#like instead of just sitting here staring at the wall goin huh. nothing to do. i sit here now like huh! theres some stuff i can do today!

[proxima-writes]

Congrats on 1k mom 💗 You’re the best writer there is.

Tarot Submission:

The Devil Card w/ Joel Miller (56|post outbreak) 😈

Something about this man being tempted then giving into his lust for you and getting so addicted and unable to stop just hits different.

Throw in the smut baby. You know what I like. 😏

thank you, my love!

the devil - upright

temptation, addiction, sexuality, powerful attraction

title: siren song

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x female reader AND post-outbreak!tommy miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 3201

summary:

Staying with Tommy in Jackson comes with one caveat - the temptation of you in the bedroom next door.

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), post-outbreak in jackson, don't ask me where maria and ellie are in all of this, not a threesome fic, voyeurism - overhearing someone having sex, masturbation, dirty talk, praise, teasing, billiards as a plot device, dubcon - joel going into your room while he thinks you're asleep but you're not, kinda perv joel, dominant joel, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), pussy slapping, unprotected p in v, creampie, no use of y/n. let me know if i missed anything!

The first time Joel Miller sees you is in Tommy’s kitchen wearing nothing more than a pair of panties and a t-shirt, sitting on the counter with your legs swinging against the cabinet as you regard him with keen eyes over the rim of your coffee cup. Tommy doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by the scene.

“This is my brother, Joel,” Tommy says, introducing you by name. “He’s goin’ to be stayin’ in the other spare room while we work on gettin’ a house setup for him.”

“She live here, too?” Joel asks. Tommy’s interrupted by you hopping off the counter.

“She does. That a problem?” You reply. Joel fights to keep his gaze level with yours, to not let his eyes wander to the hard points of your nipples pressed against your shirt or over your legs and your barely clothed pussy.

“No problem at all, darlin’.” 

A grin spreads across your face, a wicked gleam in your eye that has the hair on the back of Joel’s neck prickling with unease. You turn to set your empty mug in the sink, and his gaze drops to the curve of your ass in a brief moment of weakness. 

“See you around, Joel,” you say, stepping past both men and heading for the stairs, hips swaying. When you’ve disappeared from view, Joel looks to Tommy and finds his younger brother staring after you, eyes dark. 

“You with her?” Joel asks, voice rough. Tommy smirks.

“Sometimes.”

________

Joel lies awake in bed, staring into the darkness and waiting for sleep to consume him. He feels himself about to drift off, eyes growing heavy, when he hears a noise through the wall by his head, the wall he shares with the room you are staying in. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, planning to ignore it.

“Fuck!”

“Quiet, baby, we’re not alone anymore.”

The sound of his brother’s voice is followed by a muffled whimper that goes straight to Joel’s cock. He turns on his back, sleeping the last thing on his mind now as more moans drift through the wall to his room. He palms his hardening length, biting his lip to hold back the moan that echoes yours.

“Tommy, please!” 

“Always so polite when you want somethin’, huh?” 

Joel reaches his hand into his sleep pants, wrapping his hand around his cock with a bitten off groan. He gives himself a few rough strokes, straining to hear more from the room next door. Your little noises grow louder, Tommy’s warning a lost cause. Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he pumps his cock, hips chasing his palm, and he imagines himself in the room with you instead of Tommy.

He’d lay himself between your legs and lap at your cunt like a starving man, tongue circling your clit before dipping inside of you as you writhe beneath him. He would slip a finger inside of your aching hole, pumping it slowly and dragging it across your front wall in tandem with the attention from his tongue on your clit. When you would beg him for more, he’d be gracious enough to work another finger inside of you, stretching you open for him.

“Tommy, come on, stop teasing. Need you to fuck me.”

Joel bites his fist to hold back the groan that claws up his throat. He imagines himself hearing that plea first hand, pulling his fingers free from your dripping wet pussy and bringing them to your lips, a silent demand for you to lick them clean. Only when he’s satisfied would he grip his cock, pressing it to your entrance and sliding each thick inch inside as slowly as he can, driving you wild.

The sound of flesh against flesh joins his fantasy, the dull thud of your bed against the wall like a metronome for his hand over his cock. He thinks about how you would look beneath him, fucked out and cock drunk as he pounded into you.

“God, Tommy, yes, just like that!”

Joel’s vision of you claws at his shoulders in desperation, crying out his name as your cunt flutters around him, squeezing him deliciously. His hips pump frantically now as he chases his orgasm, biting into his knuckle so hard the taste of copper floods his tongue.

“Fuck, yes, yes, I’m gonna cum!”

Joel spills over his hand with a gasp, working himself through it with a loose fist. The only sound he can hear now is the rush of his blood in his ears as his heart pounds a frantic rhythm in his chest.

It’s quiet now, the sound of your moans just an imprint on the ether. Joel’s eyelids grow heavy as his breathing returns to normal.

Sleep comes to him quickly after that.

________

You’re in the kitchen again the next morning when Joel shuffles in. You’re dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt this time, much to Joel’s relief. He’s already dreading looking you in the eye after what he heard and did last night, the last thing he needs is the additional temptation.

You wordlessly pass him an empty mug from the cupboard. He can feel your eyes on him as he pours himself coffee and takes a sip. When he finally meets your eyes, you’re smirking.

“Sleep well, Joel?”

He nearly spits his coffee. “Yeah, slept fine.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want anything to disturb you,” you tell him, patting his shoulder before you leave the kitchen. 

That feeling of unease returns to him again as he stares after your retreating figure.

________

It takes two weeks for Joel’s sanity to start fraying at the edges. 

He’s two glasses of whiskey deep at the Tipsy Bison, pretending he’s not watching you play pool across the bar. You’re bent over the table to line up your shot, hips swaying enticingly. You shoot, cue ball careening off the edge of the table and into a pocket. You hang your head and laugh as your opponent gives you a hard time. When you look up, your eyes lock on him and you wave him over.

Joel’s feeling just crazy enough to obey.

“You play at all, Joel?” You ask as he approaches, hand on your cocked hip as you lean on the cue stick. 

“Have before. Been a while,” he grunts in reply. His short answers don’t deter you.

“Well, you got any tips? I can’t lose to Jeremy again.”

Joel’s eyes flick to Jeremy. The younger man looks away. He’s seen this kid on patrol before, all confident young swagger. He may have already given him a ration of shit for doing some stupid posturing while out on shift.

He returns his attention to you and your expectant gaze. Tossing back the rest of his drink and setting the glass on an empty table, he takes the cue stick from you.

Joel circles the table, eyeing the options. Picking his spot, he hinges at his hips and lays his left hand on the green felt, tilting his thumb up and resting the cue stick in the channel between his thumb and forefinger.

He lines up his shot, drawing his right arm back before shooting forward, knocking the cue ball into the solid dark red ‘7’ ball, sinking it into a pocket.

“Okay, you gotta show me how to do that,” you say as he returns to your side. His shoulder brushes yours as he stands beside you, waiting for Jeremy to take his turn. 

When the cue ball settles, you look to him for guidance. Assessing the table, he nudges you towards the most advantageous corner. 

“You’re gonna aim for the green one there,” he tells you, pointing in the direction of the green ‘6’ ball positioned in a prime spot. You lean over, just as Joel did, but your legs are too close together, your hips too far from the table.

Without thinking, Joel wraps his hands around your hips, using a foot to knock your feet further apart. He presses a hand between your shoulder blades, forcing your body closer to the table. He leans over you, his hips flush to your ass as he stretches his left arm along yours and demonstrates the position of his fingers for the cue stick.

“Now draw back,” Joel instructs. Your hips shift against him as you do and he bites back a moan, his cock twitching in his jeans. “And let it fly.”

You hit the cue ball into your intended target, sinking it in a pocket. Joel stands as you turn to face him in your excitement, the position pressing you so close your chest brushes his when you inhale sharply.

“Good shot,” he murmurs, eyes dipping to your parted lips. 

You smile at him, and he knows he’s been caught just by the gleam in your eye. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Guess I’ll try the next one by myself.”

You’re turned back to the table before he can respond. He watches you expertly position yourself for the shot, tapping another solid ball into a pocket. Your next shot hits against two solids, sending them both into separate pockets. 

You go three moves without missing before you land the cue ball at a disadvantageous angle. As Jeremy lines up his shot, your gaze flicks to Joel.

The smirk on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

________

Joel lies awake in bed as the sounds from your room fade, silence settling over him once more. He hears the faint click of your door being shut a few minutes later, signaling Tommy’s left your room.

His cock is hard as a rock, tenting his sleep pants obscenely, a wet spot forming on the fabric. He palms himself, hissing at the friction. Closing his eyes, he conjures up an image of you bent over the pool table, ass in the air and glistening cunt on display for him. You beg him to touch you, to give you some sort of relief, but he holds back.

The feel of his hand around his cock brings hardly any relief. He groans in frustration, bringing his hands to his face and pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, trying to erase the image of you from his mind.

It’s not enough. 

Joel gets up from the bed, pacing, hoping the movement will distract him enough. He tries to think of mundane things, like his to-do list for the morning or the patrol report he has to write or even baseball stats from a lifetime ago, anything to take his mind off the image of you naked and begging for him, making those same sounds that plague his memories.

He’s got a hand on the doorknob before he realizes what he’s doing, turning it slowly and slipping out the gap in the door. He approaches your door, the only sound in the hall is his labored breathing as he grips the handle.

Joel opens your door slowly, easing inside like a shadow. Your beside lamp is still on, bathing the room in a warm glow that allows him to easily find the shape of you in bed, curled up on your side with your bare back facing him. 

He moves closer, until he’s standing at the edge of the bed. He trails a finger down the smooth skin of your arm, watching as your muscles jump at the contact. He’s playing with fire here. He knows that what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t help himself. The softness of your skin is a thousand times more addicting than the noises you make that replay on a loop in his mind. 

Joel’s finger nudges the edge of the sheet at your waist, drawing it back with careful movements until he’s exposed the curve of your ass, your pussy just barely visible. His mouth waters at the sight and he palms his cock, biting back a groan.

You wiggle around and Joel freezes, adrenaline coursing through his veins. You turn over onto your back, eyes wide open and a serene smile on your lips.

“Was wondering when you’d give in,” you murmur. You reach your arms above your head, the move drawing Joel’s attention to your breasts, your nipples already tight points. “You’re a bit of a perv, aren’t you? Coming in here after your brother fucked me, all turned on. Touching me.” Your hand reaches out, fingers ghosting over his abdomen and trailing down his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a pained noise. “You wanna know what Tommy does to me? While you’re in there with just your hand, listening to me cum?”

Joel’s breath is coming in harsh pants now as he opens his eyes to watch you, your hands coming up to knead your breasts and pull at your nipples.

“He always starts with my tits,” you say. “Loves ‘em. Grabbing them, biting them, licking them. God, it feels so good, Joel.”

Your hands slide down your tummy. “Then, when he’s gotten me all wet from just playing with my tits, he’ll tease me with his fingers.”

Joel’s knees feel weak as he watches your hand dip between your thighs, your back arching from the bed as you swirl your fingers through your slick. You raise your hand, fingers glistening in the dim light.

“You want a taste, Joel?” You ask, holding your hand out to him. 

He leans forward, eyes glued to yours as he takes your fingers between his lips, the earthy taste of you exploding across his taste buds and making him groan. He plants one knee on the bed, then the other, kneeling beside you now as he licks your fingers clean.

“Good boy,” you murmur when you pull your hand back. His cock twitches at the praise.

“Tommy’s gentle. He likes to get me warmed up for his cock,” you continue, sliding your spit slick fingers into your entrance. “You wouldn’t be gentle, though, would you, Joel?”

“I’d fuckin’ ruin you,” Joel growls. You moan, loud and unrestrained, head tipped back against the mattress and your fingers pumping at a rapid pace. The sound of it is music to his ears.

“When he’s got me all stretched around his fingers,” you finally say, voice breathy and fucked out, “he’ll eat my pussy ‘til I’m begging him to fuck me.”

Joel knows the sound of that. Your desperate pleas for Tommy’s cock, the ones that end in a gasp as his brother puts you out of your misery. 

He reaches out, fingers wrapping around your wrist and forcing your hand to still. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“You think this is a silly little game, huh?” He asks, pressing your arm up by your head. “Teasin’ me for weeks?”

Your eyes go wide as he crawls between your legs, wrapping his hands beneath your thighs and pressing your knees up towards your chest, spreading you wide for his hungry gaze. 

“Look at me,” Joel commands. He licks a broad stripe through your folds, a moan spilling from your lips that bleeds into a litany of curses and pleas as he eats your cunt like a man starved, messy and deep. His tongue dips in your fluttering hole before dragging back up to lavish your clit with attention. He sucks the hard nub, rolling it between his lips as you thrash beneath him and fight against his iron grip.

“Fuck, Joel, so good,” you cry, fingers tangling in his hair. He groans at the feel of your nails on his scalp, squeezing his hands harder around your thighs. “I’m gonna cum!”

“I didn’t say you could,” Joel says as he pulls away abruptly, releasing one of your thighs and using his hand to slap your pussy, right over your clit. The move earns him a surprised shout, your body jerking in his hold.

Joel grabs you by your hips, twisting you until you’re face down on the bed. He hikes your ass up high, landing a smack to one cheek for good measure and reveling in the whine you give him in response.

“Stay still,” he demands, shoving his sleep pants and boxers down his thighs, freeing his aching cock. He notches the thick head at your entrance, sliding in the barest inch. “Feel that, baby?”

“Joel,” you cry. “Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me! Ruin me!”

Joel slams in deep, fingers pressing bruises into your hips from how tightly he’s holding you. He doesn’t bother letting you adjust, his rhythm a punishment for your teasing and torment. This is nothing like the slow, maddening fuck he’d imagined. He’s rough, primal, aggressive as he thrusts into you, deep as you can take him.

Your moans are muffled against the mattress in this position and that just won’t do. He’s gone weeks hearing them through the wall, he wants them directly in his ear now. He leans over you, dragging you up by the shoulder so that you’re on your knees with your back to his chest, looping his other arm around your ribs and gripping your breast roughly in his hand.

“Joel!” You sob, head leaning back towards his shoulder and putting your faces close. He tilts his lips to yours, the kiss messy and desperate as he slides through your fluttering heat.

“Cum for me,” he grunts, holding your face against his with a hand around your throat. “Cum all over my cock, baby.”

He can feel you tighten around him, your moans reaching a crescendo that he recognizes intimately. You shake in his hold, the slide of him inside of you slicker than before with your release.

“Tell me, baby, does Tommy ever cum in this perfect cunt?” He asks. You shake your head and he grins, biting into your shoulder roughly, making you shout. “You were just waitin’ for me to come around and fill this little pussy up, huh?”

You’re boneless in his arms but you give a weak little nod. “Please, Joel, want you to fill me up.”

Your words are the final nail in his coffin, his orgasm hitting him with a burst of light across his vision as he groans into your ear, hips pressing tight to yours as he spills inside of you. 

________

The next morning, Joel wakes to an empty bed in a room he doesn’t recognize, sleep pants and boxers still tangled around his thighs. He pulls them up and rolls from the bed, leaving the room and following the scent of coffee.

Both you and Tommy are in the kitchen, laughing when he shuffles in. You hop from the counter and bring a mug over to him, settling it in his hands.

“How’d you sleep, brother?” Tommy asks. He’s got a shit eating grin on his face, one that matches the smirk you’re trying, and failing, to hide on your own.

“Never better,” Joel says, smiling as you burst into giggles and Tommy claps him on the shoulder.

Tommy wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into a kiss. Joel tugs you out of his hold and against his body, kissing you deeply.

Joel and Tommy are good at sharing, just as brothers always should be.

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x female reader #joel x female reader #proxima writes tarot pull #joel miller x the devil

[comradecrusty]

to all my mentally ill folks...please stick with your meds it gets so better...like....omg does it get better

i genuinely used to think everybody was lying when they said it got better but it do! i feel so happy and my emotions are back and i enjoy things and its all i could ever want

#i hope everybody that needs one can find a good psychiatrist who helps them find the meds that work for them #instead of me feeling numb and bad occasionally i feel GOOD with bad occasionally #like instead of just sitting here staring at the wall goin huh. nothing to do. i sit here now like huh! theres some stuff i can do today! #weed dependency who 💁🏻‍♀️ i could cut it out if i wanted but i think im just gonna try to reduce my usage cause its still very helpful #i just gotta stop smoking 5-6 times a day cause that definitely affects my mental health negatively but less than 3 times a day will be good #mental illness #depression #personal

[otomegema]

title: Convergence Theory pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: You are a lesser family member of the Gojo clan, so far removed you don't even carry the name, but you carry the Limitless ability and thus the potential to be a bride to the future head of the clan— a fact you patently reject at fifteen. Twelve years later you are a second grade sorcerer struggling to obtain first grade status when the object of your deepest objections offers you a deal. rating: Mature for now, explicit later most likely because WHY NOT tropes: fake dating/engagement, rivals to lovers, slow romance Link: Archive of Our Own

August, 2005.

That summer had been oppressively warm, a layer of heat trapped beneath a layer of moisture that made even the light fabric of your yukata stick to your sides. It was the kind of weather that made your body beg for relief, to lay shivering and sweltering under the barest breath of cool air.

Your mother had opened the outside screens in the room, letting you sit on the porch overlooking the small garden at the center of the expansive, traditional home. The view was lovely, overlooking a manicured garden, a small koi pond bubbling pleasantly even as the night air chirped with the sounds of insects.

The main house was equipped with air conditioners in some of the rooms— just like your parent’s own home, only a short distance away, but somehow so far removed from the atmosphere of this place it felt miles away. Centuries. The clock on the wall seemed suspended in time, halted too by the weight that fell over this place.

There was nothing to be done. When the head of the Gojo family called, even the smallest vine, hanging from the tiniest branch, curled in. Your great grandmother had bore the Gojo name before she married, a detail of minor significance that had not effected your own family until your birth. You had often heard your parents discussing the main family in hushed voices when they thought you were not listening. First with excitement and eagerness and then with worry.

There had been a phone call, an order disguised as invitation.

Gojo Satoru, heir to the name, barer of the Six Eyes, was turning sixteen in December, a scant four months away.

Six Eyes. Two words that managed to leave the bitterest taste of bile in your throat.

It had been thought the next Six Eyes would be born in your generation, your parents hopeful at one point that you were the one so blessed. A hundred years of waiting ended by the birth of another child, honored above all other sorcerers. Your had been born with the Limitless, that much was certain and an extra unnaturally keen ability of foresight… the signs were there. The possibility that the the massive potential of the Limitless was within your grasp if you could only prove to possess the fabled Six Eyes…

You were hailed for a short time as possibly a true child of the Gojo blood, a blessing. A boon. And then not even a short year later that boy was tested. No two Six Eyes could exist and it was him, not you, who was truly blessed.

You ran your hands up the back of your neck, dislodging the hair stuck your heated skin.

And worse yet, now you would suffer the indignity of being paraded around with every other eligible girl with a single drop of Gojo blood diluted enough to be proper for marriage.

Gojo Satoru needed a betrothed and only the best would do, naturally.

You were to be polite, courteous and docile. Laugh at his jokes, bat your eyes. Play the role of the pursued for the pursuer.

Did you even want to be selected? Once hailed as the promised child, now degraded to probable broodmare ?

You sucked your teeth, holding back a feral shriek somewhere deep in your throat. There was a knock on the wooden frame of the room, lazy and slow. The door slid open before your mother could get you to return inside to the low tables and too hot tea laid out.

You were all but deaf to the sounds of stilted, forced polite conversation, but could not ignore the sudden presence of a young man who came to sit down hard at your side.

Gojo Satoru was not an unattractive young man. He had the signature Gojo coloring, his eyelashes even as pale as driven snow. You yourself had even inherited two streaks of white in your hair, framed near your face and standing in contrast against the rest.

But that handsomeness was hard to enjoy when his expression was one of such utter indifference. He did not even bother to remove the dark glasses that shaded over his eyes, but you hardly were offended. It would have been all the worse to have to look at the very thing you coveted most in this world. Taunting you. Dismissing you.

How many girls had he been forced to sit with today? Judging by his bored expression, too many.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” He said, voice amused, yet slightly condescending. Behind you both, his parents spoke with your own, but that too was part of the charade. All eyes were on you. All ears tuned to your words.

“You know my name.” You said with a thinly veiled sigh. His attention shifted just a fraction and you noticed with an indignant flush he was wearing his school uniform. Shirt untucked, jacket unbuttoned. You had been forced to spend hours getting ready for this meet-up.

He tilted down his glasses to give you a halfway appraising look and you turned away.

“Goin’ for the aloof angle then? Some other girls tried it too. As if you pretend hard enough that you aren’t interested somehow I will be.”

How fucking arrogant.

Your fists clenched in your lap.

“It won’t work.”

“I’m not working any ‘angle’.” You grumbled, “I was told to be here so I’m here. That’s all.”

“You expect me to believe that, huh?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” You spat back, turning to shoot him a piercing glare.

There was silence then, even the voices behind you seeming to falter and lower as if worried they were missing out on some secret hushed conversation.

“Ohhh, wait. I remember now! I do know your name.” Gojo continued, taking off his sunglasses and wiping off some smudge or dust from the lens, “Aren’t you that girl they thought was gonna have the Six Eyes in her?”

Your fist clenched tighter.

“I get it now. Sour grapes and all. Tell ya what…” he spoke softer and leaned in until you felt his breath against your ear, “If you ask me really nicely, for one night, you still could."

The only sound that came after that was the harsh strike of skin against skin. The contact of your palm connecting to his cheek stunned not just the adults inside, but you.

No self respecting sorcerer with the Limitless ability would have been taken by surprise and yet here you sat, having successfully struck the heir to the Gojo name right across his smug face.

You drew your hand back. His pale cheek had turned a throbbing red so quickly, his smirk raised as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and revealed how his blue eyes danced with open amusement.

***

September, 2017.

The uproar that followed that moment twelve years ago had been profound. Your parents had spent the remainder of the visit profusely apologizing and demanding explanations… and the entire time Gojo had stared only at you. Blue eyes wide and engulfing, a smirk etched in the corner of his mouth even as he got up and strode out without another word.

You remembered he had whistled as he went. As if it were all according to plan.

No betrothal was agreed to that night nor any night since. You were never summoned to the main house again.

It had been the most freeing moment of your young life, opening the world from the one pinpointed hope you’d be born with the Six Eyes or wed to the one who had it into a kaleidoscope of possibility.

You attended Jujutsu Tech’s Kyoto branch, keeping far out of the way of the rising star of the Gojo clan.

Well.

Sorta.

So the problem with having an inherited technique that allowed you to “see” curses and cursed energy users from great distances? Gojo Satoru. The man was such an expansive supernova of energy that when you opened your mind and utilized your gift of telemetry to try and pinpoint targets you had to navigate around his massive, dominating aura.

It was like counting stars against a sunlit sky. The ability, that should have been astronomically useful, rendered inert if Gojo Satoru was on the field.

You tried not to have your own missions line up with his. Which meant keeping tabs on him. Which meant having to live with this gnat, this buzzing fly of cursed bullshit constantly humming in the background when you used your gifts.

You wished everyday you had swatted him harder.

Missions in Tokyo were the worst, but you accepted them without complaint. The fact you’d even managed to rise to second grade despite your public humiliation of the main family’s golden child was a miracle in itself and not one you would squander.

The task was simply. There was a cursed entity that was utilizing the signal within electric devices of all things to move from device to device, rapid as an electrical pulse. It had already killed five non-sorcerers in surge related house-fires in two days. The risk of it causing a massive firestorm in any district rising.

The air had begun to cool in Tokyo, the heat of the summer giving way to fall. You sat on a bench, wireless com already clipped to your ear, the only sound so far the faint static of the open radio and the sound of your breath. The air had that crispness already, the bare cusp of autumn. You steadied your thoughts and began to shut down your senses.

The cursed energy of the young sorcerer students around you began to glow in your mind’s eye, the rest of the world fading into shades of imperceptible grey. Blurring. Distorting.

If you had the Six Eyes, you would be able to see it all. But instead, you blinded yourself to everything but the cursed when you utilized your skill.

You shut your eyes and with a soft breath you whispered, “Cursed technique— Limitless Telemetry: Grey.”

The city revealed itself to your five senses like a massive overflowing of information. Had you not taken the time to adjust, quickly shutting down your hearing, sight, taste, smell and touch in order to compensate, the mental load would have stunned you into a comatose state for several hours. Another thing a Six Eyes user would never need to do. You mentally chastised yourself for allowing the distraction of a deprecating thought, and focused instead upon your sixth sense. The one that tracked beyond the physical.

You were effectively helpless in this state, but within your mind you breezed through the city like a thumb pressed over the pages of a book. Flipping at your leisure as you focused in upon the fastest moving pulse of cursed energy.

In your “peripheral vision” or what acted like a sort of peripheral vision, you could sense the constant presence of Gojo. It was far away, diluted. You wondered if perhaps he was overseas for the barest moment until your senses snapped together and fell upon your target.

You spoke. Your words falling on your own deaf ears as you gave the location into the com. You perceived the movement of the three students. Good kids, fast learners. One boy was even a scion of another great house and the one girl among them possessed a cursed technique of extreme value. The other boy, the pink haired one, you had yet to understand, but his cursed energy output was impressive.

The entity moved. You adjusted, giving new instructions. The curse had not yet caught on to the fact it was being tracked, a fact you would use to your advantage as long as possible. If the curse sensed you, it could easily close the distance and attempt to seek you out… which was why sitting in a park, far from any electrical devices other than your battery powered radio was the safest place you could be.

And if worse came to worse, at least it would be drawn out in the open.

The entity jumped again, following the planned route the three had decided upon to box it further and further into a section of the city that they had already prepared to shut down. Without power, the curse would have to break free of its hiding place within the electric current.

How did a curse even get into the power grid? Too many lost football games on TV? You chuckled a bit to yourself without thinking, providing the newest coordinates as you watched, like an omnipresent spectator as the energies of the curse and the students moved.

This is why I score the highest at Pac-Man…

Everything was going according to plan. You had begun to even let your thoughts wonder, your focus softening just the barest fraction as the students rounded the final corner and blocked the curse into the chosen spot.

And now here comes the switch…

You braced for the surge of cursed energy you expected to feel from it’s ejection…but the power stayed on. You had to stifle the sensation of panic that sparked through your heart, your cursed energy rising a fraction.

And there it was. You felt the shift, the sudden adjusting of the entity. The students flared bright, attacking to try and ward off its escape, but without the power shut off they were waiting for, the curse easily vanished, pulsing through the city and heading now straight ahead… to you.

It’s fine. Fine. Nothing electric by me, so no fast travel.

It couldn’t pass through the coms. It would need to branch off into another grounded circuit and then physically come out to face you in the empty park.

You could hold unto the technique a little longer. Guide the students a little longer. You snapped information in quick short terms. Watching the cursed energy approach closer and closer until it reached the last building at the far end of the park.

And then, inexplicably, it jumped again.

The force in which you were propelled did not immediately register to your mind as your senses flickered and began to come back on line one by one.

The first was touch.

And thus pain.

Your muscles contracted, shot full with an electrical pulse. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, the strike coming indirectly as if someone had forced the curse away. Something blinding and bright exploding over the far-reaching vision of your Limitless technique before your ability snapped off like a cut thread.

Your hearing came back first from sheer force of will. Sight returning in blurry, slowly filling shapes. You forced yourself up from the ground, feeling scrapes biting along your palms.

“You fucking dick.” You managed to hiss, your vision returning just in time to witness the exorcism of the curse by none other than Gojo Satoru.

***

“You used me as bait!”

Your voice reverberated off the hallway walls, your mild injuries tended to but your grievances still in desperate need of airing.

You were only comforted by the fact his students had not been involved in the deception, having also thought Gojo was away while they worked under her guidance in the meanwhile. You were no teacher, but you had taken enough students through missions to be adequate at “babysitting”.

Gojo grinned easily, eyes hidden behind his blind fold as he ran a hand up his neck, feigning a bashfulness you knew had not an ounce of genuineness to it.

The bastard had quietly set up a god damn daisy chain of extension cables into the park, ending plugged into a cheap TV set… right next to you. And he’d done it only after you’d entered your Limitless, taking advantage of your lack of senses to literally bait you like a god damn fish hook and then swoop in to destroy the curse.

His students had been a distraction. A means to force the curse into seeking you out and getting into the open where it could not easily run again. It was the most convoluted, infuriatingly, ridiculous brilliant bullshit you had heard in a long while.

“Pretty clever, yeah? I’ve been practicing my multi-layer tactics.”

“That wasn’t a tactic, it was a gamble and a shitty one at that!”

“Yeah, yeah, but did you die?” Gojo asked, tilting his head to the side. His voice was tinged with amusement and you wondered for a moment if he even remembered you and this was some elaborate “gotcha” twelve years in the making… or if this kind of backhanded backstabbing was common place for him.

“It was interesting to see your technique in action. I could probably give you some tips on how to make it more effective, but they’d be pretty useless to— well. You. So I figure I’ll just make the tweaks and practice it myself!”

You stayed silent.

“What did ya call it? Limitless Telemetry?”

You turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“Whoa— hold on.”

Your exit was cut off, the grinning face you wanted nothing more than to connect your fist into coming back into view.

“I’m kidding. Don’t run off and cry now, we got some other business I wanna discuss.”

“If you’re planning on pitching another mission to me, I pass.”

“Nope. Well— yes. But not like this one.”

You sighed, side stepped, and continued around him again.

“I’ll buy you lunch!”

You stopped.

“And maybe even some kakigōriiiiiiii—“ he continued, his voice lifting to a sing-song tone as he stretched out the word. Your stomach twisted and grumbled in response. Using your Limitless always took so much out of you… a side effect you wondered if he experienced to.

You turned to look back at the man who hadn’t so much as glanced your way in years and wondered again if he was so stupid he didn’t remember who you were or if he was hatching some new plot.

He smiled in what you assumed he thought was a disarming and charming way.

“Fine.”

***

You had settled for a sweet plum flavor, dipping your small wooden spoon into the shaved ice and enjoying the way it melted across your tongue. Flavors always felt more pronounced after you used your Limitless, smells more intense. The sights sharper. It was probably just a placebo effect from being without them, even for a short amount of time, but regardless you enjoyed the sweet flavor and the fruity smell of the different syrups… most of which were coming from Gojo’s own cup.

He had gotten every flavor. The shaved ice in his cup a rainbow of color and tastes as he scooped several together at a time.

The lunch he promised had yet to come, but the treat was enough for now as the sugar helped give a little more pep to your body and your mood. The amount of calories you expended using your gifts was another thing entirely.

The two of you walked a ways in silence, giving you time to observe him for the first time in over a decade.

He had changed, that much you could tell. There was something less harsh in his general demeanor and he had grown considerably since he was fifteen. The boyishness of his face had sharpened, the man overtaking his features. He was broader, less lanky than his teenage self and while his easygoing and devil-may-care attitude was still present, there was something less— edged about it. Less angry.

“Your hair is shorter now,” Gojo said suddenly, “And your chest is bigger.”

You immediately frowned. A look of open disgust flashing over your face. Gojo laughed.

“Thought I forgot about ya, didn’t you?” He slid a thumb over his cheek, the gesture making you flush at the memory of what it felt like to slap the smirk off his face.

“Honestly? Yes.” you answered shortly, taking another bite of your ice.

“Nah. I remember, just figured there was no point in makin’ nice. You seem to be doing fine on your own these days. Second grade, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“As short worded as ever.”

He strode off, forcing you to match his pace. He found a park bench and sat down, sprawling out lazily. You sat next to him at his insistence, knocking your knee into his own until he closed his thighs a bit more with a chuckle.

“Thought you’d be a first grade by now.”

“I have not been recommended.”

He snorted, “Bet you know why.”

You clenched your teeth, holding back a sharp word and an even sharper desire to toss your kakigōri right in his face. Arrogant as ever. Some things, you guessed, did not get better with age.

“The great and fabled Six Eyes holding a grudge over a love tap? How trite.” you said, trying to keep your words indifferent.

“Is that what it was? I had a bruise ya know.”

“You could have stopped my hand before it ever even touched you. You wanted me to slap you so you could get out of having to do anymore meetings.”

His laugh was all the confirmation you needed.

“Is that what you’ve thought all this time?”

“It’s what I know.”

Gojo turned his attention back to his shaved ice, the two of you sitting in silence long enough for the weight of it to become uncomfortable for you. Finally you shifted and scrapped your spoon down the ice, leaving trails of melting syrup.

“What is it that you want?” Because that was what this was about wasn’t it? He wanted something. The main family never disdained to speak to the lower members without a need and Gojo Satoru was not about to be the exception.

“I’m going to recommend you for first-grade sorcerer status.”

You scrapped your spoon through so harshly a chunk of colored ice fumbled down the side of the paper cup and down your hand. You dodged just in time to avoid it landing with a wet smack on your pants.

You gaped openly at him, but Gojo kept his attention fixed on his ice, happily stirring it up into a soupy, syrupy mess.

“… and yet again I ask, what is that you want?”

Gojo leaned back, tilting his face towards you with an easy grin. You wondered if he saw the world the way you did with your Limitless with his eyes shaded. Seeing only the impressions of energy and sensation. Could he see your expression? The confusion in the downturn of your mouth or the suspicion in the narrowness of your eyes?

“Nothing too crazy! Just need a fiancée.”

The breath punched out of your lungs.

***

You waited outside the small convenience store across the street, feeling your cheeks beginning to lessen in redness from both anger and embarrassment at your sudden outburst.

When Gojo returned from inside, his hair was still wet… and there was still some redness from the syrup stuck to the strands. You hadn’t been able to control the impulse to throw your kakigōri at him, the breaking of your composure having flowed directly down your arm. It could have been worse, you supposed. You could have punched him.

He had needed to rinse off his blindfold, the fabric now folded and tucked into his back pocket. He had replaced it with the dark glasses you recognized from his youth, giving you a glimpse of the bright blueness of his eyes every once and awhile.

Gojo sighed and tossed a damp paper towel into a bin and turned to you expectantly. You gingerly handed him back his own dessert, having minded it for him while he went into the men’s room to clean up. It was practically soup now and you winced when he lifted it to his lips and drank it.

“As I was saying—“ he began with a smack of his lips.

“No—”

“—it’s a pretend engagement.”

Your mouth hung open, half ready to utter another refusal, which you swallowed back in as he waited expectantly for you to cease interrupting him.

“You let me take you on a few dates, we put on a show of my courting a potential betrothed and in exchange I green light your promotion.”

You narrowed your eyes, biting the corner of your lip into your mouth in obvious consideration.

“For how long?”

Your directness didn’t seem to offend him. Quite the opposite actually. Every time you curtly dropped a single or few word sentence he seemed to only smile brighter.

Gojo shrugged, “A few months. Maybe more. Until I figure out a permanent solution.”

“Your parents want you to get married?”

“The whole clan wants me to get married, sweetheart. I am the strongest.”

And now came the obvious question.

“Why me?”

Gojo shrugged, “You were one of their first picks to start with, so they’ll approve. And there isn’t a risk of you falling for me…”

His lips upturned into a sly grin, “… too quickly.”

You scoffed.

“Family will back off. I get a bit of peace until I have to kick you to the curb, and you get to be a first-class sorcerer. Everyone wins.”

“I’m not going to fall for you.”

Gojo gave a sad little nod, like he was agreeing with a deluded person in order to keep them calm and reasonable.

Granted, you did just effectively hurl a slushy at him a few minutes prior.

“This seems a bit extreme, even for you. Why do you think I’d even say yes? You know exactly why you got slapped. Can I expect that same level of charm from our future ‘dates’?” you asked, kicking yourself for having implied in your words you knew him well enough to even know what was extreme for him. The comment did not go unnoticed, even with his half expression hidden you could tell his interest was piqued. The last thing you wanted to do was to explain to this insufferable man how his very presence was as constant as the sun. Always nagging in the back of your mind and in your abilities.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“That was awhile ago. Most girls find me pretty charming these days. As to why you’d say yes— given it is probably your best chance at getting to first grade sorcerer status, I can’t think of a reason you wouldn’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Fifteen year old you would be outraged, furious. She would not have considered this offer for a second. She would have stamped her foot and told him exactly where he could stick his offer.

But twenty-eight year old you had learned that very often principles were made to be damned.

“And the fact I can tell you are just dying to say yes.”

There was that arrogance again.

“You still buying me lunch?” you countered and the smile he gave you was a bit different than the ones before.

“Wow. No one will even question how I could have been charmed by such a talented freeloader.”

“I am exceedingly charming.”

“And what an arm. You play softball or you just start a lot of food fights as a kid?”

“I want sushi.” You said, the finality of your voice inarguable. You thought he might have rolled his eyes, but nevertheless you got your lunch and even managed to bargain a single day to think about the offer.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujustu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru x you #IDK WHAT I AM DOING LOL #YOLO

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,229 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 7 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Daryl continues to worry about Y/N and wonder about her past, but they continue to bond inside the safe walls of Alexandria.

Your name: submit What is this?

From that day forward, you and Daryl were almost inseparable. The growing closeness between you was obvious and spending your time together was like a subconscious habit you couldn’t break.

When he wasn’t around you, Daryl felt like something was just missing and it seemed you always ended up together, even if it was just to do nothing.

Not too long after your last bad run-in outside the walls, Deanna insisted on having a town get-together as a morale booster. There would be food and a bonfire and supposed comradery. You were lying on your couch when there was a knock on the front door earlier in the day. You winced from the continued soreness in your ribs as you climbed to your feet and when you rounded the corner into the hall you could see Aaron on the front stoop.

You immediately gave him a look when you pulled open the front door.

“Y/N,” he said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

You nudged your head as a way to say “come in” and Aaron stepped inside. You walked back up the hallway and stood in the kitchen, waiting for him to follow. “I know that isn’t why you came by,” you said.

“It is too!” he argued. “Well… it’s at least one of the reasons…”

“Uh huh.”

“Tonight—”

“No,” you interrupted.

“But just—”

“Aaron, you know I hate this pretend bullshit…”

He sighed heavily. “It’s not pretend. It’s real. This place is real.”

“And so is what’s out there!” you argued back. “Daryl and I just almost died. That just happened! Am I supposed to forget about my busted ribs or this,” you asked, gesturing to the bruising on your neck, which thankfully was starting to fade at last.

Aaron’s face softened and turned apologetic. “No. Of course not. But if we stop trying, if all we do is think about what’s out there… what’s the point of living?”

Goddammit. He had a damn point. You sighed heavily and closed your eyes for a moment. You shook your head. “I hate you,” you said sarcastically.

He smiled. “Love you too. Starts at 7. I’ll wait for you to show up, and if you don’t, I’m going to come get you, okay?” He started to head toward the front door but turned around halfway. “Oh—and hey, maybe think about bringing Daryl with you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “…what’s that mean?” you asked suspiciously.

“What? Nothing! Just—you two are kind of alike in some ways. You know he won’t go unless someone drags him,” Aaron said.

“Uh huh…”

Aaron only grinned back at you. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said. You heard him open the front door and returned his shouted goodbye.

“Fuck,” you said aloud. You needed a shower and something to wear that would hopefully cover up worst of the bruising on your neck… At least you could count on dim lighting conditions since it was a bonfire.

That evening, Daryl was sitting on the steps of the house hoping, waiting to see if you would step outside. Finally, he saw you coming out onto the porch, shutting the door behind you. You were wearing a long sleeve thermal, with the sleeves partially pushed up to accommodate your wrist brace and the still balmy evening air. You had a light scarf looped around your neck, and Daryl knew that was purposeful. He got up as you came down the stairs and strode toward you.

You saw the archer and couldn’t help but smile at him as he approached. He had that stride, leading more strongly with one shoulder and foot than the other.

“Hey.” There was something about his deep voice that instantly put you at ease and you paused in the middle of the street.

“Hey,” you returned. You noticed again that his hair was shiny and looked soft, clean. He’d obviously cleaned up. “You going to this thing?” you asked.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged. “I dunno. Was thinkin’ about it. You’re goin’?” he asked.

You nodded. “Gonna try. I guess,” you said with a laugh. “Aaron talked me into it…”

“Yeah, uhh—yeah, he came by here earlier, too.” Daryl rocked on his feet a little bit. He wished he was better with words because he really wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful, even just in your jeans and thermal, bruises and broken wrist and all. “Well, if you’re headin’ there I’ll walk with ya.”

You nodded and Daryl fell into stride beside you. As you approached the center of Alexandria, you could already hear loud laughter and conversation and there was a warm glow from lanterns and the bonfire. Kids were running around playing the kinds of games you did when the world was free—Ghost in the Graveyard and Hide and Seek. You shook your head as you took in the scene, your feet faltering a bit. “Surreal, isn’t it?” you said vaguely. Daryl couldn’t help glancing at your expression. Far from looking content or like you were enjoying the domestic scene, your brow was furrowed and there was a faraway look in your eyes.

“Mhm,” he acknowledged. “C’mon. Let’s get a drink at least.”

You followed him through the crowd, feeling somewhat more at ease, more okay with him beside you. Daryl handed you a cold beer and grabbed one for himself, nudging his head over toward the reservoir just outside the circle of firelight and bubble of conversation. As you left the refreshment area you snagged a bottle of whiskey too. You collapsed down onto a wooden bench with a sigh and stared toward the water. You took a long drink from your beer and drummed your fingernails against the glass. Daryl was standing nearby, his blue eyes narrowed as he stared out over the water.

“Hey,” you said, drawing his attention. “Come on and sit by me at least. Then they can’t accuse us of being totally anti-social.”

He let out a small snort in place of a laugh and rolled his eyes. His stomach fluttered a little as he complied and took the other seat next to you on the wooden loveseat, spinning his beer anxiously in his hands. The bench was small; your shoulders were almost touching.

“Look what else I got,” you said, reaching down and lifting up the bottle of whiskey. Instead of the reaction you expected, Daryl just gave you a calm but perceptive glance.

“Ya plannin’ on gettin’ drunk?” he asked sharply.

You stared down at the bottle in your hand and your eyes fell again on the brace on your wrist. “Maybe,” you said quietly, not even really sure you had said it aloud.

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Why?” he drawled.

You shrugged. “Does there have to be a reason?”

He licked his lips and leaned back in his seat. “Usually is one, whether or not there needs to be.”

He was annoyingly observant. You’d known him a matter of weeks and he always seemed to see right through you. But you simply uncorked the bottle and took a pull. It burned your lips and left a warm trail all the way down into your stomach. You chased it with another sip of your beer and tried to distract yourself by just staring out at the water again, looking at the glowing orbs of porchlights in the distance reflecting there. Every so often you could feel Daryl’s eyes on you.

“What?” you said, finally turning to face him. You were only a few inches apart. You thought you saw his cheeks grow a bit pink for a moment, but in the dim light you couldn’t be sure.

“Nothin’,” he said, turning away and gazing out across the water the way you had been just a moment earlier.

You sat together in silence for quite a while and although it felt tense at first, both of you relaxed into it. You alternately sipped from your beer and took pulls off the whiskey, a dangerous pattern because you weren’t paying any attention to how much you were drinking and you were a lightweight even before alcohol was a rare commodity.

But the longer you sat, the more you felt like there was a bubble in your chest, growing bigger and bigger and waiting to burst. Finally, you couldn’t hold out in the strenuous anticipation any longer and spoke what was on your mind. “You ever wonder how this place is going to fall?”

Your words were quiet and definitely a bit slurred. Daryl’s eyes snapped over to yours which were already on his face, surprising him as they flickered back and forth between his, holding his gaze steadily. He gulped and nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted.

“Or when…” you added.

“Yeah…” he agreed again. “I do.”

You sighed and turned back to look at the water. “I think about it all the time,” you said softly, and Daryl thought he heard your voice break. You stood up abruptly and whipped your empty beer bottle into the water, watching the ripples expanding across the small pond. You wavered a little on your feet and Daryl jumped up, hands extended in case you needed to be steadied.

“I think ya better slow down on that booze,” he growled.

You simply gave him a defiant look and took another pull from the bottle. You held it out to him but he only stared you down.

“Nah. If you’re gonna be stupid, then I’m gonna be sober. And I’m gonna get ya some water,” he said, turning to leave. His momentum stopped when he felt your hand gentle on his arm. He looked back at you in shock and couldn’t help the kneejerk way his body stiffened. But it was only from surprise. A split second later his stomach flipped at the feeling of your hand there and he wished you would never take it off. But you had obviously perceived his tension and you withdrew it quickly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, sinking back down onto the bench, wanting to kick yourself for grabbing onto him.

The archer was left puzzled and chewed his bottom lip as he considered you a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

You were alone on the bench, waiting for Daryl to return, your head more than a little hazy from the whiskey, when footsteps approached. You knew they weren’t Daryl’s. They didn’t have his cadence and his footsteps were almost silent, even when he wasn’t hunting or tracking. You turned to see Spencer and internally groaned.

“Isn’t right that you’re over here all alone,” he said, walking around and sitting in the seat that was Daryl’s without any invitation.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, leaning away from him.

“Look pretty alone to me,” he said, downing what was left in his drink glass and actually taking the bottle of whiskey from you to refill it with a healthy share.

“Yeah, well, that seat—the one you’re in—it’s reserved. Already taken,” you said, snatching the bottle back.

He scoffed. “What? By that redneck? Seriously?”

You shot a sharp glare at Spencer, but knew the sting was likely diminished by the glazed look in your eyes on account of the booze. “You know his name. It’s Daryl Dixon. Not ‘that redneck’.”

“Whatever,” Spencer laughed. “Guy’s a nobody. Who cares?”

“I care. Now get the fuck out of his seat,” you growled.

Spencer only smiled back at you. “I think you’re just afraid that if you let me sit here, something might actually happen between us… Come on. You know there’s something here—as much as you fight it. Some spark.”

You stood up abruptly and stepped away from him, scoffing. “What the hell is wrong with you? I feel like I’ve been perfectly clear with you over and over again. Did you forget that I punched you out?” He seemed impervious to your refusal and only stood up too and stepped closer to you.

“Come on, Y/N. You know you want this,” he said, reaching a hand out and trailing his fingers down your arm.

You shrugged him off. “Don’t. touch me. I won’t tell you again.”

He soured somewhat immediately. “What is your problem? Is it seriously something to do with that hick you’re always hanging around? You have something going on with Daryl?” he said, mockingly. “Seriously? What a fucking joke. He’s a mess. Just some—dumb redneck. You deserve way better than him. You deserve someone with their shit together, someone who will string together more than two words at a time. Someone like me.”

You physically recoiled from him again. “You’re a fucking joke. Everything you’ve ever had in life has been handed to you and you’ve turned out to be a spineless, spoiled dick. You have no idea what’s out there and you wouldn’t last a day. You’d be lucky to ever be even a quarter of the man Daryl is.” Your jaw was set. “Now fuck off and go find someone else to bother,” you growled. “Try one of the other sheltered suburbanites. They’d probably fall for your bullshit.”

“I can’t believe this shit,” he muttered angrily, but you heaved a sigh of relief as he stalked off, hopeful that he would finally get the fucking hint for once and leave you alone for good. You turned back to stare at the water in front of you, gentle ripples still bouncing off the shore from when you’d tossed your bottle in. Your uninjured hand went to clasp around your wrist brace absently.

You didn’t know that Daryl was only a few feet away, returning with some water for you, and that he had been watching the entire interaction. And Spencer’s words had stung. Sure, Daryl knew Spencer was an idiot and he certainly had no high opinion of the moron but Spencer had also just verbalized some of Daryl’s own deepest insecurities about himself and even… about you and how you felt about him… and that had stung him deeply. But then came your words… and he felt complete disbelief, sure he had misheard. He felt paralyzed for a long moment as he puzzled over what you had said and how you had said it. But you had been forceful and purposeful. Daryl hadn’t imagined that.

He was so shocked that his boots were rooted in place. He stood there with that cup of water in his hand, dumbfounded, before he finally snapped himself out of it and went around the bench to stand beside you. “Hey,” he said, holding out the water. “I just, uhh—I just saw Spencer stalk off. He looked pretty pissed. Was he botherin’ ya? Are ya alright?”

You accepted the glass and drank deeply from it, suddenly realizing that you actually were pretty thirsty. You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine. And maybe now that fucking asshole will finally leave me alone… Idiot,” you mumbled, looking back at the water.

Daryl shifted awkwardly on his feet. His heart was racing as he thought about what you had said. He watched with concern as you took another drink of whiskey from the bottle, this time grimacing a little at the burn. “Would ya quit that?” he asked, drawing your eyes to him.

You studied him for a moment. “Wanna get out of here?” you asked, glancing back at the crowd around the bonfire. Daryl followed your eyes and then looked back at you. His expression was unsure. He was trying to guess at your meaning. “Just—go for a walk or something. We can at least tell Aaron we came,” you said.

He chewed his bottom lip for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, alright. Somebody oughta babysit ya anyway,” he snarked. You pulled a face at him in response and one corner of his mouth twitched up.

“Alright then, chaperone. C’mon,” you said. Bottle in hand, you started to follow the edge of the reservoir, moving away from the glow of the bonfire and the loud laughter and conversation. Daryl walked next to you, content just to walk quietly. You ended up on the other side of the pond from the party, leaning on the railing of the dock and looking back across the water. Daryl walked past you to stand at the end of the dock. You meandered over to him and took in his broad shoulders and muscular arms. You couldn’t help biting your bottom lip. Oh, fuck You are in trouble… you thought to yourself. “Can you swim, Dixon?” you asked him suddenly. He had just enough time to snap around to look at you before you were grinning at him and pushing him hard, your uninjured hand flat in the center of his chest. He went plummeting into the water backwards and came back up gasping as you laughed hard at his expense.

“Are ya frickin’ kiddin’ me?! The hell is wrong with ya?!” he barked at you, treading water. His long hair was plastered to his face. “Oh, yer dead,” he growled at you.

“I’m dead? What are ya gonna do?” You slowly paced backwards on the dock, a wide, genuine smile crinkling your eyes, and the sight of that was enough to make any real annoyance Daryl had evaporate. He couldn’t resist that megawatt smile. “You made it so easy! You were just standing right there at the end!” you said back. “What, I was supposed to just not take that opportunity?”

Daryl let out a chesty growl and pointed a finger at you. “You and whiskey should not mix.” He pushed his wet hair out of his face and swam back to the edge of the dock. “Well…” he said expectantly, staring at you.

You laughed again and shrugged. “Well?”

“At least come help me get the hell out of here,” he rumbled.

You let out a loud laugh. “How stupid do you think I am? I know you just want me to come over there so you can pull me in or splash me or something! Besides, I can’t pull you out. Wrist? Ribs? Remember?”

Daryl muttered under his breath and pulled himself out on the dock, his wet clothes sticking to him, complete with sopping wet boots. He stared down at the water pouring off him onto the wooden deck.

You pressed your lips together in a pleased attempt to stifle more laughter.

“You’re dead,” he growled again, looking up at you. “I ain’t babysittin’ your ass no more. I dun care if ya do fall in and drown,” he barked, starting to stalk toward you to leave the dock.

“Oh, come on, Daryl. It’s pretty funny. I mean, if it were reversed—”

“My damn boots,” he interrupted, giving you another glare.

You stared down at his feet and grimaced. “Right… well… come on. I’ll walk you back to your house so you can change. It’s the least I can do,” you said, trying hard to stifle more laughter at the glare the archer was giving you.

“I should throw ya in right now,” he said. “Maybe it’d sober ya up,” he said, shaking the water from his arms.

“Hey—I probably shouldn’t be swimming! I’m a cripple, remember?”

“Uh huh. Convenient,” he muttered. He started down the sidewalk, leaving wet footprints. You jogged a little to catch up with him and although he could feel your eyes on him he was determined not to look at you, trying to pretend he was still mad. It didn’t last long and when he next looked up you saw that one corner of his mouth was quirked up in a half-smile. Your grin widened. “Ya are gonna pay for this eventually, ya know,” he said gruffly.

“Worth it.”

You walked with Daryl in a comfortable silence all the way back to the house he was sharing with many of his group members, although some had split up and moved in to the other house by now. You froze suddenly at the bottom of the stairs as Daryl climbed them.

“Woah,” you said. You pressed a hand to your head.

Daryl glanced back at you and rolled his eyes, letting out a sharp exhale. “Whiskey?”

“Yeah, it’s like it all just hit me at once.”

He let out a gruff laugh. “It ain’t hittin’ ya at once. Ya been slurrin’ for over an hour now.” He came back down the steps and gently grasped your elbow, his heart jumping as his fingers made contact with you. “C’mon. Let’s get ya some more water.”

You smiled at him a little abashedly as he led you inside. It was the first time you’d ever been in their house and you looked around, taking in Rick’s spare pair of boots by the front door and Judith’s high chair at the table.

“Here,” he said, shoving a full water glass into your hands. “I’mma get some dry clothes and rinse off this pond smell all over me. Thanks to you…” You laughed again and shrugged.

“You look good all wet though,” you said, the words surprising you even as they slipped out.

Daryl’s blue eyes narrowed and he ducked his head, mumbling a gruff “whatever” before disappearing downstairs to retrieve some clothes, completely baffled and unable to come up with any response to that. He hoped you hadn’t been able to see the warmth he certainly felt in his face. He came back quickly with a towel over his shoulder and some clothes under his arm and pointed at you vehemently. “Now just sit down and quit with the damn whiskey. Don’t go anywhere.”

You saluted him and affected a serious face, resulting in him rolling his eyes at you again. But you left the whiskey bottle on the counter and took your glass of water into the living room with you. As you sunk down on the couch, you heard the shower turn on. You unwound the light scarf from around your neck and tossed it down carelessly. Daryl’s crossbow was sitting on the coffee table and you picked up one of the spare bolts from where it was laying on the table and spun it absently between your fingers. You collapsed back on the couch so you were laying out flat and stared up at the shapes of the shadows on the ceiling. They shifted a little as your vision seemed to spin. You planted a foot on the floor to ground yourself.

You knew it was stupid to get drunk… but sometimes you just wanted to try to forget.

That’s where Daryl found you when he came back out, now in his change of dry clothes. “Y/N?”

“Over here,” you said, still spinning his crossbow bolt between your fingers. He looked over the back of the couch at you, leaning on his forearms.

You smiled up at him, just a small one, but it sent his heart fluttering. He was always amazed that that smile was just for him.

“Well, I think I smell a bit less like pond now,” he drawled.

You leaned up on your elbow a little, ignoring the twinge in your ribs. You dramatically sniffed in his direction and he gave you a look. “Less pond,” you said. “For sure.”

Leaning up closed half the distance to Daryl as he looked down at you and you felt suddenly like the air was charged. Probably just the alcohol, you thought to yourself, gulping at the sudden lump in your throat.

Daryl felt it too and he suddenly couldn’t hold your gaze any longer, running away from the feeling. It was magnetic. But he told himself there was no possible way you were feeling the same thing and he straightened back up and just like that the electricity, the heaviness in the air evaporated.

You glanced down at his crossbow bolt in your hands with a fluttering in your chest. “Probably shouldn’t leave these lying around with a baby in the house, ya know,” you said, waggling the bolt at him.

“She ain’t crawling much yet. But yeah… you’re probably right.”

“It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” you said. Daryl gave you a questioning look, one eyebrow raised. “Judith.”

Daryl smiled and looked down at his hands on the back of the couch. “Ya. It is.” You liked the way his expression softened at the thought of her.

You strained to sit up straighter, an arm wrapping around your ribs. Daryl watched the tight expression of pain take your face over and then pass and he felt another hot flash of rage about what had been done to you outside the walls. And he had so many questions he wanted to ask you, so many worries… but you were so closed about it…

You spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re lucky. You have so many people, good people, and—they all obviously care about you. A lot.” Your voice was soft and Daryl finally looked up again and met your eyes with his. He felt a rush of nerves.

“Ya. Don’t make any damn sense, really,” he drawled.

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

Daryl felt those annoying butterflies flit to life in his stomach again. God, you hardly had to say anything, do anything for that to happen. What the hell was wrong with him? “Ya got people, too,” he said. “That care about ya.”

You let out a somewhat wry laugh. “I’ve got Aaron and Eric. Aaaand… that’s about it,” you said. You discarded his bolt back on the table.

“Nah. Ya got more than that.”

Daryl’s response drew your eyes back to his in surprise and you swore that his gaze was flitting between your eyes and your lips. Your lips parted slightly of their own accord. You felt suddenly breathless and the space between the two of you was charged again.

You gulped at the tightness in your throat suddenly and looked away, running scared. “I’m just—I’m not good at letting people in,” you whispered, not meaning it to come out so softly.

“And ya think I am?” Daryl laughed gruffly. “People have a way of gettin’ in anyway. If they want to.”

You were struggling to come up with something to say to that when the front door suddenly opened. Daryl straightened up and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You suddenly remembered you weren’t the only two people in the world.

“Oh, good! Daryl, you’re—oh!” It was Carol. “I didn’t realize we had company!” Her voice had been much more relaxed, much lower when she first spoke, but her tone and face suddenly brightened when she realized you were there.

You climbed to your feet and gave her a tight smile. “I was just heading out actually. It’s late,” you said, shooting a glance over at Daryl. He rubbed a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck.

“Ya, alright. I’ll walk ya out,” he murmured. He could feel Carol watching the two of you all the way across the kitchen and up into the front hall.

You stopped in the entryway to turn and give him a small smile. “Thanks. For tonight,” you said quietly. He gave you a dumbfounded look.

“I didn’t do anything,” he murmured. “’Cept not kill ya after ya pushed me in the damn pond.”

You laughed at his confusion. “Yeah. You did.” You turned to leave but froze once again with your hand on the doorknob. “Oh—and you can tell Carol she can knock off the suburban sweetheart act with me, okay? I’m not buying it. I’ll see ya, Daryl. Goodnight.”

Daryl spun around to see Carol standing at the end of the hall, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the space you had just occupied. “Did ya hear—”

“Huh,” Carol interrupted. “Yeah. She’s the only person to figure that out so far.” She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded before looking back at the archer. “I like her.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Ya, she’s annoyingly observant. Rick tell ya she knew he was a cop immediately, too?”

“Well, sorry to interrupt your date,” she said with a small smile. “She didn’t have to leave just because I showed up.”

“Would ya quit?” he rasped gruffly. “Wasn’t a ‘date,’ alright? We’re just—” he shrugged and Carol raised her eyebrows at him knowingly.

“Wait—why is your hair all wet?” she asked, moving closer to Daryl.

He groaned and rolled his eyes again. “She fuckin’ pushed me into the damn pond,” he admitted in a low growl. Carol let out a loud guffaw.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely like her,” she said with a grin. “You should bring her around more often. Let everyone get to know her.”

Daryl rolled his eyes again and headed for the living room to collect his bow. “Quit tryin’a meddle, would ya?”

Carol laughed and tried to look affronted. “I haven’t done anything! God, you’re so sensitive,” she teased him. “What’s that?”

Daryl’s hand closed around your scarf, which you had discarded carelessly on the floor. “Y/N’s.”

“Little warm still for scarf weather isn’t it?” Carol asked, peering at it curiously.

“Ya. She was—she was wearin’ it because of the bruises on her neck. One of those assholes was—” he broke off as he remembered turning the corner and seeing the guy on top of you with his hands around your neck. He felt another hot flush of rage. “When we were outside the walls, one of ‘em was choking her. She’s got marks all around her neck. Probably didn’t want anyone else seein’ em.”

“God. I couldn’t see them in here. It’s too dark,” Carol muttered. “That’s horrible,” she said. Daryl nodded, feeling the soft fabric between his fingers.

“Mhm.” He gave one more nod to Carol. “G’night,” he said, heading immediately for his space in the basement, the scarf still dangling from his hand. He flopped down on his back on the bed, running the soft fabric between his fingers. His stomach was turning as he thought of you, that brilliant smile you gave up so rarely staying in his mind’s eye. He squeezed his eyes shut and chewed his bottom lip, trying to banish it. The hell were all these damn feelings? The archer finally let out a frustrated sigh and set your scarf down on his bedside table before putting out the flame of his lantern and rolling onto his side, chasing sleep.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #my gifs #daryl dixon series #alexandria #sacrifice #part 7 #daryl dixon fluff #daryl fluff

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 9

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

There are a million excuses I could give as to why its taken me so long to update. So I will simply say- writer’s block. Here we are though! 

Tag List: @happyveday​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ @saritanotserena​

Series Masterlist

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He did not know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he should do. But when those two options were at odds, that left him in the quandary of what to actually do. 

 Either way, Anna was in trouble and did not even know it yet. 

 "Fuck." He muttered to himself. 

 "Something to add, Sergeant Collier?"

 Don looked over to meet the stern, blue eyes of Captain Winters. "No, sir."

 The redheaded captain stared at the tank commander for a moment before continuing speaking to the other officers in HQ. "This town here is a key point for supplies for the Germans. There is a railroad next to the town that intelligence says is crucial to them. Once we get control of the town, we'll secure it until 1st Battalion can relieve us." Winters said, pointing at a spot on the map laid across the table. 

 Don glanced back out the window, watching Captain Evans walk away from the HQ building. It had been three days since they arrived in Haguenau, and Captain Evans planned on leaving in two more. 

 The dark-haired intelligence officer began speaking next. "Our sources say it's only infantry there. It seems most of the tanks have been recalled back to Germany. Either way, we expect resistance but as to how much, we aren't sure."

 "That's why we are sending the Armored Division with you. Sergeant Collier will lead the four tanks in assistance." Winters said. "They will follow behind. At this point we've been asked to minimize damage to property but I will not trade it for lives. Understand?"

 A chorus of "yes, sir" answered him. 

 "Excellent. Fox Company will lead the assault with some of Dog Company in reserve. Have your men ready, you leave at oh-six hundred tomorrow. Any questions?"

 Don tried to focus on the rest of the discussion. He was leading his platoon for fuck's sake into another fight, but his thoughts kept drifting to Captain Evans leaving and what that meant. 

 Anna would be leaving too. 

 She had been sent to stay with Captain Evans, to be a medic and translator. She was never supposed to come to Haguenau. Don was never supposed to give a fuck about her. Their brief encounters back at that field hospital were supposed to be the extent of their interactions. Yet here he was. Worried for her safety. He and his crew were leaving tomorrow for the next fight. Captain Evans would leave the next day to start pushing into Germany. 

 His mind whirled with questions. Who would protect Anna? Who would make sure she ate and slept? Who would make sure she was looking out for herself just as much as her patients? 

 Don barely heard the dismissal from Captain Winters. The shuffling of feet and low cadence of voices heading towards the door thrust him back into reality from his dark thoughts. Without a word or acknowledging the paratroopers he would be working with, he headed out of the Battalion HQ and walked towards his lodgings. His mind raced with more questions than answers.  

 He knew what he wanted to do. 

 He knew what he should do. 

 Both options made him clench his jaw and want to punch a hole in a wall. 

 He trudged back to the house, throwing open the door, uncaring of the way it slammed into the wall. Stepping towards the common room, he saw Davis, Binkowski, Grady and a few others playing cards on a short table. A few others lounged around in the sunny room. 

 "What's the news, Wardaddy?" Binkowski asked, keeping his eyes on the cards in his hand. 

 "Leaving tomorrow. Oh-six hundred. Make sure your men got their shit together."

 "You alright, Don?" 

 He had not even heard Boyd come around the corner from the kitchen. His sharp gaze landed on his gunner, who was watching him warily. "Yeah, fucking fine." He snapped; his frustration was a writhing mess of snakes in his gut. 

 Christ, he needed some peace and quiet and a cigarette. Don stormed through the common room to head up the stairs, uncaring of the confused looks around him. In his haste to leave, he accidently bumped a flimsy chair someone must have left out. It just caught him at the right angle and dug into his side, nothing painful but just enough to infuriate him even more. He had not even realized how angry he was until the chair caught him, but it was the catalyst that released the pent-up frustration. 

 With a snarl, he grabbed the back of the chair and threw it against the wall. The sounds of wood snapping and breaking filled the now silent room. Without a word, without stopping, because if one person said something to him, he would beat the fucking shit out of them, he stalked up the stairs to his shared room. 

 After throwing the door open, he kicked it shut. The solid boom of the door slammed back only made him want to do it again and again. Instead he moved to drop onto the bed, sitting on the edge and quickly lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, the smoke immediately bringing some relief to him. 

 He was surprised Norman was not in the bedroom. When he left for the meeting, Norman had been curled up in the bed sleeping still. At first, he thought Norman slept so much because he was sick. Now he was beginning to wonder if the kid absorbed sleep like a desert soaking up a rainstorm; the rarity of it making it harder to ignore and easier to overindulge. 

 It could not have been even two minutes later when the bedroom door slowly opened. Don dropped his head in one of his hands, the other still holding the cigarette. 

 "Wanna explain what that was?"

 "Not now, Boyd." Don hissed, not looking up. 

 The gunner rocked back on his heels, the floorboards creaking under the motion. "A'right. Well, I'm just gonna be right here when you ready to talk."

 He chuckled darkly. Five minutes. He could not even get five fucking minutes alone. He tried to ignore Boyd as he stared out the window. 

 "Where's Norman?" He finally asked after taking another hit of his cigarette. 

 "Gordo took 'im to the aid station to see Anna."

 "She's not coming here?"

 "Dunno."

 "Fuck." Don whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. He suddenly felt like he should be in his sixties or seventies, not just recently turned thirty. His mind played over the past three days since they arrived in Haguenau. Besides that first day of their arrival, Anna had been over every day. He knew it was mostly to check in on Norman and make sure his cold did not worsen but she usually ended up staying for some time or if someone could convince or threaten her enough, she would also catch up on some sleep. During that time he had become so used to seeing her around, it felt strange to question if she was coming back or not. In his mind, she was a part of his crew, and he was positive he was not the only one to feel that way. 

 He needed her safe. 

 That was what everything seemed to come back to for him. He cared about her safety, like he would any of his crew. Except he knew, he wanted to be the one to keep her safe. To keep her gentle smile on him. To be the one she turned to. He felt like a moth drawn to her flame. 

 He knew what he needed to do. He doubted she was going to like it. Hell, if they got caught he wondered if he would lose his rank by going behind the backs of his superiors. He had to do something though. He had to keep her safe. Well, as safe as anyone could be while at war. 

 He knew the truth though- he wanted her close….to him. 

 With a groan, he stuck the cigarette between his lips then pushed against his knees to stand up. 

 "Where you goin'?"

 "Stay here."

 Boyd stood up, blocking the door. "What's goin' on, Don?"

 He debated just pushing Boyd out of the way before shaking his head. "Captain Evans leaves in two days."

 "Uh huh. Anna mentioned somethin' about the wounded finally being moved to a field hospital today. Probably why she ain't here."

 "We leave tomorrow." Don flatly stated. 

 Boyd's eyebrows drew together. "I feel like I'm missin' somethin'."

 "Anna is supposed to go with Evans. That was why she was sent."

 He could see the light bulb go off in Boyd's mind when what Don said finally clicked. His eyes widened, a myriad of emotions flickered across his face ranging from horror to frustration and what could be despair.

 "What…." Boyd stopped, looking off to the side and taking a deep breath before turning back to his commander. "What we gonna do?"

 "I'll take care of it."

 "Don…."

 "Stay here, Boyd. Start gettin' ready to leave tomorrow. I won't be gone long." This time he did gently push Boyd out of the way and with a long look, he stalked out of the room, down the stairs and outside. 

 He made his way to the aid station, only having to jump behind a building once to avoid a mortar. This was his first time coming to the aid station in Haguenau, having had no reason prior to come. He was pleased it was in better shape than most of the other buildings and further back from the river and Nazis. 

 Soon as he stepped through, he was hit with the smell of sanitation, coffee, and dried blood. 

 "Where's the nurse?" He growled at a pair of medics who stared at him like he was the grim reaper come to take their souls. One pointed towards the back. Don stormed in that direction, boots pounding on the wood floor. 

 He arrived at what most likely had been someone's study or library prior to the war but had been converted to the aid station. His gaze zeroed in on her folding up some blankets while she chatted with a medic. He stalked towards her. She only turned her head to look up at him as he was within five feet of her. 

 "Don?" The sweet smile on her face immediately faded away as she took in the serious expression he wore. 

 "We need to talk." He stated, moving to stand beside her. 

 "Of course, let me…"

 "No. Now." He grabbed her upper arm and started to pull her from the room. The other medic started to say something but snapped his mouth shut at the icy glare Don sent him. 

 "What's going on?"

 He ignored her question, looking down at her once they were in the hallway. "Where can we speak in private?" 

 "Upstairs." 

 Once she seemed to sense his urgency, he allowed her to lead him up the stairs and into a room that seemed to be used by the medics to store their personal effects. Two cots were pushed against opposite walls, both empty thankfully. Soon as he shut the door behind them, he rounded on her. 

 "You need to hide."

 "Ex....excuse me?" She stuttered, sapphire eyes peering up at him, wide and unblinking.  

 "Captain Evans plans on leaving the day after tomorrow."

 "We heard. One of the lieutenants stopped by after the wounded were taken to inform us. Why does…"

 He cut her off. "My crew and I are being sent out. We leave tomorrow. I don't know how soon we'll be back. So, you need to hide until Captain Evans leaves."

 "I don't.… I don't understand, Don."

 "Fuck!" He moved closer to her, grabbing both of her upper arms, his hands wrapping completely around them. "Listen. I can't protect you if you are in some other goddamn country. You can't leave with the Captain, alright? You stay here. You stay low and you'll get left behind. When we come back, I'll take care of you."

 "But…. I mean, I'll be fine. The men are….um…. It’ll work out. I'm more worried about you and the others. You are going into a fight!"

 "Fuck them and fuck the fight!" He shouted, moving away before he shook her, trying to make her understand. How could she not see what he was trying to do? "I don't trust those bastards to keep their hands off you! And you shouldn't either! Who's going to look out for you? Huh? Who's going to make sure they don't lay a fucking finger on you?! Cause I can promise you, it won't fucking be them!"

 He stood in front of her, chest heaving from the anger rolling through him like a tsunami wave. Only now, after his words spewed out like vitriol did he witness the effect. The tears that welled in her eyes, how one of her hands covered her mouth, the other wrapped around her torso almost in a self-hug. 

 "Anna…" Resentment towards himself flooded through his veins. Slowly he tried to reach out to her, to place a hand on her shoulder with an apology dancing on the tip of his tongue, but froze when she flinched.

 And that hurt worse than being pierced with a bullet. 

 He made no further move towards her, afraid of her reaction. Frustrated at everything but mostly himself in the moment, he ran his hands through his hair. 

 Her gaze had dropped to the floorboards, hunched into herself. Finally after several seconds, she whispered. "What do you want from me, Don?"

 What did he want from her? Hell, if he was still trying to come to terms with that answer himself. In the moment, he chose to honestly answer. 

 "I want you safe."

 His equally soft reply made her head jerk up, eyes meeting his. "Why?"

 "You're a part of my crew...and I swore to make sure they survive this war. I can't do that if you're in another company."

 "Is that the only reason?"

 Did she know how loaded that question was? How this growing tension between the two of them grated on him? Not because he disliked it. No. Because he wanted her closer. But this was war, and no one was guaranteed tomorrow. So he answered with something that tasted like a half-truth. "The only one that matters right now."

 She sniffled, wiping away the moisture from her eyes with her dainty fingers. 

 As if approaching an injured animal, he carefully shifted closer to her. Seeing the tears in her eyes broke what resolve he meagerly held. He hated that he made her cry, made her flinch. It tore at his soul. Something his mind demanded he fix, for both of them.

 Hesitantly, he reached forward and clasped her hands in his. She inhaled sharply, but only tightened her grip on his hands. The air between them felt charged with something unnamed but powerful. The way their gazes locked, hands holding each other, as if they had been put under a spell neither wished to escape. 

 "I need you safe, darling…." He murmured, the words flowing out of him without his conscious approval. Only after did they hang in the air, waiting to stoke the fire between them or shatter everything like glass. 

 "Darling?" The corners of her lips turned up in a barely-there smile. 

 He huffed a short laugh. "That alright?"

 "Yes." She answered with a blush growing on her cheeks. 

 And damn if that sight didn't stir something within him. Following his instincts, he gently tugged her closer, pulling her into a warm embrace, beyond pleased when she practically melted against him. His arms went around her back while her arms wrapped around his waist. Her cheek laid against the middle of his chest and he wondered if she could hear it pounding within him. Not for the first time was he reminded how small and vulnerable she seemed, tucked against his body now. He knew and witnessed how strong she truly was though. Faced with blood and death and distraught, she still persevered. 

 She sighed after some time, neither attempting to end the embrace. "I'll try to hide but I don't know where I could. All the medics know I'm here. Arthur and the others will be expecting me to join them especially after losing…" Her voice trailed off. 

 He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We'll figure it out. I promise." 

 "I trust you." They continued to stand there, finding solace in one another but also a silent understanding between them. Of affections that were too dangerous to say aloud but still lingered in the air. A few seconds later, her whisper disturbed the peace. "I'm so tired of this war."

 "Me too."

 A knock on the door broke their moment but when Anna tried to step away from Don, he only held her tighter, unwilling to give her up but also wanting to protect her. He watched the door open to reveal a medic, who although his face seemed calm, there was an undercurrent of tension in the way he clenched his jaw and the shifting of his eyes as he immediately took in the scene before him. 

 "Chérie? Everythin' alright? Spina said he 'eard yellin'."

 Only when she turned to face the medic did Don let her go. "Yes. I'm sorry, Gene. It's nothing.... just a misunderstanding."

 "Mmm." The medic glanced back down the hallway then stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. "Someone wanna tell me what's goin' on?"

 Don immediately recognized the name Gene. She had referenced him multiple times when she had been over taking care of Norman. By the way she spoke about him, Don picked up that she trusted him and they were friendly. Perhaps he had an ally here after all. 

 "Are you able to hide her?" He asked bluntly, knowing his time was running short to figure out a plan. 

 Gene's eyebrows scrunched together. "What?"

 "Don, no... it’s fine," she answered at the same time, placing a hand on his arm, "I'll figure out something."

 "Nah, chérie." Gene looked back over to Don, expression reserved but determined. "What do ya mean?"

 Don quickly explained the situation, impressed by the medic with the thick accent and how he absorbed the information thrown at him without too many questions. 

 Gene nodded once at the end, gaze downward as he ran his tongue over his teeth. Finally, he looked up at the two. "I know somewhere. They got some extra room. Lemme talk to their Sergeant first."

 Anna's gaze bounced between the two men, clearly unable to believe what she was hearing. "We can't do this. We'll get…. I don't want to cause more problems or get people in trouble. What happens when your Captain finds out?"

 Gene shrugged. "Winters is a good man. He might not like it but he'll understand." He paused, tapping a finger on his crossed arms. "I'll go now. Anna, stay here, get ya things gathered. We'll bring ya over tonight."

 She stared at both of them again before Don could visibly see her acceptance when her shoulders sagged. With a roll of her eyes, she gave the medic a cheeky salute. "Yes, sir."

 "Fille effrontée." He grinned. 

 She blew him an air kiss that made him shake his head, a small grin on his lips. The two men nodded at each other once more before the medic slipped back out. 

 Once alone again, she turned back around, placing her hands on his chest, peering up at him earnestly. "Be safe, please...tell the others for me too."

 "I will." 

 This time he leaned down as she rose up on her toes to press a kiss to his jawline. His hands tightened on her waist, where they had landed. Instead of immediately pulling back after she fell back onto her flat feet, he lingered. Hovering over her, he cupped her cheek, guiding her head. She was completely pliant under his touch, allowing him to tilt her face until their noses almost touched. He was spellbound, staring down at her. Her gentle breaths sliding across his mouth tantalizingly. It was the soft adoration and trust in her sapphire eyes that pulled in his chest and stole the breath from his lungs. She was too good, too pure for someone like him. Yet he could not draw away from her, captured in her tender affections, left breathless by her kindness. Turning his face just slightly, he could feel the corner of her mouth against his, her warm breath hitting his cheek. 

 "I should go." He whispered, without moving away. 

 Her hands slid up to the nape of his neck, causing him to suppress a low groan as her chest pressed against his. "Don, please come back." Her words pierced his heart. 

 "I will, I promise." This time he brushed his lips over hers. It was just a moment, the faintest of touches but the spark it ignited in him felt like an inferno awakening. 

 Abruptly he pulled back, turned on his heels and walked out. If he stayed any longer, she would be in his arms, his mouth devouring hers, her back pressed against the nearest wall. He had half a mind to turn back and do that just now. But he kept walking. Why she held any affections for him left him boggled. She deserved better than him. He wanted her though. Christ above, he wanted her. It was becoming a truth he could not ignore. 

 And that barely-there kiss only proved it. 

 *****

 Anna followed behind Gene as they headed to a different building, supposedly where she would stay hidden. She worried all of this would blow up in their faces eventually, that the men would get in trouble because of her, that she would be sent away to a company she did not know. Would the army count this as desertion? Fears and concerns tormented her mind, but it was too late now. Her feet were already planted firmly on the path. Physically and metaphorically. 

 Gene had told her that she would stay with the paratrooper platoon until after Captains Evans and his company left. The Cajun medic had already started a rumor along with Spina, who seemed to be enjoying all this espionage a little too much, that she had been sent to assist a family living just outside of Haguenau where the wife was in labor with her first child. It would explain why she was only gone for a short time and as to why her sudden disappearance. Plus, Gene reasoned it sounded like something she would do. She could not blame him there. It would be. 

 So now, they walked in the late hours of the night, moonlight highlighting the ground beneath their feet. The ill-fitting ODs, the coat from a dead soldier and her medic satchel were the only things she owned. All of her other possessions and clothing had blown up when the medic truck was hit during the surprise attack. She desperately tried not to think about that fact. She was alive and with no injuries. Twenty-two men lost their lives that day. Her few belongings were minimal compared to that. 

 She still missed her book though. 

 Gene did not even knock when they reached the damaged house. Quietly, he opened the door and shifted so she could walk in first. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet, making her freeze for a moment. Only after a word of encouragement from Gene did she continue. As she stepped in, she could hear the murmuring of voices suddenly fall silent. Knowing Gene was at her side and he trusted these men, she took a deep breath before taking another step forward. 

 She rounded the corner from the entryway and towards what must have been a common room before the war. There were three men, two sitting on beat-up looking couches and one standing. The moonlight shining through the window cast everything in deep shadows. Somehow it felt appropriate for all that these men had been through. How they were still waiting for the sun to shine on them again, to beat back the shadows and nightmares and remind them to hope and dream of the future without war hovering over them like a furie.

 It was as she met the gaze of the one standing, staring at her, that she could feel tears well up in her eyes. He looked so world-weary, as if he had not slept in years and all peace had abandoned him. His eyes once so bright with laughter and life were now dull. His once expressive face was now weathered and closed-off. Only his red hair looked the same. It broke her heart. 

 "Donnie…." She softly said. 

 The corners of his lips lifted up at the nickname she bestowed upon him so long ago. "Hi, Anna."

 Without warning or a care for his reaction, she flew across the room. She threw her arms around him, the top of her head just at his chin. A few tears spilled as he seemed to hesitate at her action, as if he had forgotten what a hug was, as if he no longer understood how to be comforted. Then slowly his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer to his chest. 

 "I'm so sorry, Donnie." She mumbled against him, fighting a losing battle against the tears flooding her eyes. "Muck and Penkala…. they were the best of men. I'm so sorry. And for the others too." 

 He stiffened at the names of his deceased best friends. She could feel the shudder that ran through him, the soft sob he forced back. "Not…. not your fault." He finally whispered, a faint quiver in his voice. 

 She pulled back to meet his eyes, uncaring of the tear tracks staining her cheeks. Carefully she moved her hands to cup his face between them, forcing his gaze to stay on hers. "If you need to talk, I'll listen. Or just cry. Or hold your hand. I'll do it, without any questions."

 "Sure."

 "I'm serious."

 "I know. You sound like you've been hanging out with Doc Roe too much." He teased, forcing back the pain in his voice. A slight squeeze of her hand let her know he appreciated her words. 

 She giggled, sliding out of his embrace to glance at Gene, who had moved to sit next to another redhead on one of the couches. "He does start to rub off on you, can't decide if he's a good influence or a bad one."

 Gene scowled at her, making her giggle more. 

 "Who's the dame? Easy taking female paratroopers now?" The other redhead asked, his Philly accent unmistakable. 

 "Nah, this is Anna Cooper, a nurse. She's gonna stay with ya fellas for a couple days." Gene said casually. 

 The redhead's eyebrows were furrowed as his gaze darted from Gene to Anna and back. "Why?"

 "I just missed Donnie here so much." She smiled up at the man, who just gave her an awkward smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

 "Uh huh. So, what's the real fucking reason?" The third man asked, twirling a cigarette between his fingers. 

 "Joe, nothing you need to worry about right now." Malarkey answered. 

 Anna wondered if Gene expected the whole platoon to know of her existence there and why or only Donnie and himself. That was probably something she should have asked before their arrival but her mind was too caught up in its tornado of fears. 

 "How do you two know each other?" The other redhead asked, now eyeing her like she was a rare specimen. 

 Roe sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. "She was in Albourne with us medics when we were training before the jump into Normandy."

 "Donnie here also took me on a date." Anna blurted out, a smile on her lips. 

 "What?" The one Malarkey had called 'Joe' stared with his jaw dropped. "A'ight, now I gotta hear this." 

 Malarkey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he looked down at her. "Not sure I'd call that a date, Anna."

 "Mmm...it's a date when you kiss the girl after, right?"

 For a beat there was shocked silence before the two on the couches started laughing, Roe just shook his head and muttered something to himself. 

 "Holy shit, Anna…" Malarkey rubbed a hand over his face. If there had been more light, his face most likely would have matched the color of his hair. "I thought we agreed never to mention it ever again?"

 "It wasn't that bad, Donnie."

 "Yes, it was. That damn shovel almost broke my nose. You had to walk me to the aid station instead of me walking you home."

 "I mean.... when you say it like that." Anna teased. 

 "Shit, I really need to hear this now." 

 "Babe, no." Malarkey pointed his finger at the other redhead then moved it to the other man. "Joe, not a word."

 The one, Joe, shrugged, a smirk on his face. "How come I don't remember this?"

 "Cause you was in London chasin' skirts and gettin' in fights that weekend." Gene stated evenly. "It's late, I need to head back to the aid station. Malarkey, where is Anna stayin'?"

 "Right. This way." Malarkey led the way with Anna and Gene following up a set of stairs and down the hallway to a bedroom. "Supposed to be for officers I guess but since we don't have any…. the door locks too."

 "Thank you, Donnie." She smiled up at the man, someone she had thought she would never see again. It was funny how fate had brought Easy Company back into her life. Moving further into the room, she was pleased to find a single bed pressed against the wall and a desk across from it. Otherwise the room was completely bare of any other furniture or decorations. 

 "Ya ok here, chérie?" Gene leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. 

 "Yes."

 "Good, good. One question then." Gene paused, an intensity in his eyes that startled her. "What's ya relationship with that Sergeant?"

 In the middle of slipping the coat off, she froze, having not been expecting that question. Her mind raced with trying to find an adequate answer. Although it felt futile. How could she describe her relationship with Sergeant Don Collier? Not that there was a relationship, per se, even if memories of their last encounter sprung forth in her mind's eye. Even though they had not known each other long, he was someone she found herself trusting wholeheartedly and feeling safe around. The loyalty of his men inspired her. The brutality of war was evident in the way he carried himself, the shifting of his eyes and the perpetual frown on his face when he was thinking. Yet he still cared. He still went out of his way to take care of a nurse who meant nothing to him. How when he was close by, her heart beat a little faster and butterflies danced in her belly. On more than one occasion, as she laid down waiting for sleep to find her, she wondered what his kiss would feel like. 

 Finally, she settled with a glossed over version, hoping Gene would be satisfied with just that. "Um....we don't…. he’s just looking out for me. Him and his crew kind of took me in."

 "Mmm….and when I walked into him holdin' ya in his arms, lookin' ready to kiss ya?"

 "It's....it's not like that."

 Malarkey spoke up, leaning against the doorframe. "Who’s this Sergeant?"

 "In charge of the armored division." Gene answered, dark eyes staring at her as if to sift the secrets out of her words and wide eyes. 

 "Don's just looking out for me…. him and his crew, they've, well, they've protected me several times already from…. others." She finished lamely, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to push the memories away. 

 He must have sensed her discomfort. "Alright, chérie, just be careful."

 She nodded. She appreciated his concern but felt it was misplaced. 

 "Don, huh? Do you call him Donnie too?" Malarkey broke the following silence. 

 She rolled her eyes but smiled at the slight change of subject. "No, only you get that nickname."

 "Lucky me. So, is he a redhead too? You have a thing for the name Don?"

 She covered her face as her cheeks warmed. 

 "Ya two can discuss this tomorrow." Gene pushed off the desk. "I'll come get ya the day after tomorrow. If ya need anythin', send someone to get me."

 She dropped the coat at the end of the bed and moved to give him a quick hug. "Thank you, Cajun angel."

 He rolled his eyes while Malarkey snickered in the back but returned the embrace.

 Next, she walked over to Malarkey and gave him another quick hug. "Thank you too. For doing this for me."

 "I'm in the room across, if you need me. Bathroom is two doors down."

 The two paratroopers then left, closing the door behind them. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed around her as she stood there in the small room under the moonlight shining through the window. The future was always unknown but especially now, she felt tossed about on the waves of uncertainties. She hoped this plan was not completely foolhardy, but she would admit, she felt safer with Gene and Malarkey looking out for her while Don and Boyd were gone. She would never admit how she had cried while hiding away from everyone when she realized she was no longer alone, that she would not be sent with Captain Evans and his company. There were good men looking out for her. 

 She crawled into bed, slipping under the scratchy covers. All the while, her mind sent a fervent prayer that the crew of Fury would be safe. That they would return to her uninjured. That Don would be okay.

#Fury movie #fury fanfic #fury 2014 #band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #Don Collier #Don Wardaddy Collier #Don Wardaddy collier x OFC #don collier x OFC #boyd swan #boyd bible swan #eugene roe #babe heffron #joe liebgott #donald malarkey #mzwrites

[livesincerely]

keepsakes

Also on Ao3

00000

Davey stops and stares, absolutely stunned.

“Jack,” he breathes.

“Hi, Davey,” Jack quietly greets, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket.

“You...” Davey swallows around a sudden lump in his throat, a hand braced against the doorframe in an attempt to steady himself. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the address from Les,” Jack says, rocking a little on his feet. “I’m in town for the week visiting Ma and Charlie, thought I could swing by and see you for a sec.”

“Oh,” Davey says, still trying to process the fact that Jack is here, that Jack’s actually here, standing outside of Davey’s door. His hair’s a touch shorter, his skin a bit tanner, but he’s still Jack.

He’s still Jack.

“So, uh, can I come in?” Jack asks.

“Oh, right.” Davey gives himself a little shake, then takes a step back and holds the door open wider. “Yeah, sure. Please, come in.”

“You moved out of the old place,” Jack comments as his eyes rove around Davey’s modest entry and living room, and his tone is casual but the words are weighted with an unspoken question.

“It was a bit too much for just one person,” Davey says, averting his eyes. “A smaller apartment is easier to keep up with.”

He doesn’t mention that he hadn’t been able to afford the rent for their old apartment by himself, or that even if he had been, all the reminders of their life together, all the hollowed out spaces Jack had left in his wake—the places he used to be but isn’t anymore—would’ve driven him away regardless.

“Can I get you anything?” Davey asks after a brief pause. “Soda or coffee or...?”

“Coffee would be great, actually,” Jack says. “But, uh, only if it won’t put ya out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Davey says. “Here, go ahead and sit down and I’ll fix you a cup.”

He leaves Jack to pull up a stool at the counter while he pulls two mug out of the cabinet, turning on the coffee maker with a quick press of a button.

“So, how have you been?” Davey asks, careful to keep his head down and his voice light as he waits for the coffee to brew. “How’s Santa Fe been treating you?”

“‘S good,” Jack says. “It’s great, it’s got everything: clear skies, gorgeous sunsets. If you go out to the desert at the right time of day the views are unreal. So, uh, life’s pretty good.”

“And work’s going well?”

“Real well,” Jack confirms. “Now that I’ve been there a while they’re startin’ to give me my own projects to work on, which is great. Nerve racking, and I’m constantly terrified that I’m gonna fuck it all up, but great. Honestly, the studio space and the stipend I get for supplies on its own is pretty incredible, let alone all the experience and connections I’m getting too. So, yeah, things are goin’ well.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Davey says, even as his heart gives a painful little lurch. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

“Couldn’t ask for much more,” Jack responds, and the way he says it is strange—strange enough that Davey risks a glance at his face. But Jack’s expression is flat and impassive, giving nothing away. “How’re you doin’, Davey?”

“Good,” Davey says, turning back to the coffee maker. “I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Jack asks. “Anythin’ interestin’ goin’ on?”

“Just the same old, same old,” Davey replies. “Nothing new to tell, honestly.”

“Nothing at all?” Davey can’t tell if Jack sounds disappointed or relieved. “Did you ever end up gettin’ that transfer you wanted?”

“I, uh, rescinded the request after you— after everything,” Davey answers, watching the the coffee bubble and drip, his chest tight. “There wasn’t really a need, and it was easier to just stay at my old branch.”

“Oh,” Jack says. 

The silence stretches between them, stiff and heavy and awkward. Instead of coming up with something to fill it, Davey busies himself with serving up their coffee, fixing one mug with his usual creamer, then the other with even more cream and a heaping spoonful of sugar, which he sets gently in front of Jack.

“Here you go,” he murmurs. 

Davey takes a small sip of his own coffee, trying to decide what’d be worse: asking Jack another question and having to listen to him talk about how wonderful and perfect his life in Santa Fe has been or just sitting there quietly and trying to pretend like this whole situation isn’t agonizing. 

He tries, “So, um, have you had the chance to—”

“What the fuck, Davey?” Jack bites out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Davey freezes, eyes wide. Jack’s holding his mug in both hands—like he was about to take a drink and got distracted halfway there—and the look on his face is one of absolute fury. 

“Why do you still have this?” Jack demands, setting it down so hard that a bit of coffee sloshes over the side. “Why would you keep—?”

Davey looks, and then he realizes. The mug is a simple, sturdy thing, bigger than most of his other ones so he doesn’t have to refill it as often. He’d grabbed it out of habit—it’s always sitting near the front of the cabinet because of how often he uses it, and he honestly hadn’t thought anything of it.

But now he’s seeing what Jack sees: the trellis of flowers that encircle the rim, painstakingly painted by a careful hand in yellows, golds, and blues. Remembers the smell of the clay and the rainbow wall of glaze, remembers the satisfied grin that had turned so sheepish and shy when they returned a few days later to pick up their creations, remembers the flutter in his stomach as he reached out for the surprise gift, remembers the thrill of electricity when their fingers brushed…

Davey swallows.

“Why wouldn’t I keep it,” he says in as even a tone as he can manage. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

“Oh, so that’s where you draw the line, huh?” Jack says, and his voice his like the rumble before a storm rolls in. “That’s how it is? Knick knacks, keepsakes, sure, those you’ll keep around, but the stuff that’s actually worth having? That’s actually worth fighting for? You can just let all that go without ever sayin’ a fuckin’ word otherwise because who gives a shit—”

And suddenly Davey’s furious too.

“Right, because you were so fucking eager to stay?” he asks with a derisive scoff. “Give me a break, Jack, you couldn’t wait to leave. Just fucked off to the other side of the country and left me here to pick up the pieces—”

“You were all but pushing me out the fucking door!” Jack yells, throwing his hands up. “‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Jackie,’ ‘You’d be an idiot not to take it, Jackie,’ ‘It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, Jackie!’ What a load of horseshit—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being supportive?’ Davey asks, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“I’m just sayin’, you weren’t exactly bent outta shape at the thought of me leavin’,” Jack says coldly. “Didn’t seem to bother you one fuckin’ bit. Probably relieved to finally have an excuse to get rid of me—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Davey hisses, stepping forward until they’re standing nearly chest to chest. “I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe, missed you every single goddamn second of the last eight months, don’t think for a moment that I didn’t, you fucking asshole.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks, chin lifted in challenge. “If you missed me so fucking much, then why’d we break up?”

“Because you were moving to Santa Fe!” Davey yells, completely fed up. “You were leaving, Jackie! What else was I supposed to do, except let you go and try my best to be happy for you?”

“If you really wanted me to be happy,” Jack growls, “you would’ve come with me.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you!”

“And you didn’t ask me to stay!” Jack roars back.

“Ask you to stay? Ask you to stay?” Davey says, a wave of emotion stinging at his eyes, a note of hysteria shredding his voice, something aching and frenzied clawing at his chest. “Of course I didn’t fucking ask you to stay, I was never going to ask you to stay! It was Santa Fe, it was all you ever fucking talked about, it was your dream, Jack! It was everything that you wanted! I would never even suggest that you give that up, God, what kind of shit-ass person do you think I am, that you thought I would ever, ever try to stand between you and Santa Fe when I know how important it is to you—?”

“I’m not fucking hearing this,” Jack says, with a frantic, jerky shake of his head. “I am not fucking hearing this. I— You—“

He rakes a hand haphazardly through his hair, the other pointed accusingly at Davey’s chest, jaw clenched and eyes glittering. His throat works silently for a moment, two moments, then he turns on his heel and storms out, the apartment door slamming behind him with a thunderous bang!

And Jack’s gone, tearing right back out of Davey’s life like he’d never returned in the first place, the abandoned coffee mug the only evidence that he’d ever been there at all.

And Davey’s alone, his heart pounding a lurching, deafening beat in his ears, the churning, curdling, swirling feeling in his gut a perfect mirror to how he’d felt all those months ago, quietly, impossibly heartbroken as he watched Jack walk away.

Davey takes a shivering, shuddering breath, scrubbing a trembling hand across his mouth. Fuck.

He might’ve been standing there for thirty seconds or thirty minutes when the front door swings open again. Davey’s head whips up just in time to see Jack step inside, closing the door behind him with a soft, purposeful click. Then he can only watch as Jack stalks forward, eyes blazing, fists his hands in the front of Davey’s shirt, and drags him into a bruising, desperate kiss. 

“I love you,” Jack says. “I love you. I loved you before I got the job offer, I loved you while I was searching for apartments and planning the move, I loved you every time I talked up Santa Fe to you, tryin’ to convince you to come with me any way I could think of. I loved you when we broke up, I loved you when I left, I loved you when I landed, and it’s been eight fucking months and I’m still so fucking in love with you—”

Davey interrupts him with another heart stopping kiss, threading his fingers in Jack’s hair as he pulls him closer. They still fit together so perfectly, lips and teeth and tongues all moving together like they’d never been parted, and its so good that Davey could almost cry with it because he’d never thought he would have this again.

“I love you too, Jackie,” Davey promises. “I love you and I’ve missed you so much—”

“I missed you,” Jack says, punctuating the declaration with another kiss. “You’re it for me Davey. There’s just you. And I… I can’t give this up again. Santa Fe ain’t worth nothin’ if you’re not there with me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Davey murmurs, and its a confession and an apology. “I thought I had to let you go.”

Jack shakes his head. 

“I wanted you to keep me,” he whispers against Davey’s lips. “And I wanted to keep you too.”

“Then keep me,” Davey says. He realizes now, that it’s as simple as that. “Keep me.”

00000

Jack’s pov here

Tag List!: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #this was originally supposed to be a LCTTC prompt fill... #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[heximagines]

HOLY FUCK ANOTHER SEV AUTHOR- YOU'RE DOING THE LORD'S WORK, MY FRIEND. Whilst I'm here- can I get a Severen and Vamp!reader wherein the reader is the only person who can shut Severen up/get him to calm down? 'Cause I feel like if Sev had a s/o, they really would have that magic touch 🥺🥺💕

I love this bastard man so damn much it hurts tbh. This one was fun to write and I hope you like it! 

CW for allusions to an abusive relationship 

Severen was rough around the edges anyone with eyes could see that. But somehow you’d managed to soften some of those edges. Even his family was surprised at how effortlessly you’d wrapped Severen around your finger. It seemed to of happened so suddenly. You were leaning over the bar, flagging down the bartender for a shot, when Severen took notice of a patron paying you a little too much attention. He watched as the man sauntered up and leaned next to you, telling the bartender to make it a double and grab him one too before placing a bill down. Severen knew that you were only going to make a meal out of him but he couldn’t help but feel jealousy bubbling up in his chest. He watched as you turned to him and gave him a smile that was only for him and the soon to be deceased. The man spoke to you in a hushed tone and reached out to card his fingers through the hair just above your ear when Severen decided he had seen enough. Maybe it was because he was feeling territorial that day or maybe he was just antsy but he slipped out of the booth that they’d all chosen to occupy and advanced towards the poor son of a bitch. He snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you away from your dinner, making you shoot him a sour look. “Well howdy there, I do believe you’ve made the acquaintance of my lil honey here.” His fingers came under your chin and he tilted your face up to look at him. You pouted stubbornly and Severen chuckled before pecking your forehead, a promise to make it up to you later. “I’m Severen, and you are?” He turned back to the man had a wicked grin on his face. “Well pardon me, I’m just a stranger. It seemed to me that your lil honey here needed a drink. So I just thought I’d be so kind.” Severen’s eyes flickered to the side as the bartended set the shots down on the bar and retreated with his cash. “Well that is mighty kind of ya.” Severen grabbed one of the shots and downed it, sighing in contentment once the liquid cleared his throat. “That’s the good stuff huh?” The booth behind ya’ll tittered with laughter but you only rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. That was your meal your kill, and here was your boyfriend trying to cut in so his stupid big ego wouldn’t be bruised. He looked down to grin at you when he realized you were still glaring at him, your jaw set. Suddenly he was worried he’d stepped out of bounds. “Severen. Go sit down.” The man beside the two of you laughed loudly. “You heard? ‘ey said go sit down.” Severen’s eyes shot between you two, trying to decide if he was going to let this guy talk like that to him or if he was going to get in trouble with you. “Severen...” At your word he backed up, shoved his hands in his pockets and plodded back to the booth. Not only did the man in front of you laugh but you could hear Homer snickering behind you too. You take a step closer to the man and place a hand on his chest. “Attention down here big guy, I still want that drink.” There was no time to process your words before you were leaning up and sinking your teeth into his neck. You wanted to play with your food a little more but for now you decided Severen was humbled enough. But while watching you stop Severen from getting into a fight was already impressive watching you make Severen completely stop a fight was monumental.

They had always wondered why you were alone when Severen found you. Most vampires stuck together, taking in anyone they’d sired like family. It’d always made Jesse nervous that you came from outside their circle, made it harder to trust you. But you’d carved out your own little niche in his family and Jesse’s nerves eventually subsided. That was until you’d been traveling through Nevada. You’d mentioned having lived there before and they figured you wouldn’t mind a return visit. However, once your stolen Spirit hatchback rolled over the city line to LAs Vegas you requested Jesse pull over. He reluctantly obliged before they all watched you calmly exit the vehicle and start walking the opposite direction, back into the desert. Severen stared back at you, open mouthed and baffled. Quickly he scrambled out of his seat and ran after you. “Wait! Y/n Wait! Where the hell ya think you’re goin’?” You turn and point back towards the city. “Anywhere but fucking there.” For the first time since you’d entered the state of Nevada Severen could clearly see the panic that had been surging through you clear on your face. Your pupils were blown wide and your hands were shaking ever so slightly, he approached you cautiously, eyes soft with concern. Grabbing you gently by the wrist Severen pulled you in. You gladly wrapped your arms around him and held onto him tightly. His fingers scratched soothingly at the base our skull and he squeezed you. “Darlin’ what’s wrong?” He finally coaxed you back to the car and on the side of the road, just outside the city limits you told them about the man who made you like this. It wasn’t a sweet story. It wasn’t one you liked to share. But int the end you’d gotten as far away as you could and leaned to survive this new life all alone. Jesse set his jaw eyes looking to Diamondback who nodded before looking back to Severen who did the same. Jesse patted your knee before turning around to start the car again. “We’ll only stop for a bite, we’ll be in the suburbs before daylight.” You’d known you wasted some of their time already, so you only agreed. You all needed to eat. The entire rest of the ride in you gripped Severen’s hand tightly and chewed your bottom lip. He moved only to wrap his arm around you and hold you close. After a moment he pressed his lips to your ear “Don’t worry baby, I’m here. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you. I promise.”

You quickly realized Jesse didn’t really know where he was going so you stepped in to direct him to yet another tiny dive bar. It was one you used to frequent, but by now you knew it’d be all new staff and patrons. The city moved fast but you stayed the same. When you walked in your guess was correct. The bar was just as low key as you remembered, filled with only four customers, and not a single face was recognizable. You and Severen sat at the bar, waiting to be served, and the others took the corner closest to the door. The bartender was taking her sweet time polishing a glass instead of serving you two and you could feel Severen buzzing beside you, restless. Finally a deep voice from behind the two of you drew her attention, a familiar voice that made you go rigid. “I believe you have customers waiting! And important ones at that. Get a round of shots, the good tequila.” You watched as the bartender jumped, nearly dropping the glass she’d been cleaning before scrambling to work. A heavy hand fell on your shoulder and a familiar scent flooded your senses as the man behind you leaned in. “You still like tequila, don’t ya?” You supposed that in hindsight, coming somewhere familiar wasn’t the right choice.  

Severen was out of his seat and Jesse was across the room before you could even turn to confirm what you already knew. Severen was about to grab him up when Jesse stepped in, holding his arm out and keeping your boyfriend at bay. But that wouldn’t be enough he practically had to wrestle Severen back to his chair as your own was turned slowly towards the predator behind you. A cold hand that felt nothing like Severen’s comforting one cupped your cheek and he leaned in close. “I knew you’d come back. I waited right here.” “We ain’t lookin’ for trouble, stranger.” Jesse cut in, making him turn away from you. He eyed Severen and laughed. “Might wanna tell that to him.” And just like that Severen ripped himself from Jesse’s grasp and launched at your creator. The two men tumbled to the ground and you jumped to your feet. But before you or anyone else could do anything a well landed punch to the face sent Severen flying back, across the bar. His head cracking loudly against the opposite wall in a way that made you gasp. The man before you calmly go to his feet before moving to take a step towards Severen. At the same time you and Jesse closed in, standing shoulder to shoulder to block his path. “I see you went off and found a new family. I’m hurt. No calls? No postcard? Is that how you treat me after all I gave you?” Jesse placed a hand on his chest, drawing his attention once again. “Like I said we want no trouble. We’ll be out of here.” He shook his head at Jesse, smirking. “Not with her you’re not.” In this time Severen was able to recover enough to slide off the bar and wipe his own blood from his busted lip. You quickly ran back to him and grabbed him by the jacket. His hands instinctively went to your waist as he glared across the bar. You shook him until his gaze finally landed on you. You could still hear the two men conversing tensely in the background but you tuned it out. “Severen, you can not fight him. He’s going to kill you.” Severen barked out a loud laugh, “I’d like to se ‘em try! That punch tickled.” You shook him again but his gaze stayed firmly put across the room this time. You glanced back to see Diamondback at the door standing guard and Jesse doing his best to ease the tension on his end. “Severen you promised. You promised to protect me. And I don’t feel very fucking safe right now.” And he could hear it, the way your voice wavered. He’d never once seen you afraid. Not like this. Your grip on his jacket tightened and finally he relented. His posture relaxing a fraction. His hands reeled you in closer. “Then let’s go...” You directed Severen towards a back door, Mae and Homer quick to take the queue to follow. They filed out just ahead of you. Severen stayed firmly put just inside the bar and you were just outside, both waiting for Jesse and Diamondback. Slowly they both retreated as well. Diamond back grabbed your shoulders to guide you away and Jesse grabbed Severen’s to do the same. Before the door could fall shut you heard it, one last taunt. “You’ll be back!”

When you all piled into the car, still hungry and a bit shaken, you wanted to cry. For the first time in a long time you wanted to sob. But you didn’t. Instead you tilted your head back and looked up at the roof of the car, cool hands running over your face. You hadn’t been that scared since you left. And now you were sure if your heart could still beat it’d be palpitating painfully. Silently Jesse started the car and took off. None of you knew where to go from here other than out of Vegas.  

#near dark severen #severen x reader #severen #near dark #slasher x reader #slasher imagines

[starlit-serenade]

Blanket Pile

💜 Summary: Your assignments have been weighing you down and stressing you out, but thankfully, your friends know exactly how to cheer you up.

💜 Word Count: 1,364 words

💜 Pairing: No Pairing / Characters: GenderNeutral!Reader; Bang Chan; Lee Minho (Lee Know); Seo Changbin (Changbin); Hwang Hyunjin (Hyunjin); Han Jisung (Han); Lee Felix (Felix); Kim Seungmin (Seungmin); Yang Jeongin (I.N);

💜 Rated: E / Warnings: Some school anxiety / Genre: GenderNeutral!Reader; Fluff;

💜 A/N: I did a Oneshot bc I've been much more in a Oneshot mood, rather than a reaction mood recently I hope that's ok! 💗

You've been sitting in this chair all day, staring at your computer screen and doing nothing for what feels like hours. A list of all of your assignments due sits nearby, and you can't bear to look at it again, else you'll just be reminded of just how overwhelmed you've been feeling and why.

You have two windows open on your computer. One is a half-written essay due tomorrow, and the other contains a thirty-something page document you have to read and annotate for a seminar the day after. That's just two of the many assignments you have to do this week, and you don't have the energy to complete these two assignments, much less the several other ones.

You have several assignments to do. And you know you have to do them. But when you even think about them, you feel the world crashing down on you. You're so overwhelmed and feel so stuck. Your back is killing you from the stress. Or maybe it's because you've been sitting in this chair, hunched over the table for possibly much longer than what's good for your posture. But what else can you do?

You put your head in your hands and groan. You're grateful your friends let you come over here to their dorm to work on your studies. You had mentioned that their dorm is easier to focus in than your own bedroom. And their chairs are much comfortable for your back. But nothing can help the pain and stress from feeling overwhelmed.

Just as you feel you're about to burst into tears, you hear the front door of the dorm open, followed by laughter and lots of footsteps. You recognize the voices immediately as your friends, the members of Stray Kids, and smile. They must be done with practice for the day. That's perfect, they always know how to cheer you up and make you feel better.

"Y/Nie," you hear Jisung say from the doorway. He comes over and wraps his arms around you in a comforting hug. "Hi Y/Nie, how's schoolwork goin'?"

You let out the heaviest sigh, relaxing the slightest bit into Jisung's hug, and hear footsteps as someone else enters the room.

"That bad, huh?" Bang Chan asks, and you nod. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, looking at your to-do list of assignments. "Looks like you already got through four of them! That's half already!"

You shake your head. "I'll just get two more tomorrow. Won't make that much of a difference."

"But you don't have them now. Have you been able to take a break yet?" Bang Chan asks. You shake your head.

"No. I feel like I haven't done enough. But I can't do anymore right now. Brain won't let me."

"Y/Nie, you should take a break," Jisung says.

You wiggle out of his grasp and place your forehead on the desk.

"I still have a couple assignments left to do," you grumble, and you can feel tears coming to your eyes. "I need to finish them."

You hear Jisung sigh.

"Y/Nie." You lift your head at the new voice, and see that Changbin is kneeling next to you, looking at you with worried eyes. "You've been at this for hours. And you can't even focus anymore. Look at you, Y/Nie, you're exhausted. Give it a half an hour break, ok?"

You sigh heavily. You want to continue work, but you know that there's nothing left to force out of your brain right now. You can feel the tears brimming your eyes, and squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. You don't want to cry over some schoolwork . . . some schoolwork that's been causing you stress all week.

And you turn around to break down and cry into Jisung's chest. He rubs your back gently, murmuring comfortingly to you, something about how it's okay, you have time, something about the rest of the boys in the living room, so you nod and let him help you out of your chair.

You follow Jisung, Chan and Changbin out to the living room, and your eyes light up at the sight. The other five boys Minho, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin, had moved the table against the wall opposite the couch, and in its place, had gathered all of the pillows and blankets of the whole dorm to make a giant pile or nest of coziness. That's at least eight blankets and maybe more than ten pillows that the boys are arranging or sitting on.

"Y/Nie!" Jeongin says, grinning from ear to ear, sinking into the blankets. He sees how tired you are, and that you're all teary, and his entire expression changes as he pushes himself to his feet and walks over. "Y/Nie, are you okay?" he asks, voice filled with worry as he cups your cheeks between his hands. His thumbs brush over your tear-stained cheeks as he looks at you.

"I'm okay," you mumble. You can feel Jisumg squeeze your hand next to you, encouraging you to continue. "I'm just stressed. From all of my homework and studying. It's been weighing me down a lot."

"Has it? I'm sorry Y/Nie. Are you taking a break?" Jeongin asks, one of his hands moving down to your free hand to squeeze it reassuringly.

You nod. "Yeah. For maybe half an hour to an hour."

"Y/Nie!" Felix calls out, and you squint to see him in the nest of blankets and pillows. He's buried under some of them, his head poking out from between two pillows. "Y/Nie, you should come and snuggle in the blanket pile!"

He reaches out for your hand, and you walk over to him, letting go of Jisung and Jeongin's hands to take Felix's. As soon as his hand touches yours, he grabs your hand and pulls you into the blanket pile.

You fall on your side in the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as you expect to fall through and hit the floor. Instead, you find that eight layers of blankets is so much cushion that it feels like you've fallen into a cloud.

You let out a laugh, amused at the thought that you can't feel the floor through the layers and layers of blankets. You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the blankets, allowing them to swallow you whole. You feel like, instead of being at the dorm with a week's worth of homework on your shoulders, you're in the sky, in the clouds.

Someone pokes your cheek and you open your eyes and look at Hyunjin, who still has his hand outstretched.

"You smiled!" Hyunjin says, poking your cheek again, causing you to let out another laugh. "And you laughed!"

You smile. "I did! I just thought it was funny how fluffy all these covers are."

Hyunjin throws a pillow at you. "Cutie."

Jisung jumps onto the covers next to you. "You're right! This is fluffy," he says, giggling and smiling.

You laugh and throw the pillow back at Hyunjin. Jisung lifts the end of one of the blankets and throws it over you and starts rolling you up and bundling you in the covers, which makes you burst into laughter.

"Cutie," Jisung says. "How're you feeling, Y/Nie?"

You breathe out a laugh, content in the blankets swallowing you. "I'm feeling good! Cozy!"

Jisung grins widely. "That's good! Feeling better?"

You nod. "Mmhmm! Much much better."

After a bit of lying down in the blankets and pillows, someone turns on the Korean drama you guys had been watching a while ago. Someone brings you a bowl of ice cream, and you all snuggle together in the blanket pile while watching the drama. You feel relaxed, and it feels like the homework and back pain has dissolved into nothingness.

You know that this bliss isn't permanent, but you also know that the stress of the work isn't permanent either. And right now, you get to bask in the comfort of lying in these blankets, surrounded by your closest friends. And you're content with this distraction and comforted knowing that they'll always be here for you.

#kdiarynet #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #ot8 #fanfic #fanfiction #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n #myfic #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction

[flowers-creativity]

Febuwhump Day 6: Insomnia

Fandom:  The Musketeers

Characters: Aramis, Porthos

Warnings: None

Summary: Aramis can’t sleep

Notes: First Febuwhump ficlet! I’m not doing all of them but will post if and when the muse strikes.

This one is for @aini-nufire who suggested Aramis and insomnia.

AO3 link

Later, he could no longer say when it had started. Probably around the time after the King had announced that the Queen was with child. Beaming and proud and with no doubt at all that his childless marriage had finally been blessed. The only one in the room who knew what had actually happened was Athos, and one look had made it clear that sympathy was not high on his list of reactions to the news.

So he hadn't gone to him to look for it. And he could not go to Porthos, which hurt in its own special way, nor to d'Artagnan, which hurt in a different way again.

As was his wont to do, he went to others for, if not sympathy, at least companionship. But between the memory of one stolen night with a lonely woman who told him he was worth her touch, her affection, the shadow it was casting on his friendships, his family of those three soldiers, his brothers, and the thought of what was to come – and he was terrified, and terrifyingly excited … Companionship did not help.

So he stopped going to Madame du Peigne, to sweet Marie, to playful Yvette. Instead, he went home, to his apartment near the Garrison, and fell into bed in the vain hope that maybe at home, his mind would rest.

And then he got up and lit a candle, sitting until the small hours of the morning poring over his Bible until his eyes ached and his mind was awhirl with quotes and parables that might have helped at another time but this time, did nothing to soothe the sting of his mistakes and how little he actually regretted them.

When the sun rose, he got up, tied his weapons belt around his waist and marched into the Garrison as if he wasn't dragging the weight of too many sleepless nights with him.

He could keep this up. And at some point, he would be so tired that he would be able to sleep, his mind be damned. He was sure of it.

_________________

“Aramis!”

Aramis yanked his head up, opening his eyes – he did not remember closing them … “Huh?”

Porthos loomed in front of him, bent over the table and a hand on Aramis' shoulder. “You alright? Almost landed face-first in the soup there.” Dark eyes bored into his, worriedly searching for something.

Aramis leaned back and tried not to feel too disappointed when Porthos' hand slipped from his shoulder. “Oh … Ah,” he hedged, then yawned, which was only half play-acting. “I guess I must've fallen asleep for a moment. I'm just a bit tired.”

“Hum,” Porthos said as he settled on the bench opposite without his eyes leaving Aramis' face, “you've been looking a bit tired a lot, lately. Not sleeping well?”

How about not at all, Aramis thought bitterly. But aloud, he said: “Oh, you know. Madame de Chalon's husband is away, and who am I to waste such a perfect opportunity?” He grinned his usual charmer's grin and hoped that he was good enough an actor that Porthos would not notice it didn't reach his eyes.

Porthos rolled his eyes good-naturedly, even if the worry was not completely gone. “Well, I'd say when you start falling asleep at the mid-day meal, it's time to cut back a bit. You never listen to me, though, so I won't waste my breath.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just take care, alright? I won't be there to keep you from drowning in your soup all the time.”

“I always listen to you!” Aramis protested, ignoring the ache the whole conversation was stirring in his heart. It wasn't Porthos' fault, just the contrary. It was Aramis who had done something so huge, so dangerous that he could no longer sit and banter with his friends like they used to, that he could not ask his oldest friend for help when the thoughts of it haunted him. That he could not confess to him the darkest part of it: that he did not regret it. Not the night itself, nor what had come of it. Not the thought of a child – his child.

Porthos snorted. “Alright, you listen sometimes,” he acquiesced magnanimously. “But always is as much as an exaggeration as never.”

Aramis conceded the point with a tilt of his head, then dragged himself off the bench and said: “I'll better go and take a nap before afternoon training, then, so I won't fall asleep with a musket in my hand. I'll see you then?”

“Sure,” Porthos said, grinning widely and waving at him. “And don't oversleep, or I'll come and drag you out of bed for a bath in the horse trough. That'd wake you up quickly, eh?”

Aramis returned the grin to the best of his abilities. “No, thanks, I prefer gentler ways of being wakened.”

“Not gonna put on a dress and wake you up with a kiss!” Porthos called after him as he walked away, and the grin Aramis gave him over his shoulder felt more natural. “You'd look really nice, though!” he called back.

His grin faltered quickly, though, and he spent the next hour lying on his bed, wide awake, and tried to find a way how he could have told Porthos the truth without putting a noose around his neck like he had done to Athos.

_____________________

Standing guard was Hell. Aramis was convinced of it. Training was bad – and his performance got worse by the day – and patrols were bad – and he thanked God every time they made it through without his fatigue getting one of them killed – but standing guard was Hell. Nothing to do that required as much attention as he could spare, no conversation that kept his thoughts from straying, no movement that kept his limbs from locking up … He was sure he was trembling, and his eyes stung with involuntary tears that he blinked away quickly.

“Aramis,” he heard Porthos hiss at him, and he shook his head without looking at him.

“Aramis,” his friend repeated, “you're not well. I can see it. Everyone can see it.”

Aramis shook his head again, staring straight ahead. If he dared look at Porthos right now, he would lose it.

Porthos huffed impatiently. “Y'know, I don't wanna know what's going on. You don't need to tell me. But you can't go on like that. Look at me, Aramis.” He suddenly loomed before him, and Aramis shrank back, startled. Strong hands caught him by the elbows, keeping him upright. “When did you sleep last?”

Aramis willed his sluggish brain to come up with a quip, something that sounded enough like him that it would dispel the worry in Porthos' dark eyes. But in the end, all he managed was a pathetic “I don't know” as he blinked again, feeling moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes. That much was the truth – he had long lost track of when he slept, snatches and seconds here and there, maybe even half an hour at a time, but none of it feeling like he had truly slept and doing nothing to lighten the burden of fatigue weighing down on him.

Porthos looked at him a while longer, and Aramis felt himself swaying on his feet, clinging desperately to the last shreds of his self-control so he didn't break down right here, in Porthos' arms. Porthos huffed again and turned away. “Stay here,” he ordered. “I'm gonna talk to Athos.”

Aramis nodded helplessly, leaning back against the wall as Porthos released his grip. He drifted in his stupor until Porthos appeared again at his side and took his elbow in a strong grip. “So,” he announced, “we're going home. And you're going to sleep.”

“But,” Aramis sputtered, “our shift--”

“--is over now,” Porthos talked over him. “Don't worry about it.” He steered Aramis through the Palace's halls, paying little attention to anything else and overriding all of Aramis' weak protests. Finally, Aramis gave in – not that he expected that he would actually sleep, no matter how much Porthos wanted to help. What could he do, really? He could not take his thoughts away.

The ride to the Garrison was a blur in his mind, as was the walk up to his rooms – no, wait, these were Porthos' rooms. Aramis looked around, at a loss why Porthos had brought him here.

Porthos walked him to his bed, sat him down and sat back on his haunches before him, meeting his gaze with a dark scowl. In any other, this would have looked fearsome but even in his fragile state, Aramis could not help but know this look. This was Porthos at his most protective.

“Alright,” his friend started, “here's how I see it. There's somethin' goin' on that don't let you sleep. Don't tell me it's Madame One-or-another or Mademoiselle So-and-so. I know what you look like when you're tired because you've been enjoying yourself. So it's somethin' else, and you're not talkin' to me about it. Or the others.”

Aramis could do nothing more than nod dumbly. All of his usual light banter had dried up, and he knew it had gone too far, anyway. Porthos would never accept diversion now.

“So this is how it's gonna go,” Porthos continued. “We're goin' to bed now. And I won't ask, and you don't have to talk. But you will sleep.”

“I can't,” Aramis choked out.

“You will,” Porthos repeated confidently. “Because you know I'm here, and I've got your back.”

Aramis shook his head and leaned forward, burying his hands in his hair. “No, Porthos, Porthos, please,” he begged without knowing what he was asking for, “I can't, I--”

Porthos' hands closed around his wrists, and he tugged until Aramis had no choice but lift his head and meet his gaze. “Trust me,” Porthos implored.

There was only one reply to that: “Always.”

Porthos nodded, satisfied. “Come on.” He helped Aramis shed his doublet and boots, then guided him until he lay prone on Porthos' bed. Aramis let it happen, past refusal and past hope. He listened to Porthos moving around the room, closing the curtains so the room was dipped into a half-light, then shedding his own outer layers and crawling into the bed behind him. Porthos' arms closed around Aramis and pulled him back to his chest, his bulk shadowing him. The warmth emanating from that broad chest seemed to sink right into his bones, and he only now became aware of how cold he had been. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into it, into the strength and protection promised by the arms folded around him. Even if he could not sleep, he could rest here, knowing that his friend was here and did not want to pry, wanted nothing but for him to be warm and comfortable and get better.

Porthos' voice was a balm as he whispered: “Sleep, Aramis. I have your back.” It stripped him bare but at the same time, enveloped him like a warm blanket. Trust me, Porthos had asked, and he did, with a child's simple knowledge that no evil could touch him here. Not even the nightmare of his own creation that his life had been recently.

“Sleep,” Porthos repeated, and with a deep sigh, Aramis let go.

He slept.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #fanfic #the musketeers #flower writes #aramis #porthos #insomnia

[littlespoonevan]

“That’s a good look for you” for gallavich plssssss♥️

listen, my kingdom for EMT ian ok!!!! it’s not talked about enough!!!! also ian and mickey and babies!!!! let’s talk abt that too lol

*

Generally, Ian doesn’t mind sharing a house with allhis siblings. Sure, it’s not ideal with the lack of space but after so manymonths spent away from them he feels a certain amount of comfort knowing they’reclose by.

What he does notenjoy is said siblings waking him up at two o’clock in the fucking morning witha crying baby.

“Ian,” Liphisses for the third time, shoving the arm Ian has wrapped around Mickey.

It’s Mickey’s grunt of annoyance that ultimatelymakes him move.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he mutters, reluctantlypulling away from Mickey and scrubbing at his eyes to wake himself up.

“The fuck’s goin’ on?” Mickey grumbles, still curledon his side with his eyes closed and Ian admires his commitment to stayingasleep even with the lights on and Lip hovering over their bed with a screamingFred.

“Nothing,” Ian tells him, dipping back down to pressa kiss to Mickey’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

He looks up at Lip then, eyes travelling past him tospot an anxious-looking Tami lingering in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Fred has a fever,” Lip says and he sounds worriedenough that Ian sits up properly. He crawls out from under the covers, climbingover Mickey’s legs to sit on the edge of the bed and holds out his hands. “Okay,hand him over.”

Lip carefully passes Fred into arms and Ian offersthe baby a sweet smile and a quiet, “Hey buddy,” before pressing the back ofhis hand to Fred’s forehead. “Tami, there’s a first aid kit in my EMT bag bythe door. Pass it over?”

The words seem to rouse her from  her relentless staring at Fred’s tear-stainedface and she moves to pass him the bag.

“How long has he been like this?” Ian asks, shiftingFred into his other arm to rifle through his bag until he finds thethermometer.

“Uh he’s been fussy all night. And he’s been teethingthe past couple of days,” Lip tells him, rubbing agitatedly at his forehead. “Wethought he was okay when we got him to go to sleep but he woke up crying and hewas burning up.”

Ian nods, checking his right ear and then his left.Mickey sits up with a sigh right around the time Ian takes the thermometer outof Fred’s ear, shooting Lip a glare before he leans his arm against Ian’sshoulder and props his chin up on his forearm.

“Your dad wake you up in the middle of the night too,huh?” he asks Fred and Ian tries not grin too widely when Fred stops fussing longenough to giggle at him.

Instead he schools his expression and looks at Lip. “He’sdefinitely got a temperature but it’s not bad enough to be a fever. It’sprobably because of the teething. Just give him some baby Advil and he’ll befine.”

The look of sheer panic on Lip’s face tells himexactly what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth. “We don’t haveany-“

“There’s a 24 hour drug store a couple of blocksaway,” Ian says tiredly, cutting him off. “It’ll take you fifteen minutes,”

“Didn’t we used to put a cold spoon in Yevgeny’smouth when he was teething?” Mickey asks, still leaning heavily enough on Ian thatIan catches the way he nudges gently at Fred’s cheek with his index finger.

“Yeah,” Ian replies, tearing his thoughts away from Mickey and babies to look at Lip andTami. “Run a spoon under cold water for few minutes and give it to him – it’llhelp numb the pain a little.”

“Wait, when who was teething?” Tami asks, completelyignoring his advice.

“Mickey’s kid,” Lip says distractedly before eitherof them can say anything. “Hey, listen I’m gonna run to the drug store – I’llbe back soon, okay? You’ll be alright here?”

Ian’s not sure which one of the three of them he’stalking to but he nods anyway, bouncing Fred in his arms when he starts to fussagain. “I’ve got him, he’s fine.”

Lip nods, turning on his heel and pressing a kiss tothe side of Tami’s head as he hurries back out into the hallway.

Tami, for her part, barely even seems to notice Lipis gone, still staring at Mickey in disbelief. “You had a kid?”

“Wasn’t my choice, believe me,” Mickey scoffs and Ianfeels his heart twist a little. He knows Mickey’s made peace with Yevgeny, ifnothing else about the situation, but he still can’t help craning his neck andkissing the top of Mickey’s head at the words.

“We were playing house before Lip and Debbie everwere,” Ian snorts, trying to keep the fondness out of his voice. It was a darktime in both of their lives but it also holds some of Ian’s favourite memoriesof their relationship. “So seriously, a cold spoon. It helps.”

Tami looks like she wants to ask more but sherestrains herself, nodding vaguely. “You’ll be okay with him if I godownstairs?”

“We got him,” Ian promises and with another inclineof her head, she goes.

Mickey lets out a sigh as soon as they’re alone withFred, moving back to his original spot on the bed and half-sitting up againstthe wall. “C’mere.”

Ian allows himself to be pulled back, careful not tojostle Fred, and situates himself between Mickey’s legs, leaning back againsthis chest. He feels himself relax as soon as Mickey’s hands settle on his sidesand huffs out a laugh as Fred looks curiously between them, confused by the newenvironment. Ian runs a hand over his tiny head and rests his own head back onMickey’s shoulder.

They’re both quiet for a minute, Ian pulling faces atFred to get him to smile and Mickey slowly rubbing circles on the skin at Ian’ssides.

“You ever think about it?” Mickey asks, voice hardlylouder than a whisper. “Kids, I mean.”

The question surprises Ian though he supposes itshouldn’t. He hadn’t thought Mickey would want to talk about marriage eitherbut the engagement rings on both their fingers suggests otherwise.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I used to think about it allthe time before,” he admits – when he was a teenager with a stupidly massivecrush on a Mickey who could barely even admit they liked each other. “But thenI got diagnosed and I guess I stopped thinking I could have it, y’know?”

Mickey doesn’t say anything, just keeps up the slowtrace of his fingers on Ian’s skin.

“I guess the good thing about not having kids that arebiologically mine is that they don’t have to worry about being bipolar.”

“You can still have kids that are yours,” Mickey saysbut Ian doesn’t let him finish his thought.

“I can’t,” he says, craning his neck to try and meetMickey’s eyes. “Mick, I can’t.Bipolar is hereditary and I’m not risking it. Okay, we can adopt or we can justuse your DNA.”

Mickey stares down at him in surprise – probably atthe sudden change from hypothetical to theirown future. Still, he offers Ian a half-smile when he says, “Because makingthe kid a Milkovich would be so much better, huh?”

Ian huffs a laugh. “Being a Milkovich isn’t nature,it’s nurture. Or Terry’s lack thereof.”

Mickey snorts but his voice is sincere when he startstalking again a moment later. “Monica had a bunch of kids and you’re the onlyone who’s been diagnosed. Maybe the kid’d be okay.”

“That’s just because Lip was too busy getting thealcoholic gene from Frank,” Ian mumbles, idly holding Fred closer. “It’s notthat I don’t want a kid that’s biologically mine – I just don’t think it’sworth the risk, y’know?”

Mickey doesn’t say anything else but Ian feels himnod.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asks Mickey then,oddly nervous for his answer.

“I didn’t used to,” Mickey murmurs softly. “But now- Imean I’m not saying I want a kid tomorrow. But some day. Y’know when we’ve gotour own place and when all our shit’s figured out.”

“You mean when we can legally leave the state and don’thave to take random drug tests anymore?” Ian laughs.

“Pretty much,” Mickey answers and Ian loves beingable to hear the smile in his voice.

“When our probation’s up,” Ian says decisively. “Then we can revisit this conversation.”

Mickey huffs a laugh. “Deal.”

“Y’know that’s a good look for you.”

Ian whips his head to the side at the sound of Tami’svoice as he feels Mickey tense behind him.

Tami’s standing in the doorway, arms folded and aspoon dangling from her fingers as she leans against the doorframe with smirkon her face. “Parenthood almost makes you two not look like criminals.”

“Gee thanks,” Mickey gripes but Ian can tell that it’sall bravado. He’s starting to figure out Mickey likes when other peoplecompliment them on conventional stuff like that. “Wanna take back your babythat Ian fixed now?”

Tami nods but there’s still a smug air to herexpression as she steps over to the bed to lift Fred out of Ian’s arms. “Thanksfor your help, Ian,” she says before she turns her gaze to Mickey. “I’ll letyou know how the spoon thing works.”

Mickey gives her the finger and she laughs as sheheads out of the room, bouncing Fred in her arms.

As soon as she’s gone Mickey’s arms wrap around hischest and his chin drops onto Ian’s shoulder. “She’s just as annoying as yourbrother.”

“I don’t know,” Ian says, feeling a grin quirk thecorners of his mouth. “I think she’s right. You’re definitely a hot dad.”

Mickey makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and agroan, smacking Ian’s chest lightly. “Shut the fuck up. I thought we’re not talkingabout this for two years?”

Ian twists in his arms, a glint in his eyes. “I’mjust saying.”

“And I’m justsaying, shut the fuck up,” Mickey tells him, quieting him with a kiss.

“You brought it up,” Ian mumbles against his mouth.

“Gallagher, I swear to fucking god,” Mickey grumbles,biting Ian’s lip before deepening the kiss and swallowing down Ian’s laugh.

And you know what, they can definitely wait a littlelonger to talk about it.

Or at least the next half hour.

*

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #tami tamietti #shameless #my fics #Anon #asks #meme thing

[boogiewrites]

No.9: The Body

Chapter Five

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Diego breaks down Eve unexpectedly, and Luther attempts to break down Diego.

Warnings/Tags: Light descriptions of fighting. Little bit of Luther. Talk of past trauma/abuse/death. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Eve walked into the gym after work as she did most nights now. It greeted her half-lit but still bright enough to see the training area. She’d continually thanked Luther for being so accommodating, and he didn’t seem to mind in the least. She felt almost bad keeping him in the dark about her powers. She was dying to tell them all, to have people understand, to be around people like her as she tried to newly navigate this alternate reality she’d found herself having to accept. But Diego said to trust him, it was best to keep it as low key as possible until she felt a bit more certain. She did trust him, so she did as he suggested even if she felt like a kid being denied a gift.

She had acetaminophen in her system, her usual jug of water, and another large container of Gatorade in tow. She was as ready as she’d ever been. She was actually glad she decided to go late instead of early for her sessions. She was at least awake and warmed up and accustomed to the hungover feeling at this point.

“You showed up.” Diego smirks as he wraps his hands to ready for training.

“Of course I did.” she sasses back and throws her bag against the wall. She also liked not having anyone looking at her or bothering her while she worked out. No one around to steal her things, she could toss them instead of throwing them into a locker and be able to totally focus.

“You were getting a little faded when I left last night, didn't know if you’d be up to this.”

“I’ve already put in a shift today, dude. Don’t come at me with that shit.” she laughs and begins taking off her outer layers. Still staying in an oversized t-shirt and leggings as was her usual, she shook and jumped to warm up everything after it’s exposed to the still cold late winter air of the city that drafted through the old brick walls of the industrial-looking building.

“How was work?” he asked, always down to hear the gross-out stories she had to tell.

“Not great.”

“You good?” he asks, brows high and making an effort to meet her eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Just y’know, dealing with kids is hard.”

“They call you a butt head and it hurt your feelings?”

“No, they died from a drunk driver.” she stares into his eyes and she sees his instant regret.

“Oh shit. I-I'm sorry.” his posture slinks.

“It's what I signed up for, Diego. I’ll be fine.” she motions her hand to halt his sympathetic approach to her. “Just wear me out so I have to go home and collapse into a dreamless sleep.”

“Oh I’ve never let a girl down that’s asked me that.” he falls back into his playful self, trying to deflect the embarrassment he felt.

“Let’s not start now. C’mon.” she begins stretching and heads over to the heavy bags.

------

“Eve. You aren’t hitting like you MEAN it!” he says for the fifth time, trying her patience.

“I’m TRYING! I don’t know what you mean? I’m putting my whole body into it.”

“No, this isn’t about your body, you’ve got to FEEL it.” he shakes the bag as he holds it so she can hit it. She’d been shown how to wrap her hands, and get used to the feeling of hitting something and it jarring her back. But she kept hitting the bag, focused and form correct and he kept asking for more. She was starting to get frustrated.

“Is my form wrong?” she asks with dropped shoulders, panting.

“No, it’s perfect. That’s the problem. I want to see you get messy. In a real fight, you won’t have your head on perfectly straight. I want to see you give everything you’ve got and HIT. Like you HATE this bag.”

“I’ll hit it like it’s you if you don’t stop with this hippy sounding nonsense.”

“THAT is what you need!” he says exasperated too, trying to get her to give in and break, put her heart, not just her mind into it. He knew a fighter was inside her but her years of polish to appear as perfect as possible was a hard varnish to breakthrough. “Imagine it’s someone you hate.”

“I don’t HATE anyone…” she lies.

He cocks a brow at her. “Bullshit. Think of something that made you cry, made you lash out, made you want to beat someone's head in. HEY imagine it’s whoever stabbed you? What would you have done now that you KNOW how to fight huh? Imagine it’s them and that you’re going to give them what's coming to them.”

She takes a deep breath and presses her lips together. He didn’t really know what he was asking of her. Her therapist would be slapping him for requesting her to do such a thing. But she trusted his philosophy. And she imagined the bag was her mother. “I’ll… try okay. Just...stop talking and let me... focus.” she rasps out and stretches her neck.

He motions zipping his mouth and throwing away the key, and braces himself for her hit.

A one-two. A flash of her mother screaming at her. A few more hits. The feeling of true fear as she saw the wild in her mother's eyes. She begins a pattern, a few hits, and a deep breath. Eventually, it becomes a continuous downpour of hits, making sounds as she hits each time. It sounded like pain and Diego knew she’d found what she needed to fuel herself.

“There it is. You got it. Keep goin’.” he says softly, watching her eyes.

Her naturally dark hair is falling out of its tight ponytail, now flopping with every hit. She could hear her mother's voice, feel that fear for her life, and the deluge of insults that would be her inner monologue for so many years after. The hits came harder, with more grunts and whimpers after each one, each a time she’d been afraid. Her breathing buckles, the hits harder and harder, her knuckles aching until she throws in knees and kicks. It doesn’t stop, the feelings were broken open and he’d gotten what he wanted, but at what cost to her.

Diego was proud for a few shining moments until he saw the tears start to fall. Her lips went from tight to gasping, sobs breaking through her angry sounds of impact until her hits lost strength and her head hit against the bag. Her shoulders shook and his eyes went wide, quickly reaching around to her support her as the sobs hit and her knees gave out.

With an unsure hand on her back, her on all fours and trying to gasp through the sobs, the day and her past became too heavy at that moment and it all hit her, breaking her down into a tired, sweaty mess on the gym floor.

He sits next to her, silently, a now supportive rub to her back. “I”m sorry Eve I didn’t-”

She reaches her arms back and hits him lightly. “It’s-you didn’t-” stuttering inhale that she couldn't control.

“Sh… just breathe. Sit up here.” he pulls her up, sitting on her knees, pressing between her shoulder blades to give her lungs room to breathe. “Count in five, out seven.” He counts out loud for her, as her hands begin to still against her thighs and the sounds of pain cease. “I didn’t know you had panic attacks.”

“I dont,” she says wiping her eyes. “I just... it’s been a hard day.” she begins more weakly crying and lets a small laugh out to hide her pain.

“Uh…’ he takes his hands off of her as she begins to let herself stretch and retie her hair. “I think this is where I ask if you wanna talk about it?” he offers and his delivery makes her laugh.

“Better question.” she moves to wipe her face with the hem of her shirt. “Do you wanna hear it?”

With a pause he answers, “Of course I do.” and she turns to face him with still watery eyes.

“Really?” the disbelief almost hurt his feelings.

“Yeah. If we’re gonna be in this together, I wanna know what’s gonna set you off like this. I don’t wanna...make things worse than I already do.” he shrugs.

She nods, turning and plopping down to sit on her butt and cross her legs. “That’s... that’s really nice…” she wells up again and then laughs and rubs her face. “Must be time for me to start my period or somethin’,” she mumbles and it makes him chuckle.

“Or you’ve had a shitty upbringing that still follows you around no matter where you run. Not that I would know anything about that though, right?”

She considered hugging him. For the goofiness he showed, he also had a depth that you had to access through empathy. They both had finally let that facade of having their shit together break down and now they sat like two children in a play circle, sharing secrets.

“Did your dad ever stab you?” she asks with a weak smile as she let herself slump over with a deep sigh.

“He did actually. Tried to kill me.” he nods with an annoyed look on his face.

“Well fuck.” she snorts and rubs her face. “Maybe you do get it.”

“I do.” he leans in and puts his hand on her shoulder. “So tell me.” he asks softly.

“It was the night I ran away for good.” she begins, eyes wandering and looking at nothing as she recalled it. “There was this kid, this guy at school that used to bully me. He’d had me cornered and was... “ she sighs, “he was trying to hurt me. And he ended up having a seizure and dying.” her eyes stare out blankly. “Whispers started fast. Saying I killed him. Although how would I?” she says defensively still. “My mom...knowing about my...abilities she did blame me. She became convinced I’d kill her too. So she tried to beat me to it.” her face wrinkles, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Shit.” he quietly exhales. “That's fucked up, Eve.”

She lets out a genuine louder laugh that confuses him. “Yeah, it is.” She shakes her head and rests her chin on her knees. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re both pretty fucked up, Diego.” she offers with a smile and tears still wet on her lashes. It makes him give the smile back, a soft laugh shared between them. Sometimes you had to laugh not to cry.

After pulling her to her feet, he tells her there’s no way he’s making her train more tonight and sends her home. A comforting hug between them before she parts, it felt right to do so. She’d entered the gym with a secret that no one else knew, and left with the weight of it shared. It was no small step, and even though it hurt like hell, in the aftermath it felt worth it.

Diego has a contemplative look on his face as he begins to tidy and shut everything down. Luther appears from the men’s locker room, an apologetic look on his face.

“Didn’t know you were still here big guy.” Diego looks him up and down, trying to read him.

“Yeah…” he drags on, eyes not meeting his brothers.

“What?” Diego demands with a jutted out chin.

“I...uh...kind of heard….all of that…” he pushes back his chin and presses his lips. “Were you gonna tell us you found another person like us or… just keep that to yourself?”

“I didn’t want her to get freaked out by you all and leave.”

“Well she’s already met me and I’m the freakiest there is.” he chuckles softly.

He shrugs in non-insulting agreement. “I just… she’s the first person since..”

“Yeah.” Luther interrupts.

“Y’know who's GOT me. Like, she gets how messed up everything is, man. I don’t want her to…” he sighs and drops the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t want her to leave.”

Luther put a large hand to Deigo’s shoulder. “Ever think she might want to be a part of this?”

“No, Jesus why would she?”

“She’s been alone since she was what? Sixteen she said? She didn’t have support like we did growing up.”

“You’re gonna call what dad did to us support?”

“Look, the point is.. She doesn’t have a family. And even if you hate your family, like you claim to, you still keep coming back right?”

“I can stop.” he sarcastically suggests.

“Well, maybe that’s what she needs. A family. Or at least y’know...friends that understand her. She didn’t know what was going on when she was younger. Can you imagine that? I can’t.” he muses with raised brows, feeling bad for the kind doctor lady.

“I hate to admit this...but you’ve got a point.”

“I know. I do that sometimes. If anyone would listen.” he mumbles defensively. “And I mean.. she’s very nice. She seems...cool. I wouldn’t mind being able to help her out too.” He offers, and Diego knows he only means it in the nicest way possible.

“She is cool.” he nods and looks down, voice soft. “Just let me… I’ll do...somethin’. Just give me some time okay?”

“Secrets safe with me.” Luther says proudly.

“Oh shit, Luther you can’t keep a secret.” Diego groans.

“Yes I can!”

“This is going to end so badly…” Diego complains childishly and loudly. “She’s gonna get introduced to Five and he’s gonna be a DICK and she’s gonna leave and hate me and-!”

“Ah. I get it.” Luther grins.

“What? What’s there to get? We’re a bunch of crazy people, and she’s a nice girl and you’re all gonna freak her out!”

“You like her.” Luther keeps the same cheesy grin on his face.

“PSH!” Diego says dramatically. “I don’t- pfft. I don’t like her. She’s cool and all but-”

“Diego…” Luther comes in and gives his brother a forced hug. “Can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“I don't.” he murmurs into his brother chest, being held against his will.

“It’s been like what? A year? Over a year now? Since… Voldemort happened

“Voldemort?” he pushes away.

“She who must not be named.”

“You can say her name.” he grumbles.

“Since Lila. You were a wreck. It’s about time you started to move on.”

Diego pouts and holds a low brow, looking up with disdain for his brother. Who was right. “Doesn’t mean you have to say it.” he mumbles back but Luther hears and laughs.

“I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend, Diego!” he cheers out as his brother sulks away.

“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!” he protests but the flush on his cheeks from embarrassment says otherwise.

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @jaegeeeeer​ @diegos-butt​ @anglovesthis

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves fanfic #diego hargreeves fic #diego hargreeves fan fiction #The Umbrella Academy

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

What Friends Are For

Characters: Yancy x Male Reader

Words:  3,693

Warnings: Unprotected sex

Kinks: Blood, bruises, soft domination,

Summary: Reader is feeling tense, so Yancy offers to help.

It was late - long past lights-out - and you and Yancy’s prison cell was dark, save for a small battery-powered lantern that sat on the round table near the cell door. Yancy was lying in the bottom bunk - your bunk - trying to sleep, but you were making it hard with all of your fidgeting and pacing.

Yancy turned over onto his side to watch you. You were sitting at the table, chair and body facing Yancy on the bunk, but your head was turned toward the door. You didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular, you just happened to be facing that way, lost in thought. Your leg was bouncing, hands wringing in your lap, and you were chewing on your bottom lip. Every so often, you would shuffle in your seat, adjusting to get more comfortable. 

The prisoner smirked and propped himself up on his elbow. You’d been cellmates for a while now, and he’d gotten to know your various mannerisms. To anyone else, you may have looked anxious, but to Yancy… to Yancy, you were horny as fuck. Now, you two weren’t an item, but you were friends, and what are friends for if not to help each other out when they need something? Yancy prided himself on being a good friend.

“Y’know,” he said quietly so as not to wake the other inmates. He sat up in the bunk, swinging his legs over the side.

You snapped out of your daydreams, head swinging around to face him. You froze, eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights, or perhaps a small child that has just been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. 

He stood and stalked the few steps over to you, standing tall and crossing his arms when he reached you.

“If youse is needin’ someone to fuck you into that wall over there, all youse gotta do is ask,” he said, voice low, as he inclined his head to the bare wall opposite the cell door. 

You pressed your hands into your crotch and crossed your ankles, both movements that didn’t go unnoticed by the prisoner. 

You didn’t speak, just stared up at Yancy who was watching you with eyes that were quickly dilating with lust. 

“Come on, big boy,” he said, leaning down to place a hand on either of the armrests of your chair, trapping you in. He could smell your delicious scent, a scent he had quickly come to love after your arrival. Usually, it was a smell that made him think of friendship, loyalty, good-naturedness. But now, as his body was in such close proximity to yours, your faces so close together that he could feel your breath, it was a smell that made him think of one thing and one thing only; that he really wanted to fuck you right now.

“What’s friends for if not to help each other out, huh?” he asked, voice heavy with want. 

You choked out a moan and your breathing picked up. Yancy could hear your heart beating frantically in your chest.

He looked down at your crotch, where you were desperately trying to hide your erection. 

“Is youse gonna let me see what we’s workin’ with here?” he asked as he took one of your wrists in his left hand and pulled it away from your lap to the arm of the chair. He put his hand over top of yours so that you couldn’t move it, and then did the same with the other, pinning both of your hands down to the armrests so that your erection was left to tent freely in your pants, nothing left to hold it down.

“Well look at this,” he smirked mischievously, glancing up at your face before returning his gaze to what he was really interested in. “Youse been holding out on me, Y/N.” 

He let one of your hands go and pressed your cock upward into your lower stomach. Your free hand moved over his, grasping him hard. 

“Ah, ah, ah, baby boy,” he said, squeezing your length.

You hissed and threw your head back. 

“No touching. Youse is gonna put that hand back over on that armrest and let me take care o’ yous.”

Slowly, grudgingly, you let him go and put your hand back where he wanted it. You whined, needy. 

“Good boy,” he praised you. “Now, I may be a murderer, but I’s ain’t no rapist. If youse want me to stop, youse just gotta say so, okay? Now, youse want me to keep goin’?”

Slowly, you nodded.

“That’s not consent, big boy,” he growled. “Use your words.”

You swallowed hard.

“Yes.” Your voice was low and raspy and full of want, a beautiful song that made Yancy’s own cock twitch and began to rise.

“Good boy,” he praised again with a beaming smile. 

He dropped to his knees in front of you and palmed your member beneath the fabric of your striped inmate’s pants.

You moaned, long and low.

“Fuck, Yancy,” you swore, and he chuckled. 

“I’s gonna take good care of you, handsome. Just like friends is for.”

Your grip on the arms of the chair tightened, fingers turning white. You threw your head back once more and your feet slid on the concrete floor so that they were on either side of Yancy, opening your legs to him. 

“That’s what I’s like to see,” he whispered, finally moving his other hand from off of yours so that he could snake his way up your white shirt and play with your nipples. 

You squirmed beneath him and moaned loudly when he pinched and rolled them between his fingers. 

“Shh, big boy, we’s don’t wanna wake the other prisoners, now do we?” he warned. 

You bit your lip hard and blood welled up beneath your teeth. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to breathe with how he was working your cock. 

“Fuck, Yancy. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whined. “God, I need more, Yancy, please, I need more,” you begged. 

“More?” He raised his eyebrows and couldn’t stop the almost evil smile that crept its way onto his lips. “Oh, I’s was hopin’ you’d say that.”

He stopped working you so that he could hook his fingers in the waistbands of both your pants and underwear.

“Lift yous’ hips,”  he demanded, tugging gently. 

When you complied, he stripped your clothing from you, allowing your erection to spring free. He ran his tongue across his teeth as he took your cock in his hand and circled his thumb over the tip slowly, agonizingly slowly. Your length twitched in his hand. He scooted closer to you and dipped his head down so that he could run his tongue up the underside of your cock, following that sensitive vein just beneath the skin. When he reached the top, he took your cockhead in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

Yancy would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least somewhat experienced with this kind of thing, so he opened his throat, prepared when your hips bucked up to bury yourself in his mouth. 

You fell back into the chair, pulling yourself out so that, once again, only your head was in his mouth.

“Fuck!” you whispered. “Sorry, Yancy. I didn’t mean to do that.” 

He didn’t reply. Instead, he smiled, hollowed his cheeks, flattened his tongue, and began to bob his head up and down, taking only about half of your length now. He put his hands on your legs, holding you down so that you couldn’t buck. You were gonna feel good, but it was gonna happen on Yancy’s terms.

God, you tasted good. The prisoner closed his eyes as he sucked you off, committing your taste to memory. He slid a hand down his pants and grabbed his own cock, gently stroking in time with the movements of his head. He moaned involuntarily, the vibrations against your cock causing you to buck again. He was only half able to hold you down, and you slid down his throat again.

He grabbed your leg hard and pushed it back into the chair when you tried to keep rutting into his mouth. He was sure it would leave bruises, but you didn’t seem to care as you whimpered and stilled, your hand moving from its designated place on the armrest to land on his. You curled your fingers around his hand and squeezed hard.

He pulled his head back, your cock falling from his mouth with a soft pop. He pushed himself up into a half-standing position so that he could lean in, chest pressed against yours, and nibble just below your earlobe.

“What’d I say?” he growled as he moved your hand back to the armrest. 

“S-sorry. Sorry,” you panted. “I need…”

“What youse need, big boy?” he asked, dragging his lips softly across your jaw, peppering kisses. 

“I need you inside of me, Yancy. Please. Please, will you fuck me? Please, fuck me,” you begged. 

He grabbed your cock and stroked hard just as his lips met yours. He kissed you hard, free hand coming up to tangle in your hair and pull your head closer so that he could crush your lips together. The metallic taste of your blood flooded his tastebuds, but he didn’t let it stop him.

You moaned into his mouth, lips parting just enough for him to force his tongue into yours. Tongues tangled together, scraped against teeth. Teeth nipped and pulled at lips.

“Youse is doin’ crazy things to me, Y/N,” he panted when he pulled away to catch his breath. “Youse is makin’ me feel things I’s never thought I was gonna feel again.”

He grabbed your wrists and, with a grunt, pulled you to your feet. You fell against his chest and he didn’t hesitate to hold your arms and push you backward, toward the bare wall. He pushed you up against the cold bricks a bit harder than he meant to, causing your breath to rush out of you in a huff. He only allowed you to gasp once before his lips were on yours again. 

Damn, you were making him so needy.

He pushed his hips into yours, grinding his clothed cock against your bare one. You tried to wrap your arms around his waist, but he held your wrists, pinning them to the wall either side of your head. His heart was pounding in his chest, breath coming out in ragged gasps as he moved against you, working himself up, cock growing harder and harder until it was standing tall, dripping with precum that soaked his pants. 

He pulled away, reluctantly taking half a step away from you so that he could strip his pants off. While he was at it, he hooked the hem of your shirt with his fingers and pulled it over your head, then held a hand out to you.

“C’mere. Take my shirt off a’ me,” he ordered.

You took his hand and he pulled you over, then moved his hands up and down your arms to feel your muscles beneath his fingertips as you reached for his tee. Your hand snaked up under his shirt to mimic him. You trailed your fingers over his abs, up his torso, where you pinched his nipples and made him hiss. 

He grabbed your hips hard, but didn’t get a chance to repeat his command before your hands left his chest as quickly as they arrived, and you were pulling his shirt up. Yancy lifted his arms to allow you to remove the white fabric, then he took it from you, added it to the pile at your feet, and kicked it all away. 

Then, he was pushing you back up against the wall, his body pressed hard against yours, cock grinding against yours, mouth moving against yours, chests heaving together. You were in sync, moving as one.

He gasped for breath in between kissing you, lips trailing across your cheek and jawline and down your neck as he growled, “Y’know. I’d be lyin’ if I says I ain’t never thought’a doin’ this with youse before.” 

He wasn’t holding your hands down anymore, so you took the opportunity to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

“I’s didn’t think youse were into me, ya know?” he asked, unable to help as the truth spilled from him. “I thought about fuckin’ youse so many times now, but I never thought it’d actually come true. I never thought youse’d actually want me.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair and your other arm wrapped around his body as you rocked into him. 

“Only a crazy person wouldn’t want you, Yancy. I’ve wanted you since the moment your gang turned you around on that table,” you admitted, and he smiled against your collarbone.

“Youse is lyin’ to me,” he chuckled.

“Never,” you replied, pulling his head up so that you could press your lips against his once more.

His cock was hard, now, and ready for more, so he only kissed you for a moment before he pulled away and grabbed your arms.

“Turn around, big boy,” he ordered, and you obeyed. 

He put one hand on your upper back between your shoulder blades while the other grabbed your cock, pinning your ass against his crotch as he pushed your chest against the wall. He stroked you slowly while his other hand slid down your back, calloused fingers tracing your spine as they traveled down. He grabbed a handful of your ass hard, causing you to squirm, either from pleasure or pain, likely both. He kissed along your shoulders as he worked your cock and prodded your entrance with a finger.

“Yancy…” you moaned lowly.

“What?” he smirked. “Youse didn’t think I’s was just gonna jack you off and we’d be

done?”

You moaned again as he slid a finger inside of you, up to the first knuckle, using his own spit as lubricant. 

“If youse is wantin’ me to stop, youse just gotta say so,” he reminded you.

“Fuck no,” you breathed.

“That’s what I thought.”

Yancy went easy on your cock as he slowly stretched out your ass. He didn’t want you cumming before he even got to enter you. He started with one finger, reminding you to relax and breathe as he slid it as deep as it would go, then added another finger and did the same, and finally a third. Gently, he pumped them in and out of you, spread them, twisted them, so that you would be ready for his girth. Anal can be a tricky thing with lube. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

Finally, when you seemed relaxed and were reaching back grabbing at him greedily, he took his length in hand and pressed it against your entrance.

You had one hand resting on the wall next to your face, and its fingers curled into a fist, knuckles white. He rocked his hips forward, applying pressure. You moaned. He rocked into you again and the head of his cock slipped inside of you. You tensed and your unfisted hand found the arm that he was using to hold onto your hips. You grabbed him hard, digging your fingernails into his skin. 

“Youse okay, baby?” he asked.

“Y-yeah.” Your breath came out in a hushed gasp. “I’m fine it just… It feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’s ain’t even inside a’ youse yet,” he grinned. 

“I know.” You swallowed hard. “Hurry the hell up.”

He chuckled as he resumed moving, pushing his cock deeper into you with each gentle thrust. Once he was fully inside, he pulled almost all the way out and then, with one hard shove, buried his cock inside of you, hard enough that your own length, with his hand still gripping it, hit the wall. Your one hand was still on his arm, and your nails broke the skin, drawing blood that pooled around your fingertips before it ran down his arm in rivulets. In return, he clutched at your hips, his own fingers leaving dark bruises on your flesh as he picked up the pace and humped you hard. 

You gritted your teeth and closed your eyes tight. You rocked back into him, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the small cell and into the hall. At this point, Yancy didn’t care about waking the other prisoners, and clearly neither did you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, head falling back, eyes closing as he reveled in the blissed-out feeling that fucking you brought him. “I’s been needin’ this,” he panted. “But I ain't wanted to do it with anyone other than youse.”

You simply moaned long and low in response, and soon Yancy was no longer able to form words himself. He quieted and focused on the way you were making him feel, your walls tight and warm and soft around his hard cock. He listened to your ragged breath in the still air, counted the beats of your pounding heart, memorized the feel of your skin and muscle beneath his hands and your ass smacking against his pelvis. 

There began a tightening in his stomach and he buried himself all the way inside of you so that he could readjust. His hands left your hips and instead snaked themselves around your torso. One wrapped itself around your stomach, the other around your chest. Your own hand let go of his arm and found its place on the wall, propping you up, bracing you. He pressed his heaving chest to your back and held you close as he thrust into you again, this time deep and hard. No more pulling all the way out, he needed to be in you. He needed to be close to you. He needed you and him to be one. 

He pounded steadily. Gone was the sound of skin on skin; there was no more air between the two of you. Now, it was just panting and moaning. 

“Don’t… Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Yancy.”

“I’s close, Y/N,” he warned you. 

“Come inside me,” you told him, opening your eye and turning your head to gaze at him out of your peripheral.

He lifted his head off of your shoulder only enough to press his lips to your cheek. You closed your eye again and your mouth fell open. He needed to adjust you. He didn’t want to come from behind.

He pulled out of you abruptly and you whined in displeasure. The air in the cell was cold, and all he wanted was to sheathe his cock inside of you again. 

“Turn around,” he ordered for the second time that night, and again, you obeyed. 

He bent down and grabbed the back of your legs, pulling you up. You didn’t even need to hop. He let one of your legs go so that he could grab his member, and you stood on your toes to help him keep you upright.

Yancy lined up with your entrance, and then pulled you down on top of him.

You gasped as the head of his cock hit your prostate.

He lifted your free leg and you wrapped your legs around him, then did the same with your arms, wrapping them around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

He resumed thrusting and you tensed around him. 

“Fuck!” you swore. “There. Right there. Oh, fuck, Yancy, I’m gonna cum.”

He picked up the pace, pounding into you hard, hitting your prostate with each thrust. Your cock was pinned between your bodies, receiving a massage of its own as he moved against you.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” he breathed into your ear. “Come for me, baby.”

As soon as the words left his lips, you came hard. Your walls closed around his length and your body folded inward as your abs clenched. You moaned his name as your cock twitched and shot a thick load of white onto Yancy’s chest and abs, over and over as you collapsed into ecstasy.

Yancy came soon after. His hands squeezed your legs hard, leaving more bruises. He bit down hard on your shoulder and he could taste your blood on his tongue once again. He growled as he came, burying his cock as deep as he could, emptying himself into you. You took it all eagerly, more than happy to drain him dry. 

His cock twitched with each shot of seed, causing you to moan and convulse until he was done. His legs were weak, but he knew that you probably wouldn’t be able to stand right now, so putting you down was out of the question. Instead, he spun you both around so that his back was against the wall. He slid down the cold concrete, hissing when his naked behind hit the equally as cold concrete floor. 

He relaxed a moment later; the chill felt nice against his body, which was burning up. You were both breathing heavily, trying to catch the breath that your climaxes took from you.

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck and wiggled slightly, trying to get comfortable on his lap. He hissed. His cock was still inside of you and it was very sensitive.

“I’s aint’ gonna lie,” he panted, voice low and rough with exhaustion. “Youse might just be the best I ever had.”

He felt you chuckle. “Nah,” you breathed out. “You just haven’t had any in too long.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “You right. Maybe youse could remedy that for me.”

You kissed his neck. “Sure,” you agreed. “Any time you need me, I’ll be here for you.” 

He didn’t know if you meant only sexually, or in general, but he wasn’t going to ask. He had you, and that was what mattered to him.

He could feel your lips pull up into a smile against his skin. “Thank you, Yancy,” you said. “For helping me out, that is.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Course,” he replied with a soft smile. “After all, that’s what friends is for.”

#yancy x male reader #ahwm yancy x male reader #yancy x reader #ahwm yancy x reader #ahwm yancy fanfiction #yancy fanfiction #ahwm fanfiction #markiplier fanfiction #yancy smut #markiplier egos #markiplier egos fanfiction #markiplier egos yancy

[thatkidwhodreams]

The Lie

Chapter Three

Masterlist

Chapter Two

Warnings: An awful lot of swearing

You heard shuffling in you and Shawn’s bedroom and immediately you started to panic. You looked to the side of the bed where Shawn was supposed to be and he was gone. This couldn’t be good you thought. You had a thing where you always thought the worst out of every situation. 

You grabbed your slippers off the floor and put each one in one hand as you walked down the stairs. You were very cautious and made sure to keep the lights off so the attacker would think you were still asleep and you’d catch them by surprise and throw slippers at them.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs your head snapped and you were certain with a little more force you would’ve broken your neck. You tiptoed around the bottom floor and once you found nothing you turned the lights on and let out a high sigh of relief. 

You did a little victory dance because you didn’t die, but you heard a small voice coming from outside so you put your slippers back on and went to check it out. Your inquisitive ass stepped out in the cold towards the back of the house you saw an angry looking Shawn talking to someone over the phone.

“What the fuck? Nope that’s not happening.” You heard some murmuring before Shawn bid goodnight to the person in the most sarcastic way possible.

You being the curious girl you were, you asked Shawn “who was on the phone? And why were you so angry?”

Shawn dismissed that question and said “it’s 3am babe why aren’t you in bed? Never mind let’s go.”

He grabbed your wrist and was speed walking towards the house as if someone was chasing him but he had too much pride to run for his life. When the door opened you headed back into bed and turned the lights off. It wasn’t up to 10 minutes of science when you decided to ask Shawn a question.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s got you so riled up?” He grunted and turned over to the other side of the bed, avoiding you. You swore it was like talking to a brick wall sometimes. You sighed and pulled the covers over you as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

During the last few minutes of consciousness you felt Shawn grab your waist and snuggle into your neck as he put his leg over yours and kissed your cheek as you slept.

The moment your eyes opened you rolled over to find the bed empty again. “That fucking bastard! One day I’ll leave him and he will know how it feels.” You got up and completed your usual morning routine. You walked downstairs towards the sofa, laid on it and stared at the ceiling.

 You thought about the weirdest things like Shawn being a celebrity with many girls writing fictional stories about being with him. As soon as it got to that stage you knew you were going crazy and picked up the phone to call Sofia.

She picked up on the third ring and said “what’s up hoe?” You giggled and sighed.

“Nothing much I’m just overthinking again. I haven’t done that in a while.” 

“Girl, you know you can tell me anything. What have you been thinking about? What life would be like without me?” You laughed really hard at that and started coughing before you composed yourself.

“Bitch you wish! Anyway Shawn has really been acting strange lately and leaving all the time. I don’t know if I should be worried.” You said in a melancholy manner.

“Sis it’s probably nothing. Men can be such weirdos sometimes and a lot of the time they have nothing to do with their lives.”

“Yeah you’re probably right. He was a little angry in the middle of the night. Someone managed to rule him up over the phone so I won’t be surprised if that motherfucker went for a jog or something to clear his head.” 

“See it’s best you left him alone for a while. If I were you I’d give him the silent treatment because I’d never be okay with that.”

You knew she was speaking straight facts. You would never just be okay with Shawn leaving and not give him a taste of his own medicine. You nodded and said a quick “yeah, thank you” before ending the call.

Hours later Shawn came back sweating and instead of getting off the sofa and greeting him like you would usually do, you turned the Tv on and put the volume on high. 

Shawn came into the living room and said a quick “hello” before heading upstairs where he showered, got changed and came back downstairs. 

The bastard had the audacity to sit next to you on the sofa and kiss your cheek. You grunted and shifted away from him a little. His eyebrows furrowed and he proceeded to move closer to you but you held your hand out and he got the hint that he needed to stay where he was.

“Babe, are you mad at me?” He asked. He stood up and kneeled in front of you whilst doing his signature puppy dog eyes. 

You turned away from him, picked up your phone and called Cade who you hadn’t spoken to in a while. Like Sofia he picked up rather quickly. As the phone rang you put your hand on Shawn’s face, shoved him to the side and went into the bathroom downstairs where you knew he wouldn’t bother you.

“Hey motherfucker, so you finally decided that today is the day you remember me huh?” You just had to smile.

“I’m sorry, I had to call you because I trust you as well as Sofia but I feel like I’ve loaded all my problems on that bitch.”

“Aww babes tell me what’s happened” Cade says in a dramatic way.

You begin to rant about the strange disappearance of Shawn and how he’s always got strange excuses when you ask him where he’s been. Cade pays attention to every single word you utter from your mouth and you swear you hear him nodding and gasping like your life was a drama series.

“Okay bitch are- are you done?”

You take a deep breath and say “yes I’m done, thanks for listening to all that.”

“You know what we’re going to do? WE ARE HEADING TO THE FUCKING CLUB AND WE AIN’T GON TELL NOBODY!” 

You smiled knowing a night at the club would be exactly what you need. So you got out of the bathroom and headed to the living room and up the stairs but not before noticing the way Shawn looked up after his hands had been in his hair. 

You chuckled and headed over to your room where you got dolled up and put on your favourite outfit with your cherry red heels. You walked down the stairs, grabbed your coat and headed for the door.

As you touched the door knob Shawn asked “Y/N where are you goin-” but you had shut the door on him and walked straight out and headed over to what was technically now Cade’s house where the other half of your stuff was.

You opened the door and saw Cade staring at you already dressed with his legs crossed and a glass of wine in one hand. “Hello bitch, you sure as hell took your bitch ass time come on let’s fucking go.” Cade put his glass of wine down, grabbed your hand and headed to his car.

“CLUB HERE WE FUCKING COME!”

You both got inside the car but before Cade start led the car he looked at you, sighed and asked “what’s on your fucking mind now. I want some alcohol so spill” 

“How do you know I’ve got something on my mind?”

“It is clear on your ugly ass face now tell me what you’re thinking about or we ain’t leaving and if we don’t go you owe me some money.”

You rolled your eyes and laid back into the car seat. “I’m just really worried that something is wrong, it took hours for Shawn to get back from his jog. Who takes that long to go jogging?! I didn’t care at the time because I was pissed, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Cade looked at you and hummed whilst nodding his big head. “Maybe he was more angry than you thought. Hot men like him need a lot of time to cool off. Speaking of hot men we need to get going so I still have time to grab one.” He rubbed your back, kissed your cheeks and put the vehicle into ignition.

“WE BOUT TO TURN UP!”

A/N: Hmmm...what do you guys think Shawn is up to? A lot of you guys keep messaging me asking when I’m going to update and sending in your weird theories. I have to say I’m very surprised but it makes me happy. I finished this a lot earlier than I expected but for some reason I feel like it’s not good enough and it’s a little short. I actually shed some tears whilst writing this because I forgot what was going on but it’s okay I remembered eventually, thank goodness I voice recorded the storyline😂. Tell me what you think, remember feedback is always appreciated I don’t bite❤️.

#Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x y/n #the lie

[cherieofthedragons]

My Own Personal Hero

Fandom: Obey Me!: Shall We Date?

Pairing: Mammon/ female MC

It ain't like Mammon would ever worry about a human... but why hasn't MC come home from school? She couldn't be in danger...

...could she?

*Takes place somewhere around Lessons 17-18. Thanks to the amazing @zecaeruwu for the prompt.

**********

School had ended forty-five minutes ago, and Rose still wasn’t home. Why wasn’t she home? Mammon paced the living room, scowling. Didn’t she know he was waiting for her?

Well, okay, so he hadn’t actually told her he wanted to see her. Still. She ought to know, right? He always wanted to talk to her after school. Sure, his brothers liked to steal her away before the two of them could really get started, but what did that matter? If the Great Mammon was waiting for her, she ought to be here!

She ain’t psychic, said a voice in his head. Ya can’t expect her to know everythin’ you’re thinkin’.

Yes. Yes, he knew.

And if she did know you were waitin’, it wouldn’t matter. She ain’t gonna rush back just for you.

His hands clenched into fists.

A glance at the clock told him it was now an hour since school let out. That was a lot, wasn’t it? She never stayed that late. It wasn’t safe for a human to be alone in a building full of demons, not without one of his brothers there to protect her. Did she have somebody with her? Was she okay?

Dammit, what if she wasn’t?

Before he could think, he was flying out the door, headed back to RAD as fast as his feet could take him.

**********

He found her in a classroom, sitting at a desk with a guy on either side of her. Lower demons, both of them. They didn’t seem like they were gonna gobble her up or anything, but he didn’t like the way they were looking at her. As soon as he walked in, Rose raised her eyes to him, relief written all over her face.

The tightness in his chest loosened. It was okay. Nothing had happened to her.

“Mammon.” Snatching up her bag, she stood up, hurrying to his side. Was she… nervous?

No way. This was Rose. She was used to living with the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Chatting with some lower demons wasn’t near enough to bother her.

Unless… well, backbone of steel aside, she was just a human. If she really felt like she was in danger, with no one to back her up… 

Anger flaring in his belly, he clenched his hands into tight fists. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?”

She bit her lip. “I wanted to go home, but these guys—”

They’d stopped her from leaving? Held her here in this room against her will? Fighting to contain his anger, he turned his glare onto the two demons. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?”

The guy on the left jumped to his feet. The one on the right looked to be frozen in place.

Mammon took a step forward.

“Hey, hey!” Lefty threw up his hands. “We didn’t mean any harm. We just wanted to talk to her. That’s all, I swear!”

“And did she wanna talk to you?”

The color drained from Lefty’s face, and Righty looked like he was shaking.

Good.

Still, Lefty managed to find words. “She-she’s just a human. We didn’t think—”

The words made him see red. “Just a human?! Just a human?!”

“Mammon!”

His name, cried out in her sweet voice, made him stop short. When he turned his eyes to her face, the worry in her expression brought him back to his senses. He realized he’d transformed into his true form, so lost in his rage that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I want to be alone with you.” She took a step toward him, biting her lip. “Please, can we leave now? I don’t want to think about these guys anymore.”

Her words pierced through the red haze in his mind, and he turned his full attention to her. Did she just say... she wanted to be alone with him? 

As much as he hated to leave these assholes behind, the look on her face said she wanted to be as far away from here as possible. Watching him murder these two vermin wouldn’t calm her down. He’d have to deal with them later. Right now, he needed to take her home. 

“Yeah, ‘course. Let’s get outta here.” 

With a soft smile, she took his hand and led him out of the classroom.

His hand. She was holding his hand.

Suddenly that was all he could think about. The warmth of her touch, the softness of her skin, the soft press of her fingers…

As she led him down the hall, he realized that her gentle grip was growing tighter, and her steps were speeding up. With alarm, he looked at the back of her head as she hurried in front of him. 

“Hey. Rose. You okay?”

“I want to go home,” was all she said.

He didn’t know what got into him, but before he could think, he had his arm around her shoulder, hugging her to his side, matching her pace as they rushed from the building. He barely noticed the stares of the other students they passed. He needed to get her home. Nothing else mattered.

**********

As soon as they stepped inside the House of Lamentation, she collapsed against the wall, sliding slowly to the ground.

“Shit.” This was bad. She almost never showed fear like this. Mammon knelt before her, frantically searching her eyes for any sign of what she was thinking. “What happened? Did those sons of bitches lay a hand on you?”

She shook her head, her unfocused stare locked on the floor. “It’s not that.”

Her body was shaking. Fuck. She was terrified. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he realized how scared she was earlier?

Unable to stop himself, he reached for her, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. To his shock, she turned her head to nuzzle her cheek against his palm, closing her eyes. 

“Mammon…”

His name was almost a sigh, and at the sound of it, he lost all sense of self-control. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest. “I got ya. You’re safe. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ else happen to you.”

Her own arms immediately embraced his waist, and he reveled in the way she pressed herself against him. For a few minutes, they stayed that way, neither of them speaking. He rubbed her back, waiting until her breathing calmed and her body began to relax.

After a while, she started speaking. “They didn’t do anything. Not really. But I thought they were going to. It was the way they looked at me, like I was some kind of toy — and I couldn’t get away—”

Fury made his mind spin. “I’ll kill ‘em.”

“No, don’t.”

“They gotta pay. And everyone needs to see it. They need to know what the Great Mammon does to people who mess with you. So no one ever dares to try anythin’ like that again.”

“Mammon, you’re holding me too tight.”

Oh. He was, wasn’t he? With a deep breath, he relaxed his grip. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay. Just… please don’t think about them. I need you right now.”

Did she mean that? She needed him? Or was it just that she needed someone, and he happened to be the guy that was here?

But he hadn’t been there when it really mattered. A surge of guilt hit him like a semi-truck. He was her first. He was supposed to be the one who took care of her. What the hell had he been doing? Waiting for her to come home instead of being there when she was in danger?

 “It’s my fault.” The mumbled words spilled from his lips.

“What?” Cheek still pressed against his chest, she tilted her chin up, shocked eyes meeting his own.

“I’m supposed to protect you. I told ya I’d be the one to save you, didn’t I?”

“But you didn’t know—”

“Yeah.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “That’s the problem.”

“No, it’s not.” She pulled back, but only enough gaze at his face in a way that made his heart beat fast. “You saved me. You’re always there for me.”

The earnestness on her face overwhelmed him. “Wha…?”

“You’re like my own personal hero. Ever since I got here, you…”

“I am?” Did she really believe that? Pride filled him, and he felt light as a balloon. “I mean, damn right I am. The Great Mammon ain’t gonna let nothin’ stop him, ya know?”

“Yup.” She tilted her head as she smiled, a smile that sent a thrill through him. A smile of absolute trust. “That’s exactly right.”

She seemed to be calm now, but he had to be sure. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah.” To his great dismay, she released his waist, but when she slid her hands down his arms to take his hands in her own, his heart started pounding in a whole new way. “I'm okay because you’re here. Mammon…”

Her voice trailed off. Why? What made her stop talking? 

“Yeah?” He tried not to sound anxious. 

She bit her lip, shook her head slightly, then smiled again. “Thank you.”

Oh. For a second, he’d thought she was gonna say... something else. Still, a thank you from her lips…

“Yeah, well.” Shyness suddenly overtook him, and he felt his cheeks get warm. “I guess it ain’t so bad to do somethin’ for a human like you.”

Her thumb brushed across the back of his hand. By this point, his heart was practically hammering against his ribcage. Her touch, her smile, her scent — it was all too much, and at the same time, he couldn’t get enough.

“Were you worried about me?” Now she was looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Is that why you came?”

“Me?” Embarrassment winning out, he found himself dropping back into old habits. “‘Course not. Why would the Great Mammon worry about a measly human? I was annoyed, that’s all. Ya didn’t come home, and…”

As his voice trailed off, he felt ashamed of his own words. Why could he never manage to tell her how he really felt? Especially at a moment like this, when she needed someone to be there… 

To his surprise, she let out a puff of laughter, then said something under her breath.

“Huh? What?”

“Nothing.” For no reason he could understand, she smiled even brighter, squeezing his hands. 

His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d heard her say, “You’re a terrible liar.”

Did that mean… she understood? She knew what he couldn’t say?

There probably wouldn’t be a better time than this to tell her, right? Fighting down his panic, Mammon gripped her hands tighter.

“Hey. Listen, I—” He took a breath. “I—”

“Maaaaaammon!” came a whiny voice behind him.

He froze.

No. No, no, no. Not now.

“What are you doing to Rose? And right in front of the door!”

Not now, of all the damn times—!

“Go away.” He all but growled the words.

“Poor thing!” As usual, Asmo completely ignored him. “Rose, you don’t have to let this scumbag—”

His voice cut off, and then, in a serious tone that Mammon had almost never heard his brother use, Asmo spoke again. “What happened to you?”

Looking reluctant, she tore her eyes from Mammon’s face to look over his shoulder. “Hi, Asmo.”

“You’ve been crying!” A hand grasped her arm, and before he knew it, Asmo had tugged her out of his embrace and onto her feet. “Rose! What happened? Are you okay?!”

“Hey!” Mammon scrambled to stand up. “What the hell are ya doin’?”

“I’m okay.” Her smile was shaky. “It’s all right now. Thank goodness Mammon was there.”

“That’s right!” Lord, he lived for praise like that. Stepping forward, he gave Asmo the deadliest glare he could manage. “I’m takin’ care of her, so you can just—”

“What’s all this?”

Dammit all to hell!

Drawn by the commotion, the rest of his brothers traipsed into the entryway, stopping when they saw her face.

“Rose!” Lucifer rushed forward, extricating her from Asmo’s hold to peer into her face. “What is it?”

“I’m all right.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, which only seemed to alarm them all more. “Mammon took care of it.”

“That’s right!” He found himself raising his voice. “I’m the one who helped her!”

Belphie frowned. “If Mammon took care of it, then it’s not all right at all.”

Why, that bastard—!

She shook her head fervently. “No, it really is—”

“Mammon.” Satan stepped forward calmly, but Mammon knew it was the quiet of a predator ready to pounce. “If Rose won’t tell us, then you will. What happened to her?”

A part of him didn’t want to say a word, but for the sake of her safety, his brothers would have to know. With a reluctant huff, he said, “A couple of lower demons cornered her in a classroom and wouldn’t let her out. Scared her half to death, thinkin’ they were gonna hurt her or somethin’. If I hadn’t got there when I did—” His fists clenched again just thinking about it. “I was gonna beat ‘em to a bloody pulp, but Rose told me to get her outta there.”

Satan’s eyes flashed dangerously, rage emanating from his every pore. Without a word, he strode toward the door.

Rose’s voice cut through the air. “Satan, DON’T KILL ANYONE!”

Her order wasn’t directed at Mammon, but he still felt the force of it. 

For the briefest of moments, Satan’s body jerked, but without breaking his stride, he threw open the door and disappeared into the darkness.

There was a second of silence. Then Levi broke it. “Um… that wasn’t much of an order. This is Satan. There’s a lot he could do without killing.”

Her eyes went wide before filling with dismay. “Oh, no.”

Beel smiled in a way that was most likely meant to be reassuring. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t know who they are. The most he can do is tear apart the school.” His smile faltered. “Probably.”

“That’s not okay, either!”

Mammon scoffed. “It’ll be fine. Ain’t no way Lucifer’s gonna let anything happen to RAD.”

Everyone turned to look at Lucifer. He was staring at her face, the only change in his expression a faint twitch in his cheek.

Rose’s brow creased. “Lucifer! He can’t destroy the school! Think of Lord Diavolo!”

At that, his face twisted into something ugly. He took a deep breath, and then his features returned to normal.

“I suppose I’ll have to go after him.” He gave them all a dangerous look. “Take care of Rose.”

Scowling, Mammon crossed his arms. “You don’t gotta tell us that.”

With one last look at her face and a whirl of his jacket, Lucifer disappeared through the door.

Mammon stepped forward, reaching out to take her arm, but Asmo and Belphie were quicker. Peppering her with questions, they whisked her from the room with Beel and Levi close behind.

He wished she would stop them. If only she would brush them off and come back to his arms…

As the others pulled her along, she looked back over her shoulder, searching until her eyes met his. Was he imagining the look of longing and regret in her gaze?

His brothers ushered her through the doorway, and she was gone.

There was only one thing to do. Mammon trudged after them, pulling up the rear. If he couldn’t be the one to comfort her now, he’d at least make sure she was okay.

And there would be another time to tell her how he felt. 

There had to be.

#obey me #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #shall we date? obey me! #shall we date #mammon (shall we date) #mammon x mc #mammon #the great mammon #rose (main character) #mammon x rose #cherie writes things

[meowdymista]

v. we might be dead by tomorrow

Part of the Devil’s Backbone project - Masterlist

“My God, is that Sadie Adler?”

Turning around, the woman’s mouth drops open. “Arthur motherfuckin’ Morgan!” she squeals, throwing her arms up and hugging him tight. “Oh my god! I thought you were dead! Am I dreaming? Is it really you?"

"It's me, alright." He groans as he squeezes her close, both of them laughing as he finally releases her and holds her at arm's length. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"Bounty huntin' mostly." She slaps his arm looking him up and down, her eyes still sparkling with disbelief. "What about you? What have you been doin' all these years that you couldn't drop by to say hi to your good friend Sadie?"

"Avoidin' Pinkertons mostly." He nods at the bartender who promptly pours two double shots of whisky. They toast and only Arthur pulls a face. "Been travellin' around with Jack and Abigail, tryna get them settled someplace."

"You're still with them?" She nods appreciatively. "Does that mean you and Abigail…?" He gives her a blank stare. “Are you two… together?”

“Oh! Nah, o’course not. She’s always been in love with Marston.”

“Well, John’s been dead goin’ on eight years now.”

“So’s Jake. Have you met someone?”

Sliding another dollar to the bartender, she blows a long raspberry. “Have I hell. I think that was it for me. I’m not exactly meeting the best of suitors in my line of work.”

Arthur shrugs, accepting the beer she pushes into his hand. “Well, there you have it.”

“Oh no, you ain’t getting off that easy! You can’t be tellin’ me you ain’t ever slept together?”

“The women we travelled with were working girls, Sadie, with the exception of you. I mean, even Molly was startin’ that way ‘til Dutch picked her up.”

“I meant since I last saw y’all.” She laughs at the colour creeping up Arthur’s neck. “I knew it!”

“It ain’t like that, Sadie-”

“Well what’s it like then?” she teases with a big smile.

“It’s- y’know what it’s like. Some nights are more lonely than others.” His gaze is fixed on his fingers as they pick at the label,

“So you’ve only done it once or twice?” The heat starts burning in the cartilage of his ears. “Or once or twice this week?”

“We ain’t done it this week!” Arthur sits up a little taller, his cheeks still burning.

“No sexual activity at all?” He glances at her, his faltering voice making her laugh. “Arthur Morgan, how I’ve missed you!”

“Shurrup!” he growls, shoving her gently and draining the rest of his beer in one. “Don’t you have some work to be gettin’ on with?”

“Why? You sick of me already?” Her hand squeezes his shoulder until he meets her gaze. “Listen. I’m happy for you. You deserve to have a loving family.”

“You got the wrong end of the stick. I’m just helping ‘em get settled. We bought some land and built a ranch on it. When it’s paid for itself and they got a foot on this farming shit, I’ll leave ‘em to it.”

“How old is the ranch now?”

“About a year or more.”

“And you’re set on movin’?”

He shrugs. “I ain’t gonna outstay my welcome. Just wanna make sure they’ll be alright.”

Shaking her head, she heaves a deep breath. “What’s Abigail say about that?”

“We ain’t really talked about it-”

“So you’re sleepin’ together, runnin’ a ranch and helpin’ with her boy… but you’re still intending to leave?”

“Shit, Sadie, it won’t be for a while yet. Another year or more... it depends. I don’t know. Nobody knows.”

Quiet blankets the conversation. They each accept another beer, drinking wordlessly.

“Pearson runs the shop out in Rhodes now,” she states calmly.

“Really? Good for him!”

“Got himself a wife too - Esther.” Her sideways glance is enough to tickle him. “She’s got him as whipped as his Aunt Cathy!”

“Well, it weren’t for lack of suitors!” He laughs remembering their first trip into Rhodes. “Damn, Mrs Adler. Where does the time go?”

“Speak for yourself, old man! Them grey hairs had to come from somewhere.”

He scratches the stubble on his jaw self consciously. “Shurrup. I’m retired.”

“Didn’t know reprobates could retire.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he stands up. “Me neither, but it’s nice to try.”

“Well if you ever want any work, you know where I am. Most towns have bounty posters up and around. If you need money for the ranch, or if you’re serious about leaving ‘em to it…”

“Huh, maybe. I used to pick some up back in the day. You got an address, or an alias if I wanna write?”

“Nothin’ particular. Send it to wherever you hear from me last. No alias - this is legal work I’m doin’ now, so Mrs Adler is just fine. Yourself?”

“Beecher’s Hope, West Elizabeth.”

“Near Blackwater?”

“That’s the one.”

“I heard there’s some rough folk thataway.”

“The Skinner Brothers? Yeah, they can be pretty nasty.”

She hesitates. “I guess I can see why you want to stick around a bit longer… To make sure they’re safe.”

He agrees without much commitment - that reason is as good as any. “You should drop by if you’re in the area. I’m sure Abigail and Jack would love to see you and how well you’re doing for yourself.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.” She offers her hand, but he knocks it aside and pulls her into another hug.

“I’ll see you again, Mrs Adler.”

“Another time, Mr Morgan!” She tips her hat as Arthur waves back.

*****

Rufus gallops across the ranch as Arthur rides in trying not to jostle his arm. “Go away, boy,” he hisses. “Where’s Jack? Go play with Jack.” He swears as the dog begins to bark at him. His horse is too used to his grumpy antics to be moved by the aging pup.

He nudges his horse to the barn doors, using the bottom of his bow to prod them open ahead of the mare. Inside, he swings himself down, not caring if there is a steaming pile of manure where he lands. He's fortunate to land on the concrete with little more than a hiss at the jostle. Moving to the nearest stall to light a lamp, he finds Jack reading besides his favourite calf.

"Hey, Uncle Arthur."

"What are you doing out here at this hour?" he growls, snatching the book out of his hands and marking the page with a feather from his hat. "Get inside!"

"Y-yes sir." The boy is clearly taken aback. Arthur rarely exposes his fierce side nowadays - mostly he is calm, quietly cheerful, and appreciative of even the smallest conveniences. He scrambles to his feet, reaching out for the book when his eyes are drawn to the wound with a horrified gasp. "Uncle Arthur!"

He grimaces, still trying to usher him outside. "Shurrup! You want to wake everyone?"

"You're hurt!" It is more of a question than an exclamation, but his stuttering doesn't expect an answer. "What happened? Are we in danger? Is it Pinkertons? What do we do?"

"Shit, Jack! Breathe!" He squeezes the boy's shoulder, staring him in the eye. "It's nothing you need to worry about. No one's coming here, no one is coming to hurt us, alrigh'? Take a breath before you pass out or somethin'."

"Then what happened to your arm?" Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes. "It looks pretty deep. Did a bear get you?"

"Sure."

"Do we need to get the animals in? What if it comes onto the ranch? What were you doing out so late anyway?"

"Boah!" Gritting his teeth, he closes his eyes to help keep his composure. "Get to bed or God help me, I ain't above knocking you out to get some peace!"

When he opens his eyes he expects the boy to be moving away, but instead he's leaning in to look at the wound.

"You need me to bring Ma? You look like you need stitches."

"No!" He grips his arm tight enough to make him whimper. "Do not breathe a word of this to your mother. This is between you an' me, a'right?"

"You need help-"

"I can take care of myself." He releases him and steps back, beginning to get supplies from his saddle bags. "Don't you go breathin' a word about this to anyone, y'hear? Nobody."

Jack watches tentatively as the man begins to remove his jacket and shirt. Seeing the ripped flesh makes his stomach churn. "What can I do?"

"I told yer-"

"Let me help." Jack nods once, his small soft face gripped with determination. "What do you need? I- I know where Ma keeps her sewing kit. An' I'm sure there'll be some boiled water left over for drinkin'. Will salt help?"

Arthur sighs, his body sagging as he deliberates. He has never been good at accepting help. The only reason he accepted any help in the past was because of Grimshaw's steadfast stubbornness or he was outnumbered. All those years of being strong… standing tall… and now he can't even scare a boy out of a barn.

"Fine. Bring me a clean union suit too. I think I saw my blue one knocking about somewhere. An' a pair of pliers - the small ones. Should be under the sink or up in the loft with Uncle."

The boy runs off leaving Arthur to reflect. For a boy without his father, he was growing up strong. He was lucky to have his mother's lust for learning, but somehow his father's gait had survived, especially when he ran. Sometimes Arthur would catch himself watching him and remembering the crap John got into at his age. If John was a coyote, Jack was a fox. He had a good head on his shoulders, and always assessed the risks rather than blundering in blindly like his father did. It was just a shame that the recklessness had been completely swallowed by such delicate hesitation - some things were best learned by jumping in the deep end.

The door creaks as Jack slips back inside breathless, his cheeks rosy from the exertion.

"I was quick as I could. Nobody saw me I don't think."

"Good." Arthur pulls the cork from an open bottle of whiskey with his teeth, spitting it against the wall before chugging its contents. “C’mere. Best we get to by the light if you’re gonna do this.”

Jack gulps as Arthur sits himself on the milking stool, wincing as he inspects the wound. “D’you got the pliers?”

“Right here, sir.”

“OK, now I’m gonna need you to take a look in the wound. I’m sure one of ‘em got me with an arrow before the bastard sliced me.”

“An arrow?” repeats the boy, swallowing his stomach as he eyes the mess of flesh. “You said it was a bear?”

He scoffs. “I’ve said many things in my life, Jack Marston, not all of them honest.”

The boy doesn’t reply. He’s trying to breathe through his mouth but the iron in the air still caresses his tastebuds. “I can’t see anything, Uncle Arthur.”

“Alright. Grab a shirt from Gwyn and bring over the salt water. We gotta get this clean before you sew it up.”

“I ain’t done much sewin’ before.”

Arthur grunts. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

The boy is obedient. He tries to be as careful as possible, but despite his ginger pats, a hiss still seeps out between his teeth. Arthur leans his head back against the barn wall to keep himself steady.

“I saw Sadie Adler when I went out Valentine way. D’you remember her?”

Jack thinks back as he wrings the shirt out. “Maybe?”

“Well, she’s doin’ well. Bounty huntin’. Said it’s good money.” He exhales sharply. “I been doin’ some here and there. Mostly fraudsters or petty thieves. None with any fight or any weapons or shit.”

“Why?”

He tilts his head to review the boy’s reaction. The whiskey and blood loss has loosened his tongue. “I want to help you and your ma buy this place outright. Eight dollars a day is plenty to keep y’all fed and clothed but the bank likes to charge more the longer it takes you to pay it back.”

“Ma will kill you if she finds out.”

“Don’t tell her.” He grips the boy’s wrist with his good arm. “Please? This- this was foolishness. I knew I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“So why did you?”

“I used to be a good shot. A few years back I could have taken ‘em out without any bother, but either I’m gettin’ slow or they’ve got faster.” He glances at his arm and scoffs. “Maybe both,” he grunts as he takes another deep swig of liquor.

“OK, well, it looks clean. Still doesn’t look to be anything much in there.”

“A’right. Bring a needle an’ thread over. Next bit is easy, ok?”

After Jack overcomes his squeamishness, Arthur is sewn up in no time. The boy helps him clean the smaller cuts and injuries, including a bullet in his leg that hadn’t gone too deep. By the time he’s finished, Arthur is dozing, slumped against one of the beams. He wakes him with a gentle shake and heaves him to his feet.

“Hol’ up a minute.” Arthur staggers to the horse and begins to pull at the saddle. Seeing what he’s trying to do with limited mobility, Jack quickly unfastens the clasps and helps set it aside. “Thanks, son.” He ruffles his hair fondly. “Y’know, you look like your father did at your age?”

“Really?” Jack pulls his arm over his shoulder, leading him in the direction of the house. Colour is beginning to light the sky. It must be near three in the morning.

“Yeah. I didn’t care much for him then.” He snorts laughing. “Your Uncle Hosea wasn’t best pleased with me.”

****

Arthur grunts as a hammering brings him back to consciousness. His body is stiff, his mouth dry, his head thumping without the noise. Squinting in the morning light, Jack is sticking his head through the door.

“Uncle Arthur? Are you ok?”

“Never better,” he growls sarcastically. “What’s up?”

“Mrs Adler - the lady you spoke about last night? She’s outside.”

#sadie adler #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fic #red dead fanfic #meowdymista #jack marston

[babbushka]

Two’s Company (3/5)

1989 and New York City is a mess. Life was shit for all but you and Pale, who found that among the rubble and rubbish, there existed peace and calm and hard hot fucking. That is, until, an unwanted visitor makes themselves known, throwing this happy dream into a tumultuous nightmare.

Pale x Reader ; Chapter 3 of my sequel to Blue Moon!

Word count: 7.3k ; Warnings: Angst, drug mention, minor violence

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

You almost wanted to laugh when you saw her.

Almost.

Not because she’s funny, just because she’s almost exactly how you pictured her. She’s standing at the door, at his door, at your door, in a long brown fur coat, hair teased to high heavens, pearl necklace around her neck and pretty white heels on her feet. She’s standing there smokin’ a Virginia Slims, has it stuck between her two fingers that are manicured and polished with long red acrylics.

She may have moved to Miami, but she was still very much a Jersey woman.

A Jersey woman who, while neither in Jersey or Miami, was standing there, at the door, staring you down.

“That’s right, I’m his fucking wife.” She sneered, shifted her weight back and forth making her hips bob up and down like she’s hot shit. She appraised you, looked down on you up up up in those heels of hers, smoked her cigarette. “And what are you, his whore?”

Well, you thought, Jersey women have nothin’ on the women from Queens.

“Yeah,” You said, stepping around Pale from where you had been holdin’ him back, stepping around him and stepping into her space, crowding her, teeth bared at her, “I am his whore.”

Her eyebrows shot up at that, not expecting you to be proud of it. But how could you not? How could you be anything other than proud of Pale, of your man? You’d shout it off the fire escape for all the city to hear, you didn’t give a shit.

She looks like she’s distraught then, right in that moment, and she barreled further into the apartment, threw herself down onto the couch in the living room. You wanted to scoff because fuck, you’ve never seen someone acting so badly, crocodile tears running mascara down her cheeks.

“God, Jim, did you have to stoop so low? I leave you for what, three years? And you stoop this low.” She wailed and wailed, loud and mighty, accent thick and voice pitched high, “Shacking up with some tramp, how much do you pay her huh? How much does she get for suckin’ your cock?”

And just like that the tears are gone, replaced with the hard stare of a woman scorned.

Your patience had worn out, officially drained at the accusation, the assumption, and you marched over to the living room, yanked her off of your couch by her ankle, sent her crashing to the floor with a sharp, hey!

“Nothin! He gives me nothing! And I don’t ask for anything unlike you!” You shouted, losing it, losing your patience. You had been having such a good fucking day, such a wonderful fucking evening, before she crashed it and ruined it like she did everything else. You had never even met this woman, and she had already ruined everything.

“Unlike you I love this man. I love him more than you ever fucking did, could, or would. I chose him and he chose me and I love him. I don’t go abandonin’ him for three fuckin’ years – do you even hear the words comin’ outta your mouth?” You snapped, all in her face, and she’s standing again, scrambling to not let you have the upper hand.

She jabbed you in the shoulder again and again, antagonizing you, and you only could grit your teeth.

“Oh yeah right you love him, bullshit. Bullshit, how much is he paying you?” She demanded to know, hysterical, absolutely hysterical.

“I’m not a fucking prostitute!” You didn’t know how many times you were going to have to fucking explain it, but you were getting sick of trying. “And you know what, even if I were, I’d have more dignity than you.”

You almost didn’t register it when she slapped you, hard across the face with those nails of hers. All you knew was that you were on the floor, a stinging burning pain already numbing your cheek.

Without a second fucking thought, you swiped her leg, sent her crashing down to the ground, and an all-out brawl began.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had to fight someone, the last you had ever even thought about fighting someone. It had to have been in high school, had to have been years ago. But like most things in life, it all came rushin’ back when you needed it, when you had to put up your fists and defend yourself. And it was defending yourself, but it was more than that – it was defending your man.

Your man, who, was standing stunned for all of one minute before inserting himself into the middle of where the two of you were goin’ after one another.

“Hey get the fuck off of her!” He pried Barbara away from you, grabbed at the back of her neck and hoisted her up like she was some feral cat, “Why are you here – where are the kids?”

“They’re still in Florida you piece of shit, God, how’d I know I’d find you like this?” Barbara was out of breath, panting, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand to smear away some blood from where you had clocked her pretty good.

You were still on the floor, and Pale unceremoniously dropped his seething wife to come to your aid. He crouched down next to you, so tender, hands all over you to check for serious damage. You could feel the sharp sting of scratches from her nails, and your scalp hurt where she had yanked on your hair, but other than that, the most overwhelming thing was the adrenaline thudding thudding thudding in your ears, in your brain.

“You don’t get to fucking call him that, not after what you did to him.” You said, voice hoarse and angry, so angry for him, for Pale.

“What I did?” Barbara scoffed, already reaching into her purse and pulling out a fancy golden compact, checking her appearance.

“Yeah, what you did, you cunt.” You scoffed right back, absolutely fucking incredulous at this woman, at the gall of her, the nerve of her. Pale helped you stand up, and you indelicately re-tied your robe, concealing your body from where the sash had come undone in the scuffle, all the while continuing, “You think I don’t know? You think I didn’t find out about all the shit you did to him, said to him, made him do?”

“Jimmy didn’t do nothin’ he didn’t want to do.” Barbara shook his head and that’s when Pale decided to speak up again.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.” And now he’s shouting, now he’s angry angry angry, and you sigh, because fuck all you had wanted for tonight was for him to relax, him to enjoy himself. “What do you want from me, how come you’ve been blowin’ up my fuckin’ phone this whole goddamned time?”

“I thought it’d be obvious you jackass, I’m here to take you back!” Barbara shouted, leaving both you and Pale speechless.

You looked at one another, and then at her, and then back at one another, both of your mouths agape.

“…What?” Pale asked, not even angry, not even yelling, just…so fucking confused.

You were both so confused.

You needed a drink to deal with this, needed something.

Without another word, you left to go into the kitchen, to rummage around for a bottle of whiskey and two clean glasses. Barbara and Pale were still arguing in the living room, but thanks to the new modern open plan design, you were still privy to all of it.

“Yeah, you know. I’m here to bring you back home.” Barbara tried explaining to an only dumbfounded Pale.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He asked, asked seriously, like he was worried she had hit her head too hard when you had knocked her to the ground.

“Pale is home.” You tried getting that through her thick skull, but that only started up the yelling again.

“Pale Pale Pale!” She shouted, yelled, snapped, spit, “That’s not his fucking name, his name is James, Jimmy if you’re friendly – if you’re his wife.” She was close to hysterics again and you were genuinely worried that the cops were gonna get called, that the neighbors were gonna file a noise complaint.

You had half a mind to call the cops yourself, but no, there was too much drug shit out in the open, and that could get the both of yous in trouble. So you poured the drinks instead, handed a shakin’ glass to Pale who downed nearly half the cup in one big gulp.

“Yeah well you ain’t my fuckin’ wife no more Barbie, don’t you get that?” He asked, sat himself down on the couch.

“What are you – ” She started, and he only sighed, sick of yelling.

He motioned for you to come over to him, to sit on his lap, and you did, of course you did. You carried the second glass over and settled right on his knee, sitting sideways and loopin’ your arms around his neck in the way you always did, kissed at his cheek in the way you always did.

You wondered how that looked to Barbara, who stood all by herself, awkwardly on the other side of the room. You hoped she felt uncomfortable, hoped she felt awful, for coming in here and starting this shit.

“Do you see a ring on my fuckin’ finger? Huh?” Pale asked, “Do you see your ugly mug all over the walls, do you see your clothes in my closet? No. I meant what I said down in Miami. I can’t believe you burned my money to fly up here just to piss me off and attack my girl – that’s a real new fuckin’ low for you.”

“Last time I checked I didn’t sign no divorce papers.” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging stare, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Because you had to be the biggest fucking cunt you could!” He sounded truly exasperated now, and you let your arm stroke up and down his chest where it too was exposed from the robe starting to fall open, “I begged you to fuckin’ sign them, don’t think I wanted to stick around, I didn’t have a god damned choice, you didn’t give me a choice.”

“So you cheat on me.” Barbara pouted, all sad eyes that you all knew would get her nowhere. Jesus, you thought, what a fucking manipulator, especially when her chin wobbled with false sorrow and she began to cry again, “You don’t cheat on someone you love, Jimmy!”

“Well maybe I don’t fucking love you anymore!” Pale threw up his arms, let them fall back down with a smack on his muscular thighs, “Maybe I don’t love you anymore.”

You wondered just then, in the dark of the living room, if they had ever talked about this. If this was the first time any of this discussion was actually coming to light. The way Barbara’s expression began to change and shift from anger to sadness to confusion said that maybe they hadn’t.

“What?” She asked, quiet in a way that was loud.

You just sat there, on Pale’s lap, watching his hand clench and unclench, watching his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath and gave her a hard stare right back.

“Maybe I haven’t loved you for a real long fuckin’ time.” Pale said, and you could see the way she visibly flinched, could see how those words stung. “How is it cheatin’ on you when I ain’t hear from you for 11 months outta the year, huh? How is it cheatin’ on you when you’re a thousand fucking miles away? You told me, Barbie, you told me.”

“Oh yeah, what’d I tell you?” She asked, defiant.

“’I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of being here – tired of you.’” Pale recited, a line from a letter you had read a year ago.

It hurt you to know that Pale had it memorized. You wondered how many times he had read the letter she left, wondered how many times he had scanned the lines again and again. You wondered how it felt, to come home after working a twenty hour day, and finding your family packed up and gone away.

You never wanted to find out.

“Yeah okay okay, sure, paint me as the bad guy.” Barbara grumbled, lit up a cigarette, and your temper came back, all sympathy for her gone.

“You are the bad guy! Are you delusional? Are you high? Did the flight fuck up your braincells?” You asked.

Pale’s grip on you tightened, which you thought was kinda funny, because it was like him preventing you from lunging at her throat, preventing you from springing off of his lap and tackling her to the ground. You didn’t know what had come over you today, why you were so aggressive.

You were just so annoyed at this woman.

“Did you know?” She asks instead of answering you, not that you really wanted an answer anyway.

“Did I know what?” You shot right back, even though you do, you did.

“That he was married? Did you know.” She clarifies, and you do laugh then.

“Yeah of course I fucking knew.” You said, said it like she was stupid, because really she had to be stupid. “I knew and I didn’t give a shit because I figured he ain’t got a good marriage anyways, if he’s out here fucking me all day and night.” You pointed out, and maybe she didn’t expect that either, because her eyebrows shot up and she turned her attention back to him.

“You fucked her?” She asked Pale, but you didn’t take too nicely to being talked over, talked about like you weren’t even there.

“We were fuckin’ just now, and havin’ a real good god damned time about it too until you came to ruin the mood.” You said, and she looked so confused, as if it were a shock anyone would enjoy sex with Pale.

“Why is it his birthday or something?” She asked, and Pale got up then, shifted you off of his lap and stood up, downed the rest of the whiskey and sighed out real low and long.

“Sixteen years we were together and you don’t even know it’s my birthday.” He said, swirling the last stubborn drop of the drink round and round in the glass before setting it down on the coffee table. He turned away, fully intending on heading back to the bedroom, tired of wanting to deal with this insufferable person anymore. “Why am I not surprised, you selfish bitch.”

He got only a couple steps in, before Barbara lit a new cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose like some ugly beast and said,

“I wish you had died instead of your queer brother.”

Pale stopped walking then, his legs coming to a screeching halt, like he had been struck by lightning, lost in time and space.

“Get out of my apartment.” You said, turning to face her.

“Your apartment?” She challenged, but you weren’t in the mood to entertain her, not now or ever again.

“Get out!” You snapped, your heart breaking for Pale who was still so quiet, so still, frozen frozen frozen.

He’s still frozen when she finally realizes that she’s unwanted, unwelcome.

When she leaves, she leaves all the tension in the air. It’s so thick you felt like you could cut it with a knife, and that loud silence is back. It’s just you and Pale again, in the penthouse. Just you and him, together and alone at last, and Pale still hasn’t spoken, and that’s more unsettling to you than anything else, because Pale never shuts up.

“Honey, don’t listen to her.” You said softly, taking a careful step around to the front of him, to see how he aches, how his face is pinched with sadness.

There’s wetness in his big brown eyes, a shine that’s reflecting all the lights from the city outside, and when you go to cup his cheek, you can tell he is torn between embracing you and pushing you away.

“She’s right.” He whispers after some time, after deciding to embrace you, after letting you smooth your hand over his cheek, rub small circles there.

“Pale, she isn’t.” Your voice cracks, and then you’ve got tears in your eyes too, because his are sliding down his nose.

How had everything gone to shit in so short of a time? Only moments ago it felt like you were both in paradise, on top of the moon. Now, the world felt dark and grey and the familiar face of grief has reared its ugly head in your man’s chest, has stoked the fire of his mourning, has caused that sick guilt to surface once again.

Pale fell to his knees before you, wrapped his arms around your legs. He let out a long, anguished shout, one that had you gasping, one that had you cradling his head against your stomach, desperately trying to soothe him as those wracking sobs hit him once again.

You’d kill her, you decided, right there in that moment, if she ever showed up again. You’d go to the fancy knife block and kill her, for what she’s done, what she did, what she’s doing.

Pale shudders and shakes beneath your palms, and you want to kill her.

“No, she is. She’s right, it should have – it shoulda been me.” He shoves his face between the soft plush fabric of your robe, shoves it up into your skin, buries his face in your flesh as he hiccups and cries, “I shoulda been the one to kick the fuckin’ bucket, not Robbie, it shouldn’t have been Robbie – ”

He’s wrecked, wrecked from this, and you cursed under your breath because he had been doin’ so good lately, hadn’t been so raw lately.

But now, now it was nothing but raw, grief pure and brutal and angry.

You’re angry for him.

You’re heartbroken for him.

“Come here, come here.” You say, voice soft and gentle. He needs soft, needs gentle. God knows he never got it, never got it when he needed it, from Barbara or anyone else. “Let’s go back to bed, okay? It’s cold out here, you’re going to get cold.”

And you know he doesn’t, won’t, not really. He runs so hot, but still. Something about sadness made people grow cold, and though his skin is sweating and warm, you know inside he’s gotta be feeling the chill of it.

“(Y/N),” He sounds so young then, so young. Not like the nearly-forty that he was, and you only keep trying to coax him up up up into your arms. He finally rises, winds his arms around you, holds you so tight as he cries into your shoulder, “(Y/N) it shoulda been me.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You assure him, wanting him calm, needing him calm. Calm before he hurts himself somehow, mind flashing back to a year ago when he had stumbled in, drunk and high out of his mind, bleeding all over your floor. You hug him, ground him, soothe him, all the while telling him, “Come on.”

He lets himself be led into the bedroom, and you sigh.

All around the carpeting are scraps and pieces of black lace where only an hour or two prior, he had been so happy, so eager to tear them off of your body, a birthday gift just for him. Now the whole evening was destroyed, and you watced with sad eyes as he collected himself enough to strip off his robe, let it fall to the ground.

He sat naked on the mattress and you watched as it dipped under the sturdy weight of him. He patted his lap but you hesitated only for a moment, deciding he could probably, desperately use a cigarette. So instead of going right to his lap like you normally always would, instead you walked to the night-table where he always kept a few extra packs of Barclays.

You stuck one in between your teeth, holding it just long enough to light it. Only when it was lit did you shuck your robe off too, did you move to where he was waiting for you, did you give it to him and climb into his lap.

“Here.” You said, pressing the cigarette between his own lips, and he eagerly sucked down the nicotine.

“Thank you, thank you – fuck – oh god, fuck.” He said, tears stinging stinging stinging has he smoked and smoked, trying to let the flood in his lungs soothe him from the inside out.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Is all you said, not wanting to push him, but wanting him to know he was safe with you, could let it all out with you.

With his grip on you tight, he moved the two of you backwards so you were lying down, on top of the messed up covers, greyish blusish smoke wafting up into the air.

Pale was crying into your hair, but it was a quiet cry this time, not the shuddering gasping mess he had been only a few minutes before. You in his arms soothed him more than the cigarettes ever did, but you knew they helped, were glad that they helped.

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Pale said, sighed, eyes pinched shut, “It shoulda been me. No one woulda cared if it was me. No one would be surprised, they’d say ‘oh yeah that’s about right’ if they’d heard it was me. Family fuckup, that’s me. Not doin’ nothin’ with my life, failed career failed marriage failed – ”

“That’s not true.” You shook your head, craning your neck up to look at him from where you were curled against his chest, a familiar comforting weight on his body.

“It is! It is.” He insisted, flicked his ash onto the carpeting, “Robbie was gonna be somebody. Anna…Anna said he was good, he was the best. He was gonna be somebody, (Y/N). What am I? How am I better?” He asked, and you frowned.

You didn’t know who Anna was, didn’t know, didn’t care. She didn’t matter, it’d been a year and he’d never mentioned her, so you figured she couldn’t matter much. Robbie mattered -- but Robbie wasn’t Pale’s fault.

“We’re all gonna be somebody. All of us in our own way, doing our own thing. Your career ain’t failed, it’s just gettin’ started. You have so much ahead of you, and you know that. You know it.” You said, and he pinched at your nose, smiled sadly at you. You smiled right back, sighed and with a nasal voice you said, “I would have cared.”

“You wouldn’t have known me.” Pale let out a deep big breath then, and you could feel the tension starting to melt from his shoulders, could see the tears starting to slow.

“I still would have cared.” You insisted, rolling onto your back and tugging him against your chest, letting him settle his head on your breast, letting him smoke and smoke and breathe just how he needs to. You carded your fingers through his hair, lightly scratched against his scalp and licked your lips, wet your dry throat, “I woulda felt something out there, in the great big unknown. I woulda felt it, you goin’. I would’ve cared.”

“C-can you keep talkin’? Please? Fuck, I can’t – please just – please?” Pale whispers, eyes closing, mouth sucking down the last of the cigarette all the way down to the filter.

You nodded, let your own eyes close too.

“You know I heard once, a long time ago, maybe I read it, I dunno; that when a person dies and there’s no one to mourn em, the sadness has nowhere to go. So it wanders around and around, lookin’ for somewhere to live, someone’s chest to be there to feel it. I think the same is true for love, you know? When someone’s got all this love to give and no one to give it to, it wanders too. I think you were wanderin’, your love was searching, and it led you to me. And I’m grateful for that, that I get to house your love, instead of your mournin’. But I would have taken your mournin’ too.”

In your head it was calm and peaceful, all the rage you had felt long gone.

Outside, snow began to fall. Soft flurries that whirled past the window, wind whipped in pretty swirls. You felt like you were in a snowglobe, felt like this penthouse was you and Pale’s own personal world, kept safe and warm and contained, away from the big bad world outside.

Pale was breathin’ against you, gently, softly, but you knew he wasn’t asleep.

“I ain’t got many people, you know? Before you, I had a couple of friends I saw every month or so, a couple regulars at the diner. I got Fish and Chaya but they’re like parents to me, my parents in a suburb a suburb away. I think I had too much love too, and it was wanderin’ too, and there you were, angry and big and crass and willin’ to take it all.”

You continued, let your fingers twist in and around his soft locks, glad that he had washed his hair with you that morning. You loved the way it feathered and fell through your fingers, silky wavy and black as midnight.

You wondered if it was midnight now, if it was later. You couldn’t see the clock, didn’t want to even open your eyes to look.

“You didn’t have to take it all, but you did. You coulda fucked me and been done, a one night stand with a stranger, but you stayed. And you kept comin’ back, and I kept lovin’ you. Right from day fuckin’ one I loved you.” You said, quietly, voice so quiet and yet loud enough that there was no way to miss what you were saying, “I woulda cared.”

You and Pale laid there for a long time, the two of yous just soaking in the feeling of one another.

You wondered if he had been scared, when Barbara showed up. If he had been worried. Maybe he thought that once you saw her, you’d be angry with him, you’d want to leave him. Maybe he thought she’d convince you to leave him, like she had done years and years ago.

You wondered now, if he was relieved, that you hadn’t. That you weren’t planning on going anywhere, nowhere at all. You were his, pure and simple.

It snows outside, and Pale sighs, but this time it’s not so shaky as it had been. This time, it’s more resigned than anything else, as he pinches the cigarette between his fingers.

He gets up off of your chest to stick the butt of it in the ashtray, to squash it down. You take the opportunity to get more comfortable, to get onto the bed properly, instead of having your legs hanging down over the side of the mattress like the had been.

Pale puts out the cigarette and slides under the covers, the two of you facing one another.

“You woulda loved him.” Pale said finally, after a real long time of being quiet. “Robbie, I mean. You two woulda gotten along like two fuckin’ peas in a pod. You both have that light. Some people are real dark, heavy. But not you, not…not Robbie. He was light. You woulda loved him.”

“Where’s he at?” You asked, reaching out a hand for him.

“How’s that?” He frowns just a little, taking it nonetheless, rushing to grasp it in his own hands.

His hands were so much bigger than yours, and you smile a little at the sight of it.

“The cemetery, which one?” You clarified, and he hums, trying to think.

“Jersey City,” He replied after searching through the memories in his brain, “He’s in Jersey City.”

“We should go, one day. One day soon, I think. We should go visit him.” You suggested, and his eyes widen just a little.

“You would go do that? You’d go with me to see him?” He asked, and your heart broke all over again, at the sheer surprise of the question.

“Yeah, I would.” You nodded, squeezing his hand real tight, scooting yourself forward on the bed enough so that you can press your forehead up against his, “I’d do anything for you.”

Pale didn’t say anything to that, just nodded his head up and down real slow, leaned in to kiss you even slower.

His lips felt like the words coolest drink against yours, and you wondered how anyone could be so cruel to him, so heartless. He was tough, yes, rough around the edges, even more so. But underneath all that – and not even very deep underneath – he was just another kicked dog desperate for love.

And as you settle against him, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you, all the aches and pains from the hard fucking all coming rushing to your joints, you decided that no matter how rough around the edges he was, you’d always give him that, that love.

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

You don’t remember falling asleep, but then again, does anyone? You don’t remember waking up either, and that’s always a little strange; that fleeting moment where you’re fighting the day, trying desperately to cling on to whatever little sleep you managed to get.

But the day has won, and sleep has lost this round, and you’re stretching your limbs out and rousing Pale in your wake, as you stick your freezing feet between his legs and he groaned to life.

“What day is it?” He grumbled, making you have to do mental calculations for a minute.

“Sunday?” You said, not entirely sure, but that sounded right.  

“Thank fuck.” Pale huffed, making you chuckle. Sundays were your day to be wholly and completely together, without a care in the world. Monday could be dealt with when it arrived, and all the baggage and bullshit that went with it, but Sundays were special, just for the two of you. Pale reached down and grasped your ankles, making you laugh and laugh as he pried your cold feet from his overly warm skin, asking, “Did yesterday really happen?”

“Yeah.” Your laughs died down a little, “I’m sorry.”

The both of you finally succumbed to being awake fully and completely, getting up out of bed to go walk barefoot and naked to the bathroom. Pale always let you use the toilet first, something of a gentleman. You both brushed your teeth side by side, pinching and poking at one another to make the time go by just a little bit faster, so that you could crawl back into bed together feeling more like humans.

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” Pale asked after spitting out toothpaste and rinsing his mouth, gargling alcohol disguised as mouthwash, blue into the sink.

“Because she ruined your birthday.” You replied, following suit.

“She ruins every birthday.” Pale sighed, before turning to you more fully and groping your tits right there in the bathroom, pinchin’ at your nipples as he let a small smile grace his lips when he asked for a, “Kiss?”

You were glad to see he wasn’t still so fucked up about it, last night had you worried, more worried than you’d been in a long time about him. But he was okay now, looked okay anyway. And you kissed him, with no hesitation, no thinkin’, just love.

He smiled against you more fully, pushed you up onto the bathroom counter. You winced a little as your bare ass hit the cold marble, but that shock only lasted for a moment. Pale was already wriggling his way between your legs, prying your knees open.

Surprisingly though, he didn’t shove his cock right into you like he was wont to do most mornings. No, you knew he’d fuck you later in the warm light of the living room, languid and slow. He wasn’t gentle, but he could be slow.

No, instead of fucking you right there, he instead used the grey morning light to inspect your body. A long time ago in a leaky bathtub you had once joked that a wild animal had mauled you, and you couldn’t help but feel that way now. You were covered in marks and bruises, ones he pressed his thumb into and made you hum out in pleasure-pain.

His hands roved across your skin, searching for something, you didn’t know what. You just watched his face, looked at him. You loved him like this, sleep-rumpled. His hair was a train wreck, and his face a little blotchy and red from the night before, but he was handsome and at peace, at least for the moment, before he started bitching and moaning about whatever it was that was bugging him.

You knew what he’d be bitching about today.

Eventually, he found what he was lookin’ for – scratch marks on your arm from where Barbara had grabbed you and tried to shred you up with her long acrylics. She hadn’t broken the skin or anything, but the lines were puffy and red, and he sighed.

You cupped his cheek, a silent affirmation that you didn’t care, that she wouldn’t scare you off that easily.  

“What are we gonna do about her?” You asked, and that familiar frown came back as he got all aggravated.

It was kind of a funny sight, him standing there naked, hair angry and face angry as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet, looking for a cigarette. You helped him light it, his hands a little shaky from the lack of nicotine in his system.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, coming here. She wants me back? Yeah fucking right, she needs something from me and is going to be a real bitch about getting whatever it is. I just don’t know what that could fuckin’ be, especially since I don’t got none of her shit in the apartment.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“How’d she even find you?” You asked, hopping down from the counter.

“Right?” He asked, shaking his head and smacking your ass lightly as you headed back into the bedroom, plopped yourself down onto the mattress. The clock read eight in the morning, slept in late once again. “It’s not like I told her my address or nothin’. But she’s been calling everyone I know tryin’ to get a god damned hold of me and it’s pissin’ me off.”

“Yeah she called here too.” You said, realizing that the woman who you had thought was the commissioner’s secretary, hadn’t been no secretary after all.

“She did?” Pale’s eyebrows shot up, and he groaned, scrubbed a hand over his face as he crawled back into bed next to you. “She called the diner, Fish thought…”

“What, did he think you were cheatin’ on me?” You grinned, so fond of that old man, of your friend. He was always looking out for you, Fish was.

“Yeah.” Pale said with a big huff and puff, puffing on his cigarette before grabbing your jaw in his hot hot hot hand, palm sweaty against your chin, “You know I’d never do that, right?”

“I know.” You want to nod but he’s holding you in place, crowding into your space, licking into your mouth. “I know. I meant what I said yesterday.”

“Which part?” He asked, voice soft.

It was a wonder, sometimes, how he could be so vulnerable. And then other times, it only made perfect sense.

“All of it.” You replied, kissing and licking right back into his, not minding the taste of Barclays one bit. You hummed against his lips for a long while, kissed and kissed, let yourself get wrapped up in the all-consuming feeling of Pale, before pulling away slightly and asking, “Do you send her money?”

“’Course I do.” Pale said, “She’s got the kids and everything, I can’t let them fall through the cracks.”

“How much do you send her?” You wondered, because you thought, had an inkling, that this is what it was all about.

He had gotten a lot more money recently, from his commission work. He had composed some scores for some big blockbuster movies, and was now in a deal with the Philharmonic, and you knew, you just knew, that she was here to take advantage of that – of him.

“It depends. Like two grand a month, but more for the holidays.” He scratched the back of his neck, and you froze right there in his arms.

“Holy shit.” You whispered, feeling your entire stomach sink. “Pale that’s a lot of money.”

You unwrapped yourself from his arms and sat up in bed, suddenly feeling the huge gap that there was between you and him.

“Yeah well, she got used to a certain lifestyle when we were married, me workin’ my fuckin’ ass off. And I didn’t want her accusing me of desertin’ her with nothin’, so I figured it’d just be easier to send her whatever she needs.” Pale shrugged, like it was nothing, like throwing away two grand was no big deal.

“How much does that leave you with?” You asked. You had never really asked about his finances, because you had figured it was never really any of your business.

You knew he had to be well off, because of the way he dressed and this penthouse and his car, but you had never figured it was this much.

“A little over six a month.” He said real quiet, catching on to why you were beginning to grow quiet.

“Christ.” You said, looking down at your fingernails, picking out something that wasn’t there from underneath them, just because the sudden realization of just how well off he was hit you deep in your chest, “That’s as much as I make in a year.”

Pale stubbed out the cigarette and sat up with you, chased you with his lips. You had never been embarrassed before, about anything. But for some reason, now, now it did.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Pale said, shuffling to sit cross-legged in front of you, taking your hands in his and holdin’ em real tight as he tried to get you to look at him, “Now do you get why I want to give you nice things? Buy you nice shit?”

“I just…” You sighed, “I ain’t used to any of it, you know? Any of this. I’m comfortable with what I got, what I work for and earn. It’s more than enough for me. I can’t imagine having that kinda money, not in a million years.” You said, because it was true.

“Anything I got is yours now, you gotta know that.” Pale said, said like it was obvious, like it was the understatement of the century, “Any of my shit, my money, anything. It’s yours. I’ve been doing some thinking, and when I kick the bucket I want it all to go to you.”

“Pale I don’t like you talkin’ like that.” You shook your head, not wanting him to spiral, not wanting him to get it in his head that he’s dying any time soon.

“No no, I’m serious. I’m bein’ practical. I’m gonna get it in writing and give it all to you. God willin’, you won’t need it, because I’ll be here to give it to you. But, heaven fuckin’ forbid, if I, I dunno get shot or hit by a truck or somethin’, no one’s gonna fight you for it, it’ll all just be yours.” He said, put his hand on his heart like he was swearin’ to something he didn’t believe in, just for you.

“What about your kids?” You asked, looking at him, really looking at him.

“They got trusts set up, they’ll be fine.” He waved them off, and you bit your lip, casted you gaze out the window, to wherever Barbara was staying, spending the night, spending the day.

You wondered if she had gone right back to the airport, or if she was up running her credit card somewhere in some swanky hotel in Manhattan. You figured it was probably the latter, figured you weren’t done with her yet, not yet.

“What about your wife?” You asked, but Pale only kissed you.

“Who?” He asked, playfully, trying to get some humor back behind your eyes.

“Pale.” You said, trying your best and failing to be serious.

He cast his gaze out the window too, and then looked back at you, really looked back at you, through you, into you in that way he sometimes did when he was high off his ass and too honest.

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m lookin’ at her.” He said, and you sucked in a breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t ever gettin’ married again, no fuckin’ way. And I ain’t really about having any more kids. I did the whole American nuclear fuckin’ family white picket fence green lawn bullshit, and well. You saw how it all turned out. But you, us, this? This is more than enough for me. You wearin’ my chain and suckin’ my dick and holdin’ me and laughin’ at my jokes – that’s more than I ever got when I was married, you’re more my wife than she ever was.”

You used to think you’d be used to it, these passionate declarations of his, but you never are. You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, and you wondered, wondered how long he had kept that speech locked inside his chest.

Outside the snow falls, but in the snowglobe, you’re safe and warm, warmed from the inside out.

You kiss him, because you can’t resist, can’t prevent it from happening, not that you want to. You kiss him because you’re afraid if you don’t, you’ll cry.

Maybe you cry a little anyway, but who’s there to judge?

He curls his hand against the nape of your neck and breathes into your mouth and you breathe back in the way that you know makes him dizzy dizzy dizzy, and your eyes are shut but still, somehow, you can see him, can see his soft brown eyes and the glint of gold around his neck, the same gold that you wear, that you’ll always wear.

When you pull apart, you’re grinning, because the words have settled deep into your bones and you feel like you’ve accidentally done a bump or two.

“I ain’t gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” You said softly, whispered against his lips, smiling smiling smiling, “But…you sure you don’t want no more kids?”

Pale huffs out a laugh against your mouth, makes a face, one you can’t really read. But it’s playful, and it’s considerate, in Pale’s own way.

“Maybe one day.” He settles on with a grumble, rolling his eyes when you laugh, but then he’s pinching your nose, your cheek, your ear, smacking a kiss to your lips as he says, “But not today.”

“Good enough for me.” You beam, moment interrupted by the loud grumbling of his stomach, which only makes you smile wider when you asked, “Breakfast?”

And when you looked at him, and he looked back, you knew that you’d be able to get through all this together. You’d figure it out, figured out what Barbara wanted, and then she’d go away, and everything would go back to normal.

But until then, until you had a plan, there really was only one thing to deal with, and Pale knew it just as well as you, and he nodded when he agreed,

“Breakfast.”      

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

Tagging some Pale lovin’ pals! As always, if you’d like to be put on the taglist or taken off of it, just let me know :) 

@fullofbees​​ @spinebarrel​​ @dreamboatdriver​​ @thecurlycaptain​​ @bourbonboredom​​ @driverficarchive​​ @rosalynbair​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​ @adamsnackdriver​​ @glitzescape​​ @adamsnacc-kler​​ @kyloxfem​​ @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne​​ @attorneyl​​ @jedihbic​​ @bens-rose​​ @callmehopeless​​ @formerly-anonhamster​​ @thepilotanon​​ @hippieface​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @satansstrawberry @riseofkylo​ @whiskey-bumblebee​ @helloimindelaware​

#reader insert #pale x reader #pale burn this #burn this broadway #my writing #blue moon verse #blue moon sequel