distant quarry in the river. Thorin heard a soft sighing sound and another, he looked at the swimming orcs and saw them disappear into the water, one after another. When he looked back at Kaylea she was holding the weapon straight up braced against her hip, shaking her head.

“I think some of them may have gone around that bend,” she said. “I do not think I got them all.” She turned and slid the weapon back into its scabbard. “I will be ill luck if any get back to their masters to set another hunt on us.”

“What is that?” Thorin asked, pointing at the scabbard. “What manner of weapon could hit an enemy at that distance?”

Kaylea favored him with a wide smile. “You did not see that, my lord” she said, and would say nothing further on the matter leaving Thorin to ponder the mystery. “The night is almost gone, and I believe that is the Bruinen. We have a bit of riding to do to get back to your company.”

Thorin peppered Kaylea with questions as they retraced their steps back to where the company was camped. He was feeling quite comfortable on her big horse now and was enjoying being so close to her and having a proper conversation in his native tongue. He kept his hands on her hips though he sometimes had to shift his grip to hold tight when her horse jumped a stream or downed tree. When he leaned against her he found the smell of her intoxicating, he kept looking at her exposed neck from her ear down to her collar. He fought the impulse to kiss her there and, if she had been a Dwarven woman he would have done it, but found he could not read this strange woman at all. He pondered the strong connection he felt with her, but could not be sure she felt it as well or would allow him to act on it.

Kaylea told him a bit about her country. It seemed they were a nation of warriors, and as Dwarves earned their living through their craft, her folk earned it fighting in the wars of others. She had trained her whole life in the arts of war and was a commander for her lord in her own land. For his part, Thorin told Kaylea about his quest to reclaim his homeland.

“So, you are off to slay a dragon,” Kaylea shook her head. “That is a very great task indeed! But why are these orcs pursuing you, my lord? They were a large party, some bore the mark of Gundabad. This was not a random few who came on your trail by chance.”

Thorin shook his head. “I do not know, my lady. In the past I have fought many of their kind, but I have not done anything lately to attract their attention.”

As they were speaking they came in sight of Thorin’s company. It appeared some of the raiders had found their quarry after all, dead orcs and wargs lay on either side of the path. Dwalin, Oin and Gloin were busy dragging the bodies into a pile to burn them. Some of the ponies had bolted during the attack and Fili and Kili were off looking for them. The Dwarves stopped in their work as Kaylea and Thorin rode up, eager to hear news of how they had passed the night. Gandalf and Bilbo were first to greet them as Kaylea set Thorin down and swung off her horse.

“We slew many of the pack and pursued them through the night to the Bruinen,” Kaylea told the wizard. “Still, I fear a few escaped us. We saw where these orcs turned back to attack you, but Thorin said his company could handle them.”

Gandalf nodded. “Yes, they came upon us here just past midnight. We were able to fight them off, I think our resistance rather surprised them. But you have had a long night’s ride, I expect you will be wanting some breakfast.”

“Thank you, but not right away,” Kaylea replied. “I must tend to my horse first, and wash up.” With that she turned and led her horse away around the rocks towards the stream.

Thorin looked at himself then and realized he was covered in black blood, mud and tree sap and felt he must look quite the sight. “A wash seems a good idea,” he said. He turned to make his way to the stream, careful to head in the opposite direction from the way Kaylea had gone. Most of the other Dwarves followed him, eager to hear his account of the events of the night but when they saw him wade into the stream they all felt it was time for a wash and joined him.

#fanfiction #thewarriorandtheking #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin fanfic #thorin x oc #the hobbit #middle earth #tolkien fanfic #true love

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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Practice Round: The Fundamentals of Celestial Proceedings and Infernal Pursuits

It’s here! The prologue for my pretentiously titled Arrangement fic has been posted to AO3! (Just in time for the 30th anniversary!)

This fic is the beginning of my submission for @itsthearoway‘s The Aro Way Challenge 2020. Prompt: Aziraphale and Crowley’s milestones in history. What could be a bigger milestone than the Arrangement itself?

Our angel and demon have been tentatively working together for about a century, but the time has come to put it to the test: can they each do the other’s job? They’ll have to teach each other what to do first!

Read the fic on AO3 - Prologue text below. (Next chapter will be posted early in the week. I’m going to try one more time to get the footnote links working.)

Prologue: An Agreement on Mutually Beneficial Education

“Crowley, no. I don’t know how many times - it’s absolutely absurd, that’s what it is. I won’t hear of it!”

“Come on, Angel.” Crowley lounged along one of the benches in the great hall. It was the middle of the night, and Lord Robert and all his household and servants were asleep. Normally, his guest would be asleep as well, enjoying the luxury of fine linen sheets and downy feather pillows, but tonight there was business to attend to. “Do you really want to spend the next year going back and forth across the continent? Two days to do your blessing, then on to the next? Sounds like a lot of bother to me.”

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale ran her hands down the simple wool kirtle, undecorated hem just brushing the tops of her tan leather boots. “Bother it may be, but you can’t seriously expect - it’s impossible, Crowley.”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s impossible.” Crowley lay out the soft vellum on which he’d roughly sketched a map of the continent. “Look at this. You’re expected to do a blessing in Bayeux in October, then over to Genoa by Christmas, back to Orléans in six weeks – that’s winter travel, Aziraphale – over to Naples, then Vienna, then Florence – all that in, what, ten months? Does Gabriel even know what travel is like these days?”

Aziraphale sighed, adjusting the white wimple around her head. “I doubt he’s traveled mundane roads since the height of Rome. Someone Upstairs mentioned that we’ve been a little lax on the continent lately, and he’s trying to make up for lost time, I think. Regardless, it can be done, with luck, if the weather holds…”

“If it holds all year. For both of us, because I’ll be going the opposite direction. Rome, Poitiers, Vienna, Reims, Brindisi, Paris.” He tapped out the locations on the map and sighed, scratching at his chin. It was bare, despite the current fashion for beards. His first attempt had been an utter failure, but maybe it was time to try again. “You could always go by ship. That’s three crossings of the Mediterranean, four if you want to come back after. Of course,” he flashed a grin in the lamp-lit darkness, “that has its own troubles. How are the pirates this year?”

Aziraphale crossed her arms and stubbornly turned away. “We agreed never to speak of that again.”

“I’m not speaking of it! I’m just saying…history repeats itself. And that I think you would make a brilliant pirate queen.”

“It wasn’t by choice!” Aziraphale jumped to her feet, undyed skirt swirling as she began to pace. “My ship was attacked, one thing led to another…” She turned back with a wretched expression, hands twisting together. “I really was trying to return all those stolen goods, only the Venetian Navy didn’t want to listen…”

“You’re just lucky I showed up when I did.” Crowley tossed his shoulder-length hair and leaned back, lounging against the long feasting table as the angel paced again. “What did your superiors think of your new hobby?”

“Oh…fine. You were right if you must know.” She slumped onto the bench in defeat. “They never found out. Michael did have me reprimanded for being four months late on my schedule, but no one really inquired about the details.”

“It’s like I always say,” Crowley reached for another mug of mead, black silk of his loose sleeve gliding across the rough wood of the table. “They don’t care what we get up to, as long as the job gets done. You could probably perform all your blessings right here and just tell Gabriel you went to Vienna. I bet he’d believe you.”

“That is certainly taking it too far. Does your laziness know no bounds?” Aziraphale’s hand brushed across the table, fingers grasping for the last scraps of venison from their midnight meal.

“It’s not laziness, it’s…practicality.” Crowley rolled the last fig across the table to Aziraphale and took another drink from his mug. “We could go to all that effort, traversing the continent, joining up with trade caravans, fighting pirates, back and forth, again and again. Or.” He held up the coin, silver glittering in the darkness. Aziraphale’s eyes held it, unmoving. “One of us takes the kingdom of the Franks, one of us takes the Italian Peninsula. We call Vienna a wash. Five jobs each, all within a few hundred miles of each other. It’ll never be a more even split.”

If anything, Aziraphale went paler. “No, Crowley. Out of the question. It’s too much of a risk. Someone will notice.”

“Just like those nuns you’re staying with noticed you sneaking out for a quick reresupper [1] at the lord’s hall?”

She jumped to her feet with a scowl and another swirl of skirts. “I never should have come. The Abbess will see I’m missing, and –”

“And what? Report on you to God? I don’t think she has the connections.” But already Aziraphale was retreating, all but running for the door. Crowley resisted the urge to follow – it would only make things worse. “Come on! We get all the assignments taken care of on time, claim we ran into each other in Vienna and cancelled each other out – we’ve done that before. What are you afraid of?”

Aziraphale hovered in the doorway, one foot nearly out of the hall. “I. I can’t do a demonic curse! I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You didn’t know how to run a pirate ship, but you managed that just fine.” She just frowned, colder than ever. “It’s not really that difficult,” Crowley finished his mug and set it back on the table. “Just like a blessing, only in reverse. And maybe laugh maniacally when you do it, but that part’s optional.”

Still no smile. But at least she hadn’t left yet.

Crowley sighed, climbing to his feet. “Look only Brindisi requires an actual curse. I’ll take that one if you want, I’ll even try to nip over to Vienna and do both of those if I have the time. That leaves you two blessings and three temptations in the Frankish cities. Just convince your target to do something a little…chaotic. I’ll give you a list.”

Aziraphale took a few steps back towards the table. Crowley could see the ink stains in her nail beds as her fingers wrung against each other. “But that’s four blessings for you. With public manifestations. You’ll never be able to manage it.”

“How hard can it be?” He surged to his feet, leaping on the table to declaim to the empty hall: “Be not afraid, humble mortals! I bring you tidings of…sunshine! Rainbows! Puppy dogs! May your crops be watered and your skin be cleared.” He shrugged. “Those are the only two blessings I know.”

“No, no, no!” Aziraphale pressed her hands into her eyes. “This would be a disaster! I don’t know why I ever agreed to meet with you.”

“Because you’re sick of convent food. Because I raided the cellars for the top-quality mead.” Crowley sat on the edge of the table, holding out a fresh mug. “But mostly because you know I’m right! Our sides won’t care, as long as they can tick the boxes. And if you try to take care of this on your own, you will be explaining to Michael why it took at least two years to complete one year’s worth of assignments. And that’s assuming there aren’t any…piratical interruptions.”

Aziraphale took the mug and settled down on the bench again, looking ready to bolt. “It’s never going to work, Crowley. We’ve been taking enough risks just keeping out of each other’s way.” The mug turned in her hands. “If they find out…we’ll be in for much worse than a reprimand. And they will find out.”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. They were close. He could feel it. “You’re right,” he said. Aziraphale looked up, eyes suspicious in the dark. Crowley never admitted when she was right. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I can learn. Show me how it’s done. You do a proper blessing, I’ll walk you through a temptation, then we swap and see how it goes. Like a practice round.”

“And when it all falls apart?”

“It won’t! You’ll see.” Crowley studied her worried expression. “Fine. If we can’t pull off the switch…” he shrugged. “Then I won’t bring it up again. I’ll admit you’re right and that’ll be the end of it. But I really think we can both do it.”

“Are all demons this optimistic?” But he could see, finally, the first edge of a smile.

“Come on, Aziraphale.” He flashed his cockiest grin. “You know I’m one of a kind.”

She studied her mug with pursed lips. “I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the practice round, but only because it’s the best way to show you how completely ridiculous this idea is.”

“Whatever helps you not-sleep at night, Angel.” Crowley re-filled his mug and raised it in a salute. Aziraphale reluctantly lifted hers in agreement. “You won’t regret this.”

#good omens fan fiction #good omens prime #itsthearoway #good omens 30th anniversary #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #the arrangement #My writing #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #aromantic good omens #aroace fic #fem aziraphale #crowley doing temptations #new fic #my wip #ao3 link

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Sanctuary - Chapter 23

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

Brilliant sunshine streams through the windows, tearing her from a peaceful and much needed sleep. Despite the years of living like a nomad while travelling from job to job, the past five of being a wife and mother content in her own home have spoiled her; it had been extremely difficult falling asleep in a strange bed. Even with the that warm and solid body beside her, the familiarity of his smell, the smoothness of his skin, the sound of his breathing. The mattress was foreign, feeling strange and uncomfortable underneath her, despite the obviously high quality. She missed the way the one at home moved and dipped underneath her; those little grooves long ago made by their bodies, the pop and the squeak of the springs, the clean and refreshing scent that lingered on the fabric. The room had seemed eerily quiet, even with Tyler’s soft snoring and the way he mumbles in his sleep. She is used to the sounds that come with living in an old house tucked away from the rest of civilization; the owls that hooted, the bats that screeched and called to each other, the settling of old pipes, the dog’s tag clinking against his collar as he switches positions at the foot of the bed.

And most of all, the sounds of children; the little voices waking her up in the middle of the night as they climbed into bed between her and Tyler, the baby fussing in the room across the hall, the crying and the complaining when they’ve had nightmares or aren’t feeling well. For five years that’s been her life; tending to the needs of others. Her ‘mommy senses’ far keener than those she’d ever developed on the job. The ability to snap awake at the even the creaking of a loose floorboard or a car speeding by more than a thousand miles away. Perhaps it was the job that had caused her mother instincts to be so sharp; she’d already been used to being on high alert.

Eyes still closed; she blindly reaches for him; fingers coming in contact with cool, empty sheets instead of warm, hard body. Frowning, she pushes herself up onto one elbow, using her other hand to push her hair away from her face and clear sleep from her eyes. The sliding glass door is open several inches; a crisp, refreshing breeze tumbling into the room, the rain from the night before leaving behind cooler temperatures. And she reaches across the bed for the night table on her side of the bed, pulling her cell phone from the charging cord and checking the time.

8:47.

She pushes herself up into a sit; still groggy from lack of sleep, shoulders and back aching from trying to get used to an unfamiliar mattress. And she leans over the side of the bed and reaches for the t-shirt that had been discarded in the early hours of the morning. When the sun had just been peeking over the horizon and Tyler had stirred beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his front against her back, that impressive morning erection pressing against her backside. It was one thing about being away from the kids; you could make as much noise as you wanted, take your time, no worries of interruptions or having to make sure you’re at least partially clothed before falling asleep so you weren’t caught naked and unaware by the little humans that would come bounding into the room the moment they woke.

“Tyler?” she calls into the room, as she shrugs into the t-shirt. Listening for any signs of his whereabouts. Out on the balcony drinking coffee and getting fresh air. Or even getting in a ‘do it yourself, no equipment’ workout. She listens for the shower or any other movement coming from the bathroom; the door slightly open, the sunlight tumbling through the window above the tub and its rays cast across the bedroom floor. “Tyler?” she tries one more time, voice louder, then with a groan climbs off the bed

“Men,” she huffs, she heads for the bathroom. They lay out the ‘don’t go anywhere on your own’ rules but never want to follow them themselves. It is typical of him; protective and almost possessive. To a fault.

She’s just returned to the bedroom area and rummages through her bags for something to wear when she hears it; harsh whispers coming from the hall. She can see the movement of two distinct sets of feet through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, the slight shadows that are cast on the wall as figures move in front of the seam. Her hands freeze on the zipper of the backpack and she strains her ears to listen. One very obvious Irish accent, male. The second voice belongs to a woman; husky in nature, a subtle yet noticeable New York twang that Esme is able to pinpoint as Brooklyn. She’d spent eighteen months in the Big Apple; hopping back and forth between Brooklyn and the Bronx. Successful infiltrations of well known and very powerful families. Old money. Organized crime connections. The mature faces on the drug and weapons smuggling scenes.

She waits for them to knock; watching those shuffling footsteps from underneath the door, unable to make out any of the conversation. The actual words are muddled, their tones too quiet, too rushed. And ever so quietly she opens the zipper on the backpack and snags a pair of yoga shorts, still pulling them on as she makes her way towards the door. Resting a palm against the smooth cool wood, the fingers of her other hand curling around the metal door handle. She feels no anxiety. No panic. Just a quiet, composed calm as she listens to the soft rustling of clothes and the shuffle of footsteps and the whispered conversations. There are many things to take into consideration; someone mistakenly be giving this room number instead of their actual own, thinking perhaps maybe this was where a friend or family member had bedded down but weren’t one hundred percent sure. Hotel workers, maybe. Cleaning or maintenance staff. Porters. Room service clerks.

The conversation now moves away from the room; the voices becoming quieter, footsteps muffled against carpet as they head away from the room. And she counts to thirty before finally opening the door. Cautiously glancing to left and then the right; nothing but unmanned cleanings carts at either end and room service trays full of dirty dishes and cutlery in front of some of the doors. To the right comes the soft rumble of the elevator motor, and as the door opens with a chime, she’s just able to see two figures step out of a doorway across from the lift and hurriedly make their way towards it. Neither of them glancing in her direction as she scurries in her bare feet towards them.

****

“Shit!” she snarls, slapping her palm on the elevator door when it closes, cutting off any contact between herself and the occupants. And she’s suddenly aware that a maid is watching her curiously from several feet away as she hovers over her cart of cleaning supplies. “Did you see who got on the elevator?” she inquires, her tone far more tense than she intends it to be.

“No, miss. I just got out here from cleaning a suite. Why…?”

“Who is staying that room?” she nods towards the door she’d seen the strangers step out from.

“No one. It’s empty.”

“How long has it been empty for?”

“A couple of days now.”

Esme frowns. “Are you sure? Are you a hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, miss. I cleaned it myself. When the guests left.”

“Are you sure you’re not mixing it up with another room? Because I just saw two people come out of there. A man and a woman. They were outside my door. That’s five rooms away from here. I heard them talking. Are you certain there is no one staying in there?”

The frazzled housekeeper nods.

“And you didn’t see anyone got on the elevator? Not even a peek at them?”

“Like I said, I was just in a room cleaning. You can call down to the front desk if you like and inquire about that room, but they’re only going to tell you the same thing I am. There hasn’t been anyone in there for a couple of days now. I’d know. I’m the one that has to tidy up after people.”

Esme gives a polite, albeit curt, thank you and moves towards the room in question. Facing the door, taking as many steps forward as she can until her bare toes touch the wood. There wasn’t enough room for one person to hide in that small of an alcove, never mind two. She tries the handle on a whim, finding the door tightly secure. Then presses her ear to the door and listens for any sign of life.

Nothing.

It’s disheartening. Even maddening. She knows what she heard. What she saw. Yet there’s absolutely no proof that any of it actually happened. There are no faces to connect with the voices. No bodies to place with the footsteps. There’s nothing but two strangers getting on an elevator. And the questions they’d left behind.

She turns to head back to the room, realizing that in her haste to catch whoever had been in the hallway, that she’d inadvertently locked herself out. The key card tucked securely inside of her wallet. Back in the nightstand on her side of the bed. And she’s muttering to herself about when she steps out of the shallow alcove, nearly jumping clear out of her skin when she nearly collides with Tyler’s broad, solid torso.

“Jesus Christ!” she cries, having to fight back to urge to either knee him in the groin or punch him in the throat. A natural instinct when startled by God knows what. Or who knows what. “What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to leave the room alone.”

“So that gives you the right to sneak up on me and nearly make my pee myself? Fuck, Tyler. You could have at least said something, so I didn’t nearly kick you in the nuts. You didn’t have to creep up on me like that.”

He isn’t amused. His brow furrowed and his nostrils flaring as he curls his fingers around her upper arm and pulls her out of the doorway and practically shoves her down the hall; grip on her tightening as he propels her towards their room.

“I don’t have my card,” she reluctantly admits, and he heaves a frustrated sigh and nods down in the direction of the left-hand pocket on his flack jacket. His own hands already occupied, one with the painfully tight hold on her arm, the other with a carry out tray of beverages and a bag of food. “I didn’t think it would lock behind me,” she attempts to reason, as she plucks the card from the jacket and slips it into the slot on the door.

Letting of her arm, he pushes the door open, holding it for her. “Just go,” he orders, voice low and menacing.

She pauses on the threshold, a hand on her hip as she glares up at him. “We are NOT fighting about this.”

He smirks, eyeing her up and down with that utter condemnation that uses for those that especially piss him off. Then nods in the direction of the interior of the room. “Go.”

She arches her eyebrows, as if silently challenging him, but his deep inhale and slow, measured exhale tells her that this is not the time to be testing the limits of either his patience or his temper. Instead she holds her hands up in surrender and stomps past him. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she watched his every move; the way he lets the door slam shut and does up both the deadbolt and the chain, that condescending smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he walks past her, that calm yet utterly unnerving way he unpacks the carry tray and the bag and places the contents on a table near the window. She’s had five and a half years of this, whether it be the silent treatment or abrupt one or two word answers, or outright blow outs. Yet he’s still hard to read sometimes. A master at hiding his true feelings. That expression steadfast.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the room on your own,” his voice is calm. Too calm. Like the eerie stillness right before a storm.

“I only stepped out for a couple of minutes.” It sounds lame, even to her own ears.

“We talked about this. I told you not to anywhere by yourself. You said you wouldn’t.”

“It was only a couple minutes,” she repeats.

“Do you know how much can happen in two minutes?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Tyler. I’m not one of your kids.”

“You listen just as well as they do. Actually, I think they listen better than you do.”

She frowns. “What’s next? I can’t go to the bathroom without you holding my hand?”

That smirk again. “I thought you said you didn’t want to fight about this? Because it sounds like you’re trying to start a fight.”

“I can’t leave the room, yet you can leave the hotel by yourself?” she challenges, and he gives a derisive snort.

“I can handle myself. If something goes wrong, I can take care of it.”

“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like one. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“You mean like you were able to take care of Jason by yourself?” he counters.

“That was five years ago and under totally different circumstances.”

“You stole my gun, stole my car, snuck out of the house and flew to Dhaka. While you were pregnant. You’re right. Totally different circumstances. In fact, they’re even worse than these circumstances. I told you not to go anywhere by yourself. I asked you to listen to me and stay in the room. At all times. Unless I’m with you, you don’t go anywhere. And you said okay. You were fine with that. So what the fuck is the issue? I’m gone for half an hour and you totally go against everything I told you?”

“I was fifty feet away.”

“I don’t give a shit!” he bellows, and she blinks at the vehemence in his voice. “I don’t care if it’s five feet away! I don’t care if it’s the next fucking room! You don’t leave by yourself! You did this shit back in Dhaka and you’re doing it now. I told you back then not to leave my side and you did and you’re still doing this shit now. Why do you have such a hard time listening to what I say?”

“I’m a human being, Tyler. Not a thing. Not some object you own. So…”

“You’re my wife!” he snaps.

“Yes. I am. But that doesn’t make me your possession. You don’t have ownership over me.”

“That is not what this is about. This isn’t about me wanting to own you or having possession of you or whatever weird shit you have in your head. This is about keeping you safe! This is about making sure that at least one of us gets home to our kids! I’d rather it be me that something happens to you than you. I asked you…I told you…not to go anywhere on your own. Not because I think I own you. But because you’re the mother of my children and I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

“Well I don’t want anything happening to you either and you’re out that by yourself.”

“That is not the same thing and you know it.”

“Because you’re the big bad mercenary who can kill people with his bare hands and I’m just some vulnerable little girl that needs you to protect her at all costs.”

“Esme…” he sighs heavily. “…just stop…why are you even arguing with me about this? You know you fucked up. Just own it. I told you not to go anywhere alone and you did. You can try turning it around all you want. You can try and make me look like the bad guy. Which you’ve been doing for five years every time we get into a fight. I’m always the one that’s wrong. The one that’s controlling or possessive or treats you like a little kid.”

“Well you do. Treat me like that.”

It takes all he has not to storm across the room, grab her and shake the shit out of her. Instead he takes his voice down a notch, able to rein in his temper, standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “I am trying to protect you. Do you know what can happen in a couple minutes? How wrong things can go in just a few feet, never mind forty or fifty? Or a hundred? What if someone had have been out there just waiting for you? What if you’ve already been made and someone is just waiting for you to fuck up? What then?”

“I wasn’t thinking about all of that,” she admits. “I…”

“All the rooms you had to walk past to get where you were. What if someone had have just been waiting in one of those doors? Just waiting for you to walk by? You would have ended up just like McMann’s wife and kids. And then what? Then what the fuck would I do? Then I would have to say fuck them and extract my own goddamn wife. Did you even stop to think about that? What the hell would happen to you? What someone would put you through? Especially if it’s someone after me? Do you know the shit they would do to you?”

“I didn’t think of that stuff. I just…”

“They’d torture you. They’d beat you. They’d rape you. And they’d do all kinds of other sick, twisted shit to you. I have seen what these kinds of people do. I’ve seen it firsthand. So don’t ever question why I am the way I am with you. Why I want to protect you like I do. Because I’ve seen what do to women tied to mercenaries. And I’d never forgive myself if it happened to you,” he pushes hair behind her ears, cradles her face in the palms of his hands, then leans down to kiss softly. “Now are we done? Can we stop fighting now?”

“Well it was pretty one sided because you were the one doing the yelling, but…”

“Stop,” he implores, and pecks her lips. “I was just worried. I didn’t mean to freak out. But this is serious shit and I don’t want anything happening to you. Are we still friends?”

“It depends.”

“Yeah?” he grins, and runs a fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “On what?”

“What you brought me for breakfast.”

****

They sit on the balcony to enjoy their feast; bowls of fruit salad, bagels with cream cheese, cups of fresh, piping hot coffee and tea. It’s a beautiful morning; fresh, cool air replacing the stifling humidity that had blanketed the city just the day before, a brilliant blue sky with enormous, stark white low hanging clouds, a steady stream of cars and pedestrians on the streets below. A busy metropolitan area, but a far cry from the dusty crowded streets of Dhaka.

Aside from that short trip to Cuba together -when the twins had been conceived in a bar bathroom- the last time they’d holed up together in a hotel had been five years ago in Dhaka. That run-down flea bag establishment with its rodent and insect problem and its stained walls and foul smell that clung to every inch. Yet despite the state of the place, that was where everything had begun. Where two lonely and broken people had discovered that their tattered and weather halves could be put together to make a slightly tarnished and dented whole.

“Have you ever heard of the Buckman family? Tyler suddenly asks, as they sit side by side in plastic lawn chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, sunglasses on his face, coffee in one hand, her hand clasped tightly in the other. “From New Zealand?”

She’s silent for a moment, her bare feet perched upon the top railing of the balcony. “We’re talking organized crime here, aren’t we.”

He nods.

“I know of them. I’ve never had anything to do with them personally because I only dealt with things in North America. But yeah, I’ve heard of them. Why? How do you even know that name?”

“McMann’s wife is related to them. Her father was the head of it, I guess.”

“Alphonse Buckman? I used to hear all kinds of stories about him from colleagues that had run ins with him and his people. All kinds of crazy shit. We’re talking things like attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, forcible confinement. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. I wouldn’t even have believed half of it had I not actually seen the guy’s rap sheet for myself. Even the people I got close to were afraid of him. Who would have thought of a crime family in New Zealand of all places? His daughter? Really? How did you find all this out?”

“Yaz ran a background check on her. Remember those videos I showed you? Of the wife and the kids?”

She nods. “I remember you thinking it was strange because the kids were in some dumpy place and she looked like she was somewhere just as nice as our hotel room.”

“I have to show you something,” he gives her hand a squeeze and then stands up, grimacing at the pain in his knees, the small of his back aching and stiff as he heads bare foot into the room. Returning a minute later with the file folder in hand. “Someone came to the hotel I was at before. Middle of the night. Gave me these.”

She takes the item offered to her, then pushes her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and opens the folder. “Proof of life pictures?”

“Apparently,” he grabs his chair and places it in front of her, so they’re face to face. “Tell me what’s weird about them.”

“Well at first blush, the kids are obviously the target of whoever has them. They’re the ones that are the main focus of revenge or rage or whatever you want to call it. Whoever is doing this are sick fucks,” she fights to control her emotions; her thoughts immediately going to her own children thousands of miles away. And Tyler reaches out lays a comforting hand on her knee, squeezing gently in an attempt to keep her calm and focused. “They’ve definitely been getting the worst of things. And wherever they are, it’s run down. Brick walls, exposed pipes and electrical. Almost…industrial…like a warehouse or a basement.”

“What about the wife?”

She moves the photos of the children to the bottom of the pile. “The place is clean. Tidy. A couple of stains on the walls and chunks out of the plaster but nothing gross.”

“What else?” he presses.

“She has a few bruises but nothing major. It looks she’s sitting on a wooden chair. Only her ankles are restrained which is weird as hell. I haven’t physically gone into an extraction and seen one for myself, but it doesn’t seem too productive to only restrain someone by the feet. And the kids are in metal chairs. She’s in a wooden one. Looks antique almost. Or a good knock off. Looks like she tried to give herself a hair cut and failed miserably. Like someone tried to hard to make it look like her hair was hacked off. Even Millie did a better job when she tried to cut her own bangs when she was three.”

“And? What does that tell you?”

She holds a photo of the children and one of the mother side by side, chewing pensively on her bottom lip as she studies. “Tyler…this…” she holds up the picture of Heather Buckman. “…is fake. Not the photo itself. That’s very much real. But the situation surrounding it. It’s not real. It’s totally a hoax.”

“You’re sure?”

“This and this…” she holds the photos side by side, facing him. “…do not go together. What the kids are going through…what’s being done to them…that is very real. But Heather Buckman is lying. She is not being held. She’s acting. There is no way that someone…no matter how sick in the head…would do all that to children but barely make a mark on an adult. Adults they can inflict more damage on. Which they want. They want to be able to prolong it.”

“God, I love you,” he declares, and leans over to kiss her.

“I mean, I’m no criminologist but I’ve seen enough in my own time on the job to know when something isn’t on the up and up. And this is as fake as it comes. But why? Why would she do this? To her own kids? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that. I would die for my kids. In a heartbeat. I can’t imagine doing something like this. I can’t…” the emotion becomes to difficult to control and she stuffs the photos back into the folder and hands it to them. “…I don’t want to see these ever again.”

He nods in understanding, then presses a tender kiss to her forehead before tucking the folder underneath his chair.

“So is McMann involved in this too?” she asks. “Are they both in on this? Is this some screwed up way of getting back at you for something?”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with me at all. This isn’t someone looking for revenge. I have zero ties to these people. Or the IRA or the Buckman family. This has nothing to do with me. I’m just the guy that McMann wants help from. I don’t think he’s involved. I think he’s being straight with me. That his wife and his kids were taken, and he needs help getting them back. He has no clue his wife is even involved.”

“Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“Only people that know anything about this are Nik, Yaz, me, and now you. I’m supposed to have a meeting with McMann tomorrow morning to see where everything stands. I’ve got nothing to give him. I can’t get any information out of anyone about the wife and kids.”

“Because you’ve been made.”

He nods. “That’s where you come in.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why would the wife do this?”

“McMann told me that they met when he was going an extraction in New Zealand. That his wife was a shop keeper that would feed him information.”

“Okay…”

“It was a lie. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Her mother…Heather McMann’s mother…kidnapped her to get her away from the old man. Because of how dangerous he was. She was seventeen when it happened. McMann was thirty-three.”

“That alone is fucked up but go on.”

“He didn’t meet her on the job. She was the job. She was his extract.”

“Wait…. wait…” she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “…what?”

“He was working for her old man. To get her back. Only once he got her, he never returned her. He took the money but never brought her back.”

“So he fell in love and hooked up with the person he was supposed to be extracting?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but that makes what happened between us on the job sound totally normal. But why is she doing this to her husband? If he saved her back then…”

“It was a hit. On her old man. Either McMann did it himself or he had some IRA buddies do it.”

“But why?”

“He was taking jobs for the old man and some of his friends, pocketing the money, and never actually getting any of the work done.”

“So he’s pissed off a lot of people. First the IRA for defecting, then the Buckman family and whoever is caught up with them.”

“Yaz thinks the wife found out. That her husband killed her father. And that he’s been cheating on her.”

“Kind of overkill for adultery don’t you think? To stage your own kids’ kidnapping to lure your husband into a trap to kill him? Why not just make things easier on yourself on and just cut his dick off? That’s what I’d do.”

“Wait…what?”

“I’d totally cut your dick off if you ever cheated on me. I wouldn’t even think twice.”

“Not that I ever would cheat, but seriously?”

“You cheat on me and you’re going dickless for the rest of your life, buddy. That’s just the way it is. None of this is making any sense. Or maybe it is and my brain is mush. Maybe my mommy brain is worse than I thought. So what you’re saying is that McMann took for an extraction and instead of actually extracting the girl, he fell in love with her and married. I’ll leave out the part that she was a kid at the time, because…ewwww…”

“You’re right. It does make what happened between us seem sane,” Tyler concludes.

“…he takes the money for that but never gives her back to her father. He starts taking jobs and the money for those jobs but never actually does anything. Pissing off a lot of people, including her old man, in the process. He puts a hit out on his father in law…or does it himself…the wife eventually finds out and mixed in with the knowledge he is screwing around, she goes off the deep end and seeks revenge.”

Tyler frowns. “I feel like I need to write this down. Should I be writing this down? I’m starting to confuse myself.”

“She goes totally Mommy Dearest and uses the kids in the most horrific way possible in order to lure her husband in and kill him?”

“Yeah…that’s pretty much it.”

“Tyler…this is messed up…way beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. Please tell me this is the weirdest shit you’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’ve seen and heard some weird things, but not this level of weird.”

“I feel like I’m eating at the buffet of strange,” she sighs. “So why is the IRA involved in all of this?”

“They’re not. That’s what whoever is doing this wants us to think. They didn’t claim responsibility and they say they had nothing to do with it. Whoever is doing this, wanted us to think that so we’d stir up a whole lot of shit with the IRA and take the heat off of them.”

“You realize what could have happened? Had you just gone in on McMann’s word and tried taking out the IRA? Jesus Christ, Tyler. You would have started a whole bunch of shit for no reason. And you would have not survived that mess. And how did you get those pictures? Someone showed up at the hotel?”

“Some girl. Showed up at my door at in the middle of the night. Claiming she worked for the IRA.”

“And you don’t think she did?”

He shakes his head. “She works for the wife. I’m sure of it. She said that ‘they’ know who I am. They know my name, the things I’ve done, why I’m here. She said they know everything about me. Including about my wife and my kids.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “That’s why you had Nik come to the house with those guards. Because of a threat?”

“I don’t think it’s a legit threat. It’s probably just to scare me off. Get me off their scent. They think I’ll head home and forget all about what’s going on over here.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe we should go home.”

“We can’t. I need your help. I can’t find those kids without you. I don’t care about the wife. I don’t care about McMann. They can kill each other for all I give a shit. It’s about those kids.”

“You’re going to extract them, aren’t you.”

He nods. “I need your help. I can’t find them without you. I need you to find out where they are.”

“And you honestly think I can do that? That I can find my way to these people and make them talk?”

“I don’t think you can. I know you can.”

She gives a small smile and reaches out to push his hair from his eyes. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“If anyone can get the information, it’s you. I need you to do this, Esme. I need you to help me find those kids.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod, and then leans forward to kiss him, a hand on the side of his face. “Where do we start?”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #extraction #extraction fan fiction #sanctuary

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thefahc-motheringvampire · 4 years

Text

Okay so I accidentally deleted it, but @watchthe-queenconquer submitted an ask about Geoff and Jack adopting Gavin so he can’t get deported, in the same vein as my headcanon about them being married. And uh, my hand slipped.

FAHC headcanon: Gavin was adopted by Geoff and Jack.

He cheekily calls them ‘mum’ and ‘dad’, and everyone else thinks he’s joking. Even when he insists he’s being completely serious, can anyone actually take Gavin at his word? Geoff calls him ‘son’, when the mood strikes him, but that’s not really a clear indication of anything.

But that’s how the brit ended up joining the crew. It’s still the early days, “crew” was a nice word, it was more like a group of loose affiliates Geoff and Jack could more or less depend on to not fuck them over. They were moving up in the world, but still had a long climb to the top. At least they had a steady base of operations now (two bedrooms and the landlord accepted cash). But back to Gavin: they had stumbled on him by accident. A job required a hacker to get past a security system, and while they were fretting about what the fuck they were going to do about that, this idiot descended from the heavens and tried to boost Jack’s car.

He was unsuccessful, obviously, losing quite quickly in the ensuing fistfight. When Jack threatened to report him to the cops (a laugh in and of itself, like she was going to call the police), the kid completely broke down and promised he would do anything she wanted in penance. Among the blubbered offerings were his skills with computers, and Jack decided to be merciful and accept his proposition.

That started their acquaintance with Gavin. He did a good job and seemed eager to work for them, so they called him whenever they needed a hacker. Kid didn’t have a car though, always needed to be picked up and dropped off. Geoff joked with Jack that they were picking up their son from school.

Something that nagged at Geoff though was that they rarely dropped him off at the same place twice. He would have guessed homeless, but Gavin was always clean and dressed nicely. Better than Geoff was, usually. When he asked about it, Gavin brushed it off; he wasn’t exactly here legally, so he was couch surfing until he could figure out the best way to secure citizenship. He was only 17 after all, and he looked it. It was proving difficult to forge his documents.

One night they’re back at the apartment after finishing a job. It’s pissing rain outside and everyone is soaked (because SOMEONE forgot where they parked the car and Jack swears it’s the last time she’ll let Geoff drive). Geoff’s in a good mood though, they were successful and there’ll be a big payout waiting for them tomorrow. He cracks out the beers, but notices Gavin edging his way to the door.

“Should probably pop off, friends’re expectin’ me,” he offers lamely. Geoff starts feeling around for his keys (which are in Jack’s pocket but he’s already forgotten her oath), but Gavin stops him, “Oh don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s not far, I can walk.”

Geoff won’t hear it though, because despite his best intentions he’s developed a soft spot for Gavin and his well being, and insists on driving. Gavin seems uncomfortable with it, but goes along because what else is he going to do? So Geoff drives him and Gavin waits on the curb until he’s gone (“It’s just British etiquette mate”). While he’s driving home he gets a text from Jack demanding ribs from that place across town (”you owe me for making me walk around in the rain asshole”), so he sighs and continues his adventure. Good thing he was such a devoted husband.

40 minutes later he’s on his way back, passing through the same neighborhood he dropped Gavin off in. He’s surprised to see a familiar skinny silhouette walking in the rain. Geoff slows the car and rolls down the window, calling out Gavin’s name. The kid jumps and turns, and has a weird mix of relief and trepidation on his face. Closer up, Geoff is able to see a puffy eye and a split lip.

“Hey man, you okay?” Geoff is all fatherly concern and friendly confusion.

“Wot…oh yeah I’m toppers. Just uh…bit of a tiff with my friend, yeah? Boys’ll be boys, you know how it is.” Gavin is smiling but it isn’t reaching his eyes. The rain continues to pour, making his hair plaster around his face and add to the pathetic look.

“Do you need a place to stay tonight?” That’s not the question Geoff wants to ask. He wants to ask where this asshole who thinks he can beat up on Gavin is. But the kid seems out of sorts and Geoff doesn’t want to upset him further.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’ll figure something out. Thanks though.” As if he really believes Geoff is just going to leave him there in the rain with a busted face and no place to go.

“Gavin, get in the fucking car.” Kingpin Geoff is out, and Gavin hurries to obey the strict tone. He’s quiet at first, like he’s struggling with something that needs to be said but isn’t wanted.

“I uh, don’t have any money on me, but you can take what you want from my cut of the job,” he decides on, watching Geoff carefully.

“I don’t want your money, Gavin,” the older man replies, a lot gruffer than he intended. Still in kingpin mode.

“Right,” Gavin says quietly, almost to himself, “ ‘course not.” He cheers right up after that, and begins chattering blithely about nonsense like whether or not Geoff thinks dogs know they’re dogs. The tenseness eases up. They get back to the apartment, the evening winds down, Geoff has packed away his vengeance in a box, to open later. After her ribfest Jack turns in for the night, and it’s just Geoff and Gavin sitting on the couch, watching TV.

And Geoff’s enjoying it; he likes Gavin, and there’s an anxiety in him he didn’t know he had that’s calmed tonight, because he knows the kid is safe. And he looks over and smiles at Gavin and it’s just a peaceful pure moment and it feels good.

The next thing he knows, Gavin is on top of him, hand on his crotch and kissing him. Geoff isn’t able to process exactly what’s happening, and a pulse of arousal shoots through him, responding to the kid’s touch. Gavin’s lip has re-split open and all Geoff can taste is blood. It doesn’t take his conscious brain long to kick in. He pushes Gavin off and stands up, creating some distance between them.

“What the fuck was that?” Geoff asks before he can stop himself, still not putting the pieces together. He’s looking down at Gavin and the kid looks scared out of his mind, and Geoff knows that feeling. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt me. Please daddy, just don’t hurt me. And then it dawns on him, and he’s sitting down heavily, head in his hands. He realizes what Gavin thought the price for a place to sleep was.

Several emotions wash over him all at once. Anger. Grief. Disgust. It takes him a second to collect himself, to stifle the feelings in his throat threatening to bubble out. Next to him Gavin hasn’t moved, and the blood has started to dribble down his chin.

“Are you mad at me Geoff?” Gavin asks in a tiny voice that absolutely breaks Geoff’s heart. It helps ease the grip around his throat his anger currently has.

“No Gavin. I’m not mad at you.” He’s pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes are squeezed shut, he doesn’t trust himself to look at the kid again, not yet, “is this…what always happens when you need a place to sleep?”

“Yeah. They don’t pay me but they buy me stuff sometimes.” Gavin’s unfrozen, but he’s keeping his distance from Geoff, making himself as small as physically possible at the other end of the couch. Eying up the door, calculating an escape route.

“Is this…something you want to be doing?” Geoff doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“You having a laugh? ‘Course I don’t want to be fucking men my dad’s age. Don’t really wanna be fucking men at all, honestly. But if that’s what I gotta do to survive, it’s what I’ll do.” There it is. The anger’s back, threatening to overwhelm Geoff. He wants to know who did this, who forced this kid to believe that no kindness comes without a price. Seventeen goddamn years old. All Geoff wants in this moment is to burn this entire city to the fucking ground.

Instead he takes a deep breath and finally trusts himself to look at Gavin. The terror’s gone but the kid’s guard is still up, “Okay listen up. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Geoff starts, and he can practically see Gavin shut down, “but if you need a place to stay and don’t want to fuck anybody to get it, you can crash with us. As long as you want. No strings.”

“For real?” Gavin’s afraid to trust what Geoff says, and it cuts deep.

“For real.”

That’s how Gavin starts living with them. Geoff has a talk with Jack, and they take the money they were saving for a new car and put it to a new use. It’s a few weeks until things come to fruition, but when they do Geoff is excited like a kid at Christmas and it takes everything in him to not ruin the surprise.

“Wot’s all this then?” Gavin asks, coming into the kitchen. There’s a questionably made cake courtesy of Jack (but Geoff helped decorate) and a neat stack of papers at Gavin’s place.

“Well if you’re going to join our crew there’s some paperwork you have to submit first,” Jack quips, smirking.

It doesn’t take the golden boy long realize she’s joking, but he’s not getting the joke, “These are adoption papers?”

“Geoff and I have begun to long for the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Yours are a bit bigger than we’d like, but we’ll make do,” Jack is teasing this out as long as she can, much to the torment of Geoff next to her.

“I don’t get it.”

Geoff finally bursts, “you won’t be deportable if we adopt you, dummy.”

“You’re serious?” Gavin is incredulous, still waiting for the other boot to drop. People in his world weren’t ever so generous.

Geoff’s in the middle of telling Gavin about how he married Jack, how much worse off could he do, when Gavin hug-tackles him. He’s trying hard not to cry, but Geoff can feel two wet spots growing on his shirt. Which is just as well, because Geoff’s crying too. And his little family grows by one.

#I'm sorry it took so long #I got lost in the sauce #gonna call this the wholesome family au #fahc #fahc au #fahc headcanon #fahc fanfiction #fahc geoff #fahc jack #fahc gavin #ragehappy #ficlet #tw: blood #writing

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fireteam-dauntless · 4 years

Text

A Tale of Two Guardians V

Part 1 of the Destined Series. Chapter 5 : Lights Out masterlist

word count : 2.6K send me an ask or a pm to be added to the tag list!

I walked down a set of stairs that were just behind the heavy door. The further I went down, however, I could feel the pulsing of some very intense bass. The lights were dim and it was almost difficult to see, and a growing sense of nervousness and anxiety made me slow down. Skinner pressed past me on the stairs, unable to contain himself. I met him at the bottom, in front of another door, and Maverick was right behind me. I glanced at between both of them. The Hunter blocked the way forward, and the stocky titan blocked my way back.

Skinner placed his hand on the handle of the door, and said in a loud voice, “Fresh res, welcome, to a real fucking party!”

He threw open the door and we were met with heavy bass and loud music. My stomach dropped and I tried to turn around and run, but Maverick and Skinner both grabbed my arms and pulled me inside. I tried to pull my arms away and even tried to dig my feet into the ground, but to no avail. Both of their grips were like iron, and both of them were laughing as they dragged me over to the bar.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Skinner tsked at me. “This is your right of passage, right here.”

“What do you mean, my right of passage?” I shouted over the loud music.

Maverick continued to laugh at my protests. “Oh come on, I took a bullet to the shoulder, I think you can handle one night at the club.”

“The bartender is a normal dude who figured out how to make a brew that actually gets Guardians drunk.” Skinner said eagerly as he let go of my arm. Maverick dragged me the rest of the way over to the bar and the Exo effortlessly picked me up from under my arms and sat me on the stool.

“I can sit, you know,” I protested, pushing them off of me. The bartender approached and recognized the Hunter and the Titan, then glanced at me. “Let me guess. Newbie needs to get drunk,” He said to Skinner.

“Yup! Three ‘Lights Out’ shots please.”

“You got it, friend. Coming right up.”

A minute or so later, he came back and placed down three drinks that were an ominous looking dark purple, or black. I picked mine up nervously and looked at the two Guardians with me, who picked up theirs.

“Down the hatch, boys,” Skinner said. We all cheered, but only I hesitated for a moment before downing the shot in one go. It tasted disgustingly sour, but at the same time, incredibly sweet, like cotton candy. My face twisted as I swallowed and I coughed once I finally pushed it down. It burned your throat as it went down, but once it was down it filled my entire body with a warm and pleasant tingling sensation. I put the glass back down and wanted to get up and leave now. The loud music and abundance of noise was starting to overwhelm my senses. But where I was sandwiched between the two men, I wasn’t going anywhere.

Skinner and Maverick cheered me on. After the third round of shots, I’m pretty sure I was drunk off of my ass. The two men with me were only buzzed. We were talking and laughing, telling stories of our adventures. For the first time in such a long time, I felt normal. Alive, even. I didn't have the weight of my grief hanging over my shoulder. Maverick had his hand on my back 85 percent of the time to keep me from falling over, however.

At some point, Skinner walked off to go party, leaving the two of us alone. Maverick was in the middle of telling me a story about his fireteam, I think, but I had so much trouble focusing on exactly what he was saying.

“What about you?” He asked, snapping me out of my trance. “What’s your story?”

“Huh?”

He laughed at me and slammed a fist down on the counter. “Skinner was right, this is pretty funny, watching you get that knot between your eyes when you get confused. I’m asking you if you remember anything from your life before you were resurrected, Rookie.”

I stuck my tongue out at him for teasing me, but ended up laughing along with him. “Well…” I pulled the dog tags from around my neck. I hadn’t taken them off since I was resurrected. As much as our Ghosts told us to forget about the past, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life I led before.

“Ghost found me wearing these. I think I was in the French Militia or military or something, but I don’t know what for. A couple months ago, my fireteam and I went digging through some old office buildings in the French district of the EDZ. We didn’t find jack squat. But sometimes, I dream, and I think they’re supposed to be my memories, but they feel out of place, you know? Like you’re walking through someone else’s shoes. I get flashes of staring down a scope, of another woman with me, sitting for hours. And then I see other smaller things. Like what the French countryside looked like before the collapse. Or the ocean. I keep getting images of the same home. I dunno.”

“What, you said you remember staring down a scope?” Maverick asked, handing my broken tags back to me.

“Yeah. I wonder if I was in the military or the militia, as a sniper maybe. Or recon. I dunno. Everything is blurry. Especially now.” I started giggling as I pulled the tags back on, then rested my head in my hands. My heart felt lighter. “Oh!!” I exclaimed and my head shot up, maybe a little too fast. Maverick had to grab my arm to keep my from falling backwards off the chair. “I think I had a cat too! I keep remembering this little orange tabby sitting with me in that house!”

Maverick laughed as he steadied me in my seat. “Okay, I’m never letting Skinner take you drinking unsupervised. You are such a lightweight.”

I shoved his chest, though the Titan barely moved. “Shut up, I am not!”

He just kept laughing.

I don’t know how long we were in that club, but at some point Skinner dragged me out of my seat when a small dance competition had started on the floor between Guardians. And ho-ly, did I dance. I had no idea that I could, or that I was even that flexible, but maybe that was because the alcohol made me bolder, and I had just finished another shot. I kept looking back at Maverick, who stayed the most sober out of the three of us. I kept motioning for him to join us, but he only shook his head or avoided eye contact. Oh well, his loss. At some point after the dancing had started, he coaxed me off of the floor and told Skinner he was going to take me home.

“Awww, why?” Skinner and I both whined as Maverick wrapped an arm around me.

“Because you can’t see it, Genesis, but you can barely stand up straight.”

“Pfft, whatever,” Skinner said as he backed off. “I’ll see you around, Maverick, you behave yourself.”

Maverick rolled his eyes, waved goodbye to his Fireteam member, and led me out of the club.

The two of us walked through the City, which had grown quiet and hushed. For the first time all night, it was peacefully, blissfully quiet. It was around two in the morning. I looked up at Maverick, who was just as quiet as usual, but there was a small smile on his face that I read in his eyes. I couldn’t contain my drunken giggles as I clung to his arm while we walked.

“You look happy,” I said as I started to stumble.

“And you look like a drunken mess.” He scooped me up and I squealed in surprise, then proceeded to kick my legs in opposition.

“Put me down!” I protested.

“Hold on.”

“Huh? What for?” Before I could even get out another question, he jumped and started strafing. I cried out in surprise and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He was jumping from wall to wall, from balcony to balcony, hoisting us up over ledges effortlessly as he climbed the buildings of the Last City. I squeezed my eyes shut, but soon, he stopped jumping, and he put my feet on the ground. I didn’t let him go, however, and he started to protest and pry my arms from around his neck.

“Relax, relax,” he said as calmly as possible. “You’re okay, you can open your eyes now, crazy.”

Tension slowly released from my muscles as I released my hands from behind his neck, and I opened my eyes.

We were on the top of a skyscraper, and had a view of all of the lights in the Last City. I gasped softly and finally let him go, then covered my mouth with my hands. “Oh, Maker,” I said aloud. The view was amazing. And the stars! They lit up the sky like lights strung on a Dawning holiday tree. I had never seen the stars so crystal clear before. The adrenaline that had been flowing through my veins finally started to decline, and also my sobriety was returning. I walked up to the edge of the rooftop and leaned my arms on the barriers around the roof that came up to my waist. The air was cool and refreshing. Below us, street lights twinkled amber like fireflies. And above, the Traveller hovered, sleeping and quiet, outlined by stars. This had to be one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.

Maverick walked up to the spot beside me. “I wanted to let you see this view. At least, before you moved to your new place. An old friend of mine, Vision… He took me up here after our first party together.”

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered softly. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

He smiled, and silence fell between us. He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Exos were always depicted as cold and heartless, incapable of feeling emotions or empathy. At least, that’s the way a lot of people looked at them. They were machines. But here we were, and I could feel the warmth from the energy that ran through his body. The wind ruffled our clothes and pulled at the hairs that had fallen loose from my double buns, and framed my face. I looked up at Maverick, studying the structure of his face while he looked out over the Last City.

“I know losing your family was hard,” he said quietly. “But there are still others who need you. I was talking with Skinner, and he agreed. If you are willing, we want to make you our third fireteam member.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I will admit, I did not see this coming from him tonight. “I’m sorry, what?”

I looked over at him, his glowing red eyes showing no sign of a joke. He was serious. “You’re skilled and talented. The Vanguard can’t keep you on probation forever. You’re going to need a team. And… and we need to fill ours again.”

“Maverick,” I said, closing my eyes, trying to process this. There was still some alcohol in my system, clouding my judgement. “Can… can we maybe talk about this when I’m not still swimming in alcohol? Please?”

His brows raised, but then he smiled and chuckled. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re still a little woozy up there, aren’t you?” He tapped my forehead with his knuckle. I couldn’t help but giggle in response.

“Yeah, just a wee bit.”

He shook his head at me, but smiled. “It's all up to you, Genesis. Take your time.”

I nodded, then silence fell between us again. After a couple of minutes, my drunk ass decided it would be a bright idea to hoist myself up on the wall. I lifted myself up easily enough, but when I sat down, I swayed and nearly fell backwards off of the building.

“Hey, hey!” Maverick shouted and he moved directly in front of me, catching my arms and pulled me back forward. “Maker, Genesis, are you fucking crazy?”

I laughed aloud and held onto his biceps for balance. “Only a little bit. Maybe a little bit more. Who knows.” I smiled and met his gaze, and I thought for a moment he looked worried. But soon enough, he sighed and shook his head.

“Crazy…” He murmured softly, and he kept his hands planted firmly on my hips in case I fell again, since I was still swaying a bit.

My heart started pounding from his closeness, and I started to breathe a tad bit heavier. My cheeks started to flush pink. I averted my gaze from his to hide it, but he must have already noticed.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” He asked quietly. “Maybe we should head back to your apartment…”

“No!” I said, maybe a little too quickly. “I mean, I'm fine, it's just…” I trailed off. I reached up and ran my fingers over his cheekbones, and followed the structure of his face along his jaw. I met his gaze, and his expression was filled with a mix of confusion, tranquility, and fear. He was afraid, and honestly, I was too. But when I was with Maverick, I felt the most normal and alive I've ever felt since my resurrection. As if he was still hesitating, he slowly leaned his face into my hands and closed his eyes.

“Maverick…” I whispered softly, my thumbs running along his metal cheeks. “Do you trust me?” Deep in the back of my consciousness, I could hear my Ghost start yelling at me, warning me to not go where I was going, but the alcohol had dulled out her voice.

It took him a moment of contemplation and he looked a bit suspicious, but soon enough he nodded.

“Good.”

I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck and pulled him closer, and pressed my lips against his mouthpiece. At first, his body stiffened and he didn't know what to do, so I pulled away after a few seconds. But before I could even apologize, he shook his head, as if giving in to an internal battle, placed a hand on the back of my head, and pulled me back in. He was ready this time, and he kissed me without holding back. There was a strange warmth coming from him, and his mouth was warm against mine. My heart was pounding and my brain could barely keep up. His hand on my hip wrapped around me and dragged me closer, I held on to him tighter.

When we finally separated, I met his gaze. We were both breathing heavy, we both had a desperate yet relaxed look in our eyes, and I think we were both still processing what had just occurred. My Ghost was still lecturing, going on and on about Vanguard rules and this wouldn't work out, that we were setting ourselves up for failure, but I ignored her.

“Is yours yelling at you, too?” I said softly with a small giggle.

“Without a doubt,” he said with a small laugh.

Silence fell between us and I simply buried my face in his neck and shoulder, unable to stop my smile. He gently pressed his lips on my head and kissed my hair. We stayed like that until the sun started to rise on the Last City, and I had fallen asleep.

#destined #destined pt1 #destined pt 1 #destiny the game #destiny 2 #destiny fanfiction #a tale of two guardians fic

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 5 years

Text

Bang, Bang

Dredd x reader

Summary: Some good old fashioned hurt/comfort. Ya get shot on the job.

Word Count: 2378

Just two months into her new, “partnership” with one Judge Lily Wolfe saw Y/N both homicidal and scared for her very life. Since the redhead was still on assessment, she’d been choosing what cases they took. Boy was that a mistake. With eyes bigger than her ammo belt, Lily decided to take a case that they were woefully under qualified for: an obviously well-connected drug cartel that’d been causing issues all over the sector.

Like a good little guard dog, Y/N said nothing and tried to handle the case as quietly as possible. Of course that did nothing to silence the glory-hunting rookie. Wolfe busted in gun a blazing and had gotten the two of them pinned in a heavy dumpster in the process since it was the only semi-armored cover around.

While the idiotic partner fired blindly at the cartel, Y/N frantically put out a call for backup. “Y/LN to control! We’ve got two Judges under fire at Willow Haven! Requesting backup immediately!”

Almost instantly, a familiar, gravely voice spoke over the communicator. “Dredd to control. I’m inbound to their location.” Those words alone almost made Y/N weep in relief.

“Copy that, Dredd.”

Over the next several minutes, Y/N managed to take out six of their attackers with a lucky high-ex round while Lily still fired blindly in their general direction. Soon enough, more gunfire joined the fray, but fewer bullets were flying towards the two female Judges. Y/N could only hope it was because Dredd had finally arrived. Things naturally couldn’t go smoothly just because of that, though, so of course a bullet made it into their cover and started to ricochet until it tore through Lily’s calf all the way through and proceeded to embed itself in Y/N’s shoulder blade.

Armor piercing, she realized because otherwise it shouldn’t have made it through the thick plating of her armor. While Lily cried in pain, Y/N tried to keep her verbal complaining down to grunts so she could hear what was going on around them. Heavy bootsteps greeted her as the firing stopped. A sigh of relief left Y/N when she saw her husband’s beat-up helmet over the rim of the dumpster.

“Took you long enough,” she weezed.

“Dredd to control,” he reported to his communicator, “seventeen bodies for resyke and we need a medevac for Y/LN and Wolfe.”

“Copy,” the responder answered.

“I thought I was the one with shoulder issues,” Dredd said lightly to mask the worry that was rising.

Lily cried louder, trying to pull his attention to her. “Aren’t you going to help me?” she demanded.

His head shifted so that he was frowning at the redhead. “It’s a leg wound that’s nowhere near a major artery. You should be able to do a basic field dressing on that by yourself. She still has shrapnel and a slug in her bone--Stop moving it, woman!” Dredd snapped when he saw his wife try to climb out of the now-useless shelter.

“I’m not gonna stay in this fucking thing all day.”

The man huffed as he rolled his eyes. Given their relationship, it was a feat made easy out of familiarity to lift her out of the dumpster without jarring her shoulder too much. That didn’t stop the almost-inaudible whimper of pain that escaped her from causing guilt to lance through his heart. Only years of practice kept his signature scowl on his face instead of a look of panic.

“Help her out,” Y/N instructed quietly after he set her down, “or she won’t shut up about it.”

With much less care, Dredd hauled the sorry excuse for a Judge onto the street where she then collapsed holding her leg. Y/N just stood there with her arm hanging limply as she tried not to move it. It was all Y/N and Dredd could do to avoid leaning against the other. Both of them were masters of Judge Professionalism, so they managed to not show what either was feeling.

Even so, Y/N let out an exhausted sigh when the medical transport finally arrived.

Dredd gave a subtle nod to his wife before speaking into his communicator once more, “Dredd to Control. I’m going back out on patrol.”

“Copy that, Dredd. The other Judges’ bikes will be transported back to their places of residence.”

Even through his helmet, Y/N could see the statement “See you at home” written across her husband’s features. She nodded ever so slightly, and then he was gone.

It was when Lily was administered an anesthetic that the redhead became annoying once more. “That man never fucking changes does he? You’re always the special one for some reason, and the rest of us aren’t even worth the trash beneath his boots.”

“That’s bullshit,” Y/N snapped. “He doesn’t like you because you’ve never respected him. You just wanted to fuck him. He’s perfectly civil--if a bit harsh--to everyone else at the Hall,” Y/N muttered that last bit.

“That’s not true!” Lily exclaimed. “He liked me back when I was at the Academy. Sure he was hard on me, but he just wanted me to be a good Judge.”

Every fiber of Y/N’s being wanted to laugh at that insane notion. Joseph absolutely hated the woman, that much Y/N knew for sure. “What exactly makes you think he liked you?”

“Well, he always listened to me--” No he didn’t. “And he was more attentive to my needs . . .” What the fuck? “And he had me stay after classes sometimes.”

Part of Y/N wanted to know what the redhead’s reaction to the truth would be. What if she told Lily that she almost fucked on the gym floor after that first spar? What if she pulled out the ring she kept on a chain that signified their marriage? But she did neither.

Instead she just shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Due to the eternal overabundance of people at the hospital--even the one just for Judges--Y/N and Lily were treated in the same room. At no point did the itch to drive the scalpel into her partner’s brain leave Y/N as she listened to her whine and cry while her leg got stitched up. Even while Y/N was stripped from the waist up except for a sports bra and under the doctor’s knife without even a local anesthetic due to a shortage, the redhead kept complaining. Y/N’s hand just clenched around her exposed wedding ring to both comfort herself and hide it from view. She only really tuned back into the room when the doctor started instructing them on what to do for the next few days.

“Wolfe, take it easy until Monday; then go back on patrol. Y/LN, you’re going to have to be extremely careful about infection, and it’s gonna take two weeks for you to be back on duty. I’ll tell the Chief to have someone help you around the house until then.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about how you ignored your broken foot for three days last year. Judge or not, you’re going to let someone help you. Oh look. You’re ride’s here.”

Y/N saw Lily’s face light up before she knew who had just entered the room. “Dredd! I knew you cared!” the redhead exclaimed.

Y/N watched her husband’s frown deepen.

“You come here to check on me?” Lily flirted.

Dredd scoffed. “No. I’m here to escort her home. You are going home to your parents. Your mother has been screaming for my head ever since I saved your sorry ass. Y/LN, are you ready?”

She nodded once the doctor secured her arm in a sling. At that point she’d stiffly donned her tank top, and her armor was slung around her loosely.

“But who’s gonna help me?” Lily whined, limping after them as they set into the hall.

“Not my problem.”

It wasn’t too difficult to slip away from the unwelcome tag-along in the corridors of the hospital luckily, and in minutes the couple was standing next to Dredd’s on-duty bike. “You’re sitting in front of me this time,” he informed her.

“Why?”

“That way I can make sure you don’t fall off. Get on.”

She didn’t put up too much of a fight, and if it was obvious how much she enjoyed leaning back against his solid frame despite the minor pain it caused, Dredd said nothing about it. And if he pulled her closer to his body before taking off, she said nothing.

Dredd carefully picked her up as soon as he parked outside their residence. “Don’t even say anything, sweetheart,” he cut off her inevitable protest. “When I heard you call, I thought I was gonna find your body. Let me do the husband thing for once.”

Y/N sighed. “Okay. Whatever you say, babe.”

She could feel his incredulous gaze as he kicked their front door closed behind them. “Since when do you call me ‘babe’?” She took off his helmet and placed it on the table.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. That felt wrong.” Her nose scrunched up at how weird that was. The discomfort was worth it when she saw his face squish into a genuine smile, dimples and all. Her breath hitched at the relaxed joy that caused his hazel eyes squeeze shut as he laughed. Even for her it was rare to see him so happy. It almost felt like she was falling for him all over again.

When Dredd slightly composed himself, he gingerly set his wife down on the bed. “What?” he asked, still chuckling when he noticed the more-fond-than-usual look on her face.

She pulled him down to her level so she could kiss his still-smiling lips. “I just love you more than I can figure out how to say.”

He lightly bumped his nose against hers. “And I love you . . . but we really need to get you out of your uniform.”

“Joseph . . .”

A kiss was pressed to her temple before Dredd pulled her to her feet. “Do it and I’ll cook dinner.”

Y/N grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

That night Dredd woke to the sound of his wife whimpering in her sleep. She was lying on her stomach against his chest at his insistence to keep her from rolling onto her injury. The hand that clenched against the flesh of his chest told him that she was having a nightmare. He turned to kiss the top of her head.

“Sweetheart, wake up,” he murmured.

Her face screwed up, but she didn’t wake. “Joe, no,” she pleaded desperately in her sleep.

“I’m right here. Wake up, Y/N. Come on.”

With a violent jerk, the woman jumped awake. Her wide blue eyes flitted about, unseeing as Dredd watched her grapple with the waking world. He gently rubbed his hand along her shoulder where the skin was exposed because she’d swiped on of his shirts to sleep in and it didn’t fit well. It took several minutes for Y/N to come back to reality, during which Dredd patiently whispered soft assurances that they were both okay.

The fog noticeably lifted, and tears filled Y/N’s eyes when she saw his concerned hazel ones. A week cry of “Joseph” left her lips in the form of a sob. And that was all the prompting Dredd needed to sit up and pull her onto his lap so he could curl around her protectively. Her fingers dug into the bare flesh of his chest, but he couldn’t care less about the tiny cuts caused by her nails.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Dredd breathed. “I’ve got you.”

“Joseph,” she whimpered, “I-I saw you--”

“It wasn’t real,” he promised. “What do you feel under your hand?” When she remained silent for too long, he repeated the question. “What do you feel?”

Y/N didn’t raise her head to reply. “Your heart.”

“I’m fine. I’m here. We’re here.” Dredd was steadily placing light kisses wherever he could reach. “My heart is beating only for you just like always.”

Gradually, her grip on him relaxed. “Sorry I woke you up.”

Dredd scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Only you would apologize for having a bad dream.” He set his cheek against the top of her head. “Was it about yesterday?” At her weak nod, he sighed. “Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “Just be you.”

“Well, that’s easy,” he quipped, earning a half-hearted smile. “We gonna try to get some more sleep or do I need to make coffee?”

“Joseph, I’m not gonna make you stay up with me just because I can’t sleep.”

Once again, Dredd rolled his eyes. Instead of responding verbally, he scooted off the bed and started walking to the kitchen while carrying his wife. Y/N found herself set on the counter as Dredd set up their coffee pot. He made sure that he as he worked he was always touching her. Nightmares like this weren’t uncommon with them given their line of work, so both were well-accustomed to handling this situation. Nights like this meant constant touching to make sure the other was alive. Others just required the spouse to retrieve the bottle of bourbon stashed at the back of their fridge.

Several minutes later, Y/N was wrapped around Dredd’s back as he leaned against the counter. She kissed the curve of his neck. “Thank you.”

Dredd swallowed a gulp of the coffee that was serving to keep him awake. “That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart.”

Eventually, Dredd felt his wife’s head drop heavily onto his shoulder. He couldn’t help the tiny smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth, knowing that Y/N had finally nodded off. Carefully, he set down his near-empty mug and turned to pick her up. It proved how often this happened since he was able to lift her and subsequently deposit her onto their bed without waking her.

Over the next several minutes, Dredd maneuvered her so that she was lying on him much like she had been a couple hours earlier. With one last kiss pressed to the top of her head, he drifted off too.

#dredd x reader #dredd imagine #judge dredd imagine #judge dredd x reader #reader insert

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caeows · 4 years

Text

jeon jeongguk . cis male . he/him ／ graeme bae just pulled up by blasting dirty little secret by all american rejects --- that song is so them ! you know , for a twenty three year old actor , i’ve heard they’re really gullible , but that they make up for it by being so tenacious . if i had to choose three things to describe them , i’d probably say tousled hair , triple dog dares and a closet full of black . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble !

hello ! i’m deni ( she/her pronouns , gmt+9 timezone ) . i’m best reached on discord at gayfairy#6371 for plotting . below the cut is ... a ridiculous amount of keyboard smashing but it was a holiday and i was feeling inspired so !! i included a few TLDRs for some quick scanning . there’s also some plots at the bottom i’d LOVE to see . looking forward to writing with you all !

* ☆ ·˚ background.

you could say he was destined for the spotlight .

an only child , he grew up watching his parents performances on the stage , accepting their kisses and gentle smiles before they set off for tours around the country and left him with his cousins . sure , they were absent --- but they tried --- and graeme knew he wanted to be just like them . when his parents delighted in his little home-staged sets he presented , they quickly enrolled him in acting classes and coached him through first auditions , even moved back to korea when it was clear some american roles wanted to confine him to one note . after gaining exposure , graeme shared the screen with one of the biggest names in the american industry in a dramatic hit that led to some ridiculous fanmail being sent to him as a kid , then excitedly landed a role in a revamped science fiction film he was stoked af abouy !!! unfortunately , the film was met with an absolute brutal blowback from fans , some of that hot , petty anger taken out on graeme , and at thirteen years old , his parents made the decision for him to step back and focus on school . ( he still holds onto those spiteful letters------ all that hate from grown ass adults thrown at a child )

performing arts high school , but graeme stayed away from the public stage for a bit . worked on some sets as a tech to get a better idea of the film making process . kept a low profile occasionally caught by curious paparazzi at a basketball court or baseball game . recognizable , but not to the point where he couldn’t be seminormal . there were a few bumps in the road :: leaked photos of a beer at a high school party , couple of fake friends sliding in for clout , people pushing questions like when are you returning ?? how does it feel to ruin one of the most important films of all time ??? shitty . but , with the help of his parents , friends and coaches , graeme returned to student films to grow more comfortable in front of a camera . his official comeback was in the background of a friend's directorial debut , a lady-love drama critics salivated over but failed to earn is’ nominations . still , graeme’s name was back and out there . jumping headfirst into the thing that scares him , graeme’s slated for teen flicks , romantic dramas , action films . a diverse portfolio . people love a comeback . ------as if there was something wrong with what he did before .

TLDR. former international child star who took a break after experiencing a massive fan-driven backlash . pseudo retired , did the performing arts school thing . popped back on the screen about a year ago and working his ass off since . early career inspiration : jake lloyd , natalie portman , yeo jingoo

* ☆ ·˚ current.

suddenly getting all this praise and earning cash , living on his own in a sprawling city of work and sin . hasn’t stop busting his ass , no , but maybe he’s found outlets for all his stress in . . . less than healthy outlets . some of the headlines are way off the mark , some a little too close to home . either way , it’s not something his parents or his management company are thrilled about ( doesn’t he want to be taken seriously as an actor , they say ) and he does . of course he does . but what else does he have to sacrifice to be taken seriously ? and how serious does any twenty-something year old wanna get ?

late hours on dance floors , strips of things he doesn’t know the name of on his tongue , lips on any pretty , wanting pair he can find . he’s young , virile and at the top of his game . who can blame him ? it starts with a string of tabloid images , a rumpled and sleepy-eyed graeme leaving apartments that aren’t his in clothes he was spotted in the night before . zoomed-in , fan-cropped photos on twitter of hickeys and swollen mouths and unbuttoned shirts . america’s sweetheart ? maybe , but clearly not around the clock . him , scaling rails of hotels and dancing on top of cars . grabbing mics at clubs and taking over DJ boots at parties . twitter explodes when he moonwalks through the airport one time and baristas trend his insane coffee orders .

and even though he’s got his own name --- and a variety of different spellings , hashtags , and whatevers --- blacklisted on social media , every now and then he’ll run along a stream of grueling comments , petty nitpicks about his performances , his looks , his voice , his goddamn smile and it’s----- it’s rough , even for someone who grew up in that environment . there’s days where he’ll hole up in his apartment and refuse to see anyone , refuse to leave . the guy in the interviews with the wide smile and sparkle eyes is so , so far away and people almost forget that he’s human , too . he pushes himself out of that mindset , sometimes with help , but it’s always a shadow on his back , waiting to catch him at his weakest .

TLDR. tabloids gossip about speculated hookups and strange behavior . potential alcohol abuse . pushback from management and parents . anxiety towards social media . current career inspiration : ansel elgort

* ☆ ·˚ tidbits.

sporty as fuck —— basketball , soccer , skateboard , swimming , climbing . says he would’ve been an athlete if not for movies . fit as fuck despite a steady diet of ramen and pizza . claims to like horror movies the most , but he’s a total schmaltz snob . can hold a pretty tune well enough to pass . has a private twitter account for the memes , public accounts are all operated by a social media manager so he doesn’t have to read comments . watches college basketball championships religiously . has very strong opinions about scented candles . likes sugary drinks more than coffee but claims to be a connoisseur . loves biopics . punk and 2000s emo rock fan . gets anxious easily , suffers through interviews and avoids personal topics as best as he can . is rumored to be difficult to work with , but keeps to himself on sets save for a few opinions about blocking and lighting . pan as fuck and fairly open about it . mom and dad are chill , but don’t understand much of anything past bi . they get on to him more for his diet and job . when not on the court or working , spends free time rewatching anime in the safety of his bed in an threadbare pair of boxers , eating Doritos by the fistful and leaving his manager on read .

even his underwear is black . occasionally, he’ll change it up with a screen printed vintage t-shirt and wears whatever kind of fancy thing his stylist squeezes him into . otherwise wears by a black or white t-shirt , black pants and combat boots . seventy percent of his sneakers have sharpie drawings on them and he’s got a lot of holes in his ears and another in a place you’d be lucky ( or unlucky ) to see . loves dangy earrings and wearing his hair loose , a bit long with a mild perm . silver on his wrists and friendship bracelets from yesteryear but no rings . tattooed up ! recently collaborated to design a line of temporary tattoos . extensive collection of sunglasses . hit up a lot of music festivals in the past but that’s died down in recent months due to a busy schedule . swung his way into VIP passes before . he was a total Warped kid in the past , no shame . no longer does fan conventions because of a negative experience a few years back , and even fan meets are a little awkward , but he manages to push through . can’t drive worth a damn but he’ll kick your ass at any arcade game . occasionally , he’ll stream over twitch but that’s becoming less and less common . was banned from several dave & busters before he made it back on the screen . moody as fuck .

* ☆ ·˚ plots.

so . bonds . there’s a best friend who may not have been there since the beginning , but they’ve been there when it matters . the friendship is new , fresh , and maybe graeme shouldn’t be as dependent on it as he is , but he can’t help it . clinging to them like crazy --- let’s hope it doesn’t fall to the wayside . ( ? / 1 ) there’s several of his idiot friends who , after being stranded on too many red carpets , a hundred hotel rooms , and hours of press junkets , have learned to survive by snapchatting each other random dares throughout the day . ( 1 / unlimited ) there’s a few childhood friends who , like him , grew up either in or close to the spotlight and they have this , like . . . support group kind of situation . i don’t know . graeme checks on them from time to time , even as they’ve grown apart . ( 2 / unlimited ) he’s got some partying buddies who may not have his best interest at heart --- who may or may not stop him when he’s slurred out and whining about twitter trolls . some gaming partners he teams up with over stream , but lately they’ve drifted apart .

it’s such a cliche that his management’s set him up for a fake dating situation . if graeme wants the dramatic , serious roles , then he needs to show he’s a mature and capable young man . how else to do that than jump headfirst into a few awkwardly orchestrated dates with another hotshot on the radar ? ( ? / 1 ) but they’re not serious . so , he hasn’t stopped hooking up , or thinking about a one night stand that totally rocked his world . ( ? / 5 ) and ( ? / 1 ) media and fans definitely know about a few of these . the jury’s out for how they feel about it . then there’s his competition , actors in the same demographic targeting the same roles . it’s a tough business and they know it , but the press picks up on all these weird quotes and posts that twist shit into beefs . what other misunderstanding will cause the casket to blow ? ( ? / unlimited ) there’s some co stars on old and upcoming films . people who see how hard he works and how much effort he puts into what’s seen on the screen . they tough out hard days on set and the press circuits during promotion . see him at his worst and best . ( ? / unlimited )

#excess:intro #tw flashing gif #tw anxiety mention #going back to SLEEP c u l8r

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