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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

Text

Love Remains

Fandom: Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Poe Dameron

Word Count: 4032

TW: Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief, Dealing with the Loss of a Loved One

Series Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“I’ll come back for you. I promise.” Your face, twisted in pain and sadness, is the last thing Poe pictures before his eyes flicker open. Groaning at the bright light shining high above him, he rolls over and tries to get his bearings. But as he looks around, all he sees is sand, sand, and more sand. At least that meant he somehow managed to make it back to Jakku. Unfortunately, there is no telling what part of the planet he landed on and there is no sign of either the TIE Fighter or Finn. He had only known the Stormtrooper for maybe an hour or two, but Poe had really grown to like the guy. He hoped that wherever he ended up, he was okay.

But honestly, at this point, Poe isn’t even sure if he was going to be okay. All of his equipment was back in his damaged X-Wing in Tuanul including his locator beacon, and his communications device. Plus, he suddenly realizes he didn’t even have his jacket anymore! He had taken it off when he climbed into the TIE Fighter and it must still be with the ship. He curses under his breath. You had given it to him as a present on his first birthday after the two of you had started dating, and he knew you loved how it looked on him. Y/N….

Poe still can’t believe he left you behind on the Star Destroyer while he fled like a coward. Logically, he knows that your plan had been the best chance either one of you had to survive to fight another day, but the gnawing ache in his chest cared little for logic. All it cared about was the fact that you were now stranded in enemy hands, hands which had already shown they were more than willing to torture you just for the fun of it. Your brother had done nothing to protect you in the past, and the thought of what you could be going through at this very moment just makes the ache more intense.

He glances up at the bright sky high above him, not really knowing what he expects to see. Even if the Star Destroyer is still up there, it would be much too far away to see from the planet’s surface, especially during the day. But he still holds out hope that you can sense him even at this distance. That somehow, someway, you know he is thinking about you. And once again, he swears to you that no matter what it takes, he will come back for you.

Giving the sky one last longing look, he sighs and begins to trudge through the blistering desert. He just picks a direction and hopes for the best, yet he can’t help but wonder how the kriff he is going to get out of this mess this time.

But he gets lucky. Extremely lucky. The direction he picked miraculously leads him straight to the ruins of Tuanul. It pains him to see what is left of the small village after the blaster fight the night before. He can’t find a single soul left alive, and Poe hopes that any survivors had just moved on compared to the alternative. His X-Wing had been made pretty much inoperable after getting hit with a few well-placed blasts during the fight. However, yours seems to be in near perfect condition, give or take a few minor cosmetic blasts. As Poe reaches to start it up, he hesitates as he spies the holo of the two of you that is tucked beside your viewfinder. He trails his fingers softly across your smiling face, before starting the engines. The sooner he gets back to base, the sooner he can bring you home.

Poe sees her standing on the tarmac waiting for him before he even climbs out of the cockpit. He knew this would happen, but he had hoped he would at least have a little time to prepare what he is going to say first. Sighing softly, he descends the steps of the ship and stands before her. “General.”

“Where’s my daughter, Poe?” General Leia Organa demands as she glares at him.

Poe sighs again as he rubs the back of his head. “Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere a little more private.”

“Is she alive?”

“As far as I know, yes. But….” He struggles to stay composed as he flashes back to finding your broken, bloody form strapped to the interrogation table. “…. She was hurt pretty badly. I wanted to get her out, I tried to get her out, but she insisted on staying behind to give us a better chance of escaping.”

Arching her eyebrow, Leia asks, “Us?”

Poe looks around, “It’s a long story and, as I said, it’s one that’s better told in private.”

Now it is Leia’s turn to sigh. Motioning for Poe to follow her, she turns sharply and walks back into the base. They pass groups of friends and fellow pilots, but Poe keeps his eyes trailed on the ground, not wanting to face their stares or questions. And while he can feel their eyes on him, no one stops them.

Leia finally leads Poe into her private chambers where she sits down in a chair and asks, “Now, what happened?”

Poe sighs as he begins to pace anxiously in front of the general. “We had just retrieved the map from Tekka when the First Order arrived. I made it to my ship but before I could take off, it was hit and badly damaged. So, I gave the map to BB-8 and told him to hide. Then I turned around and realized Y/N…. Y/N hadn’t even tried making it back to her ship. She was trying to protect the villagers. But there were just too many troopers, and the village wasn’t equipped for combat. It was a massacre.” Poe shakes his head at the memories. “I tried to pull her out, get her to her ship, but that’s when…. That’s when Kylo Ren arrived.”

Poe sees Leia’s shoulders tense slightly at the mention of her eldest child, but she makes no move to stop his story. Poe knows that you had told your mother that he knew the truth behind Ren’s identity, but he had never discussed this fact with the general before. He clears his throat and continues. “He had them drag Tekka out in front of the other villagers and made them watch as he executed him. I tried to stop Ren but the troopers grabbed me and dragged me to their ship. All I could do was watch as she tried to get to her ship, but Ren saw and…. she just collapsed. I’m not sure what he did but….”

“He always has had a talent for some of the lesser-used Force abilities.” Leia sighs sadly then asks, “Was that the last time you saw her?”

Poe shakes his head. “No. They separated us when we reached the Star Destroyer. They had me hooked up to some sort of torture device while they interrogated me. It went on for a few hours, but I managed not to give in…. Until Ren came to see me. Y/N had taught me a few tricks to hold him off, but eventually, he got the information he was looking for. I’m so sorry I failed you, General.”

“Don’t be.” Poe blinks in surprise at Leia’s unexpected words. “I know what my son is capable of. You should be proud you managed to hold out as long as you did. Since you contacted the base on your way here, we have sent scouts to Jakku to try and recover your droid and the map, but so far, they have come up empty. We can only hope the First Order is having just as much trouble locating it.” Leia leans forward in her chair, “Now, what happened to my daughter?”

Poe resumes his pacing as he says, “A few minutes after Ren left, a stormtrooper freed me. He said he wanted out of the First Order, but he needed a pilot to help him escape. So, together, we managed to track down where they were holding her….” Poe pauses, once again seeing your tortured form flash before his eyes. “She was… she was in bad shape. She couldn’t even walk on her own, so I had the trooper, Finn, carry her while I provided cover.”

“Did he do that to her?” Leia’s voice is cold and harsh in a way Poe had never heard before, but he can also hear the pain that lay beneath it.

He shakes his head. “No. Apparently, he came to talk to her, but she swore he never laid a finger on her. But after he left, the ship’s commander, General Hux, came in and…. did that.”

“How bad?”

“General, I….”

“How bad, Poe?” She asks again, more insistently.

Poe takes a deep breath. “Bad. Broken ribs, split lip, bruises and cuts everywhere. I couldn’t stop the bleeding and her one eye was… it was a mess.” He lets out a soft, reminiscent chuckle as his voice cracks slightly. “And yet, the first words out of her mouth were, ‘Are you okay?’. Even as banged up as she was, all she cared about was how I was doing.”

Leia stands up and walks over to Poe. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she says, “She loves you. More than I think she lets on sometimes. But she does.”

“I know. And I love her, so much.” Poe rubs his face as he tries to retain his composure. “General, I tried to get her out. I really did. But she was losing too much blood and the three of us would never have fit in the ship. So, she made a deal with Ren. He promised he and his men wouldn’t try to stop our escape if she stayed behind. She convinced me it was the best chance any of us had to survive. So…. I left her there. With him.” Poe hangs his head.

Leia lightly nudges his chin with her finger. “Good. You did the right thing.”

Poe looks up sharply. “General?”

“She was right. Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war. If she had gone with you, there was a good probability none of you would have made it and she knew that. But as long as she is still alive, we have a chance of getting her back.” Leia turns and begins to leave the room. “You’ll still have to do a formal debrief with the rest of the commanders. However, may I request that you leave out some of the more… personal details in your report?”

“Of course.”

Leia reaches the door but then calls over her shoulder, “And Poe, how soon can you be ready to get back out there?”

Poe smiles broadly. “Just say the word, Ma’am. Just say the word.”

Poe dodges yet another pair of TIE Fighters that had been heading straight for him. They had known that once the Finn, Han, and Chewbacca managed to disable the shields above the Starkiller Base, there would be enemy fighters trying to stop their attack, but they hadn’t counted on this many. For every ship Poe manages to shoot out of the sky, it seemed like two more took their place. And to make matters worse, their attack on the base is proving ineffective. No matter how many times they blasted the building, it didn’t seem to do much good.

Suddenly, his comm chirps in his ear, “Black Leader, are you reading me?”

Good, at least Finn and his team are still in one piece. Swerving the X-wing out of the way of an enemy blast, Poe replies, “Hey buddy. How’s things going there? We’re taking some pretty hard hits up here.” Firing with deadly precision, Poe takes out a TIE Fighter that was hot on Jess’s tail but two more quickly take its place.

“We found something that might interest you….” Finn’s voice sounds cheerful and excited, which is very strange given his current situation.

That is until a shaky, yet familiar voice comes on the comm. “Poe?”

Poe almost flies his X-wing into the building below as he jumps at the sound of your voice. It can’t be. “Baby!? Oh my god! I wasn’t sure if they would have brought you here or not. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” The constant ache that Poe had felt in his chest since the moment he woke up back on Jakku slowly starts to ebb away. But the tears he hears in your voice still keep him on edge. “I thought…. I thought you were dead. They told me they found the crash.”

You had been worried about him. That’s what the tears were about. Of course, they were. You would never worry about yourself that much, only someone who you loved. He laughs, trying to give you even more reassurance that he is alright. “Come on! You know it takes a lot more than one lousy ship crash to take me out.” He lowers his voice slightly, dropping the playful edge in his tone. “Besides, I promised I’d come back for you.”

You let out a small laugh that is tinged with the sound of a sob. “You did. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Poe is about to respond when a TIE Fighter approaching on his left suddenly explodes and Snap’s X-wing soars by. Poe sends him a quick word of thanks just as your voice cracks through his comm once again, “Now pay attention to the fight and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Grinning widely at the thought of seeing you, holding you again, Poe replies, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too, Poe. So much. Please be careful.” And though the comm falls silent, your voice still lingers in his cockpit, wrapping around him like a warm embrace that has been long overdue.

As he thrusts his ship forward at top speed, taking out TIE Fighter after TIE Fighter, he whispers to himself, “I got you, baby. I’m going to make sure you can get out of there safely. I came back, just like I promised. Now, let’s get you home.”

Poe is halfway back to base when the call comes through his comms. After he had delivered the fatal shots that caused the destruction of the Starkiller Base, he had personally seen the Falcon lift off and head into space, but he hadn’t had any way of knowing who had made it to the ship. But now he had confirmation that everyone made it off the surface of the planet. Everyone except…

Poe curses loudly as he takes in the news. He knew people often referred to him as the best pilot in the Resistance, but he also knew that was only because Han Solo was no longer a part of it. The man had been an absolute legend from the time of the Galactic Civil War and Poe had looked up to him long before the two had ever met. And knowing that you were Han Solo’s daughter as well as General Organa’s had played a huge part in why he hadn’t asked you out sooner. Both of your parents terrified him at first. But Poe had soon gained Leia’s trust and respect with his skills as a pilot and a leader. And slowly, he had formed a cordial relationship with your father. You had even mentioned once that he had said that Poe might be the only person he could possibly consider good enough for you and it had been one of the greatest compliments Poe had ever received.

But now, Han Solo is gone. Whatever was left of him was now scattered amongst the debris of the Starkiller Base as it floated through space. And you… Poe can’t even imagine what you must be going through right now. Being captured, thinking Poe was dead, just to be rescued and to find out he was alive. Then moments later, losing the other most important man in your life.

Poe increases the speed of his X-Wing. He wants to make sure he gets back to base before the Falcon. He needs to make sure he is there the moment you land to give you whatever you need. And, selfishly, he needs to see you with his own eyes, see that you were okay and your voice over his comm hadn’t been a trick.

Poe slowly walks through the Falcon, trying to find where Chewbacca had said you were. It takes him a minute to locate it but there, in the very back in a room no bigger than a storage compartment, he finds you curled up on a bed as you stare out of a window. Now that the ship has landed, the only thing that can be seen on the other side of the glass is the wall of the base. But from the deep, contemplative way you are positioned, Poe wonders what you are really seeing as you stare out the window.

Slowly, he approaches you and places his hand lightly over yours. You whirl around, only just now realizing that someone else had entered the room. But the second you recognize him, your arms encircle him in the tightest embrace you could manage in your still weakened state. Poe squeezes you back, careful to not upset any of your injuries. It seems impossible that you had only been separated for a few days. To him, it feels like a lifetime.

Your fingers are desperately clawing at his flight suit as if you are trying to make sure he can’t slip away from you again. Poe sits on the bed and lifts you carefully into his lap so you can snuggle tighter against his chest. And it is then, your face smashed into his neck so tightly he can barely make out what you are saying, that you utter your first words. With a broken, raw whimper, you mumble, “I thought you were dead.”

Poe leans over and presses a kiss to your temple. “No, baby. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, but then you whisper, “My dad’s gone.”

Poe sighs, “I know. I am so, so sorry. He was a great man and I know the two of you loved each other very much.”

“I watched it happen. Ren… he…..” You bury your face even tighter into Poe’s neck and he has to force himself to keep from flinching. Then you say, “After… I-I did something bad. I went to a place… a horrible, dark place… I almost lost myself and I’m scared it could happen again.”

Poe knows that even though your Jedi abilities are relatively weak, you are still more powerful than you sometimes let on. So, he can’t even imagine what might have happened. But he can tell by your voice you don’t want to talk about it right now. Instead, he says, “It won’t. I won’t let it, okay? I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. If you ever start to feel like you’re losing yourself again, tell me and I‘ll help you remember the amazing woman that I love.”

“Poe,” you whisper through the tears caught in your throat. “I love you so much. When I thought I lost you…” You can’t even get the words out, but Poe knows exactly how you feel. It was how he felt not knowing if you were dead or alive.

“Baby, I need you to know, you can’t ever lose me. Even if something does happen, I will still be with you. Just like your dad is still with you now. Even once a person you love is gone, their love remains. And I love you. And your dad loved you. So, no matter what, you can’t give up or give in because you lose someone and feel alone. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper softly. “Thank you.”

You sit back with your face tilted towards the floor. Poe tries to lift your chin with his finger, but you resist. He gently says, “It’s alright. Please, just let me see.”

You still hesitate for a moment before finally looking up at him, your eyes still squeezed shut. Poe gently runs his knuckle up and down your face next to your injured eye, and you finally open them. He stifles a gasp when he sees the glassy, clear film that covers your right eye, but you still notice his reaction.

Dipping your head once more, you say with just a hint of a humorless chuckle, “I know…. And you always said how much you loved my eyes.”

Poe lifts your face once more and makes you look him in the eye. “I still love your eyes. Both of them.”

You smile softly, but let out a terrified whisper, “But what if this means I can’t ever fly again? I mean, I was born to fly. It’s what I do. And if I can’t…”

Gently taking your hands in his, Poe says, “We’ll figure it out. There have been plenty of pilots who have flown with vision problems or even just one eye! It might take some time to get used to it, but I’m sure you’ll be back up there flying circles around the rest of the squadron in no time!” He squeezes your hands tighter. “And if not… if for some reason you can’t fly anymore, I’ll fly for you. I know it won’t be the same, but you’ll never be grounded as long as I’m around.”

Tears are streaming down your face as you draw him in for a long, lingering kiss. You have to be careful of your injuries, but Poe can still feel the fire burning beneath your lips. He tries to return your passion as much as he can without hurting you. He can taste the salt from your tears and the slight hint of copper from where your lip had split, but he ignores it. He needs to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his hands and the beating of your heart as you press against him. He needs this reassurance you are okay.

He can tell something has changed in you. Something had broken. Maybe it was from your capture and torture, maybe from the apparent loss of him, maybe from the actual loss of your father, or maybe it was from going to that dark place afterward. But regardless of the reason, you had lost your spark, your confidence. And as he deepened his kiss, he promised himself that whatever it took, he would help you find it again.

After a few moments, he reluctantly pulls away from you. Resting his forehead against yours, he mutters, “We should go. I know your mother is anxious to see you.”

You squeeze your eyes closed as you curse under your breath. “How am I supposed to tell her what happened? That her son is the one who did this. She still believed that he could be saved.”

“You tell her the truth. Whether or not she can accept that is not on you.”

You nod. “Will you stay with me when I talk to her?”

Poe kisses the top of your head. “Of course. I’ll remain by your side for as long as you want me there.”

The first real smile he had seen since boarding the Falcon breaks across your face. “If that’s the case, I may never let you leave.”

Poe smiles back. “Sounds perfect to me.” He lifts you off his lap and then he stands.

Taking your hand, he carefully leads you out of the room and towards the ramp of the ship. As you reach the door, you hesitate. Looking out, you can both see Leia standing with Rey and Chewbacca as they wait for you to emerge. Poe squeezes your hand in encouragement. You glance at him and smile. Then, you walk out into the world, knowing you can face anything as long as you are together.

#sfw repost #fic #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #leia organa #general leia #finn #oscar isaac #star wars #star wars x reader #force awakens #the force awakens #remains #canonical character death #grief tw #loss of a loved one tw

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girlmeetsliv3 · 3 years

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Strawberries

As I work through the creative block on Sandman, I thought I’d focus my attention elsewhere. So here you go: a new story. I am planning on making this an anthology of sorts. I hope to have the next part up by Tuesday next week. Sorry for the grammar mistakes, trying something new out. Hope you enjoy ~~

Yn crossed off the date on the calendar with a bright red marker, drawing the end of the summer and bringing forth winter. Though the temperature had only recently dropped, the cold had long seeped into her heart. It would’ve been our anniversary today. Not that he cared, she reminded herself. Downstairs she could hear her parents bustling about, likely discussing how their day had gone. YN could almost feel their piercing glances through the wooden floor - they were worried. She hadn’t been the same since he left. Hadn’t been the same since his betrayal. It didn’t matter though YN was better now: she was participating again, communicating again - it wasn’t the same as it was before.

She didn’t smile as brightly, laugh as vibrantly, but it was something; and that was always better than nothing. YN sighed, sitting down at the edge of her bed. The long thick cardigan she wore pooling around her. Her fingers delicately traced the cotton fabric, feeling each bump and seam in the material. YN should have gotten rid of it long ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She always wore it. It was all she had left of him - all he had left her with. It doesn’t make it easy to forget him. YN didn’t want to forget him though: his grin, laugh, bright eyes, soft warm skin.

YN never wanted to forget. If she forgot the only person who had ever loved her, that only proved that she wasn’t worthy of love. To her that was worse. So much worse. She shook her head thinking that would push away all the negative thoughts gnawing away at her and it worked for a bit. Her focus then lied on tracing the patterns on her ceiling, the little dots making different figurines: faces, constellations, words, secrets. Slowly the patterns began to blur, her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier until they finally closed. Consciousness slipping away from her.

Nayoung: I’m so sorry YN. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.

YN analyzed the picture over and over again, her vision becoming more blurry each time due to the tears brimming in her eyes. There in front of her was the evidence of all her suspicions. She had been stupid to believe that he would remain faithful or even interested in her. Why would he? He hated this small town, left the city in hopes of excitement and a new adventure. He claimed nothing would change, but how could it not. She was the embodiment of everything he didn’t want to be. “It’s no wonder he found something better.” Everyone was always leaving YN. Eventually he did too, she shouldn’t have been surprised yet it still hurt. It hurt so much that she exited out of her conversation with Nayoung and clicked on his contact. The last message he sent glaring back at her.

Babe: Miss you. Love you.

High off the pain and strung on the pain, she quickly sent him the photo of him in the arms of another - his betrayal clear to see. YN wanted to scream at him, curse him to hell and back, call him everything in the book. Instead all she managed to ask was the question bouncing around her head, the one that would plague her for months on end until she saw him again. YN quickly typed out the message, before muting him and turning off her phone.

YN: Why?

When YN opened her eyes, her face was wet and teeth aching from being clenched too hard. From how groggy and quiet the rest of the house was, she assumed it was extremely early in the morning. She felt around her sheets for her phone, confirming her suspicions when the numbers three-zero-zero stared back at her. A sudden breeze entered her room leaving YN confused, as she never opened her window. When she turned around, her vision focused on the street in front of her home where a street lamp illuminated an otherwise dark road. Though there was nothing there, her attention didn’t sway not until the light flickered off. Weird. YN leaned closer to the window, her hands gripping the banister ready to shut it closed until the light suddenly turned on again.

Someone was standing there. He was standing there. YN’s eyes widened in shock. Despite the distance it felt like he was right in front of her, like if she wanted to she could reach out and touch him. Come. YN found her body and feet moving before her mind could even process what was occurring. She ran downstairs, practically slamming the door open before running towards him. YN could feel the way her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline that flowed through her veins, the levity in her steps. She hadn’t felt this way in so long. Hadn’t felt happiness in so long. It wasn’t until she was just arms length from him that something else seized her - fear. It made her halt right in front of him, leaving her swaying slightly on her feet.

“What’s wrong darling? Didn’t you miss me?” His voice sounded hoarse, pained. Like he hadn’t drank water in a long time. Perhaps he’s overwhelmed? He remained frigidly still, but his eyes beckoned her forward. He wanted her to come closer.

“What are you doing here Taehyung?” YN hated how unfamiliar his name felt on her tongue, as if he were a stranger; not someone she had given her body and soul to.

“I-I did miss you. That’s why I’m here.” His voice croaked, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “My love, so much has happened. So many things that you wouldn’t understand. Things I couldn’t tell you because -”

“I know about her Taehyung. I’m not an idiot.” She interrupted him, angry that he would try to ignore what he did. He doesn’t get to come back and pretend. YN willed herself to be strong, but her courage was as weak as her heart.

“No, no baby. Let me explain - I -” Taehyung took a deep breath, locking his jaw, and pressing his fingernails into his palms, drawing blood. It looked like he was at the verge of a breakdown. YN had never seen Taehyung like this, he seemed ill. His short brown hair was now a mess of dark curls, though he seemed weaker physically his features were also sharper. The musky scent she had long associated with him was gone. “Tae?” She reached out to him hesitantly, fingers brushing over his. That was all it took for him to capture her in a tight embrace. Immediately sobs seem to wreck throughout his body, as his hold on her tightened.

“I love you so much YN. I made a huge mistake. I love you and will always love you.” He dug his head into her neck breathing in deeply, as he continued to mumble apologies into her neck. YN didn’t even realize she was crying until she tasted salt on her lips. It seemed Taehyung was crying too if the wetness on her neck was anything to go by. Don’t fall for it. If he truly loved you, he would have come back sooner. But he was back now and that was all her broken heart cared for. Kim Taehyung had come back. He was the only one who had come back. “Please baby. Please YN. Please my love, forgive me.” His grip on her tightened, making it difficult for YN to breathe but she didn’t care.

As she took a deep breath, YN nodded reaching to pat him on the back. “I forgive you Tae. I love you.”

His sobs stopped and she felt him smile against her neck, “I love you so much YN.” There was something in his tone that sounded off, then she felt a sharp pain on her neck. A hot flash swept across her body, as she felt him sucking harsher on her neck. YN tried to push him off her, but his strength far outmatched hers. After several minutes, her legs became weak and head began to spin. “T-tae s-stop.” As a last ditch attempt to get him off her, she tangled her hand in his hair and pulled. Taehyung moaned and finally detached from her, the streetlamp above showing all the blood covering his mouth and down his face. He caressed YN’s face gently, cradling her cheeks between his hands before leaning down to place a peck on YN’s lips.

Taehyung smiled, pearly whites stained with blood as he whispered lovingly. “Has anyone told you, you taste like strawberries?”

#bts x reader #yandere bts x reader #yandere kim taehyung x reader #vampire bts #bts yandere #yandere kim taehyung #yandere v #vampire kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #anthology #girlmeetsliv3 #bangtanarmynet

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hiscyarika · 4 years

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Solace

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian finds solace in the place he leasts expects to.

Warning(s): Angst, Panic Attack, General Hopelessness (It gets better though I promise)

A/N: Is this hot garbage? I don’t know. I started out with one idea and then this ran away from me and became something of it’s own. I honestly have no idea what to think of this but here I am posting it anyway because I have no self control in this quarantine.

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He’s only a man.

And every man has a limit.

Din Djarin has reached his.

He doesn’t know the name of the planet that he’s landed the Crest on. All he knows is that the population density is low and therefore he can afford this moment to himself. To break down the way that a Mandalorian is not supposed to.

He sits in the cockpit. The child is asleep in the small crate he was able to fashion for the creature to sit in. Every so often the little one lets out a small hum in his sleep, and while he knows that it would be endearing to anyone else, it only sends a sharp pang through Din’s chest.

His head aches, an incessant pounding right between his eyes. His stomach is in knots. He can’t take in a deep enough breath, like the walls of the Crest are closing in on him. And the helmet only makes it worse. His breathing is quick and shallow, and he sits there in the pilot’s seat with panicked tears burning at his eyes. Until finally he can’t take it anymore. He stands, stalking out of the cockpit and down to the hull, slamming the button to lower the ramp of the ship. His boots thunder against the metal floor until they finally meet grass and soft ground.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees.

Din’s hands slam against the sides of his helmet, only exacerbating the pain he feels, but he can’t stop the frantic movement. He has to resist the urge to tear the helmet from his head, to throw it across the field and let the cool night air fill his burning lungs. But he’s already broken his Code. He can’t desecrate his Creed too.

Instead, he digs his gloved fingers into the grass in front of him, finding purchase in the damp soil. He holds onto it with every bit of his strength, because it’s the only thing he has to hold onto. He’s one man, wandering the galaxy with a child he has no idea how to care for. The entire Guild will be hunting him down soon. It’s a choice that he made, and he knows that, but he’s in over his head. With no friends, no family, no covert to guide him.

He’s alone.

He just wants to do what’s right, and he knows that he has by taking the child into his protection. But his morality, the Way, has never been more difficult to follow than in this moment. Part of him wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. It’s a small part of him, the coward in him, he knows, but it’s there nonetheless. But what can he do about it when he’s only human?

Din does his best to school his breathing, long inhales followed by slow, measured exhales. His tears run silent and hot down his face until they soak into the cowl around his neck. It’s marginal, but the release helps. The tension begins to bleed out of him. He doesn’t feel so disconnected anymore.

He raises his chin from where it had fallen to his chest, bringing his gaze up to meet the moon that shines bright and full in the sky. The light casts a silver glow across the field, reflecting off the beskar he wears. And though he feels better, he still wishes that there were someone out there for him to call on. Anyone.

“Please,” is all he whispers. Even he doesn’t know what he wants in response.

The Mandalorian rises, brushing the dirt from his hands and shaking his head.

“Din?,” he hears. And for a moment he swears he’s hallucinating.

He looks out at the field, seeing a figure approaching him. And as it comes closer he realizes who it is. How they know his name. His heart begins to pound in his chest. There’s no way he managed to accidentally land on the one planet in the galaxy that might hold the consolation he seeks.

He didn’t think he’d ever see you again.

“What are you doing here?,” you ask each other in unison, now standing just a few feet away from one another.

“Well, I came to see who had landed in the field. We don’t get many visitors here,” you tell him. “I’ve been here since I left the Guild. Sold my ship and never looked back,” you explain, your eyes still shining with concern as you look at the man in front of you. “Are you hurt? What happened?,” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. It’s been so many years since the last time you saw your Mandalorian. You wonder if time has chipped away what used to be so strong between you.

He sighs, and you almost smile at the fact that he hasn’t changed much. But worry still gnaws at your stomach as you wait for his answer. Something dire had to have happened to bring the Mandalorian to his knees.

“It’s...complicated. I can’t explain it to you. You wouldn’t understand,” Din replies softly, his voice strained even through the modulator of his helmet.

“I might be able to if you give me a chance,” you say gently, but you don’t press him any further. He’s never been the kind to put so much effort into words.

He’s quiet for a moment, considering your words. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’m doing…”

You shake your head slightly. “That’s okay. You don’t always have to have the answers, Din, despite what you may think,” you reply softly, finally closing the remaining distance that lies between you. You raise your hands, letting them rest lightly on either side of the helmet. He brings his hands up to wrap around your wrists, and at first you think he’s rejecting you, trying to tear himself away from you.

But then he lowers his forehead to press gently against yours, the coolness of the beskar sending a shiver down your spine. On instinct, your eyes slip closed and you take in a deep breath, breathing in the comforting scent of the man you thought you’d lost. It’s been far too long since you’ve been this close to him.

“I’ve missed you, Din,” you whisper, feeling your throat close up with the emotion overtaking you.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he breathes, his tears returning to him as he shifts, taking you into his arms and holding you as close as he can get you. Finally, he has something to hold onto. Someone.

You shift with him, wrapping your arms gently around his neck. You pull down the cowl just a bit, letting your fingers brush against his skin and the ends of his dark curls. He lets out a shaking breath at the contact, holding you that much closer. You don’t move away from him, even when the beskar digs into your skin.

“Whatever’s happening, I don’t care, okay? I’ll help you in whatever way I can,” you promise him. You won’t leave him to suffer alone, even if that means the peaceful life you’ve created for yourself, on the planet in the middle of nowhere, has to cease to exist. He’s worth more to you than the quiet you’ve escaped to.

“I can’t let y–”

“Shhh. Don’t. I can’t stay here knowing you’re in trouble. I can’t,” you tell him, quickly silencing him before he can refuse you. He releases another sigh, beginning to relax just slightly. Exhaustion radiates off of him, almost palpable. You pull back just enough to look into his visor again. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. I won’t leave you to do this alone,” you whisper.

Din leans down to you again, his helmet against your forehead. The substitute for a kiss but somehow more meaningful. Even in the silence there are words exchanged between you, things you’ve longed for years to communicate to each other. But no words can describe the solace that you’ve brought to the Mandalorian. This is his one blessing from the galaxy, and one that he won’t take lightly.

He’s only a man.

And every man has a limit.

Din Djarin has reached his.

But so long as you’re here with him, he knows that he doesn’t have to bear the weight on his own.

---

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars

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exophile3d · 4 years

Note

Boyfriend Type : Golem || Setting : Reader/MC Running from Encroaching Battlefront (You can pick if the Golem is running too)

More drama. Sorry! It’s @frostsinth’s fault for making me write battle-related stuff.

M!Golem, NG! Reader, SFW

BUT I’m writing a part 2 for this which will be NSFW, and will probably feature a female reader.

------

*The Stone Prison*

------

Grief breeds self-destruction.

Losing the matching half of your soul has left you a hollow shell. Only in the thick of battle where steel clashes, blood pumps and Death watches eagerly do you ever feel alive. It is the only time you can forget his face, his voice, and the tender way he would brush your lips with his thumb. It is the only time his loss doesn’t drive you insane. And so you throw yourself into the fight where the melee is thickest, where the danger of mortal combat is at its most extreme, for if you die in combat, your soul will travel to the Warrior’s Haven, where you will be reunited with your love.

The enemy front is advancing, and you have many who rely on you. At first your hardened heart could not find the capacity to care for their fate. You did not ask them to follow you, but your lack of concern for your own skin has stood you in annoyingly good stead, sealing victories without number. Truth be told, you would have been happier had Death found you at the end of an enemy blade. Over recent weeks, however, the desperation of your allies has started to reach your closed heart, and where normally you would have charged down the thousands that even now reave the allied lands, you find yourself calling for a retreat to provide the best chance of survival for your followers.

Not soon enough. The tide of battle reaches and overwhelms you and your fleeing army, and soon you find yourself fighting for your life. They outnumber you a hundred to one, and their advance cannot be turned. Worse, they have brought monstrous constructs of stone and steel that deal death and destruction on a horrific scale, each one a hideous mockery of human form. You are in the melee, at the heart of the churning carnage of war when you engage with one of the golems, a towering grey Prometheus formed of living granite. Its eyes are agleam with some vile luminescence that captures and holds your gaze for a second too long as its rough-hewn face triggers a fleeting familiarity, and you catch a glancing blow to the side of your head. Everything is suddenly too loud, too close and the sky pales to grey as you sink below the surface of the battle, to drown in its bloody depths.

An enormous hand, too large to be human scoops you from the pile, raising you up into cool, clear air. Your skull aches. The world tilts as the construct turns you upright and brings you in close until you are nose to nose with its titanic form. That elusive spark of recognition ignites again in your addled brain and a name you have not spoken aloud in over a month tries to form on your lips. The world turns black before you can voice it.

When you are again able to open your eyes and perceive the world, the air is still and silent, and of your allies and enemies there is not one single trace. Beyond the boles of the pines, dawn glimmers and the air is frigid, in all probability the reason you awoke. You sit up cautiously, trying to reconcile the view of an empty forest with the corpse-strewn battlefield you saw when you closed your eyes. Could this be the Warrior’s Haven? A lancing pain in your head and the chill in your bones suggest otherwise. You run a hand through your hair to find it matted and sticky with dried blood, and you grimace as you glance around, freezing as you see what shares the clearing with you. The golem that pulled you from the grip of the battle-scrum sits a few feet away, its granite flanks glimmering in the golden light filtering through the trees. It is in a position of utter despondency, its knees drawn up to its chest and its head resting on one enormous hand.

You know little about these outsized mannakins, save that they are mindless, relentless and instilled with unshakeable purpose. They obey the bidding of their masters without question for they have no faculties to do so. They feel neither joy nor remorse at the fulfilment of their duties, but if that is true, why is this stone puppet so clearly in the grip of some morose mood? You raise yourself to your feet cautiously, eyes fixed on this small mountain of granite in the shape of a man. It stirs as you do, raising its head and meeting your gaze. If stone could grieve, it would do so wearing this creature’s face. Although you have no inkling as to what is happening here, you are at least fairly sure it does not plan to exterminate you, and you find yourself overwhelmed with curiosity about your rescuer.

You approach slowly, ready to spring back should it display aggression, but it simply watches you, lowering its hand to the ground while its eyes burn bright in its chiseled head. It is beautifully wrought, you admit. Most golems are simple tools of clay or metal, forced roughly into the shape of a man, with more thought given to function than form. Whoever crafted this one has an artist’s hand and an eye for the romantic hero. The facial features are simple, slender and noble, and you want to touch them, to explore them in more detail, and see if they feel as cold to the touch as normal stone. Your brain clears a little then. *The battle.* Your allies may still be out there fighting for their lives. Your weapons are nowhere to be seen, presumably stamped into the bloody mud where you fell. It matters not. You can find more discarded weapons easily enough. There is no time to indulge your curiosity. You need to return to the fight.

You cast about you. Tree boles surround the little clearing in which you stand; a circle of identical trunks that offers no clue as to how you entered, or in which direction the battlefield lies. You whip your head towards the golem. Can it understand spoken queries?

“Which way to the front?” you ask. “I need to get back to my friends.”

It stares at you for such a long time that you begin to assume it does not comprehend. Just as you abandon hope, it rises to its feet, towering over you, and shakes its head slowly from side to side. It understands. However, unless it has a way to talk back to you, this is going to be a very one-sided conversation.

“No? No you don’t know which way the battle lies, or no you won’t help me find it?” Even as you ask the question, you realise it cannot answer. You need to pose one question at a time, where it can give a simple yes or no response. You open your mouth to frame your next query and that spark of familiarity hits you again like a punch to the gut. Your mind has warped these recent weeks, dealing -poorly- with your lover’s death. While the pain of loss gnaws at you every second of every day, you are self-aware enough to realise that it is colouring your judgment and perception of everything around you, and you dismiss the impossible thought.

“Do you know the way to the battle front?” you ask.

A long pause. A nod. There is something elegant in the motion, as though the lofty stone form is imbued with an intelligence that is used to courtly gestures.

“Will you show me the way?”

The pause is longer this time, but you know the response before it is given.

No.

“Why not?” you demand, huffing in frustration. You run your hand through your hair again, cursing as it catches in the bloody tangles. You know it cannot answer that.

You start as it steps into intimate proximity, close enough that you could raise your arm and touch it. You resist the urge. It stands some eight feet high and you have to crane your neck to meet its luminous gaze while you wonder what it intends. You flinch as it extends one hand towards you and it stops, that same morose expression drawing the strong lines of its face into an effigy of sadness. The situation is something of a stalemate, you realise. You cannot leave this place without the golem’s cooperation, and allowing it to complete its action is corollary to communication. Your eyes are drawn to the hand where it hovers inches from your face. The outlines are squarish, but the fingers appear flexible, and the back of the hand is raised with flowing veins. Once again you marvel at the amount of detail the craftsman has added to the construct. Meeting its gaze once more, you nod your permission.

Its hand moves to the top of your head and brushes lightly against the bloodied mess on your scalp. The silence is rent then with the sound of stone grating on stone and you wonder for a moment if there is about to be a rockfall. Presently, you realise that the sound emanated from your granite companion. Was that its version of speech? At its simplest level, you suppose it may have been attempting to indicate that it was concerned about your wound, although why an enemy golem would do such a thing is beyond you. Still, it would not be the oddest thing to happen today. You stand patient, rolling the conundrum over in your mind as your eye focuses on the forest edge. Just as a plan starts to crystallise, the golem does something that steals your breath and turns that spark of familiarity to a flame: he cups your cheek and brushes his huge, stone thumb against your lips.

The world is crumbling around you. Nothing is real. Your lover died five long, lonely weeks ago, and yet whenever you look at this animated hunk of stone, you sense his presence. You have forgotten how to breathe. Tears prickle your eyes as you slowly raise your gaze to the granite colossus. He is bowing his head, bringing it to within a few inches of your face. That rumble fills the clearing once more, reverberating through the soles of your feet and into your very bones. All doubt is gone. Your grief is mirrored on the stone man’s slender visage and as his thumb once again slides across your lips, cool and smooth and intriguing, you find the courage to speak his name aloud.

“Andar.”

#monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster love #monster lover #golem #D&D

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dracoqueen22 · 4 years

Text

[CR] Little Do I Know

Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two Characters: The Mighty Nein, Fjord/Caduceus Rated: K+ Enticements: First Kiss Description: Chaos is what the Mighty Nein does, but Fjord desperately needs a moment to breathe and ask himself the hard questions, and maybe, ask Caduceus a question, too.

It’s been non-stop.

Fjord feels like he can’t breathe. The Mighty Nein races from one chaotic moment to the next. They leap through portals and ride horses and riskily teleport and face down Obann only to suffer defeat.

Fjord knows he’s breathing. He’s pulling air into his lungs. His thoughts are spinning anyway. His chest feels tight, like there isnt any room for his lungs, and he gulps down air, but it’s just not enough. It’s so much.

He’s jittery and anxious. He can’t find peace.

At least, not at all times.

Calm only comes to him in the morning. When he and Caduceus are the first to rise with the sun, and Caduceus brews his morning tea, and Fjord joins him. They sit around the fire, sipping some special brew, and they meditate. Or Deuces meditates, and Fjord tries, but his focus lasts as long as a few heartbeats before he watches Caduceus instead.

He always feels better around Caduceus.

At first, Fjord thinks it a fluke. He chalks it up to his need to be free of Uk’otoa and believing Caduceus has the path to do just that. He looks to Caduceus for guidance and comfort, and when he receives both, Fjord thinks that’s all it must be.

That’s all it has to be.

Fjord doesn’t know who he is.

He doesn’t know what he is.

There’s an angry sea god haunting his sleep and stealing his magic, and an angrier pirate queen who still slips into his dreams to rightly blame him for her death. Sometimes, he swears he can still taste her. It had taken far too long for the marks she left on him to heal, and he doesn’t only mean the physical ones.

The mental scars have a tendency to linger. They are, in the end, the worst.

It’s no mystery why he goes to Caduceus the night Uk’otoa refuses to rise to his bluff.

Fjord panics, and all he can think about is comfort and security and calm. He thinks about tea and a deep, rumbling bass, and the feel of Caduceus’ magic rushing through him like a warm, tingling blanket. He goes to Caduceus without pretense and a mask, and it isn’t until later that he realizes how tired he is.

Tired of lying. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying so hard to be something he’s not.

Caduceus doesn’t judge.

There’s a lot of things Deuces does judge. Their tendency to lie for one, but this, this Caduceus doesn’t judge. It’s like he recognizes the need for personal secrets, personal discomforts, personal pains. He doesn’t blink when Fjord speaks to him in a new accent, and reacts in a way only Caduceus could react when Fjord comes to him bleeding from the gut and desperate.

Fjord stops himself from falling into Caduceus’ arms, but only just. The firbolg radiates comfort and calm, and Fjord has to remind himself of something he doesn’t think anyone gets just yet.

Fjord doesn’t know who he is.

He can’t do anything, be anything with anyone, until he can answer that. Until he knows who he is and what he wants.

It hadn’t been Sabian.

It definitely hadn’t been Avantika.

And Jester...

Fjord adores her, he really does. But he doesn’t think what she wants and what he wants are the same thing. She fills him with light, but Caduceus fills him with ‘home’ and anyway.

It doesn’t matter.

Because Fjord doesn’t know who he is, and until he does, he can’t fall for anyone.

Caduceus heals him, and they talk, and Fjord starts to get an inkling. He goes to sleep, and She comes to him, and She offers and opens Her arms and Her heart and Her Being, and it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s an offer where the terms are expressed, and there’s nothing She wants from him but him.

He takes Her hands and wakes up a new person all over again. Or maybe not new. Maybe this is who he’s been all along, beneath the pretense. He kind of likes who he is now. And it seems the rest of the Nein do, too.

The hole Vandren left in him starts to heal and scab. Sabien is a distant memory. Avantika is a wound he can’t mend, same as the dark of Uk’otoa sitting like a lump behind his ribs, but he thinks -- I’m not alone. I don’t have to fight them alone.

And Caduceus.

Caduceus is there. Always there.

Fjord thinks he loves him a little more each day.

Love is unfamiliar to him.

Fjord thinks he knows what it is, but the Mighty Nein love him far more fiercely and genuinely than Vandren ever did. They protect him, and care for him, and encourage him, and sometimes, Fjord can hardly believe how lucky he is. He worries he doesn’t deserve it, but they keep reminding him, over and over, that he does.

Fjord thinks, if he knows anything of love, it has to be this warmth, this feeling when he looks at Caduceus. The slow creep of a smile. The way he goes weak and strong all over, how Caduceus can calm him with a look, a word, a touch to the shoulder.

He starts to lay his bedroll out next to Caduceus’, not that there’s really a next in the confines of Caleb’s tiny hut, but it’s as close as he can get. He can breathe in Caduceus’ distinct scent -- tea and dirt -- and it soothes him right to sleep. It can’t be anything more than this, not until he’s sure.

So he waits.

Back to Rosohna. Through chasing Obann. To Nicodranas and Zadash and back again. Chasing Obann and the Laughing Hand and Yasha through the Lotusden Greenwood and returning to Rosohna defeated and lost, and Fjord remembers.

It had been so close.

He’d tried to charm the Laughing Hand as a last resort, looking into the face of a monster which could kill him in a few blows. Jester and Caduceus were out of spells. They might not be able to bring him back. This might be his end, and the end of the Mighty Nein, and he’d cast the spell with every bit of desperation in his marrow.

And it had worked! They’d survived! A short-lived triumph in the end.

The sourness of their defeat lingers. The evidence of mortality makes his hands shake, and his heart thud, and he’s no better as himself than he was before, and he stumbles around, lost in the wake of it.

He doesn’t know what else to do but to go to the only source of solace he knows.

Fjord goes to Caduceus, who’s sitting at the base of the tree he grew for their home, incense sending curls of smoke up into the leaves, a cup of tea in his hands, still steaming, giving off a lightly floral fragrance. Fjord wonders who it is this time, and wonders when that stopped being so weird, or if it is still weird and he’s just used to it by now.

Fjord sits in front of Caduceus, legs curled lotus, and he waits. He doesn’t want to interrupt if Caduceus is meditating or communing. This is too important to rush. He can’t wait until the next close call, but he can wait right here and now.

"Hey, Fjord," Caduceus says with that slow and careful drawl, his mouth curving into a gentle smile. "You looking to commune? I think she's got her ears on."

A very small laugh escapes Fjord on an exhale. "No, I, uh, was wanting to talk to you. Actually. If you're not too busy."

Caduceus takes a long sip of his tea before he opens his eyes. "Not busy at all." Then, he blinks and startles. "Oh. Where are my manners? Do you want some tea?" He sets his cup down and pats around, in search of his bag. "I know the other cups are here somewhere."

Fjord curves a hand around Caduceus' wrist and then looks down in surprise at himself. He doesn't remember making the conscious decision to do this. But it's too late now.

Caduceus looks up at him, ears flicking. "Is that a no?"

"Maybe in a second," Fjord says, and his mouth goes dry, his tongue fumbling.

"This must be important." Caduceus settles back into himself, gives Fjord his full attention, but he doesn't shake off Fjord's hand, and strangely, Fjord doesn't seem to be in a big hurry to let go either.

His pulse pounds in his ears. He's hot all over, flushed. What in the Nine Hells does he think he's doing? Something stupid and reckless. Something a lot like pressing a shiny red button he ought not to have pushed.

He tries to speak, but his tongue ties itself in knots, and his hands shake.

"Fjord?" Caduceus' concern washes over him, and Fjord's chest aches with an emotion he doesn't have the right words for. He thinks it's probably because he's never felt it before, and therefore, doesn't know what to call it.

"We lost Yasha. Again," Fjord blurts out. "I don't know, it seems like we're losing. All we're doing is losing. And the strange thing is, you know, I don't remember when we started fighting. We were trying to get away from the war, last I checked, and now..."

Caduceus rests his hand over Fjord's, his fingers warm and soft. "Now it seems we're only getting closer to it."

"Yes. No." Fjord shakes his head, frustration gnawing at him. "I mean, yes, that's a problem, but no, that's not what I wanted to say."

"It's okay. Take your time."

Fjord exhales noisily and clasps Caduceus' hand between his, considering it a good sign when Caduceus doesn't pull away. "We lost Yasha," he says. "Again. If not for Jester, we'd have lost you. And we did lose Molly. He's not coming back." His voice cracks, and Fjord clears his throat to clean it. Some wounds heal a lot slower than others, no matter how much magic you pump into yourself. "I gotta do this before I lose anyone else."

"Yasha is only misplaced. We'll get her back," Caduceus says, and for once, his calm aura does nothing to quiet the frantic beat of Fjord's heart, or the sweat dampening his palms, or how tight his armor feels across his chest.

"That's not the point, Deuces," Fjord says. "The point is... I gotta stop being a coward before it's too late."

"You're many things, but a coward isn't one of them."

Fjord snorts. "I'm a mess is what I am. You helped put me back together, but that's not -- I don't want you to have to keep doing that. I want... I want more."

Caduceus tilts his head. "I don't follow."

Fjord hangs his head, and his fingers shake around Caduceus’. “No, I don’t guess you would,” he says, because Caduceus knows many things, but there’s a lot he can’t have learned, stuck alone in that graveyard with only his family and the dead for company.

Even traveling with them as long as he has, there are some things that can’t be taught. They have to be experienced.

Fjord swallows thickly and untangles his fingers from Caduceus’, hope buoying when he thinks he catches a flicker of disappointment on Caduceus’ face.

“I, uh, don’t want to just be a project,” Fjord says as he reaches for Caduceus, and cups the firbolg’s face oh so gently when Caduceus doesn’t rear back. His cheeks are soft under the stroke of Fjord’s thumb, and Caduceus’ eyes are so wide and bright.

But not afraid. Curious, definitely. Maybe a little confused.

“I want to be more,” Fjord says, and he licks his lips. He doesn’t want to be a coward anymore. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else. At least, not without trying first.

“Oh,” Caduceus says, and it’s quiet and wondrous, like he’s had a revelation. “Do you want to kiss me, Fjord?”

Gods.

Fjord swears steam whistles out of his ears, so quickly does his face flush with heat. “Could I?” he asks, and he’s already moving forward, tilted toward the curve of Caduceus’ mouth.

His thumbs sweep Caduceus’ cheek, and his mouth presses to Caduceus’ the moment he hears permission.

It’s not the fumbling, awkward, rough kiss he’d shared in the dark with Sabian. Neither is it Avantika’s biting claim. Or the desperate breath of life he’d given Jester in the temple.

It’s soft and gentle, a press of mouths, and the warmth of Caduceus’ lips. It’s a shiver over Fjord’s skin, gooseflesh rising beneath his armor and clothes, and the whisper of the night breeze as it sweeps over the roof of the Xhorhouse.

“Mm,” Caduceus says as they part, and a slow smile takes his lips. “I think I follow you now.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I could be any more obvious,” Fjord says with a laugh. His hands drop to Caduceus’ shoulders, and he tilts forward, his forehead pressed to Caduceus’ clavicle, the scent of tea and dirt floating up to his nose.

“I apologize.”

Fjord blinks and lifts his head. “For what?”

A long finger traces the scar on his face, and a shiver nips up Fjord’s spine. “For making you think you were only a project to me.”

“I’m not?” Fjord asks.

“Maybe at first,” Caduceus admits, and he ducks his head, looks a bit embarrassed and ashamed possibly. It’s hard to tell. Fjord doesn’t think he’s ever seen Caduceus be either. “You deserve better than that.”

“Well. I was a bit of a mess,” Fjord says. “Still kind of am.” He sits back, his hands slip from Caduceus’ shoulders, but they don’t go far, because Caduceus captures them. He tangles their fingers together, their palms pressed tight.

“You saved yourself. You did all the work,” Caduceus says, and he squeezes Fjord’s fingers. He sounds so earnest, Fjord can’t help but believe him. “You’re amazing.”

Fjord wonders if he’s ever going to stop blushing ferociously around Caduceus.

“Um, thanks,” he says, and gnaws on his bottom lip for a second, feeling the harsh pressure of his stubby tusks. “Not that I’m not appreciative of the support, it’s just…” How does he put this into words? How can he explain what he wants when it’s still so new to himself?

“You’d rather I were a little less religious leader and a little more… boyfriend? Partner? Lover? I’m sorry, I don’t know the term you’re looking for,” Caduceus says, in that frank way he has, which Fjord simultaneously adores and hates a little.

Fjord coughs and stares hard over Caduceus’ shoulder, looking for something solid in this suddenly stormy sea where he’s been set adrift. “Any of those would work if you were interested.”

“I could be. Maybe.” Caduceus tilts his head back and looks up at his tree stretching over them, the magical lights twinkling brightly. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Mr. Fjord, I don’t really know what I’m interested in.”

“Could you just call me Fjord? For starters?”

Caduceus breathes out a little laugh. “I can do that. Sure. Fjord.”

Gods.

Fjord swallows over a lump in his throat, and then he has to hide behind his hand, because hearing his name on Caduceus’ lips shouldn’t send a bolt of lightning straight down to his groin, but it does.

“Thanks,” he says, and sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic flutter of his heart. “Anyway, you don’t have to say yes right now. Or no. If you want to think about it, I mean, I did kind of confess out of nowhere, and it’s really not the time.”

“The way things are going right now, it’ll never be the time.” Caduceus squeezes Fjord’s hand and gets that distant look he gets when he’s thinking about something.

“Now is good,” Caduceus says after a moment. “Now is the time.” He traces a finger around the curve of Fjord’s face, and there’s something so tender in it, Fjord melts a little more. “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

“Are you sure?” Fjord’s heart pounds a mile a minute, and his skin flushes, and a quiet hope nestles deep in his belly.

Caduceus smiles and leans in, and he kisses Fjord by way of answer. It’s a bit unpracticed, slow and unsure, but he gains confidence quickly enough, and Fjord eagerly kisses back.

Calm washes through Fjord.

Everything else might be chaos, but at least he has this, for whatever it becomes.

****

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome and appreciated. Feel free to scream in the tags, in a reblog, in my inbox, whatever. I’d love to hear from the readers! <3

#caduceus clay #fjord #critical role fanfic #fjorclay #teahaw #caduceus clay/fjord #sfw fics #draco writes critical role #draco writes fanfic #critical role campaign 2

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katedrakeohd · 4 years

Text

Christmas Love ~ Part Two

[A Very Valtorian Christmas Masterlist]

Rated: Mature for Adult Themes, Angst, talk of Depression and Emotional distress during pregnancy, otherwise this story is all fluff and good stuff.

(I suck at trigger warnings, so I apologize in advance)

A special shout out to @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria for the drake & kate in a bathtub story challenge. 😊

Tagging:

@jlpplays1 @walker7519 @drakesensworld @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @furiousherringoperatortoad @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @samihatuli @kingliam2019

@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @sirbeepsalot @dcbbw @desiree---1986 @emceesynonymroll @wickedgypsymoon @gardeningourmet @indiacater @bobasheebaby @loveellamae @rainbowsinthestorm @burnsoslow @mskaneko @bbrandy2002 @jessiembruno @emichelle @griselda1121 @msjpuddleduck @princess-andromeda-nazario @princess-geek @princessleac1 @addictedtodrakefanfic @janezillow @nikkis1983 @texaskitten30 @debramcg1106 @moonlightgem7 @be-still-my-aching-heart @walkerswhiskeygirl

With a sigh Drake looks around the bedroom. The bed clothes were wrecked from their play wrestling, and the girls in the laundry were going to fuss over the wrinkled sheets, but he had other concerns. Kate hadn't come back from the bathroom yet. Had he been too rough? He knew he got carried away sometimes, and today he had awoken Kate earlier than usual. Setting his phone and the bag of cookie treats on the bedside table, he walks over to the bathroom to check on her.

To his surprise the door is ajar and he hangs back for a moment to watch his wife. She was standing at the sink in her pale silk dressing gown dabbing at her face with a damp wash cloth. Her eyes looked sad as they met his in the mirror. Her gaze shifted back down to look at the water in the sink as he eased the door open and entered the bathroom.

“Kate?” he says in a low voice, his face softening with concern. Stepping up beside her he turns and leans against the marble counter, “Honey what's wrong?”

Still looking down at the sink Kate shrugs and then starts rambling, “I don't know, just feeling a little overwhelmed I guess. I was looking in the mirror at myself, standing in this gilded and fancy bathroom that belongs to a Duchess, and wondering what a nobody waitress from a New York dive bar was doing in such a place. A pregnant waitress, pretending to be a Duchess, who is going to birth a child that is destined to rule a country. It all seems so bizarre considering where my life was headed just a year ago. What do I know about running a Duchy, or about being a Mother to royalty?”

Drake reaches out and gently cups her cheeks in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs and tilting her face up to look at him.

“Kate, our Duchy is fairly self sufficient, there isn't much you really need to do. And the Mother part… I’m going to be with you every step of the way, you aren’t ever going to be raising our child alone. We're both new at this and we'll figure this out together, and we've no shortage of help whether it's friendly advice from those who love us or the help of our Manor staff. There are healthcare professionals, counselors and support people to guide us in Parenting if we need it. There are political advisers and tons of community support to help us keep the Duchy running smoothly. There's nothing for you to worry about.”

Seeing the calm and loving expression on Drake's face, and knowing that he's making perfect sense, brings fresh tears of gratitude. His tone isn’t condescending or teasing just honest and full of love. Kate covers her face with her hands. “I'm so sorry. You must think I'm so foolish and crazy.”

Drake pulls her into his arms as she continues crying against his shoulder. “Sshh, you're not foolish or crazy. You're only human Kate, and I love you. You're growing a whole other human in that beautiful body of yours and you have every right to get emotional about it.”

The thin material of her robe offers little warmth and Drake realizes how cool her hands are as she cuddles into his chest. “My gosh, Kate you're freezing. We really need to find a way to heat this bathroom better. Let me draw you a warm bath, and then we can talk some more.”

Kate nods wiping at her puffy eyes and sniffing back her tears as she steps back. Drake grabs a bath sheet and wraps it around her shoulders, “Here hold onto this while I draw us a bath.”

“Us?” Kate asks quietly, wiping her nose on the corner of the towel.

Drake chuckles quietly, leaning over to turn on the taps on their large soaker tub. “Well who else is going to wash your back for you?”

“You're so sweet to me Drake, I bet other husbands don't do this for their wives.”

Drake fetches Kate's favorite shampoo and body wash out of the shower, “Well they should.”

As Kate watches, he places the shampoo and body wash on the side of the tub along with another bath towel for himself. Reaching into the bathwater he tests the temperature and then sits down on the edge of the tub to wait for it to fill.

Kate shifts from side to side, rubbing one cold foot against the other. How Drake could walk around naked in the chilly marble tiled bathroom and not shiver was baffling to her.

Drake glances down at her shuffling feet, “The floor does get cold in here doesn't it? I think we should invest in some infloor heating.”

Kate nods, “I suppose in the meantime I could get some slippers.”

Drake turns off the taps, and then walks over to Kate. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders he places a kiss on her temple. He grasps the edge of her towel in his fingers, “May I?”

Kate lets go of her towel and Drake pulls it away with a flourish, quickly folding it and placing it next to his. Untying her robe, he slips it down off of her shoulders and it melts into a puddle at her feet. Kate gasps and instinctually wraps her arms around his ribs to soak up some of his body heat.

Cradling her gently around the back he tilts his face down and closes his eyes, smiling against her lips as she tilts her face up to meet his. Their kisses are soft and unhurried, lips parting for each other under gentle pressure as they meet again and again. Once Kate feels warmed all over, she tips her head back and whispers, “Thank you, I needed that.”

Drake nods, “Mmhmm, I know. Ready for your bath?”

Kate nods and Drake steps back and then dips down to scoop her up in his arms. Kate holds onto his neck and shoulders as he turns and gently places her down into the warm water. Scooting forward a little she allows him room to climb in behind her. Drake settles down into the warm water with a sigh, drawing up his knees and Kate slides back to lean against his chest. Lifting his hand face up out of the water and resting it on his knee, Kate takes the silent hint and places her hand in his lacing their fingers together. Tugging his arm back to hug against her chest, she kisses the back of his hand. He dips his head down to kiss her shoulder. They sit quietly like this for a few minutes, watching the steam rise from the water. Kate breaks the silence first, “So what did Preston want?”

Drake presses more kisses against her shoulder and neck, working his way up to her ear. “He brought me my phone, that I'd left in the SUV yesterday, and for you he brought a special treat.”

Kate caresses up and down his thigh, raising her eyebrows with surprise, “Ooh, what kind of treat?”

Drake squeezes her hips gently with his thighs and kisses her on the cheek, “Oh, something round, sweet, green and Italian.”

Kate frowns in thought, “Sweet, green..and Italian?”

Drake sweeps her hair off to the side, kissing the back of her neck. “Remember the last time we visited Rome? We went into that sweet shop and you fell in love with the Pistachio Almond cookies on the sample tray?”

Kate gasps as she remembers, “You got me Peluso's Pistakì cookies?”

Drake smiles as he reaches for her bottle of body wash and the bath sponge. “Mmhmm, I asked Preston to enquire about them at the candy shop in town. I told him to tell them that they were your favorite cookie and asked if they could get them in stock.”

“Oh Drake, that's the best gift ever. Now I don't have to go all the way to Italy to find them. How did you know I was craving them?”

“I've watched you nibbling on bowls of mixed nuts and trail mix lately, and there always seemed to be almonds and pistachios mixed in along with your chocolate covered raisins and cranberries.”

Kate blushes as she gnaws on her bottom lip. “So you've caught onto my cravings for sweets then?”

Drake uncaps her body wash and squirts some on the sponge. “Uh huh. But you've seemed to keep it on the healthy side for the most part. As far as I can tell. So kudos to you.”

Kate thinks back to the cookies and milk and gum drops she was snacking on yesterday. Hana made sure to save as many green candies for Kate as possible. Kate nods, glad that Drake can't see the guilty expression on her face, “Yes, yes I try to.”

Drake knows she's lying but lets it slide. “Want to sit forward so I can wash your back and shoulders?”

Kate scoots forward in the tub, enjoying the scent of orange blossoms and vanilla as Drake washes her shoulders. Watching the creamy foam slide down over her breasts as they rise out of the water reminds her of ice cream. Breathing deeply and closing her eyes, Kate suddenly has a craving for an Orange Creamsicle.

Drake drags the sponge underneath the water and rubs Kate's back with it, bringing a moan of satisfaction to her lips. “Mmm, that feels so good. Why do you do so much for me?”

Drake wets down her hair with the sponge and then hands the sponge forward and reaches for her shampoo. “Cuz, it's my job.”

“I didn't know bath buddy was part of the Duke of Valtoria job description.” Kate giggles as Drake runs his fingers through her hair.

“No, but it's on page three of the husband and lover handbook.”

Kate bends her knees up and scrubs down her legs with her sponge. “That's funny. I've never seen that book in the library before.”

“It's in the special ‘Guys only’ section.”

Kate closes her eyes as Drake lathers up her hair, “So if bath duties are on page three, what's on page one and two?”

Drake smirks, as he scoops water up in his hands and rinses out her hair, “Sorry that's classified information.”

“Ok, point taken. So what other surprises should I expect on our first Christmas day?”

“I dunno, you'll have to wait and see. Oh just to clarify, you didn't really want a pony did you? Because we could always add one to the stables.”

Kate laughs, turning around in the tub to kneel between his thighs and lean in for a kiss. “No silly, you're my pony.”

Drake grins, sliding his hands down to cup her ass as she giggles between his kisses, “And what about the rockets and fireworks?”

Kate gasps with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ooh, could we really have fireworks?”

Drake squeezes her ass and teases butterfly kisses across her cheeks and nose, “Not for Christmas, but maybe for New Year's Eve.”

“Ooh, they would be so pretty to set off over the lake.”

Drake nods, “Sounds like a plan, consider it done.”

---

Later, all warm and cozy in flannel pjs and sitting cross legged on the bed, Kate opens up her package of cookies. “It's a shame I can't have a cup of coffee with these. I miss coffee.”

Drake wanders out of the closet dressed in a pair of track pants, “We could get some decaf sent up from the kitchen. Or maybe some tea. I know I could use a coffee too.”

Kate unwraps a cookie and bites into it, closing her eyes and savoring the sweet flavor, “Mmm, these are heavenly. Do you want one?”

Drake watches her lick the powdered sugar off her lip. “Maybe later. Don't eat too many of those we still have to make an appearance at breakfast.”

Kate pouts as she finishes off her cookie. “Oh fine, just one….or maybe two. One for me and one for Little One.” Kate rubs her belly affectionately as she reaches into the packaging for another cookie.

Drake walks over to the bedside to check his phone, there's a light flashing indicating messages. “Damn, it's almost dead.”

He opens the bedside drawer to fish out his charger. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he hears the rustle of another cookie being opened. He sighs and then glances over his shoulder at Kate. “I thought Little One, or whatever was only having one cookie.”

Kate looks away, brushing some pistachio crumbles off of her chest. “Sorry.”

Shaking his head, Drake rests his elbows on his knees and thumbs through the messages on his phone. “Seriously, save room for breakfast. Oh look.. it seems that Bertrand and Savannah won't be coming to our Christmas dinner after all.”

Kate raises her eyebrows, mumbling around a cheekfull of cookie, “Aww, why not?”

“Bartie's sick and they don't want to travel with him and get us sick too.”

Drake turns and snatches away the box of cookies, “You're gonna make yourself sick eating so many of these. Can't be good for Little One.”

Kate tears up a little at his gruff scolding, “Hey those are mine! We're hungry.” She rubs her belly and pouts.

Drake frowns rubbing at his forehead with his thumb and fingers, “Quit it already with the childishness. Besides using the nickname ‘Little One’ over and over again is bugging the hell out of me. We need to pick out baby names or something.”

Kate looks down at the bedspread as she picks at the crumbs around her, “Actually Hana helped me pick out names yesterday.”

Drake sighs with annoyance, tossing his phone down on the bed. “Hana helped you.”

Kate shrugs avoiding eye contact with Drake, “And Nicholas…I'm sorry, I know you wanted for us to do that together.”

Drake's nerves bristle at the mention of Nicholas helping pick names for his heir. He and Kate had been adamant that their baby was to be raised as they saw fit, and that the heir to the throne business shouldn't be a priority until it really needed to be. “You let him pick names instead of me?”

Kate tries to diffuse Drake's anger before it got any worse, “Not exactly. He just supervised as Hana and I researched names from Cordonian noble history. We were just throwing around the idea of reviving an old name that would help our child connect to the past.”

The idea of his child being named after some long dead stuffy noble grated on Drake's nerves even more. “So we could instill a sense of stuffy pretentiousness in our child from day one?! You've got to be kidding.”

Kate sighs, her stomach feeling queasy, and her baby moving about adding to her growing discomfort, “Look, it's just a list of names. It's not a binding contract or a damn yoke around our baby's neck. You have the right to veto any name you don't like or toss the whole list away and we can start a new one. I'm sorry Drake, really I am. I didn't realize you would get so upset.”

Drake's phone vibrated on the bed and he picked it up to check it. With a groan he runs his fingers through his hair, giving it a tug and then letting go. “Well Fuck, if that doesn't add insult to injury.”

Kate looks on with concern, “Now what?”

“Olivia has invited herself to dinner.”

#long post #drake x kate #a very valtorian christmas #trh fanfic #drake walker

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illshowyourhurricanes · 4 years

Text

A Familiar Face (Part 6)

It’s been a long time coming, but Ryan is finally making an appearance! Just for a quick recap of sorts, something completely unexpected took place in reader’s life, and Ryan was there to help in any way he was able (because that’s just the way our angel musician is). After a delayed dinner, it’s reader’s first night in an unfamiliar place. (This is basically setting the stage for a lot yet to come.) Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Word count: 3750

Rating: PG (flirting, bedroom eyes)

Tag list: @dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @ms-delos @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @ladyofnaps @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

If you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, feel free to ask!

Dishes were a necessary evil. Ryan had put up a fight after lasagna was eaten and you both had full bellies, insisting that you had made dinner, which gave him automatic dish duty. You’d swatted him away playfully several times, telling him he was overruled and he finally obliged, backing away from the sink.

“Payback in the form of a few songs would be much more fulfilling,” you promised, an almost impish lilt in your tone, and you found yourself smirking as you turned back to the sink. Were you flirting? Your home had just been ransacked, you were offered a new place to stay temporarily, you’d finally had dinner… after all the ebb and flow of disaster versus small miracles, flirting was nothing short of a terrible decision.

Georgie is not present, you reminded yourself. He’s almost guaranteed to stay away for awhile. You are fully alone with this man who you’re inexplicably drawn to and fascinated by, this man who is warm and kind and very, very attractive. Tread lightly around Ryan Brenner. Be careful.

Conversation was easy between the pair of you, even if there were times when Ryan wasn’t very forthcoming. You leaned in the opposite direction, an open book about most things, and it became effortless to learn to fill silences, accustomed to doing so in making small talk with customers at the diner. But with Ryan, there was no need for filler by way of insignificant pleasantries. Silence between the two of you was okay, and you found that Ryan almost communicated with more clarity without words than he did with them. Sometimes, they weren’t necessary. His dark eyes were surprisingly expressive. There was a slight furrow of his brows when he was apprehensive; a look of authority about him as he’d walked with you throughout your apartment… he had been protective yet gentle, inquisitive but never intrusive. Ryan was attentive, in tune with everything around him. He noticed even the tiniest things, the slightest change in tone or mood, a flicker of emotion over someone’s features, small beats passing in hesitation.

You had become lost in your thoughts, and there was no question he’d picked up on the shift from joking about dishes to a stretch of silence. Instantly, he was mulling over possible reasons as to what caused such a stark change in so little time. It was more than what had happened in your apartment, and it was obvious Ryan from one small nuance he’d never seen you indulge in before. You'd started to gnaw on your bottom lip, and it was only when the skin grew raw that you caught yourself and stopped short. You’d barely realized it happening, yet Ryan instantly caught on.

As the sink continued to fill with warm water, you glanced across the kitchen to see Ryan clearing off the table, stacking plates one atop the other.

“Ryan!”

He crossed the room with two long strides, suddenly beside you where you stood by the sink. The plates were sat down onto the counter with a light clatter. Ryan shrugged lightly, but his eyes were trained on your face. You felt a heat creep up and over your cheeks; you were supremely aware of his gaze, unassuming, yet steady. Clearing your throat— a nervous habit you’d had for as long as you could remember—you turned off the faucet, satisfied with the water level in the basin of the sink. There was a layer of soap suds atop the water, reminiscent of a bubble bath; a few wayward bubbles floated into the air only to pop spontaneously into thin air. Promptly, you began washing.

“You okay,Y/N?” Ryan’s voice was soft, but the intonation of his question was clear— he knew the answer already. He studied your profile without a word, and your expression paired with a long moment of silence only confirmed the feeling he had.

Remaining quiet, you scrubbed at a blob of cheese that had melted onto a plate, stubborn and stuck, not budging against your efforts. Dropping the plate to soak in the dishwater, you finally met Ryan’s eyes.

“I will be.”

You smiled softly in appreciation. This man was an angel, you were sure of it. He in turn searched your face for a moment, that slight furrowing of his eyebrows making a brief appearance and vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared. You looked away only to battle against the glued-on cheese again, and you felt a small soar of triumphant gratification as a clean plate was revealed with just three swipes of your sponge. Ryan remained standing just a few inches from you, catching the feather light upturning of your lips. Gently, he took the plate from your hand and began drying it. You laughed, snatching the dish towel out of his hand. “Get outta here, Brenner!”

Narrowing his eyes playfully, he handed back the halfway-dried plate in mock defeat, backing toward the threshold of the kitchen. He stopped just short of reaching the corridor and laughed softly.

“I’m stoppin’, you get no more help from me.” He held up his large hands in mock surrender, amusement shining in his warm brown eyes. There was an obvious look of kindness to his expression; the glint of laughter and mischief there had softened to one of genuine fondness. With one small nod, he turned and disappeared down the hallway. You got back to work, and just as you pulled the stopper from the drain of the sink, you heard the squeak of old pipes followed by the distinct sound of the shower running, water pounding against ceramic like rain against a tin roof.

You leaned back against the counter, hands behind you as you braced yourself. You were hyper aware of the knowledge that Ryan was showering directly above you, and you shook your head, forcing yourself to clear your mind and focus… focus on dealing with your disaster of an apartment, of getting your life together and back in order. Those were important things, essential things, not at all related to the kind, gentle, talented, attractive and wonderful man who was currently naked and wet with nothing but the barrier of the ceiling between the two of you.

You shook your head vehemently, firmly reminding yourself that your mission was to focus on significant things. The only problem there was that you kept catching yourself focusing on Ryan, more than you probably should, and he made it so easy to do so-- almost too easy. It was within the ease of his authenticity, the careful choosing of his words and ever-present optimism; in the way he appreciated life’s simplest pleasures that everyone else took for granted; in the genuine kindness of his character, his quiet chuckling and bashful, boyish smiles. You were fascinated, enthralled, and charmed by this man, yet a single thought remained, tarnishing your view: he would soon be gone.

Ryan hadn’t said as much, hadn’t given a date or a time or even mentioned traveling to another location, but you had a striking feeling, and the realization hit you like a freight train. You’d made only a small space for him in your life at first, but you’d easily allowed that space to grow. Without him there occupying a bench in the cold, playing guitar with numb fingers you’d hope to warm up with a cup of coffee; without his presence alone giving you reason to actually make dinner; without the indulgence in pleasant conversation while you closed the diner… You were struck with a heavy ache deep in your chest. Your life would go back to normal to a point, but you had a hunch it would feel a little bit incomplete.

It was a feeling you were used to and thought you’d grown into, barely noticing it over the years, but you knew that this time, it would sting like rubbing alcohol poured over a fresh wound. It would linger.

You found yourself spiraling into a seemingly endless cavern of thoughts, just as you had earlier in the evening. How long would it take for the inevitable loneliness to fade? How many early mornings would be tainted with the memory that Ryan wouldn’t be there tuning his on your way to work, but instead making his way to a new location?

You’d consciously made the choice to live the way you did. When you weren’t working and surrounded by co-workers and customers alike at the diner, your life was one of solitude, and you were content with that. But that was before Ryan appeared and took up residence in your life. You were painfully aware that when he was gone, maybe that contentment would tarnish and corrode. Maybe your solitude would turn bitter with no one else’s voice to replace the slow drawl of Ryan’s, soft like velvet; no distraction from constantly remembering the distinct color and depth of his eyes, always radiating warmth; no substitute for the sound of his guitar-- the music that had brought Ryan into your life, bringing streaks of sunshine and brightness along with him, replacing your shades of grey. Maybe your solitude would shift and transform to loneliness.

How long was it going to take to find another apartment with affordable rent? Where would you even start to look? Was a space with an alarm system really necessary? Were you foolishly making yourself too available to access, and how could you begin to remedy that? Your brain was stockpiled with thoughts, ricocheting against the inside of your skull like bullets, no reprieve between one shot firing before the next one flew your way. Continuing to work, you opened several wooden cabinets until you found where the dishes were kept. You put them away, the soft clattering of stacked plates the only sound in the silent house; the soft pattering of water against the shower walls had stopped.

You located a roll of Saran Wrap, carefully tearing off enough to cover the remainder of lasagna that you and Ryan hadn’t been able to finish. Seamlessly, you covered the dish. It had taken a lot of practice and many, many sheets of Saran Wrap crumpled and thrown angrily into the trash, but since working at the diner, you’d finally mastered the art of winning the fight with cling wrap. The diner. You had to call Sophie, ask her to pick up your shift tomorrow if at all possible. I just need a day. One day.

You opened the refrigerator and placed your glass baking dish inside, disappearing just long enough until you heard footsteps echoing over old, wooden floorboards, accompanied by a creaking once or twice. Closing the refrigerator door, you gave the kitchen one last look. Absentmindedly running your palms over your denim-clad thighs, you exhaled, satisfied. And the anxiety that had been weighing like a heavy stone in your abdomen was all but gone. It was part of the reason why the diner meant so much to you— the routine of your days, the feeling of accomplishment as you wished another satisfied customer a good day and cleared away their dishes— there was a comfort there, and you found that feeling as you stood upright, softly closing the refrigerator door as you did so. The room was still empty.

Though you’d heard Ryan return from the back of the house, you were surprised not to find him there; it was out of character for him to leave you alone unannounced. You recalled the small exchange you’d previously had before he’d disappeared down the hallway:

You okay, Y/N?

I will be.

You would be, and it then dawned on you that a connotation may have been attached to those words, one that Ryan may have taken as your way of saying you’d rather be alone. Hoping desperately that meaning didn’t mistranslate in his mind, you ventured through the kitchen, your steps slowing as you peeked into the next room. Since arriving at Georgie’s, you hadn’t made it past that one small room, You found yourself in the doorway of what appeared to be a den.

The first thing your eyes settled on was an old set of French doors paned with long windows. The old wood that surrounded the windows needed to be stained, but the doors were charming in their own way. You paused to have a quick peek outside; you could barely see a blanket of snow on what seemed to be a back porch. The darkness was so much thicker out of town, tucked away and surrounded by trees. If only the weather was nicer.

You took a few more steps inside, noticing Ryan’s absence, and you frowned. You supposed he wasn’t required to babysit you. It was quite the contrary, actually. He was a grown man who led his own life, and just because he’d been kind enough to offer you a place to stay, his company would just be a bonus.

Even still, you were enchanted by the room you’d found, and decided to allow yourself to wander in farther and explore. On the far wall opposite from where you stood was occupied almost entirely by an archaic wood-burning fireplace, and the vision brought a full smile to your face. Outdated red brick ran from floor to ceiling. The hearth was surprisingly roomy, and a long mantle, solid wood in a warm chestnut shade, adorned the smoke shelf. It was homey, cozy, and you walked to stand in front of it as you noticed assorted picture frames decorating the mantle. You stepped past wainscoted walls, between a tawny, threadbare sofa set, and a bookshelf stuffed with books, not an inch left unoccupied on any of the four shelves. You spotted a set of encyclopedias, gold in your school days. Finally you reached the fireplace, bending at the waist to touch the red brick of the hearth. The brickwork appeared to be dusty from underuse, but in pulling your hand back, palm up, there was nothing dirtying your fingers. Your idea of dust due to neglect was quickly debunked by a small pile of ash in the firebox, soot caking the sharp end of the stoker hanging neatly from a wrought iron tool stand.

Finally getting around to the picture frames that had drawn you to the fireplace initially, you jumped at an unexpected clattering coming from outside the French doors. Spinning to look, you let out an involuntary yell as one of the doors flew open. In stepped Ryan, arms full of logs, his biceps straining from the weight, Kicking the door shut behind him, his eyes widened at the sight of you. Crossing the room in two long strides, he halfway tossed the logs down on the hearth unceremoniously.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” There was concern in his voice and he was peering down at you with those piercing, dangerously dark eyes. The depth of them had stolen words from your mouth. When you didn’t answer, Ryan reached past the small space between the two of you, the rough palms of his hands calloused from guitar strings and train cars curling around your upper arms, and you yelped again, recoiling instinctively.

“Your hands are freezing!” Heart still pounding at your rib cage, you took a deep breath in in an attempt to steady your breathing. “Holy shit.”

Falling down onto the couch behind you, you started to laugh. You laughed harder the more you thought about the absurdity of the situation, tears pricking behind your eyes and overflowing, leaving tiny, wet rivulets down your cheeks.

You caught Ryan’s glance, eyebrows knitted together in what you could only gathered to be utter confusion. He watched your every move as you wiped the tears from your face with the backs of your hands, blinking quickly and collapsing back against the couch. Your laughter subsided and you managed to find your voice

“I thought I heard you while I was finishing up in the kitchen, but when I wandered in here…” You trailed off with a shrug. “I spotted the pictures on the mantle and was just about to get a closer look when you came bursting through the door. I was not anticipating that.” You let out a short breath of a giggle, and as if trading places, you were now the one watching Ryan’s every move.

His eyes lit up with amusement at your explanation, and by the time you were done, he was all-out grinning, apples of his cheeks rounding. You noticed then that he’d cleaned up his beard, trimmed it closer to his skin. He ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck as he chuckled, the sound deep and melodic. Glancing over at you, smile still there, Ryan just shook his head.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” You caught his gaze lingering on you, and you swallowed a lump that had suddenly popped up in your throat. Like a stupid and inexperienced child, you looked away in a bout of uncertainty, cursing yourself silently.

“Thanks, I think.” You broke the momentary silence as Ryan turned to back to the fireplace, his back to you as he half-grinned into the firebox, arranging a few of the logs there. Afterward, he turned to neatly stack the remaining wood he had dumped onto the hearth. You tried not to think about the way the lean muscle in his back and shoulders shifted as he moved, the bulging of his biceps each time he effortlessly added to the stack. You felt as if your eyes may burn holes through his thin, white t-shirt. Your gaze fell to his lower half, and you allowed yourself the opportunity to appreciate the way his grey sweatpants hung low over his hips, loose-fitting but still highlighting his physique.

It was only as your eyes moved upward from his torso, again drinking in the rippling of his back that you noticed his hair. It was brushed back, away from his forehead, damp with snow. You let your mind wander, wishing you’d caught him a few minutes earlier than you had, fresh out the shower. You imagined him with his whole headful of thick, overgrown hair neatly combed back.

It was different, seeing him this way, his hat and coat abandoned, jeans and hoodie traded for something much more comfortable. It was a good different, one that made you feel oddly secure. You could get used to it far too easily.

Softly smiling to yourself, you settled further into the couch as Ryan paused, standing upright, hand disappearing into his pocket momentarily. Drawing out a lighter, he leaned in toward the firebox, supporting himself with one forearm on the hearth, and if life came with a pause button, you would have used it right then and there. It was a feat, but you tore your eyes away from his physique at the tell-tale crackling of a fire coming to life.

As comfortable as you were lounging on the old couch, you pulled yourself up and to your feet. Raising your arms high above your head, you stretched before dropping your arms back down to your sides. Joining Ryan in front of the fire, you rolled your neck side to side as you turned to warm your front. The fire was quickly roaring to life, and you were so thankful for the warmth.

“This feels amazing. The initial terror was well worth it.” You kept your voice quiet, just loud enough for Ryan to hear over the popping and crackling of the burning wood in flames. Rubbing your hands up and down arms for more warmth, you looked sideways at Ryan and smiled. “Can I ask you something?”

To your surprise, there was no hesitation on his end; no pause as he mulled over whether or not he’d mind answering, no shadow of apprehension over his eyes or pinching together of his features. Ryan simply nodded, made a low humming sound in acknowledgement as he turned his head to look at you.

A chunk of hair fell forward into his eyes and your breath hitched in your throat. You’d never put so much effort into your face remaining neutral, and it was all for nothing, because nothing got past Ryan Brenner. He may not necessarily vocalize as much, but you’d learned how observant and attentive he was.

Forcing yourself to exhale, the corners of your lips turned upward and you put your hands on your hips just for show.. “Why did you go out in the snow with just a t-shirt on?! You can’t go catching pneumonia, Ryan I need you.” Your voice has started with a teasing tone, but all traces of it had vanished as you finished. Underneath everything, you were exhausted and vulnerable, and this incredible man was all you had.

He cocked his head to the side, giving you a once over with no effort put into hiding it. There was no threat, no ill intent or shadow of anything inappropriate but your skin felt like it could burst into flames under the heat you couldn’t swear you glimpsed in his eyes. Ryan locked his eyes with yours, and there was no discerning where his pupils met their iris. You’d never seen his eyes so dark.

“Just didn’t think about needin’ to find dry wood.” His eyes were still trained on you as if you were a rarity, one he wanted to keep as a secret. “I was preoccupied.”

Ryan gave you a meaningful look then, eyes still startlingly dark, and turned to head out of the den. “I think I owe you a couple-a songs, Y/N.”

Your ears were tuned into the rhythm of his footsteps, the way the sound faded the further he walked. Inhaling deeply, your breath was unsteady. You’ve had more than enough action today, you warned yourself. Important things. Focus on important things. You heard Ryan’s footsteps growing louder, and your shoulders relaxed at the sound. Just knowing he was making his way back had already overruled your reminder to yourself, and you couldn’t have cared any less.

As if on cue, Ryan returned, guitar slung over his shoulder and hanging at his back. Important things. Ryan Brenner was an important thing, and you couldn’t change that. You reconciled that fact, and it was so simple to accept. Too simple. So be it.

You watched as Ryan walked across the room, sitting on the couch across from the one you occupied, he adjusted his guitar onto his lap and began tuning. Her tweaked and turned the pegs on either side of the headstock, that chunk of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes again. You didn’t think Ryan even noticed. He was so focused on his instrument, so intent in getting the tuning right that he was completely absorbed in the matter at hand.

“Do you have any original songs, Ryan? Your covers are wonderful, but I’d really love some authenticity.” Your words were bold and you knew you were asking a lot, maybe too much. You braced yourself for a simple shaking of his head side to side.

“That’s one thing I can give you, Y/N.” With one last, single strum, the old acoustic was tuned to his satisfaction. He looked up from the guitar only long enough to turn his attention to you, giving a soft nod. You nodded back at Ryan, promising him your full and undivided attention, and with that, he positioned his fingers on the fretboard and began to play.

#a familiar face #aff #part 6 #ryan brenner x reader #my writing #fan fiction

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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Dead of Night|| Morgan & Matty

There it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ?”

Morgan seldom left the house with a clear destination in mind, but often she found herself wading through the overgrown grass and mossy angels of the town cemeteries. She liked Eluria best of all, tracing the footpath she’d walked with Deirdre and weaving around the ghosts that ambled through the shadows. They did not speak to her, nor she to them. Morgan imagined they remembered her visit mere weeks ago and understood there was nothing to say. She walked past all the places they had wandered together, off the gravel path, where the weeds were less tended and the stillness was marked with tiny sounds of life crawling on. Sometimes Morgan would continue walking, tireless, but other times she would release her hold on her balance and let the ground catch her as she collapsed. She was getting better at falling just so that the moment of impact burst through the haze around her and made her want to gasp, to breathe. As she hit the ground, Morgan stared up at the sightless stone eyes around her. She lost herself staring into the granite, picking out the quartz from the feldspar from the micah in its makeup, searching for a place inside her for this knowledge to still belong to. Maybe her own decay, maybe her own stillness. She stayed there as the light started to fade and time slipped away from her mind, slurped up in the quiet of death. Even when a strange new sound rippled through the cemetery, Morgan lay in place, dead eyes open.

It had been a long fuckin’ week. A long, hungry week. One of many. And they only ever ended in the same place, these days: some creepy, crawly cemetery, ideally the sort where the bodies didn’t always get, you know, a proper burial. Places people were put to disappear. White Crest had, frankly, more than its likely share of that sort of shit, thankfully. Cold at the edges, sallow with aching, awful thirst, Matty had drifted through the graveyard for a while, like another bit of old newspaper caught in the breeze. He could smell it. Somewhere. Fresh, too. Maybe even still warm. His stomach snarled at the thought.

Or, had snarled. Time got slippery, when he was this starved, when he was feeding, when he was full of blood. Rocking back on his heels, Matty licked his lips, slow, woozy, fingers curling back from the throat he’d chewed open, hidden away in one of the older, lonelier corners of Eluria. They were almost warm. Dead an hour, maybe. His lucky day. Plenty of dinner left in this poor bastard. With a push forward, Matty’s knees hit the dirt, and his hands worked into the gaping hole he’d made. The collarbone snapped forward, horribly - and he had to stop, the sound too damn much to handle. God, he hated this part. In general. All of it. Had to get into the chest, though… with a hard swallow, he kept going, that awful strength rolling back, now that he’d had something to eat. The thinking, too. That came back. Clarity.

Enough to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two ribs in, Matty caught something besides blood on the air. Finally. His head snapped up, and there - there she was. Lady with grass-stained, goosebump-less legs, standing there, staring down into the shallow, abandoned grave he’d found. At the mess he’d made. “Uh -” his throat bobbed, working hard through the aging blood he’d been lapping out. Uh, what? He blinked, squinted. Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet. No - no heartbeat. Dead lady. He skittered backward, eyes wide. “All yours, man,” Matty cringed, not about to fight another vampire over shit. Not on your unlife, fuck.

It was the sound of flesh tearing that had drawn Morgan up to her feet. She lingered, wondering if she should run back home and hide, but the sound was--what was it? The novelty of being able to identify the sound from her own death, from her first feeding. Maybe it reminded her of how the meat had fit inside her like nothing else. Maybe she just felt better next to death. So Morgan walked, following the sound and stopped, curious, when she saw where it was coming from. “Uh…hi.” The flesh was new and red and dripping. Morgan’s mouth watered to see the gash where the clavicles had been burst free, the skin dangling down the wound. “Nnnhhh…” She groaned for it. And the vampire--Morgan had only seen Miriam and spawn before, but there was no denying the size of his teeth, stained and peeking over the end of his lips. He skittered back at the sight of her. Morgan tensed her muscles. “You don’t have to,” she stammered, uncertain of the protocol. Was there some species turf war over bodies? She shuffled forwards, unable to look away from the glimpses of muscle, from the thin, tender flesh that went up the skull. Morgan descended on the body and tore a fresh piece away, groaning with relief. It coated her, comforted her in her cotton haze and wet her throat as good as water used to. She drew her head up enough to search for the vampire again. “Hey, you um...you didn’t kill this guy, did you?”

Oh. Oh. Not a vampire. Nope. Going for the meat. Zombie. Matty turned aside, quick, wiping at his blood-slimy cheeks - doing his best not to watch, or listen too closely. Not that she was any worse than he was. Nothing personal. Just - he’d never been great with all the gore of this. This undead shit. That moan, though. Fuck, he knew that. The feeling. Being so starved you didn’t know anything else. He swallowed, forcefully, as the zombie looked his way. Bloody-mouthed, a bit of raw, human meat in her hands. “Hi,” Matty echoed, with a weak, sharp smile. Loosening. Just a bit. More for show than out of anything like real relief. If he didn’t have to fuck off, well. Okay. Okay. Wasn’t a vampire. That - that did help. But zombies would, obviously, totally chow down on anything with flesh attached. So. He kept his distance, not wanting to get between the lady and her meal. Shaking his head, bloody hands up, not looking especially innocent. Even if he sounded it, earnestly so. “Fuck, no. No. Promise. I - I’m just out here trying to, you know, avoid that kinda thing.” Cautious - and still hungry - he came a bit closer, boots sinking in the damp earth. “You too, huh? That’s cool. We’re cool. I, ah… don’t mind sharing, or anything, if you don’t…”

Morgan felt like she’d been thrown into someone else’s party without knowing the rules. They were both blood splattered and awkward. Did creatures like them share bodies often? Was this a common courtesy thing? She took another bite, tearing the wound open wider to get a better bite, and gave the vampire another look. “Were, um...were you done or--?” No. She knew that expression. He was afraid of her. She wiped her mouth on her arm to think of something to say. ‘I don’t bite’ was too awful to be funny, not with raw muscle stuck to the corner of her lip. “I’m full, I just...it’s like when there’s three slices of cake on the table. You just gotta…” She shrugged, frowning. Have one. Despite the imagery, she had the ghost feeling of a skin crawl over it. This thing would have made her sick before. This was something to look away from. “I can try to break off a limb if it makes you feel safer. Um...sharing. Or you can break off a drumstick for me. Best part of a chicken, right?” Her hands rummaged in the body as she talked, wrestling more meat away and bringing it up to her mouth. She scooted away, to give the vampire some encouragement but there was only so far her body felt like being away from it. “So...you got a name, or am I gonna keep calling you Hungry Guy in my head?”

Was he finished? “I mean, there’s… dude’s still got some blood in him, right…” Matty winced, hovering nervously. Cake. Sure. Like cake. He sorta laughed, picturing that. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Safer. Why did that feel so - weird? Uncomfortable, in a way that wriggled and nibbled. A zombie, asking a vampire what to do so he felt safer. When she looked… well, not scared, no. Not exactly what he was used to, though, when it came to zombies. He’d met a few. Super strong, super badass, generally. (Usually dickheads about it, too.) Or, you know. Super gnarly, super rotten. This woman, she seemed - kinda out of it, just. Dealing. Not enjoying things.

Relatable.

He shrugged, and perched a little closer. Pushed that smile a bit closer to something real. “Honestly - who the fuck’s ever safe, around here? This town, man...” Like it was no big deal, like… like he hadn’t meant it. The fear, that is. He got ahold of one of those legs, then, and - guts flopping, in a truly nasty way - snapped, twisted, tugged. Took some work. And a flinch, as the bone cracked. But there it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ? Totally confidential, and shit. Cross my heart.” Matty brought his palmful of blood up, and gulped it down. “What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard, you know?”

So his name was matty Matty. Matty was joking with her like they were sharing a pizza or extra rice from a big takeout order in some kind of communal break room. Teasing. Commiserating. Just strangers being friendly. Morgan took the leg and scooted further away, picking back the skin and fat clumsily and gnawing off the muscle tissue. If she kept her eyes up at the stars and less on the mess of flesh before her, she could imagine a giant turkey leg that would’ve made eyes melt at the Ren Faire. But the revulsion was dull and bitter, a feeling over not being able to get anything out of actual takeout. She should feel worse than this, she thought. It was a human body, that thing that supernaturals were measured in proximity to. It’s fine, they don’t eat humans. But there wasn’t any psychosis hiding around the fibula. No sense of humor. No disappointment. He had been a person before, this graveyard guy she was sharing with Marty. But people did things, felt things, wanted things. Death took the person out of you. Morgan understood that too well. “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Is that a real thing? What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard? Or are you just like—” ‘Nice vampire’ suddenly seemed offensive, a betrayal, however easy it might be. “A nice kinda guy?” She smirked and gestured at him to get a glob of blood that had fallen into his hair.

The grass around them rustled. Morgan flinched and turned. No one coming, but there was movement. She looked over at Matty, the question penned large over her open face. Did you hear something? Tentatively she went back to the leg, peeling off more skin like a sticky wrapper. She was up to her nose in it when two tiny critter hands leapt out from the shadow and tried to pull it out of her grasp.

Alright, offering accepted. No fingers lost in the process, so. This could be going worse. Much worse. Morgan. Now everybody had a name, and dinner, and… a mess, between them. Matty winced, catching what she was pointing at. Clot, in his curls. Gnarly. Fussing that out, he flicked it into the dirt with a grimace and tossed his hair, huffing at a few stray ones that tumbled back, wildly, into his face. “Try to be?” Nice. Yeah, he tried. “I don’t know. Seems like a good rule? Do unto others, right? With, uh, some exceptions, obviously, when it comes to...” he waved, vaguely, sheepishly, at the corpse between them. Enough said. Some exceptions when it came to staying fed. With a sniff, and a scrub at his bloody chin, Matty went back to poking around in that ragged thigh. Couldn’t waste a drop, after all. Not that there was much to be had, now that this poor motherfucker had been lying out a while.

Long enough to draw the rest of the scavengers. Rats? They’d twitched together, the zombie and the vampire. Matty’s eyes tracked through the gloom, squinting between the gravestones around them. Hard to smell anything much, besides dinner, and turned earth, and death. There was a breeze, rolling through the morning glory and dandelions; probably nothing. Probably. But he kept watching the dark, lapping a last bit of thick, settled blood from his palm.

Not nothing. The claws lashed out of the weeds, out of the dark, into the meat Morgan was working on. “Shit -” Matty yelped, mostly, before a couple sharp-boned somethings crashed and tore across his shoulders, pouncing him into the clay and the corpse.

Morgan had never seen anything like these critters. Their eyes were glazed like misty marbles and their too-wide mouths, large enough to stretch over half their face were stuffed with too many sharp, serrated teeth. Morgan let go of the leg with a scream and scrambled back. “What the hell, what the hell…” She cried. The critter swiped at her leg drawing a deep gash with claws that did not belong on anything so small and strange. “Matty!” She looked to the vampire for help but it was no good. Two had found their way on him, ready to dig in. Morgan reached for one and pulled-- right. No monster strength after feeding. Morgan staggered up and yanked again with both hands. She could feel another one on her leg gnawing (probably more like tearing) at her ankle, but she couldn’t leave Matty in a lurch like this. Not without trying first. The critter came up with a piercing shriek. Morgan dropped it onto the body and tugged on Matty’s shirtsleeve. “Any idea what these things are?” She tried to shake the one off her ankle but beared down harder and to her bewilderment, it was almost hurting. “We should run, right? Running good?”

Sliding in a fuckin’ nasty combination of John Doe’s busted open chest and the blood-soaked earth, Matty tumbled and rolled. About all he could do, with two of those - two alghoul, talons digging, twisting, in the worn-jean of his jacket, and through. Flailing up, he managed, barely, to hold the one off from snatching at his eyes. (One of their favorite fuckin’ snacks, he’d noticed. After way too many run-ins.) The other - was gone, real suddenly.

Morgan. To the goddamn rescue.

A wild thrash, vampire-loaded, and that alghoul went from snarling in his face to howling through the air. Matty came up gasping, just in time to jerk away from another wicked-sharp swing. And a few bottle-glass blue, mindlessly hungry stares. And those fangs, Jesus. “Fuck, yeah, yeah - run!” With a frantic kick, Matty punted the little shit who’d got ahold of Morgan’s leg. It ripped loose, warbling awfully. Taking some skin. Tasting bile, and resting blood, he pushed Morgan ahead, out of the half-assed grave they’d been crouching in. “Fuckin’ alghouls, man! Just want the leftovers. Go!”

Morgan didn’t wait for her skin to grow back to start running. She began to sprint, legs wobbling under her lopsided weight as she went. “What-ghouls? What does that even mean?” She turned over her shoulder to see if he was still behind her. The alghouls had descended on the body completely, tearing and spitting with a hunger that made her nauseous with familiarity. She had been like that on the first night, when she barely had enough consciousness to rub together to make a thought, when her hunger wasn’t just in the pit of her dead stomach but in her head, in her muscles. It was the core of her, and the sound, what little of it she could stand to remember, was a lot like that. She kept running until they cleared the cemetery and called over her shoulder again, slowing to a jog. “You run into those things a lot? The--all-ghouls? Are you okay?”

Eluria wasn’t one of Matty’s regular haunts, so to speak. But when it came to terrain to scramble over, a cemetery was a cemetery. Around gravestones and across the paths, they booked it hard, as the undead crow flew. Morgan was shouting; had questions. “Alghouls!” Matty hollered back, skidding down a wet-grassed rise. “I dunno, they just - they eat dead shit, they’re fuckin’ gnarly, that’s it!” Like the both of them, sort of. Finally, the dark iron of the fence loomed ahead. Matty was up and over the spikes like a coked-out squirrel. Brushing at the crusted blood and mud on his hands, his arms, he circled around, pacing. Shook up like a can of soda. And - bleeding. Slowly, darkly, from where those claws had punched through the denim, under his collarbone, and down his ribs, and… his back, somewhere. “Ah, fuck…” At least they’d missed that still-healing mark left by the asanbosam; didn’t feel deep, either. Still hurt. “Yeah, yeah.” Matty tossed his head, getting all that hair out of his face. “They’re like… rats. Big, shitty rats. All over the place, in town. They, uh, they aren’t big on lights, but, you start… flashing shit around, after hours, in a graveyard… chances are, you’re gonna get trouble.” The kind with stakes. And machetes. “Best thing to do’s just fuckin’ haul. You fight them, they’ll all jump in. Then you’re fucked.” He poked at one of the holes in his jacket, huffing at the damage done. Too bad. Glancing at - and away from - that torn up leg, Matty gave Morgan a nod. “How’s the ankle? You heal up pretty good, right?” Most zombies seemed to. And she’d just ate, so. Should be fine, yeah? They should both be fine.

Morgan didn’t leap so much as topple and fall, rolling in a mess of limbs, over the fence. She hit the ground with a thumb she only half felt. Gnarly. Dead shit. Like them. Well that was a real boost to the self-image. How many degrees of separation were there between her and those things exactly? Did she even want to know? Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Yeah that light thing sounds like a great way to get hunters up your ass. Ugh, stars, hunters are a real thing now, and not just the odd bitchy one,” she groaned. She checked her ankle. Good as new. “Y-yeah, I’m...I’m fine,” Morgan said. She didn’t feel all that fine, but there was no harm done and she could still make it back home in time. “Are you? Do vampires, like, regrow things too? Or is that just a brain gang thing?” She shifted uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder just in case more were coming.

Stars? A little, like, outdated, maybe. But, so was he. Matty sighed, with plenty of agreement and a decent amount of aching, really starting to feel those gouges now that things weren’t all helter-skelter. “Yeah, load of fuckin’ psychos. And they’re everywhere, man. You been to the Night Market? They keep eyes on that. Watch out.” Fuck, zombies really did clean up quick. Been a while since he saw that, up close. Kinda grody. Then again, there he was, trying to rub a dead man’s blood off his cheeks. So. “Cool, cool…” Shit, he had to start keeping, like, a bag, or something. A scavenging safety kit. Was too hungry to plan much, when he’d left. His circling swayed, as Morgan got into… that kinda shit. Their kinda shit.

“Uh - sort of?” Matty pulled a sickly sorta face, at the thought. And another one, as his fangs crunched away. “It’s… messier, more involved, like… real surgery, just. Less blood. Then, a lot of blood. To, you know. Make the magic happen.” Magic, sure. That was a word for it. With a couple jaw-cracks, one, two, Matty shrugged off towards the ragged, distant, dim-lit edges of the Bend. “We should probably fuck off. Not because of them.” He cleared up, catching that glance Morgan threw back the way they’d come. “They’ll stay put, where the food is. But, uh. Never know who else might show up...” Really, he’d only seen the overseer once. An experience Matty would rather never, ever repeat. Dude was terrifying.

“Oh, yikes. That sounds...not great,” Morgan said apologetically. And neither did Matty’s implication that the hypothetical hunters they had to be careful of might get a lot more literal if they stayed near the graveyard. She nodded and started off in the direction of home. She stopped her slow walk and turned towards Matty again. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked. “You’ve got like...a home, right? And people?”

“Mm. Mhm. It’s not.” Not great at all. But. She better get used to it, if she was sticking around town. Matty took another wipe at his face, hoping it was more or less unobjectionable. So far as bloodstains went. As for anything else, well. Wasn’t much he’d ever been able to do about that. He’d come to a stop, putting some pressure on the worst of the claw-stabs, when Morgan spoke up through the thickness of another misty after-midnight. A home. People. Right. Even zombies had that, huh? “Totally. Yeah.” Matty threw her a smile, or most of one, anyway. With a sharp, quick clearing of his too-tight throat, he tossed a wave in, too. For good measure. “You, uh. You take care, Morgan. See you around.”

Morgan stayed to watch him, half swaying on her dead feet in the night air. That didn’t sound very convincing and she had—maybe not a whole feeling but a thought for Matty: the deserved better; that being this way was almost another curse in itself; that they needed more than this to make anything come out fair for them. Then again, maybe they weren’t allowed to have ‘fair’ anymore, maybe the universe was done with all of them, the whole undead mess of them. But what else was there to do? How else were they supposed to cope? Morgan looked at him sorrowfully as he left and worked her way back homeward. She didn’t know what to put in that hole where her balance had been, and she felt all the worse knowing that others like her had felt that ache for longer, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Only that there had to be something.

#wr matty #wr chatzy #wr matty chatzy #dead of night #wickedswriting

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itchylich · 4 years

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prompt by @ice-bjorn. first part is just a repost now slightly edited to provide context for the second part

second part: #I NEED THE PART WHEN ELSA AND ANNA TALK ABOUT THIS AND HUG #BUT PLEASE MAKE THE FLUFFY ENDING (@the-awkward-feistypants)

okay

events occur post-frozen 2

—

The last time Elsa was in Ahtohallan looking for answers, she had gone too far and became trapped in a frozen state, her thoughts all but silenced. As such, she hesitated to return as another search for answers might lead her to the same outcome once more, but she had a question on her mind, one that has gnawed at the edges of her consciousness for long enough that it has become more than a simple nuisance.

She had made her way through the glacier’s winding tunnels and bottomless chasm and now stood at the threshold to the chamber of memory, as dark as it was when she first visited. When Elsa awoke from her dreamless sleep as an ice statue, she was aware of the passage of time and that Anna had something to do with undoing her folly. What had transpired while she was incapacitated that led her to thaw? She asked Anna about it once, but her sister deflected and even changed the topic. Elsa took the hint then. Anna would talk to Elsa about anything at all, but she tended to keep things she thought would worry her elder sister to herself. With a little coaxing, Elsa could get her to open up and gush about her issues, but not this time and it had Elsa worried.

She took a deep breath, the sharp, icy air stinging her chest, and strode into the darkened chamber. The only source of illumination there were the diamonds of the four elemental spirits in the center of the room. She took her place at the middle of the formation. “Show me what Anna did while I was frozen!” she raised her voice. No response. “Please.” She added sheepishly and the black room turned to white in a flash of light and flurries of snow swirled through the air, conjuring spectral figures of ice that captured the moments she missed.

Her eyes fell first on an image of three earth giants rampaging through the woods as they pursued Anna and threw boulders at her. Her hands flew to her mouth and she gasped. “Anna, how could you do something so reckless? So dangerous?” She said as she kept her eyes on the almost-still scene. She watched Kristoff rescuing Anna from being crushed by a giant’s stony foot, Anna barely making it across the crumbling dam and General Mattias grabbing her arm to save her. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She already knew Anna would survive the encounter, but having to see just how close she came to dying that day still put her on edge. This was something that they’d discuss another day, after she convinces Anna to have Kristoff and General Mattias recognized as heroes.

Then her eyes fell upon an icy ghost of Anna in a cave, cradling Olaf’s fading form. As she approached, the scene shifted from the snowman crumbling away to Anna embracing a satchel as if her life depended on it and a song - like a distant echo as if it were coming from the bottom of a deep lake - pierced the silence of the chamber. It was Anna’s voice.

I’ve seen dark before, but not like this. This is cold, this is empty, this is numb. The life I knew is over, the lights are out. Hello, darkness, I’m ready to succumb.

Elsa reached out to the her sister’s icy image as it continued its song. “Anna, no…” The Anna she knew was her cheerful redheaded sister - bright, tough, and full of spunk - who didn’t let anything get to her. Hearing Anna this weak and beaten down, in despair even deeper than when they lost their parents, hurt like someone had stabbed her in the chest with a hundred burning daggers.

I follow you around, I always have. But you’ve gone to a place I cannot find.

Elsa gently clasped the memory’s face as she continued to fight the tears welling up in her eyes and the sobs building in her chest from breaking free. “No, Anna, I’m here. Anna… I’m- I’m right here…”

I can’t find my direction, I’m all alone. The only star that guided me was you. How to rise from the floor when it’s not you I’m rising for?

Her tears began to flow from her eyes as she gently wiped away the tears that streaked down the sobbing simulacrum’s frigid cheeks. “Anna, I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” She sputtered out as the memory continued its song. She didn’t know just how important she was to her sister, she didn’t know just how much Anna loved her. And like a fool, she took it all for granted. She left to pursue her own selfish desires without even thinking of how it would affect the one person who has been there for her since the beginning, the one person who truly loved her. She wrapped her arms around the memory and buried her face in its chest. “I’m sorry I’ve been a foolish sister, Anna. I’m sorry…”

She lost track of how much time she spent there sobbing on the memory’s bosom as she listened to its song of mourning.

But then morning came as the white dome of ice glowed with the orange hues of sunrise and Elsa rose from her place on the floor. She couldn’t stay there all day feeling sorry for herself, she had to go to Anna and apologize. She didn’t know that her redheaded little sister had been carrying all of this on her shoulders behind Elsa’s back until today.

She made her way out of the glacier and summoned the Nokk from the churning waters of the Dark Sea. Together they raced across the sea headed for Arendelle.

—

A loud thud broke the silence of the study and the queen’s attention on the task at hand. With a start, Anna awoke from her split-second nap and sat up straight as a ruler, rubbing her forehead that throbbed with a dull ache. She sighed. She couldn’t focus on the documents on her desk, much less keep herself awake and alert for any reliable period.

She made her way over to the window and looked out into the fjord, the northern mountain’s peak a speck in the distance. Beyond that is where the enchanted forest is, where Elsa is, and she’s been worried about her big sister. It doesn’t take Elsa long to send a reply to her letters, maybe six hours at most if she’s really busy doing whatever it is she does with the Northuldra, but in the two months and sixteen days that they’ve lived apart, she’s never failed to send a note a day. She looks forward to each letter be it fantastical stories of what the elemental spirits do in the enchanted forest or mundane things like what she had for breakfast - Anna takes those seriously; she knows Elsa is the kind of person who forgets to take care of herself when she has her mind set on something. It keeps her connected with her big sister, especially now that they couldn’t be together all the time. But it’s been three days since she’s heard word from Elsa and Gale isn’t telling her anything.

What could be keeping her from communicating? Anna wondered. She’s fine, isn’t she? Olaf’s still here so she’s not dead, but I hope she’s not hurt or sick or anything. Maybe she ran out of paper? Should I get Gale to bring her more? But what if it’s ink she’s out of? I don’t think the Nokk would be happy with me asking it to bring her some.

The doors creaked open behind her, interrupting her train of thought. “Please,” she said without turning around, “I’ll see you later.”

“Busy?” A familiar voice asked in reply. Anna’s head perked up and she turned around to be met with Elsa, her pale blond hair and icy dress catching the light that flowed into the room, making her glimmer a little bit. She almost looked otherworldly, as if she actually was a spirit instead of a human with ice magic. The worries she had were washed away by relief and she jumped a little before running to tackle her sister in a tight hug.

“Where have you been? I was so worried! You didn’t send any replies for three days and Gale didn’t know where you were and I started fearing for the worst, but Olaf’s still here so I figured you were okay, but…” Anna held Elsa at arm’s length as she stopped to breathe and then inspected her guest all over for any telling signs of injury. “Were you running into danger again? I told you to be careful, didn’t I? Are you hurt? Are you sick? Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Anna, I’m fine.” Elsa laughed - an empty, shallow laugh that betrayed her smile. Worry crept back into Anna’s mind. “I just visited Ahtohallan. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you in advance.”

“Elsa…” Looking closer, her big sister looked like she went through something harsh. There were bags barely visible under her eyes and some strands of her golden hair rebelled against the rest. It couldn’t have been the long trip here, she looked pristine even after riding the Nokk against the strong northern winds for hours on end. Was it something she saw in the glacier? Anna knew the expression on Elsa’s face. It was her we-need-to-talk face. “Is something wrong?”

Elsa threw her arms around Anna and cried into her shoulder, catching the redhead by surprise. Anna’s worries made way for a protective, comforting instinct and she held the crying blond closer, feeling her shoulders shake with every shuddering breath. Caressing her back was all Anna could do to comfort the sobbing Elsa as she waited for her big sister to speak.

“I’m sorry.” Elsa said against her sobs. Anna looked down to meet the gaze of glossy, sapphire eyes overflowing with tears looking straight at her. Like mirrors, those sorrowful eyes reflected Anna’s face full of worry and Elsa’s regrets. “I’ve been a fool, Anna. A selfish fool.”

“Elsa, what are you talking about?”

Elsa released a flurry of snow from her palm and it swirled through the air, headed toward a corner of the room. Where it settled was an ice statue of Anna leaning against the wall holding a satchel to her chest. Anna knew what it was: it was her after Olaf had crumbled away - the moment she thought she lost the only family she had left. A weight had settled in her chest; she figured out what this was about. She turned back to Elsa, whose eyes now refused to meet hers. “You visited Ahthohallan, huh?”

“I’m sorry I left you there alone.” Elsa cried. “All my life, all I wanted was for you to be happy… but I kept pushing you away, yet you kept chasing me. I built walls but you kept breaking them down. Then I went on my own path and left you behind.”

Anna placed her hand on Elsa’s cheek and wiped away a falling tear. For someone who spends a lot of time around ice, she had a certain warmth to her. A comforting warmth. One that didn’t vanish even when she was at her lowest. Anna held Elsa closer and locked her in a tight embrace. “You always did like going off to do your own thing. You kept leaving me behind!” Elsa flinched and Anna shushed her gently, caressing her shaking shoulders, but she knew she couldn’t just keep that to herself. It hurt her too to think of how Elsa was always three steps ahead of Anna - she was born with magic, then ascended to the throne, and then became a spirit. To say that Anna didn’t fear that Elsa would eventually go so far that Anna can’t reach her would be an enormous lie. It was a fear that always lingered in the back of her mind despite the three years they’ve spent reconnecting over the thirteen years they’ve spent apart - a fear that was reinforced by Elsa choosing to live outside of Arendelle, away from the sister who needed her. “But it’s okay, I’ll always keep going after you, no matter how far you run. Just please, don’t go too fast. I don’t want to get left in the dust- err, snow again.”

Elsa looked up and met Anna’s gaze. “No, Anna. It’s not okay. You shouldn’t be the one who has to keep adjusting just because I’m selfish. I should be putting your happiness above my own goals, but instead I’ve put all this responsibility on your shoulders.” She added, gesturing to the documents piled on the desk.

“But you do make me happy.” Anna cupped Elsa’s cheek as she ushered both of them on their knees. Anna had an easier time meeting Elsa eye-to-eye like this. Tears began streaking down her cheeks. Hearing Elsa so hurt and beating herself up like this was more than she could take. “Remember that party you set up for me three years ago? All those presents you got me? You already made up for all that time you shut me out. That made me happy. How you wouldn’t leave my side even when we’re in the town or at some official function? That made me happy. All the game nights you would enthusiastically join in on with Olaf, Kristoff, and Sven? How you’d sneak some chocolate into the room on the occasion we share a bed for the night? How you’d laugh as we hit each other with pillows or tickled each other past the breaking point like we were kids again? That made me happy! Elsa, you. Make. Me. Happy!” And she meant it. Every moment she spent with Elsa, with the sister she loved so much, whatever it may have been - even when they were apart and just passing each other notes - it made her happy. She had something to look forward to every day with friends and family and every day was filled with light and music and fun, unlike the better portion of her childhood when the gates of the castle were shut and she was just as isolated as Elsa was.

But it didn’t appear to be enough for Elsa. Even though she looked less like a royal mess than when they started, there was something else troubling her still. A familiar song reached Anna’s ears: the one she sang in those caves. “But I went off on my own. I pushed you away again and you fell into those caverns… I… died. Left you alone again and made you sad.” Elsa lowered her gaze again. “I’ve been a terrible sister.”

A heavy silence filled the study - one so loud that it even drowned out the mournful song of the memory behind them. Anna kept her eyes on Elsa, a sobbing, apologetic mess who refused to even look at her. Sadness built up in her; her big sister who was strong enough to tame three elemental spirits was reduced to the figure crying before her. But she also felt anger. Anger that Elsa would say this in front of her, to berate and belittle her own sister in front of her. She had to give Elsa a piece of her mind, but there were other things she had to get off her chest first.

“When you… died…” Anna swallowed. She still couldn’t accept the fact that for a brief moment, that she had lost everyone she held near and dear to her heart. “To say I was sad was an understatement. My heart broke. I felt it shatter into a million tiny pieces along with the world that I knew. I knew that without you, nothing would ever be the same again and I didn’t think I could go on and face that new reality. I didn’t-” Anna’s voice broke and she lowered her head. Tears fell on her gown, leaving dark rings on the fabric. “I didn’t want to go home and have another funeral to bury my sister whose body I can’t even recover.”

“Anna…” Now it was Elsa’s turn to do the comforting. Anna felt Elsa’s fingers settle on her shoulders. She felt their warmth through her clothes, but she also felt how they hesitated, as if Elsa thought that if she squeezed too much, Anna would break like some fragile antique. “Anna, I-”

Anna raised a finger to interrupt Elsa. “The Queen… the Queen is talking.” She said with the best mock-snooty tone she could muster despite her crying and sniffling. Elsa loosed a faint chuckle, one that gave Anna back some of her vigor. “I went straight for the earth giants because I didn’t think I had the strength to go on after that. I planned to let the flood wash me away after they tear down the dam, assuming they don’t just stomp me flat in the process.”

The fingers on her shoulders tightened. “You were really going to-”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” Anna answered. “I had nothing else to live for. Then,” she said as she put her hands on Elsa’s, “the dam broke. And for some reason, hope came surging back to me. Even if it went against what I knew, I held out hope that you would come back. And you did! You came riding back on the Nokk with the sun behind you, like a knight in shining armor. Or, well, a fashionable spirit in a sparkling dress.” They both laughed. Then Anna continued. “And I felt relieved, because my sister, my Elsa, came back to me. She didn’t leave me behind. Even if she did have to stay in the enchanted forest, she kept me in mind and didn’t neglect to send me letters or gifts from the other spirits. She didn’t fail to make me happy. I won’t let you say bad things about my sister.”

“But…”

“No buts! Elsa is the best sister ever, so sayeth the Queen! My word is law!” Anna stuck her chest out and huffed.

Anna watched with delight as Elsa wiped her face on her sleeve and gave her a smile. “Of course, your Highness.” She laughed.

Anna gently pulled Elsa’s hands from her shoulders and locked her fingers with her sister’s as she leaned into Elsa’s forehead. She closed her eyes, letting only the warmth of her sister’s touch and her now-regular and not-crying breaths fill her senses. “I’m sorry I took you for granted.” Elsa said.

“You’re still on that?”

Elsa chuckled and was silent for a while. “I love you.” And she went to embrace her little sister. This time it was sincere, full of warmth and love and the smell of winter and the forest. An embrace which Anna returned gladly.

“I love you too.” Anna maintained their position for a while before pulling away and opening her eyes. The Elsa that looked back at her was now happier than she was before and not at all troubled by whatever it was she saw in Ahtohallan. Anna smiled. “Should I get Kai to bring us some chocolate and wine? I don’t think you can find those over in the Northuldra settlement. We should probably fix ourselves up first though. I’m sure we look terrible.”

“I’d love some. It’s been so long since I got to enjoy any.” Elsa laughed. A gust of wind blew through the room and some of the documents once neatly piled on the desk now lay scattered across the floor. Elsa picked one up and studied it. “You could probably get Southern Isles to trade more ore with us if you trade our wool and cloth with them. Fabric is a favored luxury item there.”

“I knew you were better at this than me.”

Elsa winked. “I’ll teach you over chocolates and wine.”

#frozen #frozen 2 #frozen spoilers #fanfic #hurt/comfort #the lich writes

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lazy-brown · 4 years

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Spam Fam Secret Cupid

@findthefish I hear you like Bedehad? Here you go!

"Tell me more about the stars."

Dennis was laying down on the grass, staring up at the circle of sky overhead. Everyone had already fallen asleep save for him and Bedevere. He was tired as well, of course. In fact, he would've been asleep himself if it weren't for his companion.

"Huh?" he grunted. He must've been half asleep too.

"The stars. What do you know about them?" He rolled over a little to see him better.

Bedevere hummed in thought, a finger reaching up to twirl his mustache. "Well, I do have my theories, but I haven't the time to test them yet."

"I don't care. Let me hear it." He offered him a slight smile.

Bedevere gave him one back before returning his attention to the night sky. "Well," he fixed his hands behind his head. "It is commonly accepted that the Earth is encased in several spheres, with the outermost one containing all the stars."

Dennis nodded. "I suppose you have a different idea?"

"What if, instead of a ball holding all these little stars, they're scattered freely in the sky?" He suggested.

"Then where does it end?"

Bedevere paused, lost in thought. "I do not know. Perhaps it doesn't."

"It doesn't, huh?" Dennis slowly blinked at the sky, imagining an endless sea of stars. What would it be like to see it for himself? To spend hours lost in the starlight, and to come back home in the morning and tell his friend all about it. Maybe he would bring one home for him, just to see the way his face lit up. His eyes wide as a gasp escaped his lips, his smile easily outshining the star before him.

There was that strange feeling again. It had been gnawing at him for many months now, and no matter how hard he tried to bury it deep down within him, it always resurfaced for revenge. Especially on nights such as this. Just the two of them delighting in one another's company. It made him dizzy and nauseous and generally unwell, and yet he always came back for more.

Dennis had, of course, known what this feeling was for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. Once he did, even just to himself, he would be done for. Not only were they fellow knights, but they were close friends! Acting on his feelings could destroy their bond.

"Dennis, why are you shaking?" Bedevere was laying on his side now, head propped up in his hand. "Are you cold?"

Quite the opposite, really. He was thankful for the darkness, or else he might have noticed the flush that had no doubt made its way to his face. "Maybe a little." He found himself answering.

"Come closer." He offered. "I'm hot, anyway."

"Right you are." Dennis said under his breath as he moved over. If he was going to deal with these desires, he may as well enjoy himself as best he could.

Fortunately, Bedevere didn't seem to hear him. Instead, they lay silently in the soft grass, bodies not quite pressing against one another. Dennis could feel the warmth emanating from him. It was intoxicating. He found himself wishing for more. He wanted him to pull him close and hold him in his strong arms. To breathe him in as he buried his face in his neck, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. But he didn't dare be so bold lest he frighten the man.

"Are you still awake?" Bedevere asked softly.

"Think so."

Dennis thought he heard him laugh. "Good. It's your turn to talk."

"About what?"

"I don't know. Tell me about your life. You're from the commune, correct?"

Dennis rolled onto his back again. "Right. Mother and I were farmers."

"Do you have anyone special back home?"

He was taken aback slightly. "Pardon?"

"A romantic partner."

"Not yet," was all he could bring himself to say. What was he supposed to do, anyway? "What about you?"

Bedevere drew in a deep breath. "That's a good one."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not desirable." He said it so plainly, as if he had been told that for his whole life. He didn't even seem a little upset. It was just a cold, hard fact to him, and for whatever reason, that made Dennis' heart ache even worse.

"Come on now, Beddie. Don't say that." He nudged him. "You're plenty desirable."

Bedevere shook his head, a smile still on his face. "It's alright, Dennis. We can't all have people beating down our doors."

Dennis brought a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Excuse you, what makes you think people are beating down my door?"

"You're highly attractive." Dennis inhaled sharply. Did he really mean that? Of course he meant it. But how?

He quickly recomposed himself. "You think so, huh?" He glanced at his companion, who was nodding. "Well, so are you. And you're also kind, and smart, and funny, and..." He sat up, fixing his gaze on the moon. "And anyone would be lucky to have you."

A hand on his own caught him off guard. "Thank you, Dennis."

He found himself moving his fingertips over the hand, drinking in the sensation. It was warm and soft, and Dennis couldn't help but wonder if the rest of him felt like that.

Before he realized it, he was leaning over to give the man an experimental kiss on the cheek. When he drew away, he was met with a shocked expression.

"Beddie, I'm sorry-"

Bedevere shushed him. "Don't be. It was... nice."

Dennis' heart was about to leap from his chest. "Good." He blinked rapidly. "I've been wanting to do that for quite some time."

They sat in stillness again. What would happen now? Dennis hadn't been planning on a love confession, but now he was faced with the reality of the situation. He had kissed his friend, and he was fine with it.

A few clouds floated by, covering a patch of sky with a soft haze.

"You can do it again, if you'd like."

Dennis could hardly believe it. An invitation? "I would."

Bedevere waited for him to make a move. Tentatively, Dennis reached out to cup his face, planting another kiss, this time on his lips.

To his relief, his companion was returning it. It was an awkward thing, foreheads bumping and noses rubbing together. His mustache tickled his face a bit, but it wasn't at all unpleasant.

Dennis pulled back a little. "Here. Close your eyes." He brought their faces together again, making sure to tilt his head the other way. Their lips touched once more. Bedevere enveloped him in an embrace, and he sighed happily.

He allowed himself to become lost in the feeling. He was completely wrapped up in his love's arms, and it was the best he had felt in a long while. Dennis' fingers worked their way to the back of Bedevere's head as he ran them through his thick hair. Pressed against his chest, he could feel his heartbeat, and he wished he could feel it forever.

The two finally withdrew, breathless. In that moment, Bedevere looked so unbelievably beautiful. His face partly illuminated in the moonlight, cheeks displaying a moderate flush. His ever-so-slightly swollen lips were parted as he took in soft gasps of air. His eyes were wide, and they perfectly reflected the stars. They looked so much more beautiful on him than in the sky, Dennis mused.

And yet a hushed "Wow," was all he could express.

"Are you sure nobody's beating down your door?" Bedevere asked, still holding onto him. "Because that was spectacular."

"Please," Dennis laughed. "Even if anyone was beating down my door, I wouldn't care."

"Why not?" He was running his warm hands up and down Dennis' arms, and it felt like heaven.

"I've got you." He offered his love a smile, who responded by squeezing harder. It felt so natural to him, almost like home.

"We're going to be tired in the morning." Bedevere stated, though he didn't seem too concerned.

"Maybe we should get some sleep."

Bedevere let go for a moment, repositioning himself so he was on his side. Dennis lay down beside him where he was immediately wrapped in his arms again. Right where he belonged.

"Bed?" Dennis whispered as his partner stroked his hair.

"Hmm?"

"Can you tell me more about the stars tomorrow?"

"I would love to."

With a contented sigh, Dennis closed his eyes.

#i wrote something

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 5 years

Text

Lunacy Fringe (Chapter 4)

Got so much shit to do, almost forgot to upload this one today loool

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

Two days passed with Daryl gone, and Zoey was all over the place. Rick felt bad for the poor girl. When he’d check on her she was either distant or crying. He tried his best to soothe her but it was evident it wasn't enough, he wasn't Daryl. He’d been using the list Daryl had given him, but it didn't seem to help much.

~~~

Rick glanced at the list in his hands, it was crumpled to hell and he didn't need to ask to know that Daryl must have used it multiple times a day.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine Daryl,” Rick sighed, trying to comfort him a little as he watched Daryl gnawing on his thumb as he paced back and forth in the living room. Zoey was asleep upstairs, Daryl didn’t want to wake her just yet, he was dreading telling her.

“Ya just...make sure she eats alright? Sometimes she don’t feel like it but ya gotta get her to...And...if she starts havin’ a panic attack, do the breathin’ exercises on the list so she don’t fuckin’ pass out,” he grumbled, a deep scowl on his face as he was practically wearing a hole in the carpet where he paced.

“I got it Daryl, trust me. I’ve dealt with people dealing with trauma before,” Rick soothed, but it didn’t seem to ease Daryl's worry any. Rick started to feel bad for asking Daryl to leave as he watched how concerned he was, but he needed Daryl, he couldn't have him holed up in his house forever. He hadn’t expected him to care this much about leaving the poor girl. Daryl just grunted a little and wiped a hand over his face, his whole body felt like it was thrumming with anxiety and he fucking hated it.

“She uh...She likes to read so just...make sure she’s got books handy, keeps her distracted. And don’t let anyone in the fuckin’ house when I ain’t there or she’ll freak out, get upset... Don’t wanna have to kick fuckin’ asses as soon as I get back,” he huffed with a scowl, shaking his head a little. Rick tried to suppress the smile at how he seemed an awful lot like an overprotective boyfriend.

“I won’t Daryl, I swear...You really care about her huh?” he asked cautiously, wanting to talk to him about it but knowing how defensive Daryl could get with a touchy subject. Daryl stilled, tensing slightly before grunting and looked at Rick.

“Don’t know what ya talkin’ about,” he scoffed as he made his way to the door, not really surprising Rick with his avoidance in talking about it. He opened the door but paused, not turning to look at RIck.

“Just keep her fuckin’ safe,” he grumbled before leaving and slamming the door behind him.

~~~

Zoey would lay on the couch barely moving, she refused to eat when Carol brought her food. Carol told her stories and tried to just distract her but she was restless and scared. On the third day she decided to shower, she hadn't had one since she got there and Carol had convinced her she would feel better. After Carol left, Zoey trudged up the stairs. It felt like her body weighed a tonne, all the fear and anxiety weighing her down. She wondered where Daryl was, if he was okay, when he would return. She got undressed and looked at herself in the mirror for the first time in a very long time. Her heart shattered as she looked at the broken woman before her. But what made her sick was the flaming red word etched into her stomach. In a burst in anger, she cried out as she punched the mirror, watching as the pieces cracked and some fell away. Her hand was bloody but she didn't care, the pain was a welcome distraction from the pain inside of her heart. She turned the shower on and stood there motionless as the water hit her body. It did nothing to ease her mind as the dirt and grime left her body and swirled down the drain. She wasn't sure how long she had been in there, she had ended up sat down hugging her knees, pitiful sobs escaping her lips. She was terrified Frank would come back, she couldn't escape her memories of all that had happened to her. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel their hands on her and it made her sick.

When Daryl and Aaron pulled into Alexandria, he practically jumped out of the car before it had stopped. Aaron had noticed how tense Daryl had been the whole time, it was obvious he was worried about Zoey, and Aaron didn't blame him. He’d met her once, she was squashed into the corner of the couch like a scared abused animal as she trembled. Daryl next to her talking low and soothing to calm her, a side Aaron had never seen to the hunter. Everyone in the community was talking about the new girl and how attached Daryl seemed to be with her. It was only fueled more by those who had witnessed first hand how angry he got at unwanted visitors that had upset her.

Daryl didn't stop to see anyone else, and Aaron didn't protest when he just left and didn't help bring in the supplies, he knew he'd probably get punched if he did with how tightly wound he was.

Daryl walked into the house and stood still. The silence was eerie. It wasn't like he was expecting her to be chatting away or anything, but there was something in the air that felt off, that tingling again like he had when he met her.

“Zo?” he called out gruffly, walking in and looking around. But there was no sign of her and she didn't respond. He felt his heart rate pick up as he took the stairs two at a time.

“Zoey? Ya here?” he called out again as he glanced into the bedrooms to see her nowhere. He stopped at the bathroom and heard the shower running, knocking on the door loudly.

“Ya in there girl?” he asked with a frown, again nothing but the sound of the shower could be heard. His heart dropped, what if she was hurt? What if she had slipped or what if she had hurt herself? He panicked and slammed his hand on the door.

“Zoey! Fuckin’ answer me ‘fore I knock the damn door down!” he didn't mean to sound so angry but he couldn’t help it, he was worried. He listened carefully and then he heard it. Ever so softly, the small sobs. He felt relief that she wasn't fucking dead but his heart ached at the sound.

“I’m comin’ in girl!” he stated as he tested the handle, pleased to find it unlocked. He stopped in the doorway, feeling like he’d been winded at the sight of her. Her small tiny frame huddled naked in the bath, hugging her knees as she sobbed softly. Her whole body was trembling from the ice-cold water that was raining down on her. In the bright white light of the bathroom, he could clearly see each and every scar that littered the parts of her body that was visible to him. Burns, cuts, lashes. It filled him with rage, but the rage turned to sadness when another pitiful sob escaped her lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he walked over to the bath, grabbing a towel on the way as he turned off the shower. He wrapped the large towel around her like a blanket and it was only then she seemed to notice he was there, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. It made his heart clench that she would be so happy to see him. He never felt like he was worth shit, it confused him why she seemed to need him so much. He looked at her almost pained at the state of her, reaching out and sliding her soaked hair from her face.

“Shit girl, the fuck happened?” he asked quietly, noticing her bloody hand and taking it in his own, examining it. He hadn't noticed the broken mirror when he came in because he was so distracted by the broken girl in the bathtub. She avoided his eyes, her cheeks flushing with shame that she had done that, and he frowned even more. He dropped her hand and took her face, making him look at her.

“I’m here ‘right? Yer safe...Fuck...I shouldn't have left, I’m fuckin’ sorry girl,” the guilt was starting to eat him up. He knew she wasn't ready to be alone, yet he did it anyway. And now she was hurt and sad and it made his heart bleed for some reason. She furrowed her brow as she looked at him with her large bright eyes, shaking her head a little.

“It's not your fault,” she whispered meekly, her eyes so sincere Daryl felt all funny on the inside and it confused him.

“Is my fault, should never have left ya,” he lamented, beating himself up as he looked away from her. Her small hand reached out and took his, making him look at her in surprise. She blinked at him a little as she just held his hand.

“Missed you,” it was two simple words but her earnest look made Daryl feel like he was falling off the edge of a cliff. He looked down, unable to keep her gaze as he swallowed thickly, braving a glance at her through his hair.

“Missed ya too girl,” he replied softly with a sigh. She smiled a little, something that warmed Daryl's chest as he saw it. She smiled. For him. It was weird and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

“Alright, let's get ya outta here. Catch yer death in here,” he huffed roughly as he helped her up. He was very aware of how naked she was, the towel not covering her properly, and he averted his eyes as he helped her out of the tub.

“Ya be alright to get dressed?” he asked as he looked at her through his hair again, chewing his thumb anxiously. She nodded and looked down, letting him leave as she got herself dressed. When she came back to her room Daryl was sat on the bed, still worrying his thumb as his leg bobbed up and down. He looked at her as she came in and she went and sat on the bed next to him. They were silent for a moment, Daryl wanted to reach out and touch her, soothe her. He’d missed her badly when he was away. Every single thought was about her, what she was doing, if she was okay. Was she having a nightmare? Was she having a panic attack? Would anyone be there to help her? He didn't know why he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Try as he might, he stayed still. Self-doubt creeping in and second-guessing himself.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” she said sadly as she just stared at the floor in front of her. Her words sent a pain through his heart, along with a large dose of guilt because he knew it was inevitable that he would have to. Even if he wanted to just lock them both away in the house, it wasn’t an option. He didn’t know what to say to her, he didn’t want to lie but he knew the truth would hurt her. He couldn’t remember the last time he worried about the weight of his words with someone.

She glanced up at him with her sad blue eyes and he had to look away. He couldn't take the weight of her gaze, it was killing him. She sighed softly as she leant her head on his shoulder. He tensed slightly before relaxing again, licking his lower lip. Usually he was the one reaching out to her, to comfort her, but twice today she seemed to have just come to him without prompting. Holding his hand in the shower and now leaning on him. Warmth spread through his chest, something he wasn’t used to or even sure why it was happening. All he knew was, he liked her reaching out to him like this.

“Zoey-” he started as he glanced down at her.

“No, I know. You have to. I just...Don’t want you to,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. He couldn't help but think that was the most words he’d probably heard leave her mouth in one go and his lips quirked up in a little smile. It soon fell though when he remembered what state he had found her in when he got back. He sighed and moved away, turning to face her a little. She looked at him confused and if he wasn’t mistaken, a little disappointed that he had moved away.

“What happened? To ya hand?” he asked with a furrowed brow, making her glance to her hand that now had small cuts on her knuckles. Her face flushed and she bit her lower lip as she refused to look at him.

“Zo, please. Fuckin’ talk to me,” he pleaded, not tearing his eyes away from her. He didn’t want her to think he was mad at her so he took her sore hand in between his large ones, stroking it ever so softly. She ventured a glance up at him and he could see she was working up the courage to tell him so he stayed silent.

“I got mad,” she admitted softly, her brow furrowing a little as she looked at their hands together. She liked the warmth, the comfort his touch brought her.

“Mad at what?” he asked curiously, his voice low and soothing. He still didn't take his eyes off her. He was finding it harder and harder not to look at her in the days she’d arrived here. She exhaled softly and licked her lower lip, a movement that seemed to draw Daryl's eyes involuntarily.

“Myself...My scars...Frank…” she spat the name like it was venom on her tongue and Daryl felt her tense up a little. He nodded when he put the pieces together in his mind, that she had seen her reflection and it had upset her. He honestly couldn't blame her for being upset. The man had marked her in such a way it would be impossible to ever completely forget. In a way, it was like an act of humiliation as a punishment for trying to leave him. To make sure that no matter where she was, he would always be there with her. She could never escape him.

He wasn’t really sure what to say, he knew nothing he said could make her feel better and as much as he wished he could, it wasn't like he could remove every last mark the evil man had left on her beautiful body. He knew himself just what it felt like to live with scars. To have that constant reminder following him like a dark shadow in the night. To feel the shame and anger that they brought with them. He nibbled his thumb a little before sighing, standing up before he changed his mind. He took off his vest and threw it on the bed, then started unbuttoning his shirt. Her cheeks flushed furiously, not sure what was going on, but trusting him enough to know it wasn't anything she needed to be scared of. Once he was shirtless, he took a deep breath to prepare himself. He’d never voluntarily shown anyone his scars, but part of him hoped that if she could see she wasn't the only one, that he had them too, then maybe she might feel the tiniest bit better about herself. He was willing to do this. For her.

After bracing himself, he turned around so she could see his back. He was met with complete silence and his heart dropped a little. He wondered if he’d gone too far, or if she thought he was as repulsive as he felt with those damn marks on him. He suddenly tensed as he felt feather-light fingers stroking his skin, glancing over his shoulder in shock to see her stood behind him. He turned his head again, not able to look at her when he felt so vulnerable, but he let her process this the way she needed too.

Her fingers were soft and gentle as she traced the harsh bumps on his skin. She knew what those marks were, what caused them, she had some of those herself. She felt her heart ache a little and she pushed back tears that someone could do this to the man who had saved her, the man who fought so fiercely to keep her safe.

“Who?” she asked harshly, surprising Daryl by how angry she sounded. He’d never heard that tone come from the timid girl before. It made him feel all kinds of funny that she sounded somewhat protective of him.

“My old man,” he replied softly, feeling shame sweep up through his entire body, making the tips of his ears go pink. He heard her take a deep breath and then he felt her arms envelop him, wrapped around his middle with her face pressed against his back. He released a breath, his heart aching dully in his chest as he brought a hand over hers. A strange feeling of acceptance and relief flowing through him. She wasn't running a mile, she wasn't repulsed. She accepted him, she was fucking hugging him and it made him almost tear up.

They stayed like that for a moment. What had started as his attempt to help and soothe her ended up being the other way around. When she eventually pulled away from him, he felt the cold emptiness swallow him whole and he couldn't fathom why this girl was making him feel all kinds of things he’d never felt. Things he’d never wanted to feel. He turned to look at her and saw her sat on the bed looking at him as she handed him his shirt back. He put it on and started buttoning it. Before he could speak, she lifted her shirt over her head, making him inhale sharply in surprise. She was wearing a black bra and she gently placed her shirt on the bed, he noticed her hands trembling slightly.

“Zoey, ya don't have-” she shushed him dismissively and shook her head, making him stay rooted to his spot on the floor. He was trying his hardest not to look at her body, as much as his instincts really fucking wanted him to. She stood up and turned around like he had, showing him only a fraction of the pain she had been through. He’d already seen most after seeing her in the shower, but to see her like this, voluntarily baring herself to him despite how fragile she was, it was a different feeling altogether.

He felt the anger sweep through him as he took in the various scars on her back, noticing they weaved around her sides too. There wasn’t much of her perfect pale skin that was untouched and it lit a rage in Daryl unlike anything he had felt before. His silence unnerved her and she turned around, looking up at him with her big blue eyes looking unsure with herself. He swallowed thickly as his eyes travelled along her body, seeing even more scars until his eyes reached the one that made him feel murderous. Frank. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, freaking out now wouldn't make her feel any fucking better about herself, he had to shove the rage deep down. He reached a shaky hand up as if to touch her, much like she had done to him. But he faltered, unsure of himself or how she would react to something like this. Her small hand darted out and took his, reassuring him it was okay as she placed it on her stomach where she was branded for life by a man that Daryl deemed unworthy of even looking at her.

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes, and as she watched him, she could feel the anger coming off him in waves. But she knew it wasn't directed at her, he was feeling just how she had when she saw herself in the mirror. He splayed his hand on the brand, covering it up and wishing when he would eventually remove it, that it would be gone. Despite the situation and his anger, her skin under his sent a flush of tingles down his spine, his breathing picking up slightly. His thumb slowly stroked the jagged skin as he looked at her through his hair. She gave him a weak smile, but he couldn't bring himself to return it. Not when he could feel the rage bubbling up like a boiling pot about to boil over. He was grateful though. Not only had she accepted him with no hesitation after seeing him like no one else had before, but she also trusted him so much that she was baring herself to him like this. Showing him the pain she had suffered, the darkest parts of her existence.

“I guess we’re both damaged,” she sighed sadly as she looked down at his hand, which still lay against her stomach. It didn't make her feel uneasy or scared, it was comforting to her. It made a warmth spread through her chest that she hadn't felt in a good number of years.

“Nah. Ain’t damaged... Survivors,” he corrected firmly. He levelled his gaze at her, even though she wasn't looking at him. For most of his life he felt damaged, his past and the physical reminders weighing heavy on him. But as time went on, he endured more heartbreak and loss he thought the world could throw at him. And now standing here with Zoey, those words left his mouth without him even realising that he didn't see himself as damaged anymore. Especially not when she herself was covered in more marks than he was. He didn't see her as damaged in the slightest. He saw someone who endured so much pain and torment, yet was still standing. That didn't give up, had not opted out. She was strong, and now she was here, with him, and safe. She finally met his eyes and gave him a shy smile with a nod.

“Survivors,” she agreed, her smile widening a little, she liked the sound of that. He couldn't help but give her a smile back this time, seeing her face light up when she smiled, knowing he was the one to make her feel better. He reluctantly moved his hand away and stepped back just slightly and she moved to sit on the bed, pulling her top back over her head.

He wiped a hand over his face, trying to clear his head from the emotionally charged moments since he’d returned. The image of her huddled in the shower sobbing, covered in scars and a bloody hand was seared into his mind now. He would do whatever it took to make sure that didn't fucking happen again. He felt slightly drained. He couldn't remember the last time he felt such a whirlwind of emotions, especially not caused by one person alone. Half of him was trying to shove all the feelings down. What good would they do? She only wanted him around because she felt safe around him. He had a hard time believing she actually liked him, no one ever liked him. They just liked anything he could offer them. Which in his opinion was little to nothing anyway. But on the other hand, she trusted him so fiercely, got mad at the person who had hurt him, he couldn't help but almost give in to whatever the fuck he was feeling. The urge to be around her, to touch her whenever he could, to soothe her. It was overwhelming and confusing. Intoxicating almost, but he wasn't sure if he would have it any other way.

“Alright, let's go get some food. Fuckin’ starved after all this emotional shit,” he huffed, shooting her a small smile when he heard her snort slightly. Yeah, he would happily accept all these confusing feelings just to see her smile. Fuckin’ worth it every damn time.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend @txladyj-blog @walkingdead-dixon

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic

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storytime-hoe · 5 years

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Tough Love Ch.2

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: First of all let me say HOLY SHIT! I never expected people to read what I write let alone actually like it. This is amazing! I love all of you who gave me feedback and if anyone wants to be tagged just let me know. Also I am trying my hand at digital art for the very first time and I might be making a few quick sketches for this series so if anyone is interested in that I might post them.

Previously: Ch.1

"What's your name?" Rick said, his voice a low rasp so as not to alert any nearby guards.

We were outside of Woodbury now, but we were not leaving quite yet. Daryl had gone out to cover us as we made a break for our exit. We were home free, only to find out that Daryl hadn't come out with us. Maggie immediately stated that we needed to go back in after him, but Rick was fumbling around in his own head for a plan at the moment. The way he held himself told me he wasn't quite right in the head at the moment, and loosing someone that he valued as much as Daryl was not helping his state of mind.

"Emma," I answered him as sternly as I could manage these days, which wasn't very impressive.

"We are going back in there," Rick explained, still planning things out in his mind. Glenn was in no shape to go back into Woodbury to fight. So, it looked like Maggie and Rick were going to be needing me. "You come with us. If you so much as think about running off, I'll kill you."

"That doesn't sound like a bad choice to me," I crooned with a sly look.

Death was exactly what I had wanted for days and days, but I wasn't ready to go now. The Governor might have killed what good was left in me, but he hadn't killed me. I had things left to offer the world, and I would only die once I decided I had nothing left. I was in control of me again, which felt strange, but nothing was going to change that. Not Rick. Not Daryl. Not the Governor.

Rick took my answer with consideration. He felt he had to persuade me to help them. Good. I sure as hell wasn't about to give my services for free.

"After you help us get Daryl back we will take you to our camp. Have our doctor look you over." He motioned to the bruises that covered my arms and the cuts that I could feel on my face. "After you're fed and taken care of, you can help us deal with the Governor. I'm sure you know plenty about him after your prison sentence with him."

Earlier he ordered me to come with them and I assumed I would be treated like a prisoner just the same as I was in Woodbury, but Rick wasn't coming off as the kind of person who would force me into anything. I was still wary of him, but he seemed like a true honest person at the moment and his words made me more willing to help them. Maybe that was his play? Maybe he wanted to come off as a good person in order to persuade me into doing what he wanted?

"What makes you think I want to help you fight the Governor?" I leaned my weight back on one leg and crossed my arms over my chest defiantly.

Maggie spoke up impatiently. "You've been a prisoner to him for how long now? And you mean to tell us you don't want a chance to put a bullet in his head?"

I stayed silent for a while and searched her eyes as she spoke. "What did he do to you?" I choked out, knowing the answer deep down. I knew she was the Governor's prisoner, but she didn't looked harmed in any way like Glenn did. My stomach seized at the thought of him coming onto someone else like he did me.

"Nothing I'm sure he didn't do to you," Maggie responded, the hurt visible in her eyes.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard. I could run away. I could run and never look back on Woodbury. I could leave and not give two shits about the Governor or the prison group anymore. But, deep down I knew I couldn't really do that. The Governor needed to be put down. He needed to be stopped before he hurt anyone else like he did me. Like I assumed he did Maggie.

Besides, I guess I owed the archer for sparing me. Daryl. The face of the man with the crossbow flashed into mind again. I could still see him after he found me in the room in Woodbury. I replayed the moment over and over again in my head. He was the first person to spare me. Even Rick was an asshole upon first meeting me. Daryl might've looked a little sorry for me even, but he was someone who was just like me. He was a survivor. And he had a certain understanding about me that no one had since my brother...

"Michonne?" Maggie's voice cut through my thoughts. She aimed her gun at a dark skinned girl who had just crawled out into view.

"Did you get what you came for?" Rick hissed as he took away the only weapon she had, a katana.

She looked drained. Her breaths were short and quick and all the cuts on her oozed out thick blood onto her face and arms. She leaned against the old train car that she had emerged from under. Her leg was gushing an unhealthy amount of blood from a deep stab wound.

I focused in on her as she argued back and forth with Rick. She had come here with them to save Glenn and Maggie, but apparently split off from the mission. There was something about her... a determination for whatever she had gone after inside of Woodbury. She split off from the group for something so important to her. No. Someone.

"You went after him," I said knowingly. Her eyes flicked to mine as she analyzed me as well, a new face to her, but she stayed silent. "You went after the Governor," I pressed on.

Rick shifted back on his foot and looked at her accusingly.

"I got you here," she countered. "To save them."

"Thanks for the help," Rick curtly stated.

"You'll need help to get them back to the prison or to go back in there for Daryl. Either way," Michonne finished, "you need me."

"Me too," I spoke up, declaring that I was on board with them. All eyes were on me. I gnawed at my lip as I coninued. "I know everything there is to know about this place. And I happen to know that if they captured Daryl, he is about to face off in the arena. They did that with me on my first night."

Rick rolled his neck and looked at me, taking his usual terrifying stare off of Michonne for a moment. "Arena?"

"They had me in there with some other poor kid they captured. A fight to the death. You know, gladiator battle type of thing."

"That's sick," Maggie said with her gun still pointed at Michonne steadily.

"Well, they think it's fun."

"So, you agreeing to help us now?"

I shrugged, not wanting to have to explain myself to this stranger, but I felt that she understood why I was ready to march into battle again. I needed to end the Governor and getting back their man would help us in the long run. Plus, I owed Daryl for getting me out of Woodbury, and I didn't like owing anyone. I would get him out even if it meant going back into the devil's den.

"Fine," Rick said. "So, how are we doing this?"

Everyone leaned in, eager to here a rescue plan. They were all willing to follow me, someone they just met, in order to get back a friend. We were all willing to do anything if it meant the Governor wouldn't like it, as a matter of fact.

It looked like the Governor was pissing off all of the wrong people these days.

My legs ached from being in a crouching position for too long. I was back inside the gates of Woodbury, trying not to panic at being back, with Rick and Maggie behind me. Glenn had complained, but we made him stay behind with Michonne and wait for us to return.

I sat back against the building we were using as cover. The streets of Woodbury were deserted. Everyone was getting ready for the battle at the arena. The arena was encircled by three towering buildings. The memory of my first night at Woodbury hit me hard. I could remember my rival in the arena that night. We were both scared shitless and confused. When the Governor told us to fight to the death, the girl I was to fight looked like she was going to piss herself. She was unwilling to do what it took to survive. But not me. I was full of spirit and ready to fight every man and woman in Woodbury if it meant I could get a chance to escape. I had just lost my brother. After that event I said fuck everyone else and became a selfish raging monster. I was then and I still am. So, I took my chance with the terrified girl. I was going to live no matter what it took. And it took the life of another innocent human.

I turned my head to the ground in shame. Then the gunshot of commencement and yells of the people rung through the air, bringing me out of my episode of depression.

The fight was beginning.

I dashed around the corner and caught sight of the arena through the crowd of people. The orange glow of fire lit up the area casting shadows of the crowd onto the tall buildings in a haunting manner. The Governor was yelling out some bullshit speech that I couldn't hear well over the cheers of the people. That's when I caught sight of Daryl. The crowd went wild when they tore the bag off of his head, revealing him as one of the men from the group at the prison.

"I see him," I let Rick know behind me. "Maggie, get back to the top of the gate. Give us cover once we get to him. Rick, you should stay here. Wait for my signal."

"You know me!" I heard the voice of Merle before I saw him in the arena with Daryl.

Rick squinted over at the arena like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Is that Merle?"

I didn't know how much this group knew about Merle, but so far I could tell they knew enough to always talk about him with a disgusted tone.

"Looks like Merle is his rival for today." I saw enough through the crowd to see that Merle was not holding back. He swung hard at Daryl and brought him to the ground, out of my line of sight.

I felt my eyes widen in the surprise. I had seen enough of Merle for a lifetime, and I knew him well by now. Images of him snarling and spitting in my face flashed before my eyes. He treated be harshly in Woodbury, but during the moments when Merle was not brutal with me, I saw that he only followed orders. That was what he was doing now too. The Governor needed him to kill Daryl in order to prove himself loyal.

But I couldn't believe that Merle would even go against his brother for the Governor. I thought back to the times when Merle talked about raising his little brother because his parents were shit. Merle talked to me a lot about the past, mostly because no one else in Woodbury listened to him, the high tempered redneck, when he was feeling sorry for himself, and I had no choice in the matter.

When he told me his brother was out there, that was the first time he started to doubt the Governor. Yet he always chickened out of his plans of finding Daryl. Still, I always wanted him to be a better person, but I should've known better. I clenched my jaw at the current sight of him beating the shit out of the little brother he claimed to love so much.

"Bastard," I snarled and tighten my grip on my knife so my knuckles turned white. "He'll beat him to death. Because that's what the Governor wants him to do." And he always listens to that prick. No matter what.

"Yeah, I know." Rick checked the scope on his gun and turned back to me. "Get out there and look for an opening. We won't fire until you make the move."

I nodded, confirming the plan we had previously discussed and mentally preparing myself for the mission I had sent myself on. "Got it."

"Get him out alive," Rick's eyes looked into my soul when he spoke to me. It was like he was willing me to be successful in getting Daryl back. As if he could control that.

"Got it," I repeated slightly uncomfortable. I knew his archer man was top priority, even over me.

"And be careful." He looked like he actually meant that. Which was surprising for me. No one had cared about me in a long ass time. It felt nice that he warned me to be safe, even if he didn't mean it and even if he was just using me.

I turned to go but he grabbed my wrist before I could. I tensed up out of habit. I knew that only bad things happened when I was being grabbed anymore. I was stuck with awe when he pressed a small gun into my hand.

I looked up at him questioningly and he simply nodded saying, "Just in case."

This time he finally let me go out away from the building and into the crowd. Even though I should be worried about being recognized, my mind was preocupied with why Rick was trusting me so much. After spending too much time with the Governor, it just didn't make any sense. I needed his trust if we were going to work together in killing the Governor. Just because I trusted him though, didn't mean we had to be friends. I really didn't want to get close enough to care about any of these people. I was just helping them with a job. That was it. That was all I needed it to be.

The crowd around me erupted with a fresh wave of intense screaming. I pushed around bodies to the front of the crowd just in time to see Merle standing over Daryl. They were talking with each other, but I couldn't make out their words. However, the look in Merle's eyes told me he had something up his sleeve. I glanced over at the Governor who was sporting a new bandage over his eye. He was too distracted by something to notice Merle secretly planning with his brother.

I turned to follow the Governor's line of sight to see four men bring out Walkers on leashes. This wasn't part of the fight when I was shoved in the arena long ago, they must've gotten bored with the blantant murdering of people.

The adrenaline coursed through my veins. I hadn't enjoyed that feeling in a very long time and I was pleasured with every second of the anticipation of a battle. I couldn't hold myself back any longer as I leaped out into the arena. I raised up the gun Rick had lent me and fired at the Walker that stood directly in front of the Governor. The Walker fell and a one eyed glare landed on me, unwavering. I held his cold stare with an amount of brute that I didn't think I had in me anymore.

The crowd took notice to my identity, they had seen me as a champion of the arena before. They thought it was all part of the show. And the Governor didn't intervene to tell them any different. He stood like a statue as if he could kill me with his stern look. Anxiety rose in my chest but I forced it away. I wasn't here for him just yet. I had a job to do.

"Well, well, look who decided to join the party," crooned Merle, who was standing back to back with his brother now, ready to fight the Walkers with him as they were pushed closer to them. Daryl had his hands up, ready to pounce. His eyes landed on me with recognition and a million silent questions. I gave him one solid nod that I was here for him and tossed him the gun. My knife was more of my weapon of choice.

Merle looked ready to argue with his brother for the gun, but the shout from Rick from his hiding spot signaled for a spray of gunfire. I dropped to the ground as Maggie fired from the wall. Smoke filled the area and gunfire and shouts echoed in my ears. People were dropping dead everywhere around me. I gripped my knife tight in my hands as I pressed down on the sand and prayed I wouldn't get shot.

Just as I was about to stand again someone kicked my hand that held the knife. It went flying out of my reach and another kick was delivered to my stomach. I groaned and curled in on myself. My injuries that were beginning to heal from Merle's beatings earlier in the week were being freshened up as a boot came down hard on my chest. I looked up just in time to see the Governor's face as he reached down for me.

My mind seized with terror at the thought of what he would do to me if he got me back. I wanted to cry out of failure, but the fire in me sparked. I was not about to let him fuck me over again. Not ever. He didn't own me and didn't control me. At least that is what I was trying to convince myself.

I kicked him between the legs and the pain was enough for him to loosen his grip on my shirt. I saw this as an opportunity to stretch out for the knife that was resting in the dirt. As soon as my fingers closed around the handle, I didn't hesitate to swing the blade at him ferociously. Every part of me wanted to slice him to pieces. He took out his gun to fight back, but an explosion went off, sending us both flat to the ground.

My head buzzed and I didn't even process that someone was pulling me back up. Thinking it was the Governor again, I pulled my fist back at a lame attempt to swing at him. I almost collapsed out of loss when a hand caught my fist before it got the chance to collide with anything at all. It took me a few disbelieving blinks to realize it wasn't the Governor that was holding me upright, but Daryl Dixon. His eyes told me clear as day that if I tried to swing at him again he would put me back down on my ass. I took the silent threat with grace and let him half drag me out of the gates of Woodbury.

I remember seeing flashes of Rick firing his weapon from behind us and yelling, but his voice was muffled to my ears. My vision was a blur and Daryl had to help me walk, up until we were well in the woods and out of Woodbury. The entire walk to the car where Glenn and Michonne waited was a painful one. Every muscle in my body ached and blood dripped down from my eyebrow every now and again. My lungs burned more and more with every breath.

We reached the car parked by the road just as the sun was rising. Glenn appeared from behind it, his sights immediately landing on Maggie. I anticipated some repulsing yet adorable scene from a romance movie to start playing out, but then Glenn started screaming at someone. My mind was still a scattered mess, watching Rick hold out an arm and keep Glenn back from whoever he was yelling at.

I turned slowly to see who the center of the commotion was. I should've known this jackass was what was standing in the way of a peaceful ride back to the prison. Of course Merle-fucking-Dixon had to make it out of Woodbury with us.

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@daryldixonandfrogs

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raewrite · 5 years

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Headlong into the Storm (Part 4)

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Well, its been a long time coming, and to be honest, I’m pretty happy that I’m finally finished with this series.

Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this story, it means the world to me that you have enjoyed it enough to want me to continue and see it through to the end. <3

~~~

Your memories of the days following your incident were foggy at best.

You could remember the pain, of course, though it was more of a constant, dull ache rather than the sharp, burning pain you had felt when you had first been shot. Still, it was less than desirable.

You could remember voices—snippets of conversations in hushed tones floating just beyond your comprehension. Understanding the words had been out of the question at the time, but the humming in your ears carried notes of worry and distress and frustration. You remember feeling vaguely remorseful for making them fret, but mostly you just remember feeling tired.

You must have woken up a few times, because you remember the light being different. On one occasion, everything seemed dark, with only slivers of silvery-gray light coming from above. Another time, you remember a warm, orange glow coming from somewhere nearby, and a quiet murmuring that had to have been close, but you couldn’t recall seeing the owner of the voice.

The first truly cognizant memory you had was of waking to see two figures sitting by you. Upon blinking some of the sleep from your eyes, you realized that it was Hosea lounging in a chair, reading a book at your bedside while Tilly perched on the edge of your cot, her hands working a needle delicately through the piece of cloth she was holding. You were covered up to your chest in a thick, red and white quilt that you recognized as one of Miss Grimshaw’s.

You said nothing, though not for lack of trying. When you tried to get their attention, your voice came out as little more than a dry wheeze that made your throat burn. Thankfully, Hosea had noticed your poor attempt at communication, leaning forward and placing his book face-down on the ground beside him.

“There you are, dear,” he said warmly, beckoning for Tilly to help you as he grabbed a canteen from somewhere out of your line of sight.

Tilly set her sewing down and moved to sit by your head, carefully coaxing you to sit up a bit. “Hey, Y/n,” she spoke softly. You tried to give her a smile, which quickly turned to a grimace as you dragged yourself upwards. Tilly was quick to push the bed-roll-turned-pillow up behind you so that you could rest back against the wall. Settling back down, Tilly took the canteen Hosea had grabbed and held it up to your lips, helping you drink, her free hand resting gently under your chin.

“How ya feelin’?” asked Hosea once you had gotten your fill and cleared your throat. He had pulled his chair up a little closer, crossing one leg over the other.

“Like I got shot, I suppose,” you deadpanned, though there was a hint of a smirk on your face. Just sitting up had left you feeling more exhausted than you had in a long time, and you looked around the barn with half-lidded eyes. Across the way you could see Lenny and Mary-Beth sitting at one of Pearson’s makeshift tables and chatting quietly over what looked like a game of dominos. With them sat Sean, who had his seat pulled out and a rifle laying over his knees. He ran an oiled rag over it as he watched Lenny make a play, adding in his own commentary as he did so.

Carefully, you ran a hand over your midsection, feeling the thick padding of gauze and bandages under your shirt. “How bad…?” You winced as you pressed your fingers a bit too hard against your side.

Hosea gave you a sympathetic look. “It wasn’t too terrible, nothing we couldn’t take care of, anyway. Frankly, we were more afraid the cold was gonna get ya, once we got you patched up.” You nodded, looking down.

“Those boys I crossed, did y’all find any more of them?”

“No, no more of them. Arthur found their camp to the north a ways. They seem to have been the only ones, but we’ve been keeping an eye out for more in case they were just the scouts.” Hosea picked his book up off the ground and dog-eared the page.

“So… everyone else ‘s alright?” Hosea cocked an eyebrow at you as you cleared your throat, watching as your hands fretted at the edge of the quilt.

“Sure. You didn’t exactly leave anyone alive to do us harm, Y/n.” He studied your face as some of the tension in your shoulders receded.

You felt some relief. Worry had been gnawing at you relentlessly ever since the morning of the botched heist. You had been worried when the boys had left, you had been worried when they came racing back late that night, and you had been worried all through your flight through the foothills and into the mountain pass. Life on the run had made you hyperaware of the fragility that could be brought upon the gang in times of uncertainty. Sure, you all had always managed to get through hard times with the family still in tact, but that never stopped you from worrying that one day your luck would run out. The gang was all you had, and losing them would be like losing the very thing that gave you purpose.

You nodded to Hosea, resting your head back and letting a slow breath out through your nose. “How long do you think we’ll be holed up here?” you ask after a few beats of silence, deciding it was best to change the subject. Hosea seemed to catch on.

“Well, Dutch wants to move once the weather lets up, but so long as we don’t get anymore trouble from anyone, I think this is a good a place as any to lay low for a little while,” he said, adjusting himself in his chair. “There seems to be plenty of game in this valley to hold us over, so I don’t see why we couldn’t. It may be miserable, but it’s worth not seeing any of our own hanged back south.”

“If Sean had just kept his mouth shut, we wouldn’t need to be out here at all,” quipped Tilly from beside you. You gave her a tired smile.

“That may be so, my dear, but what’s done is done. No going back now,” Hosea returned, his gaze falling back to the book in his hands.

You smirked at the both of them, your eyes sliding shut as Tilly settled against you, letting you lean against her side. The muffled sound of the howling wind mingling with your body’s own exhaustion had you feeling drowsy and languid.

Before long, you had nodded off once again as the storm outside raged ever onwards.

~~~

A couple days later found you sitting on your cot at the back of the barn, quilt around your shoulders with Mary-Beth and Tilly sat on either side of you. Tilly had one arm encircling yours as she continued on with some embroidery she had started to pass the time, her head resting against your shoulder while she worked. Mary-Beth was pressed up against your opposite side with her knees drawn up to prop her journal. She was writing out what you guessed was another one of her stories, and every now and again she would break your companionable silence to ask for an adjective or if a sentence sounded alright.

You sat reclined against the wall, watching passively as the other gang members went about their business. Bill sat by the barn door, dozing with his rifle against his hip, while Javier strummed idly on his guitar nearby, trying to shake the cold that had settled into his hands from being on watch.

A gust of chilled air blew in suddenly as the barn door creaked open just enough for a single figure to slip in. Beside you, Tilly drew her knees up a bit on instinct, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Across the way, you watched as Arthur took his hat from his head and shook the the snow from its brim, stomping the ice from his boots as he did so. Blinking and looking around the barn’s dimly lit interior, he nudged Bill in the shoulder to rouse him from his nap, mumbling something to him about being on watch.

Gazing across the barn as he pulled his gloves off, Arthur met your eyes when he looked towards your cot. You nearly diverted your own gaze on instinct, but he caught you by surprise when he shot you a tired little smile and a wave. The two of you hadn’t talked much at all since you had woken up, and you couldn’t tell if it was simply because he was busy most of the day with hunting and keeping watch, or if he was actively avoiding you. Rationality told you it was the former, but your own wounded pride told you it was the latter. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about your whole ordeal out in the valley; like you had only brought an unneeded tension to an already shaken up group of outlaws on the run.

You gave him a little wave in return, watching as he made his way over to where he had set up his own cot. Sighing through your nose, you tried not to dwell on your own anxieties too much, instead returning your attention to Mary-Beth’s writing.

“When are you two gonna quit moping around and just talk to each other, huh?” You were startled out of your repose when Tilly spoke up from beside you. You turned your head to see her frowning up at you.

“What do you mean by that?” you stalled, unsure of what else you could say.

Tilly rolled her eyes. “I mean you and Arthur have been dancin’ around each other for months, Y/n.”

“Uhh…”

“She’s got a point, Y/n,” came Mary-Beth’s voice from your other side. “I know I shouldn’t be one to talk, but the two of you are just too awkward for your own good.” Tilly hummed in agreement and your cheeks burned.

“You’re never gonna get anywhere with him if you keep on like this.”

You suddenly had the urge to pull the quilt up over your head to hide how flustered you had become.

“It ain’t that simple,” you tried to argue, looking to both of them for some kind of understanding. “It’s just… he just…ohh,” you muffled your sigh of defeat in the quilt, bringing it up and pressing your face into it. You felt Tilly pat your arm.

“He doesn’t need someone like… me,” you said dejectedly, keeping your eyes down as Mary-Beth coaxed your hands away from your face.

“Y/n, you could ask anyone here, and they would all tell you that Arthur fancies you.”

“And we’ve all seen the way he looks at you.”

“I don’t think—”

“He’s hopeless, Y/n.” Your heart leapt into your throat when Javier’s voice cut in, and you turned to see him smirking at you, his fingers hovering over the frets of his guitar. You heard Mary-Beth giggle beside you. “You know, when he first got here, the first thing he asked about was you. He looked like a lost puppy when I told him you went out scouting.”

“He’s head-over-heels.”

“And you’re no better.”

“You gotta talk to him.”

“Okay!”

You huffed out another sigh, looking between the three of them and feeling severely outnumbered. Tilly, Mary-Beth and Javier all watched you expectantly, each with varying degrees of smugness and delight. Relenting, you let your shoulders fall forward and your head fall back against the wall, your eyes sliding shut.

“Alright. I’ll… try to figure somethin’ out.”

~~~

Another week passed, and you found yourself sitting on watch by the little campfire just outside the barn doors. The wind howled angrily through the clearing as night fell over the snow-covered valley, and you watched wearily as two riders came galloping in from the tree-line. You recognized Hosea and Arthur atop their horses, wrapped in their thick coats with rifles slung over their shoulders. As they approached the shed-side of the barn, you could see two large bundles, one on the back of each horse. Supper.

Your stomach rumbled at the prospect of a warm meal. You needed no thermometer to know it must have been close to freezing outside, and you were more than ready to trade your post as watchman for a cozy space in the barn. It wouldn’t be much warmer, you knew, but at least you’d be out of the wind.

Snippets of conversation made their way to you from around the side of the barn where Pearson had set up his station, though you made no effort to eavesdrop, opting instead to draw your over-sized coat tighter around your shoulders and bury your nose down in the collar.

A few minutes passed in relative quiet, until you heard the crunching of boots through snow coming from your right. You perked up when you caught sight of Arthur stepping out from the shed. He wandered over to where you sat huddled against the door and plopped down next to you, much to your surprise.

He was quiet for a moment, and you wandered if you were meant to say something. He looked restless.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he mumbled as he began to dig around in his pockets. He fished out a crinkled pack of cigarettes and lit one on a smoldering log before him. You had noticed this quirk of his, one you think he may have picked up from Dutch. Whenever he needed a boost in confidence, or something that bought him time to organize his thoughts, he lit a cigarette.

“I figured it was about time I pulled my weight again,” you stated, deciding to watch the fire and give Arthur the moment to compose whatever else he was going to say. He merely hummed and took a long drag.

Silence settled between you then, though it wasn’t your typical companionable silence that you shared with the man. There was something more to it, you knew, but you decided not to push it. Not yet.

You waited until Arthur finished off his cigarette, watching as he tossed the butt into the fire. “I never got to thank you for comin’ and findin’ me,” you said quietly, picking absently at a loose string on one of your gloves. You heard the slight rustle of fabric as Arthur turned to look at you.

Another beat of silence.

“So, thank you. I uhh… well, you didn’t have to come for me, but you did, and…”

“Sure, I had to come for you.” You looked up at him, taken a bit aback by his sudden response. His brows were furrowed, and even with the brim of his hat casting them in shadow, you could still make out something akin to concern in his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I have?”

You weren’t sure how to respond.

“I… it’s just… the rest of the gang was a bigger priority. I didn’t think I warranted such… such…?” Your gaze fell to the fire once more as you tried to find your words. Your heart all but leapt when you felt Arthur’s hand touch yours, carefully at first, like he was looking for permission. You opened your palm to him, letting him lace his fingers between your own.

“Y/n.” You met his gaze once more, struck then by the look of sincerity on his face. “Why don’t you let someone worry about you?”

“Arthur…”

“You matter to this gang just as much as anyone, and don’t you think otherwise.” You were surprised at how genuine he sounded. He looked imploringly into your eyes, leaning in like he was waiting for you to accept his words.

“Arthur, really, it’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” you trailed off, unsure of how to continue. You were both quiet for a moment.

“People care about you, Y/n. I—,” the quiet words caught in Arthur’s throat. He squeezed your hand, and you briefly wondered if it was for your comfort or his own.

Arthur’s heart hammered in his chest as Hosea’s words echoed through his head; flashes of the conversation they had had right before those three gunshots had echoed through the valley. Despite the frigid cold around him, he could feel an uncomfortable heat rising up his neck. It was now or never.

“—I care.”

Arthur’s voice was low and hushed, and you almost weren’t sure you had heard him right. But then he met your eyes again, and there was something new there, something you couldn’t quite describe. He rubbed at the back of his neck and adjusted his hat, and you were almost afraid he would jump and bolt at the slightest disturbance with how fidgety he had suddenly become.

“Well, I mean I… um…”

“I care about you, too.”

“What?”

You weren’t sure where the burst of confidence had come from, but you certainly weren’t about to squander it. “I mean it, I do. I care about you, Arthur. A lot.”

You put your free hand over the one holding yours and met his troubled gaze.

“Well… then.”

“Well then?”

Arthur let out a slow, steadying breath, looking to the fire, then back to you.

“I’m sorry it took you gettin’ shot for me to finally come to my senses.”

You laughed then, loud and unreserved, and Arthur felt his heart skip a beat in his chest at the sound of it.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to haul my sorry ass out of the snow in the first place,” you snickered, squeezing his hand absentmindedly. He smiled back at you with one of those fond, genuine smiles you loved so much; the little crooked kind that gathered the little wrinkles around his eyes and made the green of his irises alight with joy.

“It was no trouble at all, Miss Y/n,” he breathed as you scooted closer to him.

You hummed as you settled against him, feeling the weight of his arm fall carefully around your shoulders, like he still wasn’t quite sure of himself.

“No trouble at all.”

~~~

WELL THERE YOU GO! It’s done, and I do hope that it didn't disappoint asdjfsk

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #my stuff #god i honestly can't tell if im satisfied with this or not but *shrugs*#its time to let it go

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auroraphilealis · 6 years

Text

Unraveling Expectations

Unravelling Expectations | Phil’s been flirting with Dan for months by the time he finally comes to visit Phil in Manchester, only Phil had insisted they not make anything official between them until they’d actually met in person. Phil had been hoping that would take the pressure off of them to do anything they’d talked about on Skype, only something seems to be off about Dan. Phil just wants Dan to be comfortable, no matter what that means. | 2009!fic, Self Esteem Issues, Fluff | 6,782 Words

I originally wrote this as a cheer up fic for @imnotinclinedtomaturity when she wasn’t feeling so great, and I had no plans to post it: but then Kat went and edited it and decided it needed to be posted, so I did a revamp on it and it doubled in size. Kat hasn’t actually seen the new version of it yet, so other than an initial beta job by her (thank you so much love!) any remaining mistakes are entirely my own! Also hopefully when she reads it she’ll like this version even better lol.

And what better time to post a first meeting fic *cough october 19 cough* then in October? I can’t bring myself to wait until the actuaaaaal day though, so enjoy some early celebration of a certain anniversary.

Fill for the @phandomficfests bingo 2018, word prompt: Communication.

(ao3 link)

Meeting Dan that morning had been surreal enough. For months, he’d been nothing more than an image on the other side of the computer screen, a dozen broken pixels over the internet and a really shitty skype connection. The idea of touching him, of actually being able to feel Dan’s warmth next to Phil’s side, had seemed absolutely ludicrous.

But then the morning of Dan’s actual visit had come, and Phil had woken up early to head down to the train station and pick Dan up. Phil had stood nervously next to the restrooms, his eyes glued to his cell phone as he waited for Dan to text him back and tell him where he was. Dan had found Phil first, and that was the moment it had all become real.

The first gentle touch of Dan’s fingers, cautious against Phil’s shoulder, had felt like fire against Phil’s skin, and he’d turned with wide eyes, unable to believe that Dan was actually there.

They hadn’t exactly embraced.

Well, they had. Sort of.

The second that Phil had realized who was touching him, he’d turned and thrown his arms around Dan frantically, desperate to finally touch the boy he’d been crushing on for ages now. Dan had embraced him back with the awkwardness of a mere acquaintance, something that Phil was entirely unaccustomed too, and he’d drawn away in complete embarrassment and worry that he’d done something wrong.

It’d only taken a moment for Phil to notice the clear apprehension and terror written all over Dan’s face, and a part of him had relaxed. The tension that had begun to build in his shoulders, and the fervent apology sitting on the tip of his tongue, had dissolved into the realization that Dan must be nervous. His standoffishness wasn’t a slight against Phil, it was just the simple way Dan chose to protect himself.

Not that Phil could blame him. He was nervous too, he was just far more open about his feelings than Dan was. He ended up spending the majority of their afternoon clawing playfully at Dan, and leaning in far too close to his side for mere friends.

But they hadn’t talked about it - as in, you know them.

They hadn’t talked about what they were, or what they wanted to be, or if they were going to make any decisions at all tonight.

Phil had originally suggested they wait until they met in person to decide on any of it, but he’d neglected to mention that they didn’t have to decide right away. Now, Phil couldn’t help being a bit worried Dan might think they had to make up their minds tonight.

They didn’t have too, and that’s why Phil hadn’t said anything yet. He wanted to wait until Dan was a little more comfortable, until he didn’t look so awed and starstruck by the mere sight of Phil.

Still, meeting Dan that morning had been incredibly surreal, and Phil hadn’t stopped smiling since that first awkward hug. He was still smiling even now as he got changed in the bathroom in order to give Dan some privacy, and he knew he’d still be smiling by the time he headed to bed that night.

Freshly changed, Phil exited the bathroom and pushed open the door to his bedroom without so much as knocking - which, now that he thought about it, could have ended terribly. Phil didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on that, however, because as soon as he opened the door he found himself struck dumb.

Stood in the middle of his bedroom was Dan, shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of black pajama bottoms. His hands were crossed protectively across his chest, hiding his bare skin, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels awkwardly as he stared back at Phil.

Phil couldn’t stop staring.

This was a sight that Phil had never seen before. Sure, they’d flirted over the internet before, undressed, and sent scandalous texts that bordered on too sexual, but Phil had never seen Dan like this: open and vulnerable, and actually stood right there in front of Phil.

There were no broken pixels left to distort the image of Dan, and if he really wanted too, he could reach forward and actually touch.

Just like he’d said he would over Skype.

“Oh,” Phil muttered, dumbfounded and frozen in the doorway of his bedroom, unsure what to do. He felt like somehow he was pressuring Dan. Had Dan taken his shirt off to impress Phil, or because he’d thought Phil was expecting it of him?

The very thought of it horrified Phil.

For how bold and brazen they’d been online, they really hadn’t done much today. Mostly, it’d been because Dan had looked so incredibly terrified to do anything, and Phil had wanted to respect that, but also it was because Phil hadn’t wanted to make Dan feel pressured.

They’d flirted some, and Phil, tactile guy that he was, hadn’t been able to keep his hands completely off of Dan, but he hadn’t pushed him. He’d mostly just pressed their shoulders together, or bumped their hips while they were walking. A few times, their fingers had brushed, and they’d both blushed, but neither had been brave enough to actually reach out and twine their fingers together.

When they were sat, their thighs always pressed tight together, regardless of where they were or how much space there was around them.

So to see Dan stood shirtless in front of Phil like this, when the rest of the morning he’d looked so genuinely nervous, made Phil feel kind of horrible.

Especially because he couldn’t help really liking what he was seeing.

“Is this okay?” Dan finally asked, interrupting Phil’s train of thought. His voice sounded shaky and unsure, which only served to make Phil feel even worse. It didn’t help that he was refusing to meet Phil’s gaze.

“Yeah, of course!” Phil yelped quickly, his voice high pitched with nerves. The last thing he wanted was to make Dan feel bad about standing in the middle of Phil’s room shirtless! But he also didn’t want Dan to feel like he had to do this.

Dan had joked over skype that he slept naked, but that had been mostly harmless flirting, and Phil had no idea if it was actually true.

Finally stepping into the room, Phil tripped over his too big feet, and shuffled shyly to Dan’s side. He ached to reach out and touch, to brush his fingers down Dan’s arm, to pull him into his embrace and kiss him, but he stopped himself before he could.

Dan didn’t seem to actually like being touched, as much as he’d claimed he did over skype. Maybe he was just nervous, Phil didn’t know, but Phil was following Dan’s lead, here, and he wasn’t going to push it any further than what they’d already done today. Reaching for Dan when he was half naked felt a lot like pushing it.

“I can - I can put a shirt on if it’s making you uncomfortable,” Dan mumbled after another tense moment had passed, still refusing to look at Phil. His arms twitched violently against his chest, and Phil could see the way his body shook.

He didn’t have a chance to reply before Dan shifted and made a start towards his luggage, as if he were going to grab a shirt and just end this awkward encounter before it could get any worse.

Phil bit his lip, not wanting that, but also wanting it if Dan wanted it. He just needed to be comfortable. His own desires didn’t matter.

But before Dan could even take a single step, his knees locked and he stilled completely, eyes glued to the floor. Phil felt a wave of unease and concern wash over him. Why had Dan stopped? Was it because he felt pressured by Phil?

Fuck.

Tentatively, Phil reached out and touched Dan’s shoulder with the very tips of his fingers. Dan jumped, despite Phil’s attempts to avoid scaring him, and the sight made Phil flinch back himself.

“It’s okay, Dan,” Phil murmured softly, trying to keep the tremble out of his own voice. “Really. I don’t mind.” He chuckled awkwardly, unable to help himself, but the sound fell flat. Dan didn’t so much as offer Phil a smile in return. Horrified at himself, Phil cleared his throat and tried again. “Whatever is most comfortable for you.”

Dan bit his lip, his eyes flickering up to meet Phil’s gaze for the briefest of seconds, before he glanced away again. Phil could see that he was still shaking, but on top of that he was gnawing at the already bruised and bloody skin of his bottom lip the same way he had been all day.

Phil wished he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t seem to stop staring, and he felt terrible about it. He wanted to be the one gnawing on Dan’s bottom lip, and that felt like an entirely disrespectful thought in a moment such as this.

The urge to reach out and drag Dan’s bottom lip out from his bottom teeth almost overwhelmed Phil then, but he held it in. He wasn’t sure if even that was acceptable right now.

Unsure of what else to do, Phil shuffled over to his bed and sat down. “Sit,” he prompted gently, crossing his own long legs on top of the sheets, and patting the space in front of him invitingly. He tried to give Dan a sympathetic, understanding smile, but Dan still wasn’t looking at him. He looked to be twisting his fingers against his skin as he stood staring at the carpet.

Unsure what else to do, Phil just waited for Dan to make another move.

Eventually he did, shuffling over to the bed as well and finally sitting down in front of Phil. Dan didn’t cross his legs on top of the sheets, however. He let them hang off the end of the bed, refusing to turn his body towards Phil, and still avoiding his gaze.

Dan’s arms were still crossed over his chest, giving Phil the distinct impression that being shirtless wasn’t actually very comfortable at all for Dan.

Hiding a sigh, Phil bit his lip and started picking at the cotton of his bedsheets. As the moments pushed on, Phil was beginning to feel more and more convinced that Dan was only doing this to impress him or something. Was he trying to be the boy he’d projected on Skype? Phil wished he could make Dan understand that Phil didn’t care if Dan was equally as confident in person as he was over a video camera, but he didn’t know how to say it without making Dan feel even worse than he clearly already was.

“Dan,” he eventually whispered softly, waiting patiently until Dan had finally looked up at him before he continued. He kept his hands to himself, despite how badly he itched to reach out and tip Dan’s chin up to him, how badly he wanted to cup his cheek, and soothe all of his worries away. “You don’t - we don’t -” he stuttered, sighing and cutting himself off as he realized he really didn’t know how to say this. Frustrated with himself, Phil shook his head before trying again.

“I’m not expecting anything of you, you know. You don’t have to try so hard for me,” he reassured quietly, hoping that Dan would understand.

Unfortunately, that was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Dan’s eyes suddenly grew wide as saucers and his cheeks flushed so darkly he almost looked humiliated. His body looked poised for flight.

Horrified, Phil reached out, ready to touch Dan’s shoulder and try to soothe away his worries, when Dan quite suddenly launched himself off of Phil’s bed. Phil barely had a chance to blink before Dan was rifling through his rucksack for a shirt to wear.

“Wait, Dan!” Phil called, his voice much too loud in the otherwise piercing silence of the room. He shoved himself off of his bad as well, and rushed to Dan’s side, desperate to calm him with some kind of touch, but terrified that he wasn’t allowed. Raising his arms hesitantly, Phil sort of reached for Dan, and paused as he scrambled for something to say. “Dan, that’s not what I meant, I -”

“It’s okay, Phil,” Dan interrupted him quickly, his voice quivering as he continued rifling through his clothes, back turned to Phil. His shoulders were tense, the long expanse of exposed, tanned skin sending a pleasant zing through Phil that he worked to push away. “It’s fine. I understand. I’ll just get dressed, and then -”

Dan’s words were interrupted by a heart wrenching choking sound, as Dan seemed to trip over an emotion lodged in his throat. His hands stopped moving, and he dropped his rucksack rather abruptly, before shoving his face into his hands.

It was clear that Phil had well and truly embarrassed him. How he’d managed to screw this whole thing up so badly was beyond him, but Phil just didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to make it clear to Dan that Phil was into him and that he still wanted to date him, even after meeting in person. He didn’t know how to say that he didn’t want Dan to feel pressured to act a certain way, or perform any of the actions he’d said he would perform over Skype.

Phil just wanted Dan to be comfortable, no matter what that meant for Phil.

“What do you understand?” Phil asked, a little frustrated, but doing his best not to show it. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends sharply. He couldn’t seem to keep the distress off his face as he stared at Dan, who still hadn’t dragged his face out of his hands. “Because I don’t understand anything. I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he ended up huffing, deflating instantly. His voice was high pitched with nerves, echoing awkwardly off the thin walls of his bedroom.

Phil wanted to go to Dan’s side, wanted to take his shoulder in hand, and turn him to face Phil so he’d know that Phil wasn’t lying. That Phil meant what he said. He wanted to pull Dan into his arms, into a warm embrace, to reassure him, but he couldn’t, because he was afraid. He didn’t want to push Dan, didn’t want to pressure him. He just wanted Dan to be okay.

Slowly, Dan drew his face out of his hands, but he didn’t turn back around to face Phil. Phil stared at his back, at the way the redness of his cheeks had creeped down his face and to the back of his neck. He stared at the soft, unmarked skin that he ached to touch, to mark, and tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

He just wanted things to be easy, to be normal. He just wanted to be able to be with Dan, in whatever capacity Dan would give him, no matter what that was. If all Dan really wanted anymore was friendship, Phil would take that. If Dan wanted to date him, Phil would take that too.

But he wanted Dan to be comfortable with it.

Slowly, Dan turned around, eyes wide and doe-like as he stared at Phil. He didn’t say anything, didn’t seem to know what to say. He just looked frightened, nervous, and Phil didn’t know what to do to calm him down, so he just offered him a small smile, hoping it would be enough.

“I, uhm,” Dan began, coughing when he seemed unable to go on. Slowly, he stood properly again, and turned the rest of the way around. He didn’t cross his arms over his chest like he had before. They hung limply at his sides, which Phil was choosing to take as a small victory. But his face was still red, and his eyes were still wide, and he didn’t look any less terrified.

“It’s okay, Dan,” Phil reassured him softly. He bit his lip uncertainly, trying to think of what to say to reassure Dan that he could tell Phil anything. “Is something wrong?” he asked shyly. Dan had been acting strange all day, and Phil was hoping that maybe now Dan would be willing to confront it.

Sure, Phil was terrified of what Dan was going to say, but he’d rather hear it then have to keep wondering if he was doing something wrong - if he was pressuring Dan into doing something that he didn’t actually want to do.

The question seemed to spark something in Dan, who inhaled sharply, his shoulders beginning to shake as he tried to get a hold of himself. His eyes squeezed shut, and then flew back open, and he stared at Phil with the same intensity as before.

“I’m just,” Dan began, halting quickly and biting his bottom lip again. His eyes flickered all over Phil’s face, before he finally released his lip and huffed a deep breath. “Scared,” he finished softly, his voice so quiet Phil almost didn’t hear him. Dan dropped his gaze and stared at the floor, his fingers digging into the sides of his thighs, gripping tight to his pajama bottoms.

Phil felt his heart sink. Now, he really wanted to reach out and hold Dan, to cover his fingers with his own and make them relinquish their tight hold on his joggers. He wanted to soothe the pain away in the only way he knew how - physical touch.

But he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not yet.

“Scared of what?” Phil asked, trying desperately not to sound as desperate as he felt. His nerves were getting to him, his hands growing clammy and gross. Phil reached down to rub them dry against his own pajama bottoms.

He knew he sounded like a whiny little kid, and he probably looked incredibly distressed as well, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want Dan to be afraid of him. Licking at his lips thoughtlessly, Phil’s gaze bounced across Dan’s face rapidly, again and again and again.

Dan just stared back at him, biting his bottom lip hard - so hard Phil was afraid it might start to bleed. Dan’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his pajama bottoms, his eyes wide and very clearly terrified.

“Do you not like me?” Dan finally blurted out, the words coming as such a shock to Phil that his mouth fell open. Dan still wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was focused just off to the side, and he was shuffling his feet awkwardly in place, the nervous energy pouring out of him.

The words absolutely stunned Phil. He felt his mouth drop open in complete and utter shock, a little sound of bewilderment slipping from his throat. He didn’t even know what to say, because the very idea of the question was completely ludicrous to him.

Finally, finally, Dan met his gaze, but instead of feeling the relief Phil had thought he’d feel, he just felt pain, because Dan’s eyes were filled with tears. There was a look of absolute terror on Dan’s face, rejection permeating his features. Phil wanted nothing more than to soothe it all away.

“Oh, bear,” Phil finally managed to get out, the words coming out more as a gasp. Phil could feel his own tears burning at the backs of his eyes from the very idea that Dan might think Phil didn't like him, and he finally gave into his desire to touch Dan. Not bothering to hesitate again, Phil moved forward and pulled Dan securely into his arms.

This hug was almost as awkward as their first one, only this time Phil knew for sure it was just nerves. The warm touch brought back his smile, even if it was a little sad, and he wrapped his arms securely around Dan’s waist.

Dan, for his part, didn’t seem to know how to hug someone properly. His upper body was carefully angled away from Phil’s, as if he didn’t think they were allowed to touch, and his hands gripped Phil’s arms rather than wrapping around his neck or his waist. The stance couldn’t have been comfortable, and yet Dan seemed completely unyielding to Phil’s touch.

Unable to help himself, Phil giggled and tightened his hold on Dan’s waist. Gently, Phil pulled Dan in a little tighter against his body until they were properly touching - and suddenly Dan absolutely melted. It felt like his body had turned into complete putty against Phil, the way he completely relaxed into the hug.

He didn’t move his arms to embrace Phil back, but he seemed perfectly content to let Phil embrace him. Phil smiled, and buried his face into Dan’s hair. Not so subtly, Phil pressed a gentle kiss there - the way he’d been dying to do all day.

“How could you even think that?” Phil asked, hugging Dan a little tighter to him as Dan’s question echoed in his mind. There was no way that Phil could not like Dan. It was just absolutely impossible. Here Phil had been, worried that Dan might not like him, and Dan had been thinking the exact same thing all day. It was absolutely ludicrous.

Phil had been perfectly ready to accept that Dan might not want him once they met in person. It was part of why he hadn’t wanted to make their relationship official until they actually met, because, well… Phil wasn’t really anything special. Dan, though… Dan was very special. Phil had known long before they’d planned to meet that he was absolutely gone for this boy.

Dan expressing the fear that Phil might not like Dan was enough to make Phil feel a little more confident in actually expressing his feelings for Dan, though. He felt perfectly safe holding Dan like this, now that he knew Dan wanted it, and he was perfectly happy to press another sweet kiss to the top of Dan’s head.

“Silly boy,” Phil murmured, when Dan failed to answer him. His arms tightened on Dan’s waist, and he shifted his shoulder against Dan’s face until Dan’s chin hooked into the crevice, until Phil could feel the heat of Dan’s breath against his neck. Phil resettled his own head on top of Dan’s, and sighed again. His cheek pressed sweetly against soft curls. “Of course I like you. I just didn’t want to pressure you into anything,” he insisted.

Dan’s breath shuddered out of him and against Phil’s neck, his shoulders shaking against Phil’s chest. Phil could feel the way he trembled, could feel the warmth of Dan’s bare skin seeping into him, and he just held on tighter. He was smiling. He couldn’t not smile, when he was holding Dan like this. Because he was finally holding Dan the way he wanted to be holding him.

“I really like you,” Phil murmured after another beat had passed, and Dan had said nothing. The words were hushed, buried into the roots of Dan’s hair, but they were there. Dan shuddered against him again, but this time he started to relax, and the strange way he’d clutched at Phil’s arms disappeared. He let go, shuffling his arms more properly around Phil’s shoulders, until Dan was finally embracing him back.

And while Phil wished this had been what their first embrace had been like, he wasn’t going to complain now that he finally had it.

“I really like you, too,” Dan finally responded, his voice muffled against Phil’s skin. His lips were brushing Phil’s neck, and Phil could feel it as he said it, the sound and the sensation sparking through him. His heart jumped in his ribcage, and he giggled, unable to hold the sound back when he was so fucking happy to hear those words come out of Dan’s mouth.

“I thought -” Dan began, mouth pressing tighter to Phil’s neck. He sounded a little choked up, a little disbelieving, as he tried to express himself. “I thought I wouldn’t be what you wanted,” he murmured, unsure of himself.

Phil blinked, surprised at the words. He didn’t even know what to say in answer to them, because that was exactly how he’d been feeling. Strangely, Phil felt himself begin to smile, amused at how ridiculous the pair of them had been.

Before he could respond, however, Dan continued. “I thought you were disappointed, when I -” Dan cut himself off, sounding like he was about to cry, and Phil tightened his arms around him.

Dan inhaled sharply, and tried again. “I thought if I was like how I was on skype, maybe you’d… like me, again,” he admitted, his voice beyond shy. A prickle of unease surged up Phil’s spine, because that was exactly what he’d been afraid Dan was doing. The very idea of it made Phil’s heart ache, but he wasn’t going to dwell on the negative. No. He needed to do something to cheer Dan up instead.

So he moved to press his lips sweetly against Dan’s ear, and pressed a light kiss there.

“I could never be disappointed in you, Dan,” he breathed softly, not bothering to hide the absolute awe in his voice. His lips quirked up as he prepared to get super cheesy, and also make Dan laugh. “You’re amazing,” he added knowingly.

Just as Phil had hoped, Dan laughed, the sound a huff of hot breath against Phil’s neck. It was absolute music to Phil’s ears.

“No, that’s you,” Dan teased back, smacking Phil a little with the flat of his palm against Phil’s back.

Phil giggled, proud to have managed to make Dan laugh, and turned his head to kiss Dan softly on the cheek. The press of his lips against warm skin sent a zing through Phil, and his stomach erupted into butterflies. Dan’s skin was so soft and smooth that Phil never wanted to pull away, but he did, not wanting to make Dan too uncomfortable.

As he pulled away, Phil removed his arms from around Dan’s waist, and gently rested them against his hips instead. With a small nudge, Phil encouraged Dan to let go of Phil’s neck and back away, until they were stood close enough that they could look at each other’s faces.

Phil smiled, taking in the soft look on Dan’s face. His cheeks were still a little red, his eyes a bit wet, but he was finally smiling wide enough that Phil could see his dimple showing.

“Hi there,” Phil murmured sweetly, only for Dan’s cheeks to grow a darker red. The intimacy of the moment seemed to be too much for him, and he lowered his gaze so he wasn’t quite looking at Phil anymore.

Pouting, Phil reached for Dan’s chin and tipped his face up just a little so that he could look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, voice soft. “I like looking at your face,” he added, pointedly staring into Dan’s eyes despite the fact that Dan was still stood there without a shirt on in front of Phil. The heat of his bare skin against Phil’s palm was intoxicating, but the warmth of his brown eyes was so much better.

Dan’s breathing stuttered. Phil could feel it against his face, and he watched as Dan’s lips parted just the slightest bit. Phil wanted to kiss him so freaking bad, but he also wasn’t quite done talking just yet.

Licking his own lips to pull himself together, Phil scrambled to pull his thoughts together.

“You don’t have to lounge around half naked for me to like you,” he finally managed to say, a hint of teasing to his voice. The tip of Dan’s ears turned red in embarrassment, and he shifted as if he were going to pull out of Phil’s grasp, so Phil pushed on. “I mean, I’m not going to stop you,” he insisted teasingly, tightening his hand against Dan’s hip in an attempt at reassurance him. “You’re really, really fit, Dan,” he admitted, voice husky, serious.

He was still staring straight into Dan’s eyes, into the molten heat of them, and it nearly took Phil’s breath away. Growing a bit more sober, a bit more serious, Phil shifted his hand until he was cupping Dan’s cheek, instead of gripping his chin.

“But really, we don’t have to do anything. I told you. What we said on skype…”

Phil trailed off, his voice growing a little bit deeper as he thought about just exactly what they’d said on Skype. They’d made a lot of promises, implied a lot of desires, all things that Phil very much so wanted with Dan, but not just yet.

“We don't have to do any of that until you’re ready,” he whispered, his voice husky. He soothed his thumb against Dan’s cheek softly, sweetly, trying to show him just how seriously Phil meant that.

Because he didn’t want to do anything with Dan that Dan wasn’t one hundred percent ready for.

Dan licked his lips, staring up at Phil thoughtfully. HIs eyes were searching as he stared, but Dan didn’t look so much like he didn’t believe Phil. Mostly, he just looked like he was trying to puzzle something out. Maybe he was trying to figure out what exactly it was that he was ready for, or maybe he was just trying to decide if he wanted this at all, Phil didn’t know.

Whatever it was, Dan seemed to find it, as his body relaxed under Phil’s touch. A tension Phil hadn’t realized was there drained from Dan, made clear in the way his body seemed to go boneless under the hand Phil still had on his hip, and the way his face lit up with a small smile. Dan was pursing his lips cutely as if he were trying to hold all the emotion back, and his dimple was showing again.

Phil absolutely adored the look.

“Okay,” Dan finally whispered, the sound tiny in the sudden quiet of the room. Phil’s heart was beating louder than Dan’s words. Slowly, as Dan stared at Phil, Dan bit his lip again - only this time he didn’t look unsure of himself. He just looked anticipatory.

So really, Phil shouldn’t have been surprised when Dan finally leaned up and pressed his chapped, bitten lips to Phil’s in the softest, chastest kiss Phil had ever experienced.

It was just a peck, a tentative touch of lips against lips. It happened so quickly that Phil barley had a chance to respond, but his eyes slipped closed regardless as Phil stopped to savour the moment. He knew he was grinning like an idiot as he reached up to touch his lips with the tips of his fingers, amazed that Dan had actually kissed him.

Phil wanted to do it again.

The sound of Dan giggling broke Phil out of the spell he’d cast over him, and he opened his eyes slowly, taking in the way Dan was grinning up at him as well. Dan’s expression was almost cheeky, but Phil didn’t even mind. Anything was better than the terror and the uncertainty that Dan had been experiencing all day.

Still. Phil couldn’t help but to tease him. He was just so happy that he was bursting with it.

“That’s funny, is it?” Phil teased, releasing Dan’s hips. He was grinning and he knew it, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You think I’m silly?” he joked, waggling his eyebrows at Dan. “Or are you just proud of yourself for making me speechless?”

Dan was full on laughing now. His cheeks were flushed and he looked downright pleased with himself, an expression Phil wanted to see for the rest of his life. He found himself laughing as well, living for this moment and this moment only. He hadn’t seen Dan look this happy since he’d got here, and it was a total relief to Phil, who wanted nothing more than for Dan to feel as comfortable as possible around him.

Dan’s smug, adorable look only really spurred Phil on. He wanted more of that beautiful laughter, wanted to see Dan smile for the rest of his life, and he lifted his hands to touch Dan’s bare sides. He didn’t waste a second before he dug his fingers in, starting to tickle Dan mercilessly.

Dan squealed loudly at the touch, immediately trying to squirm away, but Phil wasn’t having it. No, he wasn’t letting Dan get away that easy.

His heart was pounding in giddy relief, and he was laughing just as loud as Dan, completely overcome by it. They scuffled lightly against each other as Dan tried to avoid Phil’s squirming fingers, feet shuffling backwards until Dan’s back had hit a wall. Phil still didn’t stop tickling him, watching the way Dan’s chest heaved with laughter, loving the way he started to wheeze, his smile never once faltering, and his eyes glistening as he stared up at Phil.

Everything about the moment was absolutely intoxicating, and Phil never wanted it to end.

But of course, it had too. Or at least, Phl having the upper hand had too.

Without warning, Dan dug his own fingers into Phil’s sides and started to tickle Phil back, just long enough that Phil dropped his hands from Dan’s side and gasped out his own choked laughter against Dan. Phil expected the onslaught to continue, expected Dan to want his revenge, but the moment that Phil set Dan free, Dan’s hands moved from his sides to bury themselves in Phil’s hair.

For the second time that night, Phil didn’t see the kiss coming. He was too busy grinning and trying to get himself back under control to see the fire in Dan’s eyes, the absolute determination, before their lips met again.

This kiss wasn’t quite as tentative as the first. Dan tilted his head immediately, and he used his grip on Phil’s hair to drag him in close until Phil was flush against him, pushing him into the wall. Phil couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation, hands flying out to find something to hold onto. They ended up on Dan’s hips as Dan took Phil’s bottom lip between his and started to suck.

It wasn’t a harsh, sexy suck though. It was a sweet, gentle one. Everything about Dan in that moment was incredibly gentle, even the fingers tangled in Phil’s hair. His body was soft and pliable under Phil’s, his breathing a little rough, but his mouth soft and sure. Phil could already feel Dan panting against him, probably from the tickling only seconds earlier, but it sent a flush of pleasure through him anyway.

Phil shuddered against Dan, and his hands shifted upwards, fingers painting circles against Dan’s bare skin. He kissed Dan back just as softly, just as sweetly, trying to keep the tempo the same easy affection that Dan was giving him. His body felt like it was on fire, his stomach erupting into a million butterflies. He was breathless, weak to all that Dan was asking of him, and he never wanted this to stop.

Dan’s tongue swiped tentatively against Phil’s bottom lip, and Phil hummed, repeating the action and coaxing Dan’s tongue against his own. Dan tasted sweet, he tasted heavenly, even though he tasted like nothing at all.

Phil’s body pressed in even tighter against Dan’s and he didn’t stop himself this time from running his hands up and down Dan’s sides. The feel of Dan’s body under his was reassuring, and the way Dan sighed quietly against Phil’s lips spoke volumes. Dan was definitely enjoying what Phil was doing, and if the press of their hips against each other was anything to go by, he was definitely interested in it.

Phil shrugged the thought away, and did his best to focus on the here and now. Whatever happened, happened. But at least Phil could be reassured that whatever happened would be something that Dan wanted, and not something he was doing just to impress Phil.

Still, he had no plans to push it. No, Phil was going to let Dan be in charge, was going to let Dan lead. So Phil kissed Dan, soft and sweet, his hands tracing wonderous patterns against Dan’s skin.

Each time that Dan pressed another kiss to Phil’s lips, each time that he swiped his tongue against Phil’s bottom lip, Phil felt his entire body react to it. His skin was buzzing with it all, his heart racing in his chest. The butterflies felt like something warmer, now, calmer and more affectionate. Phil found himself smiling against Dan’s lips.

He was finally getting to kiss Dan. For a while there, Phil had been afraid that he never would.

It took a long while for them to stop kissing. Phil never wanted it to end, and neither did Dan, it seemed. Their mouths came together again and again, the soft sounds of kissing filling up the near silence of the room. Everytime Phil tried to pull away, tried to stop and take stock of what was happening, maybe check in with Dan, Dan would chase his lips and Phil would let himself be drawn right back in.

How could he stop, when Dan didn’t want too?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Dan drew back from Phil slowly, their mouths parting with a soft little pop. He didn’t go far, as Phil could feel Dan’s rough panting ghosting against Phil’s mouth. Phil could feel Dan solid against him, a warm pressure reminding Phil that Dan was really here.

He opened his eyes slowly to peer down at Dan, and he smiled when he realized that Dan looked proper relaxed for the first time all day. His body was lax against the wall, against Phil, and his face was nothing but extreme bliss. It was everything that Phil could have hoped for and more, and he reached up to cup Dan’s cheek gently with his hand.

Dan’s eyes flickered open slowly.

“Hey there,” he whispered, a mimicry of what Phil had said earlier. Dark eyes peered up at Phil, sultry and flirty the way Dan had so often looked over Skype.

Phil wasn’t worried anymore, though. They’d had their talk, and Phil thought Dan understood Phil wasn’t expecting anything from him. This… this was just Dan being Dan, the overwhelming flirt who always seemed to know just how to get Phil going.

Groaning a little, Phil rolled his eyes and leaned in for one last soft peck pressed to Dan’s lips.

“Come on, idiot,” Phil teased affectionately as he pulled away, “Let’s get in bed, and not,” Phil paused, emphasizing the word pointedly, “for anything other than sleeping!”

Dan pouted, face pulling the exaggerated puppy dog look that Dan always seemed to use on Phil. Phil felt his mouth go dry.

“What if I want too?” Dan teased, winking at Phil. His hand found Phil’s, finally tangling their fingers together the way Phil had wanted to all day. Slowly, Dan pushed himself away from the wall Phil had gotten him pressed up against, and led Phil over to his own messy bed sheets.

“Do you?” Phil asked, voice high and squeaky, unsure. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the long expanse of Dan’s bare back, but he did manage to catch Dan’s eye when he turned his head to smile at Phil.

“Not tonight,” Dan admitted easily, shrugging a little. Phil was just proud of the fact that Dan didn’t sound unsure anymore, that he sounded confident in his answer, and seemed to finally understand that Phil wasn’t going to push him. Phil’s heart swelled, and he grinned.

As Dan pulled them both down onto the bed, he rolled against Phil’s chest, tucking his head under Phil’s chin, and moving Phil’s arm to wrap around his waist.

“Maybe just… hold me, for a bit,” Dan whispered, voice small and filled with an emotion that Phil couldn’t, wouldn’t name. He knew the emotion all too well, because he was feeling it too, right down to the tips of his toes. He just didn’t think now was the right time to voice it - for him or Dan.

So instead, Phil pulled Dan in closer, and shifted to adjust himself so they could both be comfortable, just like this.

“For as long as you want,” Phil agreed, voice a murmur in the sudden quiet of the room.

“Forever then,” Dan murmured back, shy, but not unsure. That was all that really mattered to Phil.

So long as Dan was comfortable, Phil would do anything.

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