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a-simple-imagine · 3 months ago

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Blood Stained Stars

synopsis: On the way to nationals, your plane crashes in the canadian wilderness and van's desperation for you to be okay reveals your relationship to the other girls

pairing: teen!van palmer x fem!reader

words: 2.8k

A/N - hope all five people of van palmer nation enjoy this meal. i have run out of ideas now though so…

WARNINGS - swearing, a plane crash, mention of injuries, blood and pain, very brief and vague allusion to homophobia.

Numb. Searing hot and all-consuming. It's the first thing you notice. How could you not? It felt like it was trying to devour you. Drag you deeper and deeper until it's all you know. But then your eyes flutter open beneath warm rays of sunlight and your ears adjust to the sounds of chirping birds and crunching branches. Complete disarray. You can feel the panic settling in your chest before your brain can make sense of anything. Nothing here made sense. Sprawling trees of thick brown bark take up most of your vision. One in particular scrapes against your shoulder blades through your sweatshirt. How did you get here? Where even was here? The last thing you remember is getting on the plane to nationals. Sitting in a pleather seat on a private plane, Lottie's father had so nicely provided. Mari shared some of her fruit by the foot with you. It takes a beat to register another human being. Thick curls and a Yellowjackets varsity jacket. Taissa.

An attempt to say her name gets caught in your throat; a strange gurgling sound coming out instead. A hearty cough that rattles your chest draws her attention.

"Oh, thank god," Tai rushes towards you, crouching down to get a better look. Her fingertips dig into your cheeks as she inspects your face, guiding it left and right. "Are you okay?"

A redundant question. How could anyone be okay right now? Your body didn't even feel like your own, but you don't feel like you're in any immediate danger, so you nod a little. "I think so,"

"Can you walk?" Tai lets go of your face, standing up and holding out her hand. Staring in that moment reveals the aftermath of something dark. Brushes of ash. A fire, an accident. You take the offer and she supports your rise, only for a pained sob to emit from your throat. Searing hot pain starts in the lower left of your back and spreads like wildfire. Tai drops you instantly. A further groan as you land against the dirt, falling back against the tree.

"What-what's wrong?" She crouches down. Eyes desperately searching yours. You don't know the answer. Not exactly. Your entire body had felt numb before, but now you were in unimaginable levels of discomfort. Suddenly so aware of the sharpest point. Tense muscles refusing to relax.

"I... my back," you explain. All you knew was that something was wrong with your back. It was red hot and disgustingly wet. Unable to control the flinch that follows her hand on your shoulder, Tai's brow furrows.

"I'm just gonna have a look, okay? I'll be quick." Her hand ever present, you nod cautiously. Carefully, she starts forcing your torso forward while ignoring any sounds of clear distress. "Shit," slips past her lips and its clearly a mistake as she drops you, her eyes darting to yours.

"What's wrong?"

The ever-calm and confident Taissa Turner was anything but right now as she stared at you. You wait for an explanation, but it never comes. She just stands up, brushing off her jeans. "I'll be back." Was she really about to abandon you here? Ignoring all the warning signs of your body, you reach forward to grasp her wrist.

"Don't leave me here, Tai." All you can do is beg. Left out of her plan, you definitely wouldn't survive out here on your own. You can hardly move. Taissa pivots, her free hand coming to rest over yours.

"I'll come back. Promise," She pushed down against your hand forcing herself free. Already rushing away before you can grab her again.

"Tai," You yell, but it falls on deaf ears. You are completely alone. Your eyes dart frantically around to try and get a handle on your surroundings, but it is entirely in vain. You have no clue where you are. A forest... somewhere, maybe? You were surely fucked if that was true. Your chest catches on quicker than your brain can; you can't breathe. Why can't you breathe? In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In rapid succession. In. Out. In. Out. Fuck. Are you gonna die out here? What about nationals? What about school? What about your family? Left alone to die in the woods. You'll never see them again... or any of your friends back home. You squeeze your eyes shut tight. Trying so desperately to gain control of your breathing. A force collides with you. A cry of pain struggling in your throat. Wrapped up in someone's arms. "You're back," Thank god. Tai came back. She hasn't left you. But your eyes open and you see sprawling red hair. Was this real? Was she real? "...Van?"

"You're alive," mumbled against the skin of your neck. You stay like this for a while. Despite the pain, you start to relax in her presence. Van was real. Alive. You still had each other. She pulls you tighter, adjusting your body. A surge of pain grounds you in the reality of your situation.

"...Van, you're hurting me." Van groans pathetically before letting you go.

"Sorry," Knelt before you, and you examined her. Really look at her. Half a face covered in raw red scratches. More ash than perfectly freckled skin. Tears prick your eyes. A warm hand delicately cups your jaw, thumb bringing a stinging sensation as it brushes against your cheek. "I just..."A feeble kiss against your lips. Another and another in rapid succession.

"Van," A kiss placed upon your nose.

"You're alive." The girl repeats, only this time, she lets her head fall to rest against yours. "Don't ever scare me like that again," Voice stern and serious. Not akin to her playful nature.

"Like it was my choice." A few playful giggles. A wolf whistle. And then a cough that didn't belong to either of you. The redhead jerks away, landing in the dirt next to you. Taissa had returned and brought a small gaggle of teammates with her. Any explanation caught in your throat. Lucky for you nobody seems too concerned with the matter right now.

"I brought Misty," Tai explains. Did you hear that right? Are you in some alternative universe now? You could not think of anyone you would rather have near you less right now than Misty fucking Quigley. "She's gonna take a look,"

"Don't come anywhere near me, Quigley," You threaten, pointing up at her as she steps closer.

"I can help,"

"No,"

"You're being ridiculous," Tai huffs. "Misty just help her, she can't even do anything." Your eyes narrow in on the blonde, daring her to come closer. Tai was right. There wasn't much you could actually do, but Misty didn't know that. You could see it on her face. The fear of retaliation. Eventually, Tai simply breezes past her towards you. Crouching down and shoving your body forward and earning herself a yelp. "Look."

A very cautious Misty approaches. Keeping her eyes locked on yours until she can't anymore. "Oh my,"

"What? Is it bad?"

"You have-"

"You're fine," Tai interrupts. "She is fine, right, Misty?"

"We have to tell her,"

"Tell me what?"

"Holy shit," Van's voice interjects. It was clearly very bad. Your hand reaches around to try and feel what's going on; the entire area is hot and painful to the touch, but your fingertips skim something solid, and you yank your hand away. Red fluid descends from your fingertips to your thighs.

"What is that?" You ask a tad louder than expected, you look between the other girls in the clearing, searching for an answer that nobody wanted to give. "Someone tell me what's happening?"

Van takes one for the team, coming around to face you. "Don't freak out, but you have like- I don't know, a piece of the plane lodged in your back."

"I- What?" Voice shrill, you immediately reach back again to grab it. Face scrunching up in despair. Between the pain and how wet it is, you can't get a good grip on it. "Get it out!" you demand, still struggling. A hand clamps around your wrist.

"Calm down," Taissa demands. "You're gonna make it worse."

"Get it out!" you repeat.

"We're trying, but you won't let Misty near you."

"I'm sorry, did I miss the memo where misty is suddenly a fucking doctor?" You shoot back but terror is quickly sinking in. Breath quickening. Smering your blood against your jeans as your fingertips press painfully into your thighs.

"Misty is... your best shot, okay? Do you see a doctor around here- I don't?" Taissa fires back.

"W-where's coach?" Tears well in your eyes and begin slipping down your cheeks before you have a chance to stop them.

"Misty," Tai urges.

"I don't know if we should remove it. She might bleed out."

"She can't keep it in." Suddenly, this was a group discussion as your teammates debated what to do. You focus on Van, whose eyes keep flickering between you and the others just to your side. Concern etched on that ash-ridden face.

"Am I gonna die?" You ask ever so quietly. Maybe a question for the others? For god? For the wilderness around you? Or maybe you just needed to hear the possibility said out loud. Either way, Van's eyes immediately dart to yours;

"No," stated firmly. So sure of her answer but you're not inclined to believe her. You had been thinking about your demise since Taissa found you earlier. It just felt more real now that you were gonna die at the hands of Misty Quigley rather than starvation or something more natural.

"Fuck- I'm gonna die." you express.

"I'm just gonna take it out very carefully," Misty assures you.

"You just said I could bleed out." You exclaim.

"It's our only option." What the fuck had you done to deserve this? Stranded in the middle of nowhere with your only hope being the equipment manager of your high school soccer team. You thought you were a pretty good person. You did well in school. You were a good daughter. So why?

"J-Just hurry up." You swallow hard. An attempt to accept your fate. It was almost impressive how Misty took charge; a side of her you had never seen before. Everyone was listening. Doing as she instructed. Van is the only one who doesn't move. She stays firmly seated in the dirt. Her hand comes to rest over the top of yours, squeezing gently. Not quite holding your hand, but enough if anyone was paying attention. Maybe everything would be okay after all.

A somber mood envelopes the makeshift campsite, threatening to drown you all. Coach was dead. A lot of your friends were dead. Most people were injured in one way or another. And there was nothing to do but wait for rescue. Everyone had fallen asleep using seat cushions as make-shift pillows and blankets or clothing to ward off the chill. Faint flames of orange and yellow dance in the centre, doing its best to keep everyone warm before its inevitable demise. You're hunched against the closest tree trunk. The pain was too much for you to lie down like the others. The others had managed to use pieces of fabric to create bandages that wraps all the way around your lower back and stomach. After a lot of tears, excruciating pain and what you would consider a significant amount of blood, Misty had managed to remove the chunk of metal from your back without killing you, but now you just have to suffer. It hurts considerably. An ache so intense you fear it will consume you. Sleep was uncertain. Van was wrapped up in a blanket, lying down beside you. The stars reflected in her open eyes. You had insisted she did not need to be next to you, but she can be so stubborn.

"Van?" whispered harshly. Head resting against the rough bark. Eyelids heavy. Movement slow. You have been thinking about home a lot since you got carried back to camp. Would everyone know about the crash by now? What would everyone think? What are they going to do to save you?

"Yeah?"

"Can you do something for me?

"Anything." Always so eager to please, you slowly look away from her. Glancing up at the night sky. It really was beautiful out here. So peaceful. You don't think you have ever seen so many stars in your life. But with it's serenity comes the reality that you needed medical care, you could not get out here. There was nobody around, and sure, Misty took a first aid class, but that didn't guarantee a future.

"If I die-"

"You won't die," stated directly

"You don't know that," you respond

"You won't die."

A roll of your eyes. That stubbornness would be the death of her one day. You really don't feel like fighting right now, though. "But if I do-"

"You won't." geez.

"But if I do," You repeat more firmly. Continuing before she can get another word in. "And you guys make it back, can you... I want you to... tell my parents about us."

"What?"

"I... I want them to know the real me, you know?" You express. You had a decent relationship with your parents. They do the best they can, and you appreciate that. But it didn't matter how well they cared for you, there were always going to be things you kept from them. Vanessa Palmer was your best friend. They knew that. But you had never told them that one night after practice, you two had taken the long way home so you could keep hanging out and in the beautiful glow of the setting sun, Van had stolen a kiss. It was so quick. But not unexpected because you had been thinking about the same thing ever since you caught her stealing glances in the library while studying. Van had always made you feel giddy, but one day something just shifted, and you realised that you liked her. The way other girls talk about boys is how you felt about Van. About your best friend. You had never told anyone else. A secret just for the two of you until now. "and I'm most myself when I'm with you. They deserve to know that."

"You can tell them yourself."

"Van," Her name but a sigh on your lips. You know her words are as much for herself as they are for you, however, that doesn't make them any easier to hear. Van sits up, adjusting the blanket so it covers their knees as she pulls them to her chest.

"I'm sorry,"

"It's not your fault," You assure her. It was nobody's fault even if Laura Lee suggests that petty sins are the reason the plane went down.

"We almost gave up- I almost gave up on looking for you..." You didn't know that. How long had you been out there, bleeding to death, before they found you? "When I saw you, I just- I couldn't help myself... now everyone knows."

"I don't care, Van," You explain. You look to your sleeping teammates. Your relationship had been a secret for so long. There was no way to predict how a bunch of teenage girls you saw every day and shared a locker room with would react if you had told them. Or more so, you feared you did know. But things were different out here. You're in the middle of nowhere awaiting a rescue that may never come. Everyone had more important things on their mind. You shift higher up the tree as best you could without aggravating your injury. "I'm happy everyone knows."

"Really?"

"Aren't you?" She shrugs.

"We don't really know how anyone feels about it. After everything that's happened, it's pretty low on people's lists."

"That's a good thing though," you insist. "We get to be together and nobody cares."

"Maybe," The uncertainty was all you had right now. You don't understand why she couldn't be as adamant about this as she was about your survival. Your gaze returns to Van, whose head is slumped down against the knees.

"I'm glad you're here, Van."

"I'm glad you're here too," She responds. The redhead shuffles considerably closer so you're both leaning against the tree. Tossing the blanket so that it covers both of you. Ever so gently, her head falls to rest against your shoulder. "I... don't know what I would do without you," mumbled into the darkness. You find the energy for a smallish smile, but it doesn't last very long. A sadness quickly settles into your aching muscles. They had almost given up on you. She had almost given up. Left you to bleed out with only the trees for company. You can't help but wonder if they had found you sooner, would things be different? Your head falls to rest upon Van's. Your eyes flutter closed. Ignoring the pain. Disregarding the way your body was beginning to tremble. Overlooking the way your face was burning and sweaty. Dismissing all of the unseen symptoms of an oncoming fever.

#van palmer #van palmer x reader #van palmer x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #liv hewson

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faceofpoe · 2 months ago

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On the highly contentious unraveling of Cassian Andor (and how season 2 is at its heart about his relationship with Luthen).

(This has nothing to do with justifying or not fuck-all about Rogue One Cassian beyond getting him to that beach, I'm an Andor girlie just working my head around what we've built and where it's going in the context of the show).

I had a lot of issues with arc 1, and some of those issues (like ducking around pillars at a wedding to have the hey we're gonna have to murder that guy talk or, why is Kleya even here?) are not going to go away BUT as someone whose brain wasn't exploded by season 1 until seeing the full big picture come together (Rix Road, beloved), I promised myself a full season rewatch to try to recalibrate.

I haven't rewatched yet, but let's have a 75% recalibration now that arcs 2 and 3 have led us where they have to much fandom furor, and mulling how we bring this whole thing together.

Which brings me back to: this season is at its heart about Cassian's relationship with Luthen, and his acceptance at the end of season 1 that Luthen was right, he's going to die fighting the Empire - so either kill me right now, or put me to good use fighting these bastards for real.

Season 2 came to us with a gigantic ask: engage with the negative space. We have to imagine how Cassian went from big wet bambi eyes above to Mr Earnest-Reassuring-Come-Into-The-Circle with Niya. Mr Empire's-Most-Wanted is sneaking into top secret facilities and doing it with confidence and -

Shit goes instantly sideways. This isn't even the right ship, did anybody know that?? (they didn't, obviously they didn't, they don't know what's gone wrong, and this is really important I think about the fallout of this arc). Cassian's off having a terrible time while Luthen and Kleya are spying and drinking on Chandrila and he doesn't check in and this isn't normal.

It's been a year+ since season 1. Partagaz tells Dedra she's been on the Axis hunt for "almost two years" I believe so presumably we've jumped decently down the calendar year for the 4bby arc.

I have a lot of feels on how Cassian's arc one story should have had more time to breathe, to make the losses punch harder at the end by showing him leaving home, etc, but perhaps that is also the point -

He's good at this; he's accepted his pact with Luthen, one day he'll die fighting - but they're tucked away safe. Brasso's looking out for everyone, Brasso who he tasked with looking out for Maarva if he could. We're meeting him on the high point of thinking he can have it both ways and... perhaps not fearing what happens back home, if this mission or that is the one from which he doesn't return. They'll pull through. This is perhaps his era of: the Cause comes first; we take what's left. And he's balancing it, or thinks he is anyway.

Dashing off home and having found that unraveled while he was having The Worst time on Yavin - captured by, theoretically, allies -

The balance is upended, and cue crisis of faith. Not in the Cause per se, but in Luthen. He gave his own life up to Luthen but now the situation has changed on multiple levels. He's rattled by the failure on Kleya & Luthen's end on Sienar, doesn't have Brasso, doesn't have this illusion of safety on Mina-Rau, Bix and Wilmon both get involved, but Cassian isn't handling it well. There's no "take what's left" when she's right there in the line of fire too. Bix questions his decisions in the field, Luthen... his exchange with Kleya in 2.6 is telling.

"This isn't the piece we need."

"We knew that already."

"I thought seeing it in person would make a difference."

Cassian is not the operative he was where we met him with Niya. Sending him to Ghorman is something of a confirmation of something they've clearly been realizing/discussing. Luthen going to check on Bix/put her to work/whatever was the deal there - this seems very much Not The Norm by her reaction, they don't have a lot of face-to-face contact I would guess - he's doing his own assessment of just what is the situation here. (In the most dickish way possible of course, my problematic beloved.)

Cassian's at this complicated intersection of having lost this comfortable place where he can risk and trust his family's safety. Luthen and Kleya are having their own meltdown over how chaotic their operation has become. Cassian... is probably thinking about that bad intel for Sienar and wondering when the next catastrophic fuck-up that isn't his fault is going to cost something else while Bix is over here being the far better adjusted one about just what war looks like and how unreasonable his mentality about her presence. And I'm really curious if we're meant to read in the sudden appearance of "I have friends everywhere" that this was an effort to avoid another experience like the Maya Pei Brigade.

And then Luthen asks him to see about stoking the flames on Ghorman. (I'm still trying to decide how I feel about the sort of 'having it both ways' aspect of Ghorman and provocation and 'it never mattered anyway the ending was already written.')

And Cassian says: "I'll sit this one out." He doesn't take the order, he decides he wants no part in it. And that is where the final fracture in kill me or take me in finally happens.

He doesn't trust the vision anymore. Doesn't trust that the inevitable tragedy will be worth something in the end. Is this fighting these bastards for real? And is starting, perhaps, to wonder if it was worth it at all, to walk back off that ship to Gangi Moon.

And somewhere in the next year, Cassian starts to come to terms apparently with the fact that he doesn't trust Luthen with his life anymore. But he's not quite all-in with Yavin and Draven either. He's maybe still grappling with the acceptance, or inevitability, or not, that the fight will claim his life in the end - and he's lost his faith in Luthen spending it well. Sometime in this time gap after arguing over Ghorman, the fallout with Cinta, getting shot and struggling with recovery... it unsettles him into retreating, ducking Luthen's calls, until Wilmon turns up with compelling incentive.

[insert Force-ex-machina plot here to heighten his internal struggle]

And at the root of their conversation before the Mon extraction is basically Cassian refusing the assertion from 1.4 - this end is not already written. His own decisions matter. Arcs 1 and 2 only validated his teenage understanding that rebellion is pointless and all they'll do is fight themselves one way or another and, Ghorman has validated his plea with Maarva that she can't beat them. People stand up, they die.

And he has a very similar sort of conversation with Luthen as he had with Maarva and gets much the same response. Still work to be done. Luthen doesn't ask Cassian to stay, but he gives him the "I can't go." They're done. Cassian's done.

[I have quarantined the unfolding of the Bix departure in my brain, Bix's story is now Tether, sorry, I hate it so much, and it could have very much worked without the Force healer Force-ex-machina of it and probably with different timing, anyway]

Anyway Bix pulls the "if you leave, it won't be for me."

So we the audience know of course that Cassian is going to stay. Ironically, perhaps, in a far less make-my-own-decisions friendly capacity within the military hierarchy than he ever was with Luthen. And it will be interesting to see how we meet him at the opening of arc 4. He's presumably got Wilmon and Vel and Melshi and K2SO. He's finally seen the Rebellion pull together; Bix ripped away his fantasy (and it is a fantasy, he knows it's a fantasy because it's played out already on Ferrix and Niamos and Mina-Rau) that there's somewhere safe they could get away from it all.

Will he trust Draven & co to spend his life for good again? Or perhaps he simply can't bring himself to care so much either way after all of the turmoil surrounding Ghorman and the fallout and Bix. Orders are orders and good soldiers follow orders and here he is now, slapped into a uniform with a rank on his chest (idk if he ever actually wears the uniform with rank insignia between all the amazing coats in R1 but you get me) and he'll play the part because what else is there?

But Luthen is still out there, against just about every prediction for how this season would unfold. Luthen is the one puzzling over Ghorman and Dedra, demanding the endgame. Luthen isn't finished.

And I guess the question is, since we know how this ends - what is the force the propels Cassian along to Kafrene to kick off the final mission?

Just a soldier following orders?

Or are we going to wrap this back around to that s1 claim and that pact and the extension of broken trust and give Luthen something of a chance to earn it back (possibly posthumously), in sending Cassian along to the meaningful death he promised?

#Did this need a write-up? No #Was it eating my brain? Yes #andor #andor season 2 #andor spoilers #andor season 2 spoilers #the way it was just common wisdom that Luthen had to die to propel Cassian on to Draven is just #we got something so much tastier and I am *chewing on it*#cannot believe we are taking both Luthen and Kleya into the final week and I am HERE

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chessboredom · 4 months ago

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It just hit me youre the smilk vibrator person... BWAHHAA but thank you for once again reminding THEY STILL FUCK UP THE TRANSLATIONS!!!... its been over 3 years crk pleaseeeeeee get better translators. (Its yu gi oh flash backs all over again)

Ahem so i was doing my good old stimming, then ideas. We all know candy apple has a HUGE crush on smilk in cannon (why do.. people erase that part of her i get it headcannons but its WHY she acts how she does!! Its erasing HER! Aus im fine with cuz well fuckin around and having fun) we know she isnt a fan of Tr and his relation with Smilk (girl you do not want that) it makes me think how would she act if Tr was there longer? Would Tr take advantage of that? Probably. ANYWAY

BACK to uh shadowvanilla, Sm probably updates his puppets when ever hes feeling a certain way about Pv/Tr or muliple puppets. Angry? A very crude puppet of them (like scribles) When Sm is happy, a very carefully maded puppet of pv/tr very accurate! I bet Sm would have just abunch of Pv/Tr puppets hanging around somewhere. OMG! Whenever Sm is upset at Pv/Tr for something he makes puppet shows of him basically insulting them to candy apple and black sapphire. Candy apple wanting to add to the slander but Sm is the only one allowed to do that (cuz he is POSSIVE, but candy apple is happy never the less to hear pv/tr being insulted)

Man those goofy twin idea stuff is rattling in me brain. Also i heard you wanna ramble.. i shall COME CLOSERRRR!! Mwehehe! I fear NOTHING!! -signed I kinda wanna write fanfic but my laptop keyboard is missing the A key

BAHAHAHHAHAHSHAJHA. "Smilk vibrator person" funniest fucking shit to remember me by. But I'm shameless. Anything just to make people see that Korean translations are superior AND gayer. (The current cake hound in the arena actually has romantic feelings for the cream sheep. SHADOWVANILLA WIN!!)

People keep doing Candy Apple Cookie dirty frrrrrr. Her entire personality is literally being obsessed with Shadow Milk and doing everything for Shadow Milk. And oh my GOD. You have NO IDEA how excited I am to show you a comparison between En and Kr THIS line of Candy Apple right now. (I'll soon a post of this in my translations blog.)

I couldn't care less to give a transcript of this right now, but as what the english translations ALWAYS write it to make everything NUANCE amd MYSTERIOUS. For WHAT.

Right!! And did you see that he was happy when he lost the chess game? Did you see that??

I'd give up every last drop of my syrup if only Shadow Milk Cookie could smile...

If it's because of another cookie and not me, I absolutely hate it~~!!!!!!!

Shadow Milk Cookie, what do you like so much about that cooke?! Cookies that have a faint vanilla scent with nonpower at all...!!!

Of COURSE Kr translation always ON POINT. "He was happy when he lost-" (Shadow Milk smiling"-because of another cookie" "Shadow Milk Cookie, what do you like so much about that cooke?!" CLOCK HIS GAY ASS CANDY APPLE COOKIE!!!!

Now with the Candy Apple Cookie thing presented above. HAHAHA. I don't think she's going to be happy about SHADOW MILK being GENUINELY HAPPY while INSULTING TRUTHLESS RECLUSE. She'd be on her KNEES, eyes watering, shaking amd begging that he rather make up insults about HER instead. Korean Smilk literally doesn't insult anyone BUT Pure Vanilla by calling him "half a penny" meaning fool because PV is his special little guy.(We need to KILL Shadow Milk Cookie.) Black Sapphire would also be like 😐"Why are you putting so much effort on these dolls, Master Shadow Milk Cookie?" And then Smilk would come up with some excuse, that's an obvious lie AND oblivious yearning, and having to listen to it makes him homophobic by the second.(Bsc: Okay faggot.) (I headcanon that Black Sapphire is gay. And I think the ship BlackBell is SO cute wtf. Make them toxic NOWWWW.)

AUGHH I'm gonnan do the Twin Lunar and Solar cookie and SagexRecluse rambling on a different post or else I'm gonna combust and be ashes(it's already 6 am on a school day help.)(And then I'll rise again!! Because I'm STILL DRAWING THE IDEAS.)

#asks stuff

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garbinge · 11 months ago

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THE BIKERIDER AND THE BARTENDER (PT 1)

Johnny Davis x F!Reader // Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: The stories of you and Johnny fuckin' Davis. When you show up to The Stoplight for your shift, you end up getting convinced to go to the family picnic where Johnny fights Big Jack, despite your trauma around fighting.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Fighting, trauma, blood, mentions of a dead ex, lost love, haunting, language. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: This is part of a series I plan to post, just a look inside The Bikerider and The Bartenders life.

When you walked into the bar for your shift, you didn’t expect the group of bikers to be having one of their biker meetings. Sitting facing Johnny and Brucie, the chairs arranged so much differently than how they usually were when the bar crowded up at night. Your head was in another fuckin’ planet anyways but as you pushed the doors opened and were met with 40 necks turning your way, you looked around to take in the club meeting happening.

“Sorry boys. Didn’t know it was book club time.” Sarcasm. Your language of choice especially around the guys. Despite the mockery in your sentence, your voice didn’t show it at all, you knew how to keep your composure even when the inside of your brain felt like fucking exploding. You stepped your normal pace as you moved in front of the group and were only mere feet from the leader of the Vandals and his best friend.

“Johnny. Brucie.” With a head nod in acknowledgement you made your way back to the bar, to get set up. Clean your counters, polish your glasses, take inventory. One of the few things that made your head not feel like exploding, keeping busy.

It was then that you heard them arguing over the idea of a bar phone. Who pays for it, who uses it. If you weren’t in such a shit mood, you would have smirked, maybe even laughed under your breath, but your thoughts were somewhere else. That was until Johnny yelled. You should’ve jumped, should’ve gotten scared, your heart should’ve been beating a little faster than it was just seconds ago but the only thing that changed was the noise in your head and the position of your eyes. They went from looking down at the dirty glasses to Johnny’s seat in the middle of the bar, your head resting on the faucet and everything else about your body in the same position it was before he yelled. It took a lot more than a loud shut the fuck up to rattle you.

Same for the guys, although, some of their faces dropped, their attitudes and conversations surely did too. You heard the screeching of some chairs, the creaking of others as they adjusted themselves. Their eyes did the opposite of yours, while yours looked up, theirs looked down. The Vandal apology you’d call it. When their eyes would lower in submission, their hands get a little sweaty, if they were more on the verbal side they’d probably fumble over their words or barely finish their sentences. They were like dogs, their wants and needs were determined by behavior and body language left for the whole fuckin’ world to decode because they didn’t have it in them to say a few lousy words. But you wouldn’t fault them on it all the time, at the very least the Vandal apology was one that dogs would see as a sign of respect, so you did too.

“We need a phone back dere in case anyone gets in trouble, all right?” Brucie’s voice softened too.

That’s when you realized back dere was where you were. The phone was going to be your responsibility. You were going to be its babysitter so no one made their booty calls. When it’d ring, you’d answer it and determine which drunken Vandal was the least drunk and most reliable to pick up whoever from whatever trouble. Right about now you felt like you needed your own Vandal fuckin’ apology.

“...we’re gonna put knots on your head with it.” Brucie’s last sentence was your cue to chime in.

“And if they won’t I will.” It was a threat. There were no two ways about it. You thought you were softening your sentence by continuing to wash the dishes, not making eye contact with the boys when you said it, just a simple reminder was all. But when the silence lasted a little longer than you expected, you looked up to see everyone’s heads turned towards you and when you looked around, their eyes fell to the ground, some with a nod for extra reassurance. There it was, your Vandal respect apology. “Thank you.” You smirked and went back to stacking glasses to dry.

The conversation changed just as fast as it got brought up, someone mentioning expanding the club, adding charters. Shit that you couldn’t be bothered with. If it didn’t have to do with the bar, you could care less. Until you heard Johnny’s response to being challenged.

“Fists? Or knives?”

Fighting. The trigger of all triggers for you. Ironic how you ended up tending bar, where fights were inevitable to happen. But when fights popped off like that, they were easy to brush off, you knew how to handle ‘em, breaking ‘em up, egging them on if needed in some cases, and usually just as quickly as they came to be was as quickly as they were done. But this was different. This was planned, organized, or as organized as these guys could get. This was familiar territory for you. Too familiar.

As the crowd dispersed, you realized that as you were caught up in your thoughts the meeting had finished and the guys were going back to their pool games, moving their seats around tables, coming up to the bar. So you did what you did best to keep your head from exploding. Work. That was until Johnny stood at the corner of the bar farthest from everyone else, but closest to the door and patiently waited for you to make your way down to him.

“Want a wrap?” You placed the empty glass in front of Johnny as he sat at the bar. You were talking about anything but food, but by the response Johnny gave you he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Huh?” He also might not even have cared what you were saying by the looks of it, he wasn’t even bothering to look at you as you spoke, his eyes on everyone around the bar, but your next line definitely got his attention.

“Get a sweat going?” As you poured the pitcher of beer into his glass. His head snapped to you.

“What?” His face was scrunched up in confusion, searching your face for some clue as to what the hell you were talking about. Johnny had an idea what you meant. Sex. All this time you were working at The Stoplight, he knew you better than to attempt to flirt with you. It was clear how it went with all the other Vandals, plus that wasn’t how Johnny did things.

“Heard you were getting ready for a fight. Hands wrapped, get a sweat going, pretty sure that’s what that Muhammed Ali guy does before a fight.” Before he could answer you were turning around, grabbing more glasses for a couple of the guys down the bar.

Despite the tension of him realizing he misinterpreted you, Johnny’s confusion softened into curiosity. The frown was still pasted on his face but it had lightened up a bit.

“And uh, what do you know about fighting?” He was turning completely in his seat now as you reapproached him.

So much. Way too much even.

“Not a lot.” The shrug was the added flair to really sell it. And Johnny’s nod was the added flair to not know if he really bought it. But it was enough to know he wasn’t going to push it.

“What I gotta do to get you to come?” The glass was half empty and you weren’t even sure when he had drunk the thing but you were more confused at what he was saying. You had an idea. Most of the guys spoke sexual innuendos to you where you were able to pick out the ones that came out of nowhere and didn’t necessarily make sense. And that’s what this was feeling like to you. Normally, you’d threaten, scare, or firmly relay your disgust in them, but with Johnny, you didn’t know the best way to respond. He’d never flirt with you. From the first day he met you he showed you nothing but respect, never let a disgraceful comment off his tongue to you. Which is why right now you were frozen looking at him with that same confusion he was looking at you with moments ago.

“To the fight, it’s gonna be a big family picnic. Beer, food, racing. S’good time. You should come.”

Oh. Come to the fight. That made sense. If you were anyone else you’d probably melt of embarrassment right now but instead you just handled it how you knew best. Sarcasm.

“What? Need a bartender to keep the glasses from gettin’ muddy.”

Johnny smiled at that and lifted his glass to take what was likely going to be his last sip before the glass was left with bits of foam.

“Nah, no bartender. Jus’ figured you could come by, you’re one of us you know.”

No, you didn’t know. You weren’t one to belong anywhere, although if you had to this seemed like the perfect place. A group of misfits, of people who were outcasts, who had very little.

“I’ll see.”

You did more than see. You showed up. It was freezing, which was the excuse you used to grab the bottle of vodka and claim it as your own, something to keep you warm.

“Ey! Look who showed up!” Cal was grinning from ear to earring. Offering up a simple wave you also managed out a light chuckle which was all the invite in the world for Corky to come and grab the bottle from your hands and drink it himself.

“Get your own.” It was spoken as you snatched it back and pushed him, no smile or chuckle around at all anymore.

“Told ya, she’d be salty.” Cal was still smiling as Corky backed off and plopped down next to him on the picnic table.

“When am I not salty.” You smirked again in Cal’s direction, clinking your bottle to his as you walked passed, not in the mood to sit with them and hear whatever they’d get into conversation over.

It was pretty packed, kids runnin’ around, tons of bikes lined up, dirt bikes amongst the road ones, some cars from the families that showed. It was the one place where your blue pickup didn’t stick out from the rest of the vehicles. It was old, older than old, but so were a lot of the cars that it was parked next to.

“Smoke?” Johnny was now walking up next to you, a box of cigarettes fidgeting in his hand. His gaze was in front of him, at the bikes doing donuts in what probably used to be a simple patch of slightly dirty grass but was now turning into a muddy pit.

“Smokin’ before a fight, seems smart.”

“Come again?” His face was scrunched up again, you knew you weren’t the best communicator but sometimes with guys like The Vandals, it made you wonder if you even spoke English.

“Ain’t that bad for your lungs before a fight?’ With your eyebrows reaching the top of your forehead, it was a sign that you thought what you were insinuating was obvious.

“Thought you ain’t know much about fightin’?” His hands were cupping around the cigarette now as he began to light the thing. It was the only reason his head was looking in your direction but his eyes were focused on the end of the bud as it caught flame.

“I said I know a little.” There was that flair shrug again, the one that helped sell your lack of fighting knowledge.

“Nah, you said not a lot.” He pointed his cigarette at you, his voice altered slightly as he held the smoke in before exhaling it, waving the cigarette again for you to take it like you were smoking a joint.

“I say a lot of things.” There was that damn shrug again. It should’ve been a goddamn salesman with how much it was trying to sell your lies for you.

“Nah, not really.” Shaking his head, Johnny looked over at you now, eyes and all. The cigarette was now being passed back to him as he took a few more inhales, looking back out at what you assumed the guys were cuttin’ to be the fighting ring.

“Johnny, it’s time!” Brucie was yelling out from across the field and with no hesitation Johnny was passing the cigarette back to you.

“Keep that warm for me.”

The cigarette went out, but you tucked it into your front pocket as you made yourself comfortable on the top of one of the tables. It was a good amount away from the mud pit but gave you some height to take in the fight without any obstruction. The vodka bottle and you were pretty comfortable, all things considered.

Johnny got a few hits in, but Fat Jack was landing solid blows each time, it helped that he was also throwing Johnny around a bit. It wasn’t exactly the fairest fight, but these things never tended to be. In your experience, you weren’t exactly sure the last time you witnessed a fair one. The thuds and blows were loud enough to be heard even as far back as you were. The mud even kicked up that far back as well, you were just happy that the blood seemingly stayed in the perimeter of the pit. If anyone had just shown up now, and they wanted to place a last minute bet, they’d easily put their money on Fat Jack. As Wahoo so politely put it, he was tossing Johnny around like a ragdoll and it seemed like Johnny didn’t have much left in him.

Shouldn’t have smoked that damn cigarette. That was the thought tossin’ around your mind right now. That along with the fact that as much as fighting was a trigger for you, you fucking loved it. Your eyes were like hearts as you stared on to every hit, every step, every grunt and cry out in pain. It was fucked. But now? Fat Jack was fucked.

For someone who got triggered by all of this, your eyes got mighty big when Johnny bit down on Fat Jack’s leg, and then the cracking of his finger was heard loud and clear as Johnny fuckin’ Davis broke Jack’s ring finger, pretty much ending the fight there. Johnny Davis didn’t fight fair, and that was a dangerous game to navigate for you.

He was covered in mud, his nose had dried blood around it and overall it was a disgusting scene that shouldn’t have been so intriguing to you but it was. Heart eyes. You probably shouldn’t have called it that because to other people heart eyes were probably described as drooling, lust at first sight, a very obvious sign of attraction, but for you it was just intrigue. Like no matter how bloody or how many painful bouts there were you couldn’t take your eyes away. Like a car crash, you had car crash eyes, but nobody ever called it that.

“If you were gonna let ‘em have a chapter, why’d you go through the trouble of fightin’ him?”

“If anyone was gonna have the idea, it had better be me, right?”

You heard his reasoning and honestly it made sense. He was the president, he had the authority and like you loved to describe them, they were dogs. This was their way of showing who the boss was.

“How’d I do?” Johnny was looking up at you now, leaving Brucie behind as he hobbled in front of you.

Your eyes stayed on his not looking anywhere else, similarly to his on yours. “Alright.”

It could’ve been insulting, if it was any of the other guys, they would have puffed their chests out and started the line of excuses as to why they made the mistakes they did, or how you were wrong, probably get a little insulting back. But not Johnny.

“That’s what I was goin’ for.” He smiled for half a second, and you could see the mud and the dried up blood there as well, but in your peripheral vision, because your look was still directly on his eyes. “You got my smoke?” He asked, despite the hobbling and amount of punches to the face he got, he was still able to move his eyebrows up in question with no issue.

“Kept it warm for you.” You pulled it out of your pocket, your elbow leaning on your knee as it stuck out from your grip.

“I’m gonna go clean up.” One hobble later, he was closer to you, his filthy hand was nearing yours as he grabbed the cigarette, staring at you for a half a second longer than you expected before he limped off to clean up you presumed. Brucie, his girl, and a few of the other guys and their ladies were gathered around you now but you could have disappeared and none of them would have noticed. So you did, leaving the vodka bottle for them, too. The only thing they realized was that there was a free seat for grabs and a new bottle to drink from.

Without thinking, you walked towards the back of the field where Johnny sat next to a cooler, tossing the water on his face and using his dirty shirt to clean it off as best as he could.

“Hope it was empty.”

It was an honest thought, imagine pulling cold beer out of a muddy ice bath, but you wouldn’t put it past any of the guys here. Before you came around as bartender, you were pretty sure the guys drank skunked beer and from the same unwashed glasses for months.

“Using the last of it to ice my knuckles.” He pointed to the cans on the table. As he did so, your eyes watched his knuckles which were no longer as dirty, just scraped and bruised.

“I got some stuff in my truck, if you want I could patch it up.” Your thumb was pointing behind you at your blue pickup which was only feet away now.

“You keep shit to patch people up in your truck?” There it was that confused face Johnny wore so often in response to you.

“I do.” A nod. No shrug this time because you weren’t lying. You were telling the simplest version of the truth.

“Alright then.” The pain was plastered on his face as he stood up and began his shuffle to your truck, you were close behind, letting him get a few paces ahead while you grabbed the cans of beer. There might’ve been a first aid kit in your truck but definitely no ice packs.

The squeal your truck let out as you opened the passenger door was obnoxious. But Johnny didn’t think so.

“Good piece of metal you got here.” He was leaning against the bed of it as he spoke to you.

A similar noise happened again when you opened and closed the glove box once you grabbed the first aid. “Yea, that’s all it is, a piece of metal.”

Balancing the kit on the truck bed you pulled out the alcohol, gauze, and ace bandages. With one piece of gauze, you drenched it in alcohol and rung it out once so it wasn’t dripping. “This is gonna sting.” It was the warning you haven’t given in, well what felt like forever, but came back like muscle memory once that kit was opened.

He whimpered under his breath as you pressed the gauze to his knuckles, but he didn’t pull his hands away. They were resting comfortably on yours, if that was even possible with all the missing skin and bruised knuckles. With one more gauze pad you removed any of the leftover dirt from the open skin and wiped off the alcohol so his hands were dry.

“So you gonna keep me on the outs here?” His eyes were locked in on the ace bandage as you wrapped it around his palm.

You didn’t answer, you just stopped moving your hands and looked up at him. His eyes caught yours for a split second before they jumped away into the open sky. It was obvious he wished he still had that cigarette, his tongue was swiping against the bottom of his mouth. “Just meant–you know.” He shrugged, his eyebrows meeting in the center as he spoke.

“No, I don’t know.” Your nostrils flared as your eyes went back down to wrapping his knuckles, a small smile peeking through that he wasn’t able to see. The frustration was very apparent in his next statement. “W’da fuck.” That part was mumbled and strung together like one word. “You know your shit.” He was shrugging again.

Johnny had a way of still not saying what he was thinking even when he thought he was. “Still not following.”

“Where’d ya learn how t’do this.” It was a statement not a question, like he finally had it in him to speak a full coherent sentence.

You could have joked, made it feel less awkward, more of a moment, but then that wouldn’t be the truth. “My boyfriend used to fight.”

That got his attention. For a couple minutes, he thought over what to say. The silence should have been weird for you, but it wasn’t, you didn’t care.

“That so?” He nodded, his response not leaving you much to work with in ways of a simple answer, so you opened up, a little.

“It is.” Now, you were switching over to his other hand, it was less bloodied, but it was still needing a little TLC. “Boxed. Small-time.”

“Early retirement?” Johnny might not have talked much, but he sure did pay attention. He noticed you were using past tense in reference to fighting.

A small snort came out from your nose. “We could call it that.”

“Still doesn’t answer how you know your way around a bloody knuckle.” Johnny’s voice was muffled, your eyes looking up to see he had a new cigarette in his mouth, clearly using his patched up hand to grab it while you focused on the other. “Those boxers, dey–uh wear dose gloves, don’t they?” His cigarette was bobbing up and down.

“He did street fighting too.”

His whole body moved along with his nodding. “So what’s he do now?”

“Not much.” The answer came quickly, like you knew the question was coming.

“Should bring the kid around, ain’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.” Another quick answer for an expected question.

That got Johnny’s attention, his head turned to you immediately, his brows weren’t just meeting each other over the bridge of his nose but they were probably overlapping at that point. Before he could say anything you gave the clarity he was looking for.

“He’s dead.” Those were the magic words that changed his facial expression completely. His eyes falling down to the ground. The Vandal fucking apology. “I don’t need no sympathy, Johnny.”

“You used to patch him up after his fights?” He wasn’t offering sympathy, just making conversation, wanting to find out more about you.

“Patched him up until he wasn’t able to be patched up no more.” You took a deep breath, dropping Johnny’s hand now and stepping back. He was still leaning against the truck, mentally prepared to thank you and step away but you continued to talk. “He was a boxer, pretty damn good one, too.” You laughed a little, your eyebrows raising as you remembered the countless boxing matches you saw him win. “Won enough that he got some eyes on him.”

Johnny was nodding, fully smoking his cigarette now instead of just keeping it in his mouth and blowing the smoke out that way.

“Hot shot guys–Cosa Nostra.” That was the only name you needed to say to give the full picture. The Mafia.

“Shit.” Johnny said under his breath.

“Yep, that it was. Boxing turned to street fighting, that turned into fixed fights. Which turned into the punch that got him knocked out. For good.”

“That–uh–that’s rough.” He was shaking his head.

You smirked, “That’s what I thought, that his funeral would be the hardest day of my life, but burying my boyfriend was the fuckin’ easy part, if you’d believe it. The rough part was getting those asshole’s off my back. I paid ‘em 150 bucks every two weeks to pay off what they had planned to win from those next scheduled fights that obviously weren’t going to happen and well, it was never enough.”

“What’d you do to get ‘em to stop?” Johnny was looking concerned at you now, curious if this was still a problem of yours.

“I spooked ‘em.” With your arms crossed, you waited to see his reaction.

He pulled his cigarette from his mouth and waved his hand wanting you to elaborate.

“I knew I couldn’t fight ‘em, I’d end up dead myself, so I spooked ‘em. Had half the crew thinkin’ they were being haunted and the other half that they were hexed. A lot of fake bloodied writing on mirrors, planted a book in their office that explained how a family had died there back in 1867, put dead mice in the cupboards, had ‘em hanging by their tails, hid porcelain dolls around too, those I’d get the ones whose eyes would open on their own, also put them in the weirdest places, best one was under the bathroom sink, guy would reach for toilet paper and be met with a hexed one eyed open figurine. Also hid up in the vents one week too and made noises, that one almost got me shot but it was what eventually forced ‘em out and too far downtown to make the trip back up for 150 bucks worth it.”

It wasn’t a true honor to leave Johnny speechless, but in this particular instance you felt pretty accomplished.

“Yer fuckin’ serious?” He said it so fast and with his face so twisted up.

“Okay I lied about the rats, too gross, but everything else I did.”

“Yer fuckin’ crazy.” It was said just like his previous statement, fast and with his face twisted up. Until he let out a laugh, one that you’d never heard come from Johnny before. “You spooked ‘em.” He spoke it through chuckles, kicking off the truck now, his finger shaking at you. “That’s good.”

You smirked, walking back to your truck to drop the kit back into the glove box. Turning around, Johnny was still standing there, his smile beginning to fade, but the remnants of it were still there.

“How long ago was all this?”

The time you took to answer made it seem like you were calculating the time, but you could’ve answered immediately. In your sleep, even.

“About two years.” It was more like 2 years and 3 months but you weren’t going to get too detailed.

“What’d you do after you got rid of the Gambino family?” He joked, speaking the famous gangster family name, but his face was serious, his cigarette tossing to the ground.

“Moved in with my piece of shit brother who gladly took my newly found biweekly 150 dollars.” With that the glove box slammed shut and you were sitting with your legs hanging off the side of the passenger seat.

“What made you move to Chicago?”

“You know, Johnny. This might be the most I’ve ever heard you talk.

“What can I say, getting slammed in the mud makes me chatty.” He shrugged, his body still covered in dirt.

You leaned down and grabbed the two ice cold beers before you were jumping down and closing your car door. Your hand extended out to Johnny to give him the beer, pointing to his knuckles so he could ice them. Taking your own beer, you started walking back down to the picnic, cracking it open and taking a sip. You turned back to look at Johnny who was standing in the same spot, beer can over his knuckles, dirt falling off his shoulders and smiled over the top of the can.

“I came to Chicago for something new.”

Dividers by @realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🏍️The Bikeriders Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#The Bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #Johnny Davis #Johnny Davis Fanfiction #Johnny Davis x Reader #Johnny Davis x You #My Writing #Garbinge #The Bikerider and The Bartender

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postpendulum · 2 years ago

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Some deformed jumbled mess of whatever this idea is has been rattling around in my adhd riddled brain for weeks now and I'm finally forcing myself to write it down, it is barely fleshed out in the slightest (hence, "deformed") and only the main idea is in my brain right now so I'm basically making it up as I write this so, apologies.

The Fenton parents (for whatever reason) decide that Gotham is the perfect place to spend their summer vacation, and while their there through some

💫Wacky Shananagans💫

Danny ends up meeting (omg your never gonna guess this, it's so out of this world for me, who only has one dpxdc post so far and it's this ship as well, it's so wacky and wild, blow your brains out pew pew pew)

DAMIAN!!!!!!💥💥💥💥💥💥‼‼‼‼💥💥💥💥💀💀💀💀💀:O

What the what!?!?!??!?,! WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT????? I AINT MEVER DUN DIS BEFORE!!!!!!!!

Anyway basically they have a summer romance because idk mwa mwa kissy noises gay gay homosexual gay and whathajaga

And then idk I had this that that like, I saw someone say once somethen like "damn tho the most unrealistic thing about this show is that nobody at that damn school thought Danny was hot💀" and I thought like, "damn bitch that true tho." So like idk, I thought like, I'm pretty sure its psychological fact or whatever (this gonna be damn embarrassing if that isnt true tho cuss ona my possible options ideas plans whatever for college is psychology💀) that confidants makes people more attractive, so like, ig like Danny builds confidence over the summer with you know, getting a boyfriend, Damian not taking any of that whatever bullshit idk ahjaobznaja or maybe just ghost aura shit whatever idfk whatever you want.

Basically when he goes home at back to school after summer break is over people suddenly realize "oh shit wait whys he kinda hot tho," and the fuckers like randos, maybe a-listers, whoever's just a buncha people like flirting tryna shoot their shot whatever, but then Danny's just like, thinking about how much he loves his boyfriend and how much he can't wait to see him in person again and what not. I also like to think Danny probably didn't even tell anyone at school he got a boyfriend, like maybe he even forgot to tell Sam and Tucker because he was to busy being fucking lovestruck, I mean I doubt that would actually happening and it's more likely that he'd constantly be gushing to them about Damian rather then not and I actually like that idea a lot better now that I thing about it that other one was more of a funny little side thought idk. But yeah nobody knows besides like Sam Tucker and Jazz, so yeah.

On o think that's it for me I'm done good night y'all *cue mic drop*

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marlinbluezzz · 6 months ago

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*cracks knuckles*

Here’s some food eat up guys 🍽️🍽️

I’m really tired but also really bored and I need to solve the boredom before I go to sleep 💪

soooooo have some quick little stories I guess :3 they’re just short kinda.

Martin seems like the kind of guy who’d like having his hair touched, brushed or played with but he’s NOT gonna tell anyone. He’s giving me dog vibes idk why. Like. Golden retriever.

ALSO THESE ARE THE FIRST FANFICS IVE WRITTEN IN LITERAL YEARS IM SORRY THEYRE SO TRASH!!!

Also sorry for any typos this is a new device and it hasn’t gotten used to me using certain words yet :/

1: Leaves (Maviva ish)

Chris and Martin stepped into the tortuga, still laughing wildly from a situation that had happened almost 15 minutes ago, where Martin had found a pinecone, and it lead into an all out pinecone throwing battle. Their faces were covered in slight scratches and red marks, and Martin had leaves in his hair, but he didn’t seem to mind.

the two were still in their squirrel power suits as the entrance to the tortuga shut behind them, and they dusted themselves off.

“de- deactivate!” Chris's words were broken up by chuckles.

“There you boys are,” Aviva said, approaching them with a wrench in hand. “You two are going to clean that mess up later- not me, not koki, and not Jimmy!”

“Sorry, Aviva!” Chris exclaimed almost jokingly, plucking a burr off of his power vest. “There you go,” he said almost silently as he threw it to the floor. Martin and Aviva shared a look as Chris trotted away to put his belongings down.

“You guys are so messy sometimes,” said Aviva, her voice a little quieter, directing her full attention to Martin. A goofy smile made its way to his face.

“it’s mostly Chris,” he said innocently. She roller her eyes.

Martin deactivated his suit, slipping the disc into the pocket of his shorts. “MK’s always got his life together! See?”

Aviva huffed. “Sure he does.”

the two locked eyes for a moment, Aviva's teasing smile fading into soft concern. Martin tried to ignore the butterflies starting to flutter in his stomach.

“you have so many leaf fragments in your hair, Martin!” She began to laugh lightly. “It looks like a bird tried to build a nest in there!”

Martin sighed, and vigorously shook his head like some kind of dog. He probably rattled his brain around. “I’ll wash my hair tonight.” He began to walk past her, but she caught him by his sleeve, causing him to stumble slightly. “No, Martin, you need to get that out now.” Her tone was stern, but soft in its own kind of way. A light blush rose to Martins cheeks as she grabbed his sleeve, and koki muttered something to Jimmy on the other side of the room.

Aviva lead him to Jimmy’s unoccupied chair- a rare site indeed. He was currently sitting beside koki on the floor eating a sandwich. Typical Jimmy.

“this is the tortuga, not a salon!” Martin was laughing, but it was only to suffocate the nervousness welling up in him as Aviva stood in front of him, examining the condition of his hair. He hated prolonged eye contact, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from hers. He hated that he got like this sometimes- Aviva was his friend. He couldn't…

he wanted to flick himself because of his thought process.

“Ok, hold still, MK.” Aviva began to gently remove the leaf fragments from his hair, and he tried not to lean into the light tingle of her hands in his hair, but to no avail. He allowed his eyes to shut, accompanied by an even goofier smile than before. Hopefully, she didn’t notice it, but with the way Jimmy and Koki were probably seeing him, it was obvious.

after about a minute, Aviva was done with him, ruffling his hair back into its natural position.

“I’m still gonna wash my hair. It’s been a while,” he giggled, wanting to see Aviva's reaction to that unnecessary information.

“Ew! Nasty kratt!” She teased, walking back over to where she was tinkering with the miniaturizer.

Their interaction faded at that point as Martin went off to find Chris wherever he had skedaddled off to in the tortuga- but he knew that while the interaction was insignificant to Aviva, it would linger in his mind for weeks to come.

////

wooo that was ass. Time to ruin two more of my favorite characters. Hopefully I’m better at writing Zach than I am Martin

2: wolf fur coat. (Zanita kind of tee hee…)

“So what do I have to do with this?” Zach hissed, crossing his arms. He felt like this entire day had been a waste, and he was so tempted to get his zachbot that was waiting outside to take him back to the jet already.

Donita had called him over about a possible offer, a mutually beneficial deal. But she had spent the entire time talking about possible new fashion items to sell and display- nothing that would interest Zach.

“Zach, darling, I’m getting there,” she said as she showed him more sketches of animal “inspired” outfits, some of the most set designs Zach had ever seen. Sometimes he could barely put up wit( the others, but he had to admit that Donita had a great mind. Especially with the crappy doodle of gourmand in a poodle themed dress in the corner.

”Well, get there! I don’t have forever, you know. I am a busy man!”

“Busy doing what, Zach? Stalking the kratts? Zachary, dear, wouldn’t you like a little more publicity? Some… promotion?”

Zach was now slightly intrigued, dropping his sharp tone by a little out of curiosity. “What kind of publicity and promotion are we talking about?

Donita chuckled darkly, flipping to the next sketch in her book. It was a loose drawing of Zach himself, sporting a lavish fur coat over his usual black turtleneck, accompanied by pants that matched the shade of a color in the coats pattern, and black boots. Zach raised his eyebrows as he studied it, but then started to become a little outraged.

“You-“ he stumbled over his words, not sure whether to be offended by the fact that she believed he would wear such an outfit, or flattered by the fact she would use him as a subject.

“I would like for you to model this outfit for me in my next line,” she purred, closing her sketchbook.

she fluidly reached out to him, grabbing the sides of the neck of his sweater, tugging lightly, but hard enough to get him slightly flustered. “You would look awfully dashing in a wolf fur coat.”

Zach sighed, dropping his defensive attitude at the compliment, but not letting her know that it had any effect on him. “We'll see, Donita. But I’m an inventor, not a dress up… princess… varmit wearer!” His voice held no malice, somehow.

“Mhm,” she hummed. “We WILL see… see you in that fur coat, that is.”

Zach rolled his eyes.

“Well, would 2 million dollars be enough to lure you in? You seem to forget I’m just as clever as you when it comes to business.”

Zach’s eyes widened, a smile creeping to his face. He then lowered to a smirk as he prepared to speak, eyes narrowing.

“We might have ourselves a deal, Donita Donata.”

///

ok that one wasn’t really THAT shipyard but boy do I like writing those two… (that’s the first time I’ve ever done that)

but yeah I hope that these aren’t too bad and that someone out there likes them! :) I spent way longer on that than I wanted to lol. I wish the Zach and Donita one had been more shippy but it’s SO LATE AUGH

#Zanita #maviva #martin kratt #martin wild kratts #chris wild kratts #wild kratts zach #wild kratts fanfiction #wild kratts #aviva corcovado #chris kratt #zach varmitech #donita donata #Donita wild kratts #This is SHIT #TRASH I TELL YOU #TRASH

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atrueneutral · 1 year ago

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How about "now what?" for Tav x Raphael? Maybe after a night of passion but neither of these pining idiots know what to do now or what this means going forward?

Because I had an idea for this, I went ahead and made this a prequel to the FWB Raphael x Tav.

[Dubious consent: Tav has had a few drinks.]

[Part I]

---

The Devil’s Den was in her sights, and Tav was right on schedule.

Okay, there was a small, teensy chance she was late; she’d spent longer than intended down at the bar, and she maaaaybe ordered one flagon too many of Hoot’s Hooch from Hooch. Blurry eyesight and a loss of coordination getting up the stairs assured Tav that she was a tad tipsy, but it was fiiiine!

A little liquid courage was needed when making an offer to a devil.

The proposal she had in mind had been turning in her head for a while; it started out as a curious, relatively innocent thought upon her first meeting with Raphael - which then steadily turned into a salacious visual fantasy the more and more they crossed paths.

Now that her adventure was over, and her (disapproving) companions scattered to the winds, her tad-pole-free brain somehow convinced her it was a smart idea to schedule a formal appointment with the devil - the goal being: compare fantasy with reality.

And he was waiting for her - no! He was waiting for someone named Imma Moussé behind the door… if she could only grab the handle! That’s a miss… oh, there we go, just gotta turn it and–

It was purely accidental that Tav threw the door open, and she certainly didn’t mean to slam it closed behind her with a bang. Nearby items rattled as she froze in momentary embarrassment, her eyes wide. Raphael was standing where he had when he’d shoo’d Kitkat’Voss (or whatever his name was) from the room months ago, and the devil’s handsome, mortal face was all scrunched and sneering at her entrance.

Tav tapped into the liquid courage coursing through her veins.

“You'll be entreatin’ with me, devil!” Tav shouted with sudden dramatics, pointing at him like he was a villain who had wronged her. She then looked flippantly smug. “Imma Moussé and I are one anna same! Tricked you, din’t I?”

“Yes, I hadn’t a single clue it would be you, Little Moussé,” came Raphael’s dry reply. “Aside from being loud, you’re late. Do not waste my time further - what is it you have come for? What is it that you need?”

“It jusso happens that I need somethin’ specific, o’devil o’mine… And no one’s here to stop me!” She needed someone to stop her from making a fool of herself. “I’m not even gonna stop me!”

That’s not what she meant to say.

Raphael raised a brow.

Shit, her mouth was opening again.

“I know what you’re probbly thinkin’, ‘here’s another stupid and drunk mortal on my doorstep’,” Tav said, gesticulate-a-ma-bobbing wildly with her hands while ambling towards him. “But I assure you that I am absssolutely one-hundred-percent sober and have soberly made the decision to seek out a certain devil in an official capacity to make a deal.”

The ‘certain devil’, Raphael, pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and sighed. “It is my gratefulness for providing me the Crown that says you’re too drunk for this appointment, my dear.”

Standing three feet away from him, Tav began to pout. She sheepishly kicked at the floor. “But I need somethin’…”

“Then enough of your ‘sober’ prattling - state what it is you need.”

Her pretend sheepishness evaporated as quickly as it came; attempted sultriness was left in its stead, and Tav glanced up at him with a lascivious gaze. “I need you, Raphael - raw and undiluted.”

Although tipsy (okay, okay, maybe more than tipsy), Tav could still read the shadowy darkness that appeared in the depths of Raphael’s brown eyes. His stare always managed to make her feel warm, but its current intensity was making her feel hot - to the point where her face flushed further, and her clothes felt even more like a cloying nuisance to wear.

“I’m afraid what I need is for you to be more specific, Little Mouse,” he purred, his expression turning fiendish.

Tav’s liquid courage swatted away her nerves and pushed her to step closer to him.

She brazenly stared back at the devil. “I’m proposin’ that you fuck me, Raphael - raw and undiluted.”

There was a deep rumble from his chest and throat as a good-looking bad-man reeking of cherries and sulfur brought himself to stand even closer. “A very tempting offer, but there is a stipulation we must address.”

An internal alarm bell went off (‘something, something your soul’), and her brows knit together. “What kinda stipulation?”

Raphaels hand came up to grip her chin. “There is cowardice in you coming to me with this proposition inebriated. You view this appointment as a poor choice - an unwise decision - and I won’t risk you possibly forgetting this ‘lapse in judgment’ when all is said and done. Return to me when you are ready to take ownership of your desires.”

“I am sober,” Tav murmured, her eyes having been fixated on his mouth while he talked.

“And I’m a very nice man who means well,” Raphael retorted lowly, his eyes having drifted to her mouth.

“Technically, you are bein’ nice by wanting me to actually be sob-”

Raphael kissed her, she kissed back, and-

—

When all was said and done, a sweaty Tav was lying naked on top of a wing that belonged to an equally-sweaty-and-naked devil who happened to match her fantasies in more ways than one. The bed of the boudoir was underneath them, and the both of them had taken to saying nothing as they rhythmically caught their breath on their backs.

“Now what?” She asked after some minutes passed.

“Now you get off of my wing.”

She didn’t immediately move, and he curiously didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re right, you know," Tav next said.

“Hm?”

She traced the lines of the gaudy canopy above. “I migh’ forget that this happened. We could… do it again? Make this a… regular thing?”

Raphael didn’t respond.

“You’d be my fiend with benefits, and I’d be your-”

“Little Mouse.”

Tav’s head turned to meet the devil’s serious gaze.

“Only under the stipulation that you are on time and sober do I accept your proposal.”

She smiled. “Then it’s a deal, o'devil ‘o mine.”

#thanks for the prompt!#my writing #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #drabble #bg3 #fwb raphael x tav

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aspideronmywall · 1 year ago

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Goose....was not a very compatible RIO.

This has been an idea rattling around in my brain for a few months now. I feel it's an interesting concept. Goose being an aggressive, or demanding RIO. Wanting to push people to the limits of their flying, making Mav and Goose perfect for each other.

(Apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes I may have missed!)

A bulkhead was slammed shut, the metal achingly bouncing off of its frame. Nick Bradshaw was storming through the halls of the boat, his pilot quickly in toe.

"Goose, look I'm sorry-"

The large man had whipped around so fast that a rush of air grazed over the pilot's face.

"You're sorry? Sorry." Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. "We were going to die out there, die, Bellbottom." Nick took a deep breath to try and keep his composure..

Bellbottom, Nick's pilot tried to defend himself. "Look, I was only following the training.-"

"And you won't take any risks because you got that book shoved up your ass!" Nick shouted. his voice rang through the pingy hallway. "Because you won't fly fast enough, you won't take a tighter turn to get an edge on the enemy, I can't fly for you! My life is in your hands, what the hell are you going to do when your lack of some fucking kahunas gets me killed and makes my wife a widow, and my child fatherless huh?"

Bellbottom had shrunk against the wall by now, while Goose may have a slightly goofy exterior, the burning fire behind his eyes is felt through the intense stare that heats up his cheeks.

"We are lucky alert 5 made it in time..." Goose sighed, backing away from his pilot. "You're gonna have to find a new RIO... because I won't settle for a pilot who is incompetent."

Nick meandered his way to the mess hall, ever since he quit smoking, for caroles mental peace of mind, his new addiction was food, not that he didnt have a healthy appetite before, but stress eating became his new poison. The moment Nick sat down with a plate of food, his ears were drawn to an arguing pai of officers who had just walked past him.

"Jesus Christ Maverick, you aren't a stunt pilot, you're gonna get us killed out there!"

The short one, who Nick could only assume was Maverick, turned around, having to look up at his fellow officer.

"We were on alert five Ford, what was I supposed to do? Take a Sunday drive to an F-14 in the water with no MiGs in sight? we had to get there, and we had to handle it. End of story."

The taller of the two grabbed Mavericks arm.

"Listen here, kid. You're daddy may have been a hotshot pilot like you, but one way or another, that attitude is gonna get you, or someone near you killed, you just watch it happen. Find a new fucking RIO..."

After that insult to his father, maverick slumped into the seat across from Goose, with Maverick's back facing him. After Nick took his time chewing his food, he finally spoke up.

"You're Maverick?"

Maverick turned his head, and solemnly nodded. He swung his leg over the bench to face Nick. "Yeah, I'm Maverick alright, can't keep a damn RIO."

"And that's cause you fly too fast?" Nick questioned.

Maverick nodded his head, looking up at Nick.

There was a long pause between them, before Nick spoke again. "And I just got done yelling at my pilot for not flying fast enough."

#nick goose bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #Top gun #goose #top gun 1986 #nick bradshaw #top gun goose

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daryltwdixon · 7 months ago

Text

The Heart of Us: Chapter 18

As you walk up to the group, there’s a mix of casual chatter, Eugene and Noah trading verbal jabs about whether the mulleted man will actually join the run. You try not to cringe at the thought. Eugene, with his monotone drawl and his knack for needing constant babysitting, never made you feel particularly confident in group outings. Still, Deanna leads you straight to them without hesitation.

You step up beside a tall man with glasses and wispy white hair. Deanna gestures toward him with a warm smile, her hand sliding around his back. “Y/N, this is my husband. Not sure you two met at the party the other night. Reg, this is Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Reg says, offering his hand with a kind, easy smile. “Joining this group of misfits on their run today?”

“Sure am, sir.” You shake his hand firmly, flashing a polite smile.

“No.” The word comes sharp and fast from your right, and you barely need to glance to know the source. Aiden.

“No way, Mom!” he barks, his tone grating enough to make you bite back a sigh. You glance past him to Tara, who grimaces in shared exasperation. Maggie strides past, arms full of supplies, heading toward the paint-peeling van parked in the driveway.

“Get over yourself,” Maggie mutters as she passes Aiden, her tone clipped but effective.

You plaster on a sickly sweet smile, your voice dripping with mock cheer. “Hi, Aiden,” you croon.

He rolls his eyes but turns toward his parents, his body language shifting into something slightly more composed—if only because his father is watching.

“You got everything?” Reg asks, his tone even.

Aiden nods stiffly while you turn to Noah, who hands you a familiar weapon.

“Good thing I brought this along,” Noah says, holding up your old rifle.

Your lips tug into a smirk as you take it from him. “You were gonna take my old girl out without me?”

“Somethin’ told me you’d be here. Just a matter of when,” he replies, grinning as your hand squeezes his arm in quiet thanks.

Behind you, Aiden continues rattling off the checklist to his parents. “First aid kit, yellow pages, Glenn made a checklist. We’re good, I swear.”

“I know,” Reg says, his tone calm but insistent. “I’m just a worrier. That’s how we got that wall built.”

You let their conversation fade into the background as you exchange a quick hug with Maggie in farewell. She shoots you a small, knowing smile before heading back toward Glenn.

“I know I’ve said it before,” Deanna calls after you as you turn to leave, “but thank you.” She winks, her voice tinged with quiet encouragement.

Without a retort, you climb into the van after Tara and Noah. The interior smells faintly of old oil and dust, the cracked vinyl seats sticking uncomfortably to your legs as you slide in. Glenn follows, plopping down beside you with a soft laugh.

“What?” you ask, elbowing him lightly.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, but his gaze flicks pointedly toward the driver’s seat, where Aiden sits, his hair perfectly tousled and his posture stiff with irritation.

You follow Glenn’s gaze, then smirk. “Yeah. This’ll be interesting.”

The van rumbles to life, its engine sputtering briefly before catching. You lean your head back against the seat, your fingers tightening around your rifle. It’s just a run. You can handle Aiden. Probably.

➳

“So that’s it, there?” you ask, glancing at the looming structure ahead while double-checking the chamber of your rifle. The familiar click as you ensure it’s fully loaded echoes in your ears, mingling with the sounds of the others prepping their weapons. Your gaze lifts to the large, gray building ahead—a stark, soulless block of cement with trash scattered around its base. You’ve seen places like this before. They rarely hold anything good.

You’d learned on the drive here that this wasn’t just any supply run. Among the usual haul, the group was after something critical—a part to get the power grid up and running back in Alexandria. That’s why Eugene and his “techie brain” had tagged along. You weren’t thrilled about him being here, but the stakes were high enough to swallow your complaints.

“That’s the warehouse,” Aiden says, pointing toward it as Nicholas nods beside him. “Looks like that door’s our fastest way in and out.”

You glance at Glenn, and he’s already voicing your thoughts, his tone calm where yours would’ve been cutting. “We should know all the exits first,” he says evenly. “So we have a plan in case things go south.”

“Already got one,” Nicholas quips, shrugging. “It’s called goin’ out the front.”

You roll your eyes, slipping the strap of your rifle over your shoulder but keeping your mouth shut. Better to let the “experts” pretend they know better. Still, you make a mental note to scan every inch of the place once inside.

The faint growl of a walker cuts through the silence, followed by Tara’s sharp voice. “Noah, heads up.”

You pivot to see a lone walker shuffling toward the group.

“Got it,” Noah says, lifting his gun and taking it down with quiet precision. The sound of the silencer on his weapon makes you pause, envious. You make a mental note to find one for yourself—or better yet, snag one here.

“Good aim,” Aiden says, handing Noah a second weapon. Then, surprisingly, his tone softens. “Glenn’s right. We should do a perimeter check—just in case.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at his words. Maybe he’s capable of learning after all.

Glenn gives a small nod, his eyes meeting yours. You both shrug in silent agreement before breaking into groups to scout the perimeter.

You, Noah, and Glenn take the fence line. The walk is quiet, the air thick with tension. After a few moments, you break the silence, nudging Noah lightly. “That was good aim back there,” you say.

“Target practice helps,” he replies, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Honestly, last week I was pretty close to practicing on Aiden.”

“You and me both, kid,” you mutter.

“Same,” Glenn adds with a chuckle.

But the humor dies quickly as the faint sound of snarling reaches your ears. You quicken your pace, the three of you rounding the corner to find a crowd of walkers pressed against the chain link, their rotting hands clawing at the metal.

“Guess we’re not getting out the front,” you mutter, your voice low.

When the group regathers at the van, you report what you’ve seen. A collective sigh ripples through everyone before Aiden speaks up, gesturing toward the back entrance. “We’ll take the other way in.”

You slam your hand against the metal door a few times to draw out anything waiting inside. The sound reverberates off the walls, but the space remains silent. No snarls, no shuffles, nothing.

“Alright,” Glenn says cautiously. “But take it slow.”

You’re already stepping through, your rifle raised and your other hand brushing the knife at your waistband. Glenn’s voice follows you in. “Y/N, give it another second. It’s a big place. There could be more.”

“Noted,” you whisper, your steps deliberate as you sweep your gaze across the rows of metal shelving.

Aiden pushes in behind you, handing you a flashlight. You hold it up, the beam cutting through the shadows as orders murmur softly from the others to spread out.

“I got this aisle,” you whisper, moving down a long corridor lined with shelves stacked high with crates and boxes. The air is stale, heavy with the faint scent of rot.

Then you hear it—the faint clinking of metal paired with a low, guttural snarl. Your grip tightens on your rifle as you inch forward, the sound growing louder.

“Eyes up,” Glenn whispers behind you, and the group starts moving again. But the sound of snarling grows louder, this time to your right.

You stop short when your flashlight catches movement.

You whip around, your flashlight beam landing on a cluster of walkers– a lot of them–trapped behind a metal fence on your right. Their growls are relentless, echoing through the hollow space with a feral hunger. Dead eyes lock onto you and the others, and their decaying fingers grip the fence, rattling it so hard that the chain holding it shut clatters noisily. There are more of them here, at least twenty, and their frenzy is contagious. If there are any walkers deeper inside, they’re likely stirred up now.

“Well,” you mutter, letting your rifle fall against your chest, slung on its strap, “let’s get to work.” You pull your knife from your waistband, the familiar weight settling in your hand like an extension of your arm.

Tara swings her flashlight toward Eugene, the beam hitting him square in the face. “You’re up,” she says curtly, her tone brooking no argument.

In the harsh light, Eugene’s wide eyes shine with unmistakable fear. He hesitates for a moment, his breathing shallow, but he moves into place without protest.

The next few minutes are tense but systematic. Knives plunge through the chain link, one walker at a time, their snarls cut short with each precise blow. The group works in sync, clearing the gate efficiently despite the noise. Finally, the last walker collapses, and the rattling of the fence ceases.

Once you’re moving again, Eugene and Tara call out from another aisle, their voices bouncing off the high walls. “Found it!” Tara’s tone is sharp but triumphant, cutting through the tension that’s been winding tighter with every step. Eugene’s voice follows, lower and laced with cautious pride, as if he’s surprised at their success.

You exhale, your shoulders dropping just slightly at the idea of finding something useful in this place. At least this trip won’t be a total waste. You adjust your grip on your rifle and refocus, scanning the rows of shelves towering around you.

The space is massive, and your flashlight struggles to cut through the shadows clinging to the upper reaches. Dust floats lazily in the faint beams of light trickling in through cracks and boarded windows. You squint, looking for anything—tools, supplies, something to make all this worth it.

Your boots crunch softly against the littered floor, the sound almost too loud in the cavernous space.

A distorted groan echoes through the space, pulling your attention to the far side of the room. You turn, flashlight sweeping over the source, and your stomach twists at what you see.

Aiden.

He’s firing his gun, the sharp sound of his shots bouncing off the walls. His target is a walker in full military gear—helmet, face shield, camo uniform. A soldier, you realize. Its body is decked with weapons and equipment, a vest strapped tightly across its chest.

“Aiden, stop shooting, let it get closer,” you say quietly, but with a sharpness. He doesn’t seem to hear you, and the bullets ricochet off the soldier’s visor with sharp, metallic pings. The walker keeps shambling forward, undeterred. You step closer, your eyes scanning the walker’s gear, searching for a way to disarm it.

He doesn’t listen. Another shot rings out, then another.

“Aiden, stop—!”

Your voice rises in urgency, but it’s too late.

The bullet hits the grenade strapped to the soldier’s chest.

For a brief moment, the world slows, the green oval of the grenade catching the light in a sickening flash.

And then everything goes black.

#the heart of us #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic

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shadowbriar · 2 years ago

Text

Anthony Lockwood - If You’re Going to Break My Heart

Pairing : Anthony Lockwood x (she/her) TouchGifted!Reader Word Count : 5.8k. Warning : Blood. Minor character’s death. Panic attack. Possible OOC as I haven’t read the books. Angst, don’t sue me. Synopsis : The ambition they’ve nurtured for years finally start to create a space between them, straining their relationship that turns what once were friends into colleagues. Notes : Part II of I Love You So. I recommend listening to Inhaler - If You’re Gonna Break My Heart while reading. Thank you for giving the fic so much love and support, please don’t hate me as you reach the end of this fic. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ Taglist: strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you. @nessa-stark @navznak28 @gwnwrites @archiveoftara @superpositvecloudshipper @cassiopeiia24 @wordsarelife @mellowarcadefun @ajordan2020 @a-candle-maker @obsessed-female @rambles-fanfic-trove @yokolesbianism

↞ I Love You So

“Anthony, I don’t like this.”

Lockwood drops his bag, carefully letting the sack fall off his shoulder. The heavy chain rattled as it came in contact with the ground. Her worried eyes tingles his heart, as if he couldn’t decide if he should be delighted to see how adorable she is right now or to take her worry seriously. She does have the tendency to be apprehensive at times.

She continues to express her worry but her words blur as if he was listening underwater. His brain was working itself hard to comprehend her sentences, to process whatever it is she was trying to tell him, and though he feels it in his heart that he knew what she wants and what she was saying, he still couldn’t compute the words she utters.

“We’ll be fine,” He finds himself says, mouth moving as if it has its own mind “We’ve been through this a hundred times, we’ll be alright. I promise to keep you safe.”

Her brows were still pinched, a small frown of disagreement displayed, but she remained quiet. Slowly yielding to his words and nodding in approval. She takes his hand, interlocking their fingers and guiding him inside the mansion.

Lockwood could see all the glowing traces on the floor as soon as they stepped in. He took out his rapier, ready to fight whatever is to come their direction. His breathing was getting shallow as fear started to crawl on his skin. Lockwood scrunches his nose, muttering to himself, everything will be alright.

But as he takes a step further, the sound of Lucy wailing in pain greets him. He turns to the source of sound, seeing Lucy kneeling and crying as she covers her ears with her hands.

Then another scream was heard. George was fighting ghosts just a few feet in front of him. Lockwood feels as though his feet were melting to the ground, unable to provide aid to any of his best friends, watching in horror as George fights for his life.

“Anthony,”

Now he turns to his right. She was sitting on the floor, leaning on the door frame with blood pooling around her. Her shirt was stained red. Her face is pale, gleaming from the sweat that is lacing her skin. Her right hand moves to his direction as if she was reaching for him. A futile attempt to eliminate their distance.

“No..” Lockwood mutters as panic sinks in “I’m coming. Stay with me, please, I’m coming!”

As he tries to reach her, a swarm of ghosts comes to his direction. He tries to fight them off, swinging his rapier in every direction as they just seem to be coming from everywhere. Lucy’s wail, George’s scream of help, and her trembling calls of his name become louder with each fought ghost. He wasn’t sure if he could save all of them, or any of them in that matter, but he would certainly die trying than to give in.

With the last breath of energy left in him, Lockwood drops to his knees and crawls to her. He reaches for her face, gently rubbing her cheeks to gain her attention but her eyes are vacant. Staring at him without a blink.

“No, no..” He chokes, crying and calling her name “Please, come back. I’m right here, please— I’m— Look at me, please. Hey, it’s me! It’s Anthony!”

Her still warm body was limp inside his embrace. He cries for her, screaming her name in hope that it would wake her somehow. His white shirt is now soaked red, marked by her blood.

Come back.

Please.

Lockwood jolts up from his bed, drenched in his own sweat as he tries to process his surroundings. His bedroom was dark, lit dimly by a candle by the wooden table. He lets out a relieved sigh, rubbing his eyes away from his own tears. This would be the third nightmare this week.

He peels off the blanket that was enveloping his body and puts his feet down from the bed. Lockwood stares on his bedside table. A new picture from earlier that day was framed and stood proudly. He was smiling, holding the most unattractive cake that George insists is a masterpiece while standing on his right, Lucy on his left. They were smiling brighter than the sun. They looked happy, whatever that word means these days, and truth be told he felt happy too then, but everyone could see the darker hue under his eyes and how dull his smile is compared to his best mates. This birthday was hollow.

It was his first birthday without her.

Lockwood stood from his bed and walked out of his room, finding himself gravitating to where she used to stay. He turns the door knob gently, as if afraid he would wake up anyone sleeping inside the vacant room, wincing as the door makes a creaking noise. He studies the room and pictures where her belongings used to be. He remembers the scattered jewelleries on the table, the pieces of chocolate wrappings by the bin, and the clothes hung behind the door.

He walks closer to the bed, resting his hand on the mattress and pretending to feel her lingering warmth. The scent of her sweet perfume that is now gone. Their pictures that used to decorate the walls were missing, leaving torn marks on the wall paint.

He let himself lay on the mattress. His eyes glued on the ceiling, thinking and imagining what she might be doing right now. Is she asleep? Is she caught in a book and lost track of time reading? Is she brewing a pot of hot tea to help ease her mind? Is she thinking of him the way he’s thinking of her?

The boy rests an arm over his eyes. He let out a long defeated sigh. There’s no one he could share his burden with now. No one would understand what he’s going through. Even if he tries to talk to someone, he knew that he could never be as transparent to a soul as he was with her. The weight that has been suffocating him gets worse each night and Lockwood wasn’t sure how long he could keep his feigned persona.

Please, come back.

—-

Lockwood knew that the job would have some complications. There was no way that the Prime Minister would only hire their agency for such a gallant event. The Ball was too important to be guarded just by three teenagers. No matter how proficient Lockwood would think his colleagues are, securing such a prestigious function would require more than a handful of elite agents.

“Kipps,” Lockwood greets as they enter the hall “Fancy seeing you here.”

Kipps smiled amusedly, turning to face the younger boy with such glee that it alarms him, “Dare I say that I’m glad to see you here, Lockwood.”

Lockwood shows a thin smile.

This job was a rather different mission than the ones they’ve done before. Instead of cleaning a mansion or securing a relic, the team was tasked to maintain the stability of the government’s event. With the ghost epidemic persisting and countries collapsing, the government is planning to hold an evening party to gather the powerful men and women from different countries to talk about their economic alliances. A couple of days ago, the government officials received intel that a certain group of radicals were planning to crash the Ball by releasing sources. Security has tightened since and there have been no troubles found so far yet one could never be too secure for such a paramount event.

“I heard you’ve been getting back on track, retrieving more sources and regaining attention at the agency.” Lockwood said, pretending to be interested in Kipps “Did you finally take that fencing lesson I told you about? How did it feel learning to properly hold a rapier with 6-7 years olds?”

Kipps smirked. The kind of smirk that says ‘I know something you don’t’ and it edges Lockwood to the bone. He hates not knowing about things that might cause him a disadvantage. Sure that their teams are now playing for the same flag, that they’re mates instead of rivals for the upcoming task, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking that this is a competition still.

Lockwood’s mind was abruptly distracted when he thought he heard a familiar voice. He turns to the source, eyes softened when he sees her, talking to some officials. Her hair was styled differently and the stark difference of appearance she has now wearing Fittes uniform was rather nauseating but no matter how peculiar she looks right now, Lockwood couldn’t help but to feel delighted to see her.

“Ah, there she is!” Kipps says, clapping his hand with a big smile as he calls for her “Lockwood, have you met my newest member?”

His grip on the rapier tightened. Kipps is evidently rubbing it on his face now, holding her by her shoulders just like he did when they met at the grocery store months ago. Lockwood forces the corner of his lips to tug into a smile, trying to collect himself and avert his focus to her.

“Anthony,” She greets with a smile “I knew you would be here.”

Lockwood nods, a little bit too stiff that it made her gaze softened as if she was apologising for something he couldn’t tell. His mind was split in two, torn between feeling overjoyed on seeing her and wanting to punch Kipps’ face. He forced a smile at her, trying his best to ignore Kipps’ presence, “How have you been?”

“Great. Where are Lucy and George?”

As if on cue, a piercing squeal was heard behind them. George and Lucy were now running toward her, pulling her into a rib crushing embrace. The trio looked like a group of children returning to their kindergarten class after a spring break.

Lockwood smiles at the sight. This was what normal is for him. To see her with George and Lucy, talking and laughing as if the world was nothing but a background noise. She looks radiant. Her beaming smile etched on her face, cheeks flushed from the giddiness. She looks beautiful.

“So to answer your question,” Kipps says, making Lockwood to glare at his direction “Yes, I did take fencing lessons, and no, it was not with 6-7 years olds. I rather like this fencing partner of mine, actually.”

—-

Trying to keep his focus is evidently impossible with her standing next to Kipps now. Lockwood knew that today’s briefing was important. That the officials are telling them the rundown of the party, vital exit points, and more confidential information about the intel, but what exactly can one do when the person he’s missed the most is standing by his sworn enemy? Besides, Lockwood’s certain that George is noting everything down, they could surely just go over this back home.

“Don’t do it.” Lucy says as she glances at Lockwood.

“Don’t do what?” He questions, not moving his gaze from them.

“Whatever it is you’re planning to do, Lockwood, I’m warning you, don’t.” She says with more firmness “We’re working on the same team now. Kipps isn’t your enemy.”

Lockwood snorts, “Like hell he’s not.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. Arguing with Lockwood while the cause of his fury is still in the room would be pointless. His lips were in a thin line, murderous eyes locked on Kipps who was still talking to her, discussing their plan for the job. For anyone else the two of them would look like nothing but a pair of elite agents who are only doing their job, but for someone blinded with jealousy, a certain way of Kipps’ gaze already set Lockwood’s skin ablaze.

Time feels like it passes by much slower in this hall. Lockwood swears that it’s been forever, that Kipps has been whispering and making her smile forever. He knew that the two are close, hardly half as close as they were, sure, but she’s always been good friends with him. Even back at the academy, Lockwood had always seen Kipps as a rival since day one.

And no, this goes further than just the fencing thing.

But in the end, she would always come for him first. Lockwood would be the first person she would tell her day to, the first she would share the pastries she bought from the new bakery around the corner, the first she would come to practise her rapier skills with. Now it looks like Kipps has dethroned him from such a position.

“You’re going to lose her completely if you let jealousy cloud your mind.” Lucy warns “They’re just doing their job.”

Lockwood turns to Lucy, looking offended, “Mind you, I am not jealous.”

“Like hell you’re not.” She says, repeating his own words.

“Shut up, Luce.” He retorts “Listen to the officials.”

“Lockwood, I’m serious.” Lucy says, this time pulling his arm with firm warning “Your jealousy is bleeding right out and if you’re not careful, you’ll only push her further and remove herself entirely from your life.”

He remains quiet, looking at Lucy with unsure eyes.

Lucy sighs, letting go of his arm, “Don’t overthink it. They’re just friends.”

His lips were itching to spit more arguments but Lockwood gave in and nodded instead. He tries to avert his mind by asking George to give him a recap, telling him pointers of the crucial information he missed from trying to murder Kipps with his stare.

The job was simple. Come to the Ball, make sure no ghosts were released from the supposed source attack, fight whatever party that might be in their opposition, then go home with a check big enough to feed them for the whole year. A big fish for a rather simple task, Lockwood notes.

Lockwood could already see the list of activities his friends would do once they finished the job. Perhaps a week off for everyone to go enjoy their well deserving reward is due. Lucy has been wanting to visit her friend Norrie and it’s been a while since George went to see his Grandmother in Sidcup. And him? What would he do to fill in a full seven days of no work?

It would’ve been much easier to make notes of all the brilliant activities to do if she was still in the team. He could go and visit her family, it’s been some time since he met her parents. Or maybe they could go somewhere new, jump on the train and visit cities, perhaps countries. Or even just staying at home and listening to her favourite records echoing through the walls of 35 Portland Row. All things would be pleasant so long as he gets to do it with her.

He wondered what she would do with her share. Maybe she would use it to get herself a new rapier. A fancy one where she could have her initials engraved on it. Or maybe she would use it to buy new paint and canvas, she does have a talent in such art. Or maybe she would go and visit all the museums and libraries in town. She loves going to such institutions. Lockwood remembers the first time they went to the National Gallery, how fascinated she was with all the pieces though he would argue that none of the works displayed is half as magnificent as she is.

But now that he thinks about it, Lockwood couldn’t help but to have her words echoed in his head. When was the last time she painted? When was the last time they went to the museum? When was the last time they went to a library just to lend some overrated novel?

I don’t know anything about you outside of work anymore.

Lockwood slowly looks up, painfully looking back at her and Kipps who are now scribbling some notes on the clipping board he was holding for her. That used to be their thing. Even with George in the team, he would often brainstorm ideas with her first, him holding the notebook and her holding two pens with different colours— black for him and blue for her. Seeing her do it with Kipps now torments him to say the least.

What I want you cannot give, Anthony.

—-

Lockwood’s shoulders stiffened as he watched her approaching. Her gentle smile was present but for the first time in his life, instead of feeling comforted, Lockwood feels intimidated. The sight of her and Kipps still burns in the back of his head and his realisation of how much he’s lost her is something that he’s still trying to process.

“Hi,” She greets “Where’s George and Lucy?”

“Having a stroll around. George wanted to get a better idea of the building and you know Lucy had to make sure he didn’t wander too far away.”

She nods, “Why didn’t you come with them?”

Because I wanted to talk to you, he thought, but instead Lockwood only shrugs, “Just needed some peace for myself.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you—.”

“No,” He says fast, taking her wrist before she could leave “Please, stay.”

She looks down to his grip, taking a shaky breath before slowly peeling his fingers off of her. Lockwood swears that the day just keeps on getting worse and worse for him. But she stayed by his side, not leaving. Standing still as she looks everywhere but him. God knows what she’s thinking now.

Lockwood blinks to try and process the unfamiliar situation. His heart was crushed, worse than the state he’s been in and he thought he was already broken. It’s as if he could finally feel the distance she’s been talking about. The invisible space between them that he didn’t realise was present until it’s too late to close it. The wall that’s separating them is too high to be climbed now.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” She breaks the silence, reaching into her back pocket and still not meeting his eyes “I got you this. It’s nothing much, just a postcard I got when I went out of town. I should’ve sent it but I didn’t have the time, sorry.”

He took it gratefully, a genuine smile blooming on his face, ”You went to Liverpool?”

“Yeah, with Quill. We had a mission there for a couple days.”

“I see.”

Lockwood’s lips are on a tight line now. Just how blessed he is today, indeed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call for your birthday.” She says again “I wanted to, but I thought it would wiser for me not to.”

“Why not?”

“People don’t call their ex-employer and tell them happy birthday, Anthony.”

Ex-employer. Anthony thought he knew heartbreak until he heard the word come out of her lips. All these years of friendship, affection and tenderness shared with each other, reduced to such improper status. Whatever chance he thought he had to fix their relationship, Lockwood knew that it’s all gone into mere specks of dust now.

She finally looks up to him, realising the hurtful words she’s just uttered. It didn’t feel as horrible in her head but having to hear it herself she couldn’t help but wanting to slap herself. Since when has their relationship turned into who could hurt the other most?

“Anthony—,”

“No, I get it.” He cuts, nodding and feigning a smile “I’m glad you found an agency that could better appreciate your talents.”

Her expression softened, feeling guilt to weigh more on her shoulders.

“I know this would be wrong of me as your ex-employer to ask,” Lockwood says, his voice trembling as he tries to bottle his emotions “But can I please hug you?”

She winces at his use of words, how unsure he was with his question when they used to pull each other for warm embraces with bright smiles on their faces. She runs to him with open arms, pulling him close as if she needed the hug herself.

Lockwood could feel his body practically melting into her touch, the way his aching muscles finally relaxed as the familiar embrace was finally engulfing him once more, but his heart was heavier than before. If he thought he lost her the night she gave him her resignation letter, he was certainly proven wrong. This hug feels like the bitter slap of reality. That he was the only one crumbling, that he was the only one breaking, that he was the only one suffering from their separation.

And farewell tastes even bitter now.

—-

A couple of weeks have passed since the Ball meeting. A couple of weeks have passed since he last saw her. A couple of weeks have passed since Lockwood’s started to live his life as half a dead man. He’s been busy with other missions, trying to satisfy as many clients as possible and it’s looking pretty neat to say the least. Just don’t look too closely at him. You’d notice how he’s slowly slipping out of his mind if you do.

Just reckless enough, Lockwood chants in his head every time he’s working on the field. Holding onto the warnings George gives and all the ever so friendly scolds from Lucy. But even with as much reminder and support the two could give, it would never be enough to fill in the void in his heart.

Just reckless enough, Lockwood repeats to himself. Turning those three words into a prayer somehow as he’s slowly losing his grip. The only time he would brush the thought of her under the rug would be when his rapier is out, trying to fight for his life, trusting his instinct to swing the weapon against whatever trouble he’s come across, be it in the flesh or ectoplasm.

Just reckless enough, Lockwood muttered quietly as he tried to keep his focus. His shoulders were heavier by a thousand folds. The sight of that innocent man caught in the crossfire between him and some relic thugs tonight haunts him. How that poor man fell to the ground as Lockwood tries to flee from the scene, unintentionally using the man’s body as a shield from the bullets shot in his direction.

Now his feet were wobbly, trying their best to support him as he followed George and Lucy from behind, walking to 35 Portland Row with a heavy heart. No words were exchanged on the drive home and no matter how worried Lucy’s eyes stare into him, he knew that she’s seething inside.

“You two go first,” Lockwood says, making the two stop their pace and stare at him with confused eyes “I have somewhere to be.”

George could hear the exasperated sigh Lucy let out and with one unsure smile, he took the source from Lucy’s hands and entered their home. Better to secure the relic from the upcoming war between the two, he thought.

“Lockwood,” Lucy starts “Not tonight.”

HIs lips pursed. Cursing that if Lucy’s talents were listening and touch, why is it that it’s so easy for her to read him like an open book?

“You need to rest.” She says again “ You can visit her tomorrow morning.”

“I need to see her tonight.” Lockwood whispers, his tone begging “I think I’m losing my mind, Luce.”

Lucy remains quiet, her expression softened as she stares into his vulnerable state.

“I killed him.” He says, voice breaking and eyes brimming with tears “I don’t know why I couldn’t just stop and think straight lately. All I could think about is finishing as many jobs, retrieving as many sources as possible, all in an effort to bury her, to have a minute of peace without her ghost haunting my mind.”

Lockwood’s last words came out barely as a whisper. His whole body shudders, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see that pitiful look on Lucy’s face. He didn’t hear her approaching but he could certainly feel her arms embracing him, trying to calm him down in the middle of the road. It was soothing, the kind of warmth that would keep you sane for the time being, but no matter how tight Lucy holds him tonight, she knew that her friendly gesture wouldn’t piece his sanity back together.

I need to see her.

—-

The tapping of raindrops to her window pane was soothing. A cup of freshly brewed tea, her favourite cardigan hanging loose on her shoulders, and a half read book in her hand. The night was peaceful for her. After a long week of complicated tasks, working with Kipps’ elite squad, such serenity is surely what she needs.

But her comfort was abruptly interrupted at the ringing of her doorbell. Whoever the guest was, they're surely impatient enough to not wait for another second to press on the bell whilst banging on her door at the same time.

She clicks her tongue, frowning at the disturbance. She places her book down, “Coming!”

Perhaps her guest has trouble hearing because even though the trip from her kitchen to the front door didn’t even reach a minute, the person was still banging on her door loudly. At this point she was sure the rain hardly dampened the loud noise they were making.

“Good Lord, I said I’m coming!” She says angrily as she opens the door.

She certainly didn’t expect her guest to be him. He was standing by the door, drenched so wet from the rain that you can see his shirt clung tight to his skin. His eyes were reflecting the emotional and physical fatigue he’s in. His shoulders defeated, chin hung low as if he’s a second away from passing out.

“Anthony—,”

The boy gave into her and pulled her for a tight embrace, melting into her like butter on a pan. He hugs her close, burying his face to the crook of her neck. Her body warmth was so comforting. After all these painful months, Lockwood finally feels like he’s home.

The boy hasn’t spoken a word but she knew that something had happened. Something so bad that it shook the façade he held so strongly to the ground. It was one of those moments when you just knew. Like a silent secret connection you share with someone special. Because otherwise, there would be no chance in hell that Anthony John Lockwood would go all the way to her flat in the middle of the night when it is raining cats and dogs.

“Please tell me you’re here.” He whispers.

“I’m here.”

And just like that all hell broke loose for Lockwood. His breathing is now shallow, chest tight as if he was being drowned in a lake. His embrace on her loosen. His feet weakened, making him fall to his knees. His demons have finally caught him.

“Anthony, breath.” She says gently, kneeling to level with him “Breath with me, okay? Follow my counts.”

“I killed a man.” He chokes “I didn’t mean to— He sacrificed himself— I should’ve gone to Barnes— I can’t breathe.”

She tries to peel herself from him, to try and assess his condition better, but the moment she tries to pull away, Lockwood only tightens his hold of her.

“Anthony, you need to let me go.” She whispers gently “Let me help you breathe, please, Love.”

Reluctantly, Lockwood loosens his embrace and lets her pull away. His hands are now busy pulling his tie and opening the first few buttons of his drenched shirt. His mind was frantic. Never has he ever had such an episode before.

She begins to count, helping him steady his breathing. Five seconds in, five seconds out. Then four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out with a whoosh. Once his breathing starts to get better, she asks him light questions. Five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste.

“I can smell tea.” He says between his pants “Are you making tea?”

She let out a small chuckle, relieved, “I did make tea. Would you like some?”

Lockwood nods.

“Let’s fix you a cup then.”

—-

Lockwood could feel his brain waking up, his senses coming alive as he smelled her sweet scent and felt the pressure of her body on his arms. He smiles. Sure they've cuddled more than one could possibly count, but never have they felt as intimate as now. Their bodies were pressed to each other, her head tucked close to his chest, and her arms securely encircling his waist. It was as if he could feel her radiating the kind of love he's been desperate about.

“Good morning.” She greets, he could tell that she’s smiling sweetly without opening his eyes “I know you’re awake.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Then how can we converse now if you’re still asleep?”

Lockwood pulls her closer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Alright, you’re breaking my ribs now.” She says with a chuckle “I have to run to the bakery and get us some food. You didn’t eat anything last night, you must be starving.”

“I’m fine.”

She clicked her tongue in disapproval, “Come on, Anthony, wake up.”

“Can’t I sleep for a few more minutes?” He asks, finally opening his eyes to see that her face was mere inches from him.

Lockwood gulps. She was staring at him tenderly. As if she missed him as much as he missed her. The corner of her lips were curved upward, making her look ever so beautiful. Even in the morning, perhaps especially in the morning, she looks the most stunning with her tangled hair and lazy sleepy eyes. A sight he would never get enough of.

“I’m gonna do something,” He whispers to her “If you don’t like it you can deck me later but please do it gently.”

Her brows knitted, smiling at his half spoken words.

With a loud beating of his heart, Lockwood leans closer to her, sealing their lips for a few seconds in a chaste kiss. It was an innocent one. The kind you give to your lover when you want them to know just how much you appreciate them and that is all he wanted to do. To tell her that he appreciates her, with a gesture that he hopes would explain better than words could ever do. All he wants to do now is just to let her know that.

Lockwood opens his eyes nervously, scared to see her negative reaction but to his luck, he could only see her smiling back at him. Like she accepted his message and is returning the feelings for him.

“Alright, you deserve a few more minutes of sleep for that.”

He chuckles, pulling her back for another tight embrace.

“Anthony, I really need to get us some food.” She protests “You need to let me go.”

“Stop wiggling.”

“Then let me go.”

Lockwood groans but let go of her anyway. His brows furrowed in disapproval, lips pursed in an annoyed frown, and despite his growing disappointment that she won’t be joining his quick extra nap, he knew that she has a tight schedule for the day and keeping her late for her breakfast wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do.

She lets out a satisfied sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed before looking back at his sleepy self, “Promise me you’ll still be here when I’m back.”

Lockwood nods and hums in agreement. His hand searches for hers, still with his eyes closed, and plants a kiss on the back of her hand. He caresses it with his thumb before letting go gently, “I won’t go anywhere.”

If only Lockwood would open his eyes for a minute, he would’ve seen the bright smile on her face. How her cheeks were flushed and the lovestruck eyes she has for him. But he was busy trying to recompose himself. What he did just now has certainly burned all their bridges to the ground. He has never been this bold, never that fearless and taking the leap of faith for their relationship, and yet he did. He needs to process this before he could see her again.

How the universe seemed to have aligned their stars together now.

Lockwood heard the soft click of the front door closing when she left. He finds it hard to fall back to sleep now from all the adrenaline rush. His lips were still curved in a satisfied smile. He feels giddy. Like his body was supercharged and he could conquer the world now. Funny how she could turn his world upside down just with a snap of her fingers.

He now finds himself getting up from the bed and looking around her flat. He could see the pictures that were glued to the walls of her room in 35 Portland Row now decorating the sitting room. Even when she doesn’t live with him anymore, it soothes him to know that she brought a piece of their home wherever she goes.

He heard the front door knob twisting, turning to see it with a happy smile, “That was fast.”

But the happy face was soon slapped off of his face as he stared at the man standing. Kipps were mirroring his confused look, staring at each other with the silent question: what are you doing here?

And then it dawned in him. Lockwood looks down to the shirt he’s wearing, the one she let him borrow to get out of his soaked clothings. The plain white shirt that fits him right but is certainly oversized for her. Why would she have a men’s shirt?

“Kipps,” Lockwood greets with a lump growing on his throat “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The same could be said for you.” Kipps said, his tone unsure but his usual smirk was decorating his face “Is she here?”

“She went to the bakery.”

Kipps nods, giving him an ‘ah’.

Lockwood bites the inside of his cheek so hard that he could feel the foul taste of blood from it. He should’ve known better. Why didn’t he think about it before? Why didn’t he see it? How could he forget that she was no longer his? Hell, she was never his to begin with.

“I, uh, I just remembered I have some things to sort out.” Lockwood says as he shuffles to gather his belongings.

“You’re going?” Kipps asks “Aren’t you going to wait for her first?”

“No,” He says, shaking his head “It’s something about work. Rather urgent, actually. She’ll understand.”

Kipps frowns, knowing that she would certainly not understand but nods anyway, “Right.”

With a forced smile, Lockwood pats on Kipps’ shoulder and finds himself out of her flat. He could feel his heart getting heavier with each step further from her. Like his heart was left there, on her bed, the moment he promised to wait for her to return. But what exactly could he do? He knew his place, even when he'd forgotten about it last night. He forgot and he was made to remember. She was no longer his.

She was Kipps’.

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