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mysticgalsworld · 14 days

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swept away pt.2

a/n: thank you all so much for your support on pt 1 !! i’m so happy to continue this story for all you lovely ppl.. also just a reminder i take requests !! (special shoutout to angelikaschischi for requesting this specifically 😋) anyways pls enjoy lovelies 💕

pairing: hugh jackman x cleaning lady f! reader

summary: after getting a job at a cleaning company as a maid, you’re surprised to find out that the house you’re cleaning for belongs to the Hugh Jackman..

content warnings: fluff, angst, f! reader, maternal role, cursing, hospital, mental illness, power imbalance, slow burn?, not spellchecked

parts: 1, 2

The car ride to the small headquarters of Pristine Cleaning Co. was long. Your knuckles grip the steering wheel tensely, white emerging from the force of your grip.

“I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” His vicious words cut back into your memory and your foot presses on the gas to go faster.

The squeak of a giggle behind you rings in your ears as you look behind you. The small toddler grabs her own foot in the carrier. Looking at her, you sigh, allowing the tension from your body to exit.

The roundness of her cheeks distract you from your memories and force you to look at her from the rear view mirror. Her finger comes out suddenly with a small whine as she points to the busted radio.

“The radio?” you ask her, not expecting an understandable response. You press the knob, waiting a bit before a slight sound comes out. It’s scratchy and distorted, but after harshly smacking the top of the dashboard, it clears up.

Alicia Keys’ voice comes out slightly muffled, but to the gummy grin of the toddler behind you, she doesn’t seem to mind.

You closed the banged up door of the old sedan before opening the back and grabbing the baby carrier. Slamming the door, you make your way into the modern building of the Pristine Cleaning Co.

Even though you would rather chop your head off than take another step, you continue. Adjusting your attire, you knock on the small office door and wait. The silence on the other side is as unnerving as the first time you did your interview, but you stand taller.

“Come in.” a smooth voice answers from the other side. Picking up the carrier from the floor, you push open the door slowly before putting on a trepidatious smile on your face.

The woman’s eyes flicker up to you from her paper calendar. She adjusts her framed black glasses before looking down at the carrier and back to your face. “Y/N. Have a seat.”

With her tone, you have to force the saliva to not gulp down your throat as you sit. Thankfully the toddler is too entranced with grasping at the bows in her hair to make any noise.

The room is almost completely silent, saving for the heavy breathing from the child, the automated air conditioning blowing softly into the office, and the heavy sound of keys clicking as she continues to type.

To save you both from the awkwardness of the half-silent room, you speak. “Miss Wong. I was wondering if you have considered finding a replacement for Mr. Jackman’s house?”

She starts, pausing to look thoughtfully at you, resting her manicured fingers on the desk in front of her.

“Mr. Jackman?” Her voice is boarder line sharp as she asks the question. Shit. You were supposed to be “silent, thorough, and unnoticeable” not aware of the residents who lived there.

You swallow softly before meeting her eyes. “I saw a picture on the dresser. So I assumed..” Her eyebrows raise before she sighs, a sound so strangely unlike her you almost shiver.

“Your job is to clean, not to assume. But we have attempted to find a replacement cleaner for his house, yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, hands making slight fists under the table as you process her vague sentence. You nervously glance up at her, urging your voice to exude professionalism.

“Attempted? After my last cleaning I had hoped to switch his house for the one near Rosemount Grove..”

Miss Wong nods, acknowledging your words. Her gaze remains fixated on you, expression unreadable. The silence stretches on for a few more seconds before she finally responds.

“Yes, attempted. Unfortunately, we have been unsuccessful in finding a replacement cleaner. All our other cleaners at this moment have their hands full with their assigned clients.”

She leans back in her chair, her manicured fingers drumming lightly on the stack of papers in her desk.

“I’m afraid I can’t reassign you, Y/N. It’s either this house or nothing.”

Your hands begin to sweat against your pants as you look at the toddler, now completely passed out. Your voice comes out soft as your gaze is stuck to the sleeping toddler.

“I suppose you’ll call him?” With a wavering voice you think of how much this job means. Without it, you don’t know where you would be.

Pushing up her thick framed glasses, Miss Wong continues to type. She watches silently as you look down at the sleeping toddler, a flicker of understanding passing through her usually stoic expression. She nods slightly, acknowledging your statement and the implications it holds.

“I’ll call him,” she confirms, her voice as poised as ever. “But Y/N?”

Your eyes flash to her, searching for a hint of her next words, but her gaze is already back to the computer screen. Professionalism oozing from her tone, she tries to hide her concern. “The kid won’t be a problem, will it?”

Rapidly shaking your head, you wonder if she even sees it from her typing. “No, Valerie stays with my parents during the cleanings. Not an issue at all..”

She nods imperceptibly, her head barely moving. You move to stand, grabbing carrier from beside you. “Thanks Miss Wong, have a nice day.” She glances at you once more, her eyes drifting back down to the carrier before you exit, but saying nothing.

Once in your car, you try to start it. The engine stalls slightly but you try again, making a mental note to get it checked out. The car starts with a low stammer and you finally leave.

When you enter the familiar open house, your breath catches in your throat. Opening the door with your key, you beg to some higher power that he sent the company the correct days he wouldn’t be here.

Wiping your sweaty hand on the thighs of your worn jeans, you start. As it was before, you start with the kitchen. Then you go to the living room, basking in the peaceful silence surrounding the house.

The creak of the front door knocks you out from your trance while dusting. Heavy steps enter the home and as you turn to look, you see the man you were hoping to avoid.

Hugh Jackman’s tall, muscular figure steps through the front door, filling up the space with his mere presence. His eyes scan the living room, taking in your figure as you stand frozen in the middle of dusting.

At first, his expression is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and slight regret. But then it softens slightly as his gaze roams over you, noticing how skittish you seem at his unexpected entrance.

“Oh, hello...” His voice is gravelly, and his steps slower as he moves further into the room.

You nod in response to his greeting, you face no longer cracking professional smiles when you see him.

To you, his face is a reminder of those fucking words. “I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” Because that’s all he thought you were. A thief. A criminal.

The words replay in your brain. They taunt you. In the morning, in the silence of a car ride, in your nightmares.

Turning away, you continue to dust. Hoping that your brushing him off would’ve given him the hint, you are surprised to hear his weight shift as he continues to stand in front of the door.

Now you drop the duster, going to pick up the vacuum. In your peripheral you can see his mouth open to speak, regret so clear on his face. But instead of listening, you crank the vacuum to the highest setting and hope he gets the hint.

He pauses for a moment, watching your dismissive behavior with a mixture of guilt and frustration on his face. Realizing you were purposefully avoiding his attempts to talk, his brow furrows and his tone sharpens slightly.

“Y/N. I need to talk to you.” His tone seems regretful as he slightly raises his voice to talk over the vacuum. You see him out of your peripheral, hands on his hips as he stands there in his sweaty workout clothes.

Instead of acknowledging him, you turn with the vacuum, pretending to not have heard him.

Seeing you ignore him makes him breathe out a heavy sigh before placing a hand over his face in frustration. “Y/N, please! I need to apologize…”

Lowering the vacuum, you turn to him absentmindedly. “I’m not supposed to talk to you…” you respond, devoid of any warmth.

His frown deepens at your words, his shoulders sagging slightly in disappointment. “I know that. But I need to talk to you…”

Turning off the vacuum abruptly, a sudden silence engulfs the room. You turn to him with your arms crossed. You raise your eyebrows with calm anger, hoping to urge him on.

He swallows, his accent sounding gravelly with his low tone. “I’m sorry.”

Raising your eyebrows in surprise, you almost laugh. The two words you dreamed about hearing finally coming out of his mouth and they don’t feel like enough.

Instead of responding you grab a cloth, starting to wipe down the coffee table. Behind you, he clears his throat. “Y/N.”

You turn to him, the dirty cloth still in your hand. With a tone oozing professional indifference, you start. “I have nothing to say sir. Please let me finish my job and I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“I can’t. I need you to know how sorry I am. I really messed up and I apologize.” He starts to pace slowly, the scene strangely mirroring the situation he was apologizing for.

He continues, his voice rising slightly in regret. “I mean—the second you found the watch behind the dresser I felt like an fucking idiot.”

You giggle slightly at he starts to ramble out his apology. Suddenly your old phone starts to ring. Shit. You keep it on silent and only emergency calls actually ring.

You mumble a quick sorry to him before picking up. Glancing down rapidly at your phone, you answer. Hugh sees this and stops, wondering why you looked stressed as you answer the phone.

Your brows furrow as the person on the phone speaks. “What? Is she okay?” Breathing more heavily, you listen to the other side. “The hospital!” Your voice raises before you mumble a quiet “fuck” under your breath.

Ending the call with a “I’ll be right there,” you rush to pack up your things, leaving a very confused Hugh.

When you say “the hospital” Hugh’s heart drops for you. A sense of dread fills him when he sees you pack your things with panicked movements.

“What’s going on?” His voice exudes authority as he commands an explanation. Your head already feels like it’s about to explode and trying to explain the situation to him may make your head literally melt off. With a rushed sigh, you brush your messy hair off of your forehead. “I’m sorry sir, I have to go to the hospital. So I can’t finish the cleaning today.”

Hugh watches your stressed mannerisms, his mind racing with unanswered questions. He feels a pang of concern, and his brows furrow as he looks at you.

"Ok that’s completely fine.” With that, you nod and head towards the front door with a jog. Once outside you run to your old, beat-up car. Unbeknownst to you, Hugh stands in the front doorway, watching as you rush to leave.

Turning the key, you pray to any higher power that your car starts. It spudders with a low dying sound and you could almost laugh. Of course this happens at the worst possible fucking time. You try again, getting the same result and sighing.

In frustration, you bang your head against the steering wheel, tears fighting to fall. A hard knock against the window startles you as you look up. Hugh stares with furrowed brows as you open the car door. “Need a ride?” His smooth voice almost acts like a buey in this moment.

“Please…” You hurriedly follow him to his silver Audi Q7. Not used to the luxury car, you hesitate but think back to why you need to ride with him in the first place. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Which hospital?” Your breath catches as you think, “Uh—Rosemount Community Hospital.” With a nod he drives, a solemn expression on his face.

The drive was silent. As soon as the car came to a stop, you hopped out. Rushing through the glass doors of the community hospital, you ask the lady at the front desk for the room number.

Hugh follows, not wanting to leave you here at the hospital alone. He knows he hates the smell of hospitals, the place where death and life meet, and wonders what you think. Do you like hospitals? Do you find them comforting? Or a bad omen?

Following you to the room, he can’t hide his surprise when you open the door to a small toddler sitting with an older woman.

“Valerie…” Your voice whispers softly and you go to cradle the toddler who now has a bright green cast on her tiny leg. You turn to the older woman, your expression becoming venomous as you grit out,“What happened?”

The older woman splutters in surprise at your tone before crossing her arms. “I was making lunch. She wanted to sit on the counter so I let her, but she started to climb. I turned around for one second—once second and she fell…”

Your face reddens as you breathe deeply. Your normal calm anger transpiring into a red-hot fit of rage. Hugh, still stuck in a state of confusion and shock from seeing the toddler, glances curiously at your expression. “Mom, you can’t do that. She’s a baby, she can’t even walk yet… She shouldn’t even be on the counter in the first place.” With a sigh, you put a hard on your tired face while picking up the giggly toddler.

“Just—can you get the doctor please, Mom?” You sit with Valerie in your arms, watching as your mom leaves the room. Almost disassociating, you stare at the stark white tile before Hugh speaks up.

“Is that your daughter?” His voice seems curious and a little shaken. You aren’t really old, maybe mid 20s. Clearing your throat slightly, you still hold your gaze to the tile. “No.. she’s my little sister. My mom has early onset Alzheimer’s and usually my dad is there to help take care of her.”

Hugh feels his heart drop slightly at your response, a pang of sympathy filling him as he to you. His eyes flicker to the little girl sitting snugly on your lap, who is still giggling obliviously.

Nodding slowly, he takes in the weight of your words before speaking quietly. “I'm sorry about your mom—that’s horrible. And your dad?"

You shrug your shoulders casually, your expression blank and disappointed. Valerie brings you out of your the thoughts, her small hand getting stuck in the bottom of your hair. With a smile, you glance to her face. Chubby cheeks, stubby baby teeth, and the soft tufts of her hair remind you of who you’re doing this for.

Clearing your throat, you look to Hugh, who’s now standing in the corner. “Thank you…” Your voice comes out in a whisper, almost as if you are afraid to say them louder.

His eyes widen for a moment, his heart clenching at the almost timid tone in your voice. He swallows deeply, feeling his throat grow dry as he responds.

"Don't mention it..."

You laugh softly as you think of your piece of crap car sitting dead in the front of his nice house. With a small sigh, you realize having to get it fixed will eat into your already minimal savings.

Pulling out your phone, you call a tow truck company to pick up the car and take it to the shop. Hugh just watches as you do this, a little confused because he was more than willing to do it for you. While you’re on the phone, your mom comes back with the doctor in tow.

Immediately, you end the call and give your attention to the doctor as he explains that Valerie’s leg is broken, but will heal nicely after a couple months. You breathe out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding and thank the doctor for his time.

Turning to Hugh, your voice comes out strong. “Thank you, Mr. Jackman. For everything… I’ll see you next week.” You almost miss the slight frown at your professional use of his name, but you don’t. Turning to walk out of the room with Valerie in your arms and your mom on your heels, you give him one last smile as you go.

The next week goes smoothly. Continuing your routine, you start with the kitchen. As you start to organize the refrigerator, you hear the heavy steps of Hugh entering. Instead of his normal sweaty workout clothes, you’re almost surprised to see him in comfy clothes.

He gives you a smile before continuing to the coffee machine. Without turning around, his voice rings out above the soft hum of your music. “Coffee?”

Instead of answering, you walk to the cupboard and pull out two mugs. He watches as you place them next to the machine, a small smile on your face. The hint of domesticity from making coffee shocks both of you, so you retreat back to the fridge.

He pours the coffee and approaches you at the fridge with both cups in his hands. Your pinky brushes against his as you grasp the ceramic mug. A buzz of electricity shoots through your arm as you revel in the warmth of it. In a daze, you whisper a thank you before picking out the creamer and offering it to him. He takes it with a smile, happy that you are no longer ignoring him.

Taking a sip, you bask in the rich taste before Hugh’s voice pulls you out of your focus. “How’s Valerie?” Almost completely forgetting that he was at the hospital with you, you clear your throat surprised. You don’t know what surprises you more, the fact that he remembers her name or actually cares about how she’s doing.

“She’s fine—finally getting use to the cast.” I take another sip of my coffee, choosing to keep my gaze on the island between us. He nods in my peripheral, his voice coming out to give a small “That’s good.”

The silence is somewhat awkward and somewhat comfortable, but he decides to break it. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never accused you.”

Nodding, you take in his words. You focus on the deep rumble of regret in his voice, the emotion of it making his accent come out stronger. “I’m not a thief. I just—I can’t lose this job.” Your voice comes out almost desperate. You could curse at the small wobble that comes out as you bite through the words. Afraid to look him in the eye after your words, you set the mug down and go back to reorganizing the fridge.

You can feel his eyes stuck on you, the feeling of it curious and prodding. You continue, picking up the condiments and reorganizing them.

“My father gave me that watch.” The words are so sudden and soft, it shocks you. Your shoulders deflate as you unravel the tension from your earlier words. You turn slowly, mouth open to say something but he stops you. “—That’s why I was so upset… He passed a couple years ago and I wear that watch to—uh remember him, I guess.”

The soft and somewhat solemn expression on his face takes you off guard. Even though he is looking down at the counter in remembrance, you almost feel like the atmosphere is staring down into your soul.

“Mr. Jackman…” you start. He interrupts, holding up a hand, “—Hugh, please.” Nodding, you play with the handle of your mug as you watch him. “Hugh, I’m so sorry.. I shouldn’t have been so defensive and—”

Your mouth opens to explain more, your fear and hatred of people not treating you as a human with thoughts, maybe even your fear of losing this job, but he stops you. He stops you from your unnecessary groveling. “None of it was your fault. I was just stressed and upset and I took it out on you… I’m the one who’s sorry…”

With a nod and a small smile, you listen. Really listen—to everything; his voice, his words, and the soft gravel of his accent. “It’s okay…” With a nod and soft smile, toeing the boarder of friendship, you turn and go back to the fridge.

The following week, the smiles only grow. Instead of telling your company the dates he won’t be there, it seems that every time you come to clean he “accidentally” keeps running into you. When you are cleaning the kitchen, he decides that is the perfect time to have his midafternoon cup of coffee. Or when you’re cleaning his bedroom, he needs to grab things that he coincidentally forgets to bring downstairs.

And the notes reappear too. Silly doodles with swirls and faces conjoined with encouraging notes of admiration. And every time, they make your day. Even when your morning has taken a turn for the worse.

Like this morning Valerie decided now was the time to try to take her cast off by herself. You sigh exhausted as you remember the wails and cries of pain from the itching she had under the cast this morning.

Even with your face and body exhausted, the neon brightness of a colored note sticking to the TV screen brings a soft smile to your face. You pull it softly off the dark screen and pull it closer to your tired eyes to read.

“Coffee?” It’s covered in zigzags, smiley faces, and a badly-drawn cup of coffee, but yet you still feel your feet pulling to the kitchen.

Moving to the kitchen, you are shocked to see Hugh sitting at the countertop with a puzzle, a steaming cup of coffee in his own hand and another in the seat beside him. With a tired smile you greet him, a casual “Hey Hugh” coming from your lips.

He glances up from the puzzle, a pair of reading glasses and a concentrated smile on his face. For a second you glance down to his lips, drawn in a concentrated pout from the puzzle. But still he greets you warmly, the pout disappearing in an instant, replaced with a warm smile.

You take the counter seat next to him, sipping your coffee and watching as he continues his puzzle. Small conversation flows easily, you focused on the coffee and him on the puzzle.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he focuses on his next question. “And Valerie? How’s her leg?” Your shoulders sag as you sigh with exhaustion. “She wasn’t doing too well this morning, her leg itches a lot but she can’t verbalize it yet so I basically just have to guess.”

Hugh nods, his lips pursing together as he thinks. “God, that sounds tiring. I know when my kids were younger it helped if I distracted them with things they liked.” He shrugs casually as he suggests for you to try it. You nod, taking in the information before taking another sip of your coffee.

Raising the mug to your lips, a piece of the puzzle stands out to you from your peripheral vision. Timidly, you slide the piece over to him, noticing it’s the one he’s missing. The appreciative smile he gives you could light up a room as he slides the puzzle to fit in between you both.

Knowing that you company wouldn’t approve, you have so many things that need to be done, and are a complete hot mess, you work on the puzzle with him.

You find it peaceful. Another taste of the domesticity you could have if you just let yourself be swept away.

a/n: hey lovelies !! as always, let me know what you think and whether or not you want me to continue with a part three.. i’m hoping to update a least once a week, but sometimes it may be more or it may be less (also pls lmk if you have any requests) anyways, love you guys 💕

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman x f! reader #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman and ryan reynolds #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman fanfic #swept away #tumblr fyp #fypage

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writingsofwerewolves · 8 months

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The first 4k words of my Thrawn Fanfic, Fifty Shades of Blue.

Please let me know if you're interested in the whole thing. This sample doesn't include any sex scenes but there are some many later on.

If enough folks voice their interest, I'll post all 131k words to Ao3.

~~~

I had to be dreaming. Dreaming of spinning and falling and being weightless. Dreaming of being on a comfortable bed that certainly wasn’t my own. Dreaming of a warm hand pressed to my temple. Dreaming of the sensation of bile rising in my throat while nausea and dizziness overwhelmed me. Dreaming of gentle hands helping me upright as a can was held in front of me to catch the vomit.

It wasn’t a good dream, that was for sure. But it was a vivid one.

I would have almost believed it was real if not for the fact that when I got glimpses of the person with me, I saw that he had blue skin with red glowing eyes. Thrawn, I knew. Of course I would dream of Thrawn. I’d done nothing but think about Thrawn for weeks. I’d clung to the fictional character as if my very life depended on it. My sanity certainly did, as my physical and mental health spiraled. The only freedom from reality came from indulging in my obsession with the beautiful blue genius.

So of course I was dreaming about Thrawn. Who else would I even want to dream of?

It wasn’t the dream I would have chosen for myself, though. I felt sore and sick from head to toe. Every movement ached and threatened to elicit more vomit. At the same time, though, Thrawn was very attentive in the dream.

“This will pass soon,” I heard him say as his hand smoothed over my brow. “Rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to slur out blearily.

His lips turned up in an amused smile before darkness overtook me.

I was certain I’d spoken several times within the dream, but I couldn’t remember much.

Part of me wanted to wake up because surely when I woke, I wouldn’t feel like absolute shit anymore. But at the same time… Thrawn was there. I saw his face. I saw his smoothed back black hair. I saw the alien ridges of his face, more subtle than the cartoon but still prominent enough to be recognizable. I saw his blue hand holding mine comfortingly. I saw his white uniform, though there were differences between it and what I expected to see. No, I didn’t want to wake up.

I cursed my dreaming mind. Within my dream, I could never keep my eyes open long enough to properly see his face. I wanted to memorize his every feature. I wished I had any visual artistic talent so that I could draw him when I woke. I wanted to keep that image safe forever.

But within my dream, I fell asleep.

I blinked my eyes open as I woke. I sighed sadly as I remembered my dream, suddenly filled with sadness. I��d probably never dream so vividly about Thrawn, or any other character I loved, ever again. And it was over.

Then why in the world did I still feel so sore? Not as badly as I had in the dream, but my muscles still protested as I adjusted myself in bed.

Wait. My bed felt different.

I sat up suddenly, gasping loudly as I looked around the strange room. It wasn’t my room. It wasn’t my bed.

A door slid open and in stepped… Grand Admiral Fucking Thrawn.

Okay, so I was still dreaming. Good? Maybe?

Except I didn’t feel like I was dreaming. Things felt relatively clear in my head. There was a heaviness there, as if I’d slept too long, but I didn’t think I was dreaming.

“You’re awake,” the blue alien remarked gently as he set the tray he was holding down on a cabinet, “How do you feel?”

I didn’t respond, my eyes wide as I watched him carefully.

“Hmm,” his brow furrowed thoughtfully, “You don’t remember how you came to be here, do you?”

I swallowed hard and shook my head, not trusting my voice.

“I see,” he inclined his head and then moved to a chair, sitting down and looking at me seriously, “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I found you on the street of the planet Pantora, clearly lost and ill. I brought you here, to my ship, to recover.”

“I… I don’t remember any of that,” I whispered, my mouth completely dry.

Thrawn reached for the tray and grabbed a glass of liquid before holding it towards me. I eyed it suspiciously.

“If I wanted to poison you, I had plenty of chances before you regained consciousness,” he assured me, his glowing red eyes twinkling with amusement, “It’s water.”

I took the glass, carefully holding it with both hands as I didn’t think I had the strength with one just yet.

“Drink slowly. You are still recovering,” he told me.

“Yes, sir,” I said automatically. Then my eyes widened, horrified. I quickly took a sip to cover my embarrassment. I was relieved to find that it was indeed water. Suddenly I was absolutely parched and drank deeply.

“Slowly,” he reminded me, his voice more stern.

My heart fluttered at the command and I lowered the glass from my lips. He gave a satisfied nod.

“What is your name?” Thrawn asked, his voice gentle.

“[Name],” I answered hesitantly.

“A pleasure to meet you, [Name],” he stated before rising to his feet, “I have duties to which I must attend.”

He picked up the tray and set it on the foot of my bed, within my reach.

“If you feel up to it, please try to eat something. Pace yourself, though. I will return in a few hours and then we can discuss the situation.”

I resisted the overwhelming urge to say “yes, sir” and instead just nodded. He inclined his head before leaving out the automatic sliding door.

I took a few slow deep breaths as I processed everything.

It didn’t feel like I was dreaming. But I had to be. But what if I wasn’t? If I was dreaming, then I could do whatever I wanted with no consequence. I could have grabbed Thrawn by his immaculate uniform and crushed my lips to his. But if it was real…

My anxiety forced me to consider the consequences, even if the logical part of my brain wanted to take advantage of the clearly fabricated scenario. There was no possible way I was really on a space ship with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. No possible way.

But just in case… I had to act as if it were real. I couldn’t risk embarrassing myself further.

So. Working under the assumption that it was real… what the fuck was going on?

There was only one possibility in my mind. I’d fallen through dimensions. I was in an alternate dimension where Star Wars was real. Or perhaps I was in the same dimension, but traveled back in time to a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. Either way, Thrawn was real. I was on his ship. And I had no idea how or even if I could get home.

Deep inside me, I somehow knew there was no home to go to. I didn’t know how I knew, but it felt like a fact.

I allowed myself time to mourn. I mourned my life. My friends. My family. My home. They were lost to me. Gone forever.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and then looked to the tray of food. There was a variety of options, none of which looked familiar to me. But I was suddenly ravenous.

As I reached for something to eat, I heard Thrawn’s voice in my head. “Slowly.”

I smiled to myself and said aloud, “Yes, sir.”

I’d only managed to nibble on a few food objects, though I’d fully drained the glass of water, by the time the Grand Admiral returned. My stomach was too tense to think about eating much, even though I felt pretty darn hungry.

Thrawn sat, his eyes on the tray of barely touched food as he gave a satisfied nod.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his glowing eyes turning to me. It was a disconcerting experience, being under those strange eyes’ scrutiny.

“Uh… still a little weak and tired,” I said, fighting the urge to say ‘fine.’ He would know that was a lie. It was Thrawn. “But better. Thank you.”

His eyes softened, “I am glad to hear it. Do you perhaps feel up to a conversation about your situation here?”

I gulped. No, not really. I was still hoping my situation was a dream. I didn’t want to consider what it meant if it wasn’t.

“It can wait another day if you would like to rest,” he told me, “I want to be certain you have a clear head first.”

“My head’s pretty clear now,” I replied, “And… I’m not going to rest very well without knowing…”

Knowing what? I had no clue.

“Understandable,” he inclined his head, “As I told you, I found you in very poor condition on the planet of Pantora. I suspect you do not know how you came to be there.”

His glowing red eyes held a question within them, though his words didn’t. I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say.

“I also suspect you have nowhere to go,” he continued, “If that is the case, it would be impolite of me to simply leave you on an alien planet to fend for yourself.”

My shoulders fell a little.

He was right. I had no where to go. No resources. Nothing.

“Therefore, I would like to offer you a place on my ship,” Thrawn stated, “You may remain here,” he gestured at the room, “For as long as you need. Or at least for as long as it remains my ship,” he corrected with amusement.

My breath left me in a whoosh, “Oh. That’s… very kind of you… Grand Admiral.”

His lips twitched at my usage of his title.

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone…”

“It would not be an inconvenience,” he said. “This room isn’t needed for crew members and with a crew of fifty thousand, one more mouth to feed will not strain our resources.”

My eyes widened. “fifty thousand?”

“You should take time to consider my offer,” Thrawn told me, ignoring my question. “I am needed on the bridge.”

He rose and began to leave.

“Wait,” I called and he paused, facing me. I swallowed hard before asking, “What’s this ship called?”

His lip curved into a small smile, “This is the New Republic Star Cruiser, the Chimaera.”

My eyes widened, unable to respond as he inclined his head and took his leave.

New Republic?

Wait a second. That explained why his uniform looked slightly different. It was a New Republic uniform. But… the New Republic didn’t have grand admirals… and the Chimaera was an imperial ship… and Thrawn… Thrawn was supposed to be an imperial.

What the fuck was going on?

Still sore and tired, I didn’t have that much trouble getting more sleep. After napping a little, I felt much more clear headed and even more certain that I wasn’t dreaming. I felt good enough to walk, so I explored the room a little. It was very simple, without much in it. But I did manage to find the connected bathroom or “refresher” I supposed it was called. I was extremely relieved to find it functioned mostly like a normal Earth bathroom. That could’ve been awkward.

I slept more, still recovering from whatever illness had befallen me. Actually, I was starting to figure it out. I decided it was from traveling through time and space. Surely without the proper protection, like being inside a Tardis or something, would leave one very ill after such a trip.

When I woke, I saw that the tray of food was gone, replaced with a fresh jug of water, and there was a neatly folded stack of clothes on the dresser. My glasses were placed delicately atop them. I let out a sigh of relief. I could see without my glasses, but it was uncomfortable and blurry and risked migraines if I wasn’t careful.

I showered before putting on the fresh clothes, grateful for them as mine were feeling sweaty and gross.

But anxiety gnawed at me.

How much did Thrawn know about my situation? He knew I had no where to go… but how? Why? And why offer me a place on his ship? And what did he expect in return? He surely didn’t think I could be a crew member.

If this were a fanfiction, he’d offer me a room on his ship in exchange for sex. I couldn’t help the snort that came from me. I’d have to get thoughts like that under control. That wouldn’t happen, I was certain. Especially when I looked in the mirror. No way Thrawn would be interested in me.

I did wonder if Eli Vanto was on board… and wondered about Thrawn and Eli’s relationship…

I shook my head to clear it. No, no. Bad [Name]. Thrawn was a real life person. No dreaming of fan fiction while aboard his ship.

Not long after I had showered and changed, the door opened and Thrawn stepped in.

“[Name],” he greeted me with an inclination of his head, his hands held formally behind his back.

“Grand Admiral,” I returned.

The ghost of an amused smile passed over his lips before he spoke, “You seem stronger. Your illness has passed.”

“Yes, sir,” I said before I could stop myself, “I think so. Thank you.”

“Have you given thought to my offer?”

I swallowed hard, “I… uh… I don’t see much choice. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I understand,” he said and I wondered exactly how much he understood. “You are welcome to stay here until you find an alternative. I will assist to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you. Is… uh… am I allowed to stay on this ship, though?” I asked tentatively.

“I am a Grand Admiral in the New Republic’s Navy,” he remarked coolly, “I decide what is and is not allowed aboard my ship.”

The authority in his voice sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. That was nice. That was very nice indeed.

Part of me wanted to point out that surely there were rules and regulations he had to follow. In the Empire, he often got in trouble for letting people like Admiral Ar’alani on board. But at the same time, the tone of his voice spoke to an end on the subject. If he said I was allowed, I was allowed and that was that.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, unable to help myself.

I thought it was my imagination that his red eyes seemed to glow brighter.

“May I take you on a small tour of the ship?” Thrawn asked, the increased glow gone before I could be sure it was ever there.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded before pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose slightly.

“Wonderful,” he said, sounding pleased. He pressed a button on the wall and the door slid open. He stepped out and waited for me to join his side.

It was a long empty corridor, with several doors like mine along the wall. There were markings that I was certain were the room numbers, but in a script I didn’t recognize. Some of the numbers looked like Arabic numerals and I recognized the number nine from seeing it so much on The Bad Batch.

As I walked beside Thrawn down the hall, looking at each room number, I realized that part of the string of figures probably wasn’t a number. Probably letters or even words.

I felt Thrawn’s eyes on me and when I looked up at him, sure enough, he was watching me. I felt heat rise in my face and I turned my gaze down to the floor as we continued. It didn’t help when I remembered he could probably see the heat building in my skin. The thought made my whole body go hot with embarrassment. Fuck.

Could I wake up from the dream now, please? Please? No? Great…

I took a few steadying breaths. They didn’t help.

Thrawn slowed to a stop in front of what seemed to be an elevator. He pressed a button and it instantly opened, revealing the small space inside. After we stepped inside, the elevator started to rise and I gripped the waist height support pole to steady myself. I hated Earth elevators enough. I hated space elevators more.

Thankfully it was a short ride and we were stepping out. After stepping off the lift, my eyes were drawn to the large view port. Stars stretched out in the pitch black sky for as far as the eye could see. Every direction glittering at me. And almost below my feet I saw a planet. Millions of lights glinted from the surface in shapes that looked like roads and cities. It looked familiar. Though fear gripped me, the fear of falling through infinite space, I was in awe.

My eyes roved the view before me, wanting to take in every star. Every cloud above the surface of the planet. Every ship I saw soaring in the distance. It was so big. So beautiful. So endless.

“You have never left a planet’s surface?�� Thrawn questioned, his voice gentle.

“Never,” I breathed, “I’ve… I’ve never see so many stars.”

Tears suddenly clouded my vision. My fears of traveling through space forgotten in the vast beauty of the universe.

I saw Thrawn’s reflection in the glass, standing behind me with a wistful smile on his lips. I cleared my throat and blinked away my tears.

“Sorry,” I told him.

“It is alright,” he told me, “I have spent my entire life traveling through the stars. I forget to see the beauty in it. Though now what I intended to show you seems small in comparison.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“This way,” he beckoned and I fell into step beside him, casting one last look at the view port before focusing on making sure I didn’t trip over my own feet.

We came to a door and when he opened it, I instantly realized it was his office before even stepping inside. I could see artwork lining the walls and standing on podiums. I couldn’t help the wide smile that broke out across my face.

I followed him inside, my heart racing excitedly as I took in each piece. There were some paintings, some small statues, a few art mediums I didn’t recognize, masks, and so much more. I couldn’t process all of it as quickly as I wanted.

“I am somewhat of a collector of art,” Thrawn explained.

I couldn’t help snorting through my nose, “’Somewhat’?”

“Somewhat,” he agreed, sounding amused.

I spun slowly in place, still looking at everything. But gradually I realized… this wasn’t his office on the Chimaera I knew. The wall behind his desk had carved statues, but they were different from the ones I saw on Rebels. And Sabine Wren’s retaining wall graffiti was nowhere to be found. And the layout of the office was different.

“Can…” I began, choking on my words a bit, “Can you tell me about some of them?”

I was certain his eyes glowed brighter that time.

“Of course,” he inclined his head and then moved towards one of the small statues, “This is a piece from an artist on Onderon, from before the Clone Wars.”

I listened as he spoke of the sharp angles of the shape and how they told much about the culture from which it came. How the scene it depicted was representative of the difficult history of the planet and the artist’s own struggles. I didn’t see everything he saw within it, but I didn’t care. I just listened to his silky voice, suddenly living in an absolute dream come true.

Then he moved on to another piece, speaking of how the limited types of materials used spoke to the scarcity and value of resources in the culture. And then another, speaking of the purpose of each brush stroke.

It was too much for me to take in, but that didn’t matter. Thrawn’s eyes were intense with excitement, perhaps at having someone actually listening to him infodump. I was grateful that he didn’t seem to expect me to fully understand what he was saying. I just listened, a stupidly big smile on my face.

“Is there a particular piece you would like to hear about?” he asked after the fifth artwork.

I frowned suddenly, caught off guard by the question. But there was one. My eyes fell on a rather pitiful piece.

“Ah,” Thrawn nodded and we moved towards it, “I would be curious to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Oh, I don’t have a clue,” I said quickly.

“I find that unlikely. You were drawn to it for a reason,” he remarked lightly.

“I’m probably really off,” I shuffled my feet uncomfortably, “I’m… I’m not very familiar with other cultures’ art so maybe…”

“I promise I will not be offended if you are incorrect,” he assured me, “I would like to know what you think, [Name].”

The soft use of my name almost broke me. I swallowed hard and nodded.

“It… doesn’t look like it’s supposed to look like this,” I ventured, watching his expression carefully. But he gave no sign of whether I was right or not. “I know from my experience with older artworks from where I’m from that some materials age and yellow over time. This looks like it was coated with a varnish or resin that’s aged very badly, but…”

“But…?” he prompted.

I looked closer at the piece. Something looked so off about it.

“I don’t think the resin was put on by the original artist,” I told him, “It looks like the original art had… I don’t know... Some sort of plants on it. And the whole thing is just… coated in that yellowed resin and it looks like the plants were caught within it, probably to keep them in place but the placement where they ended up doesn’t look purposeful. It’s like someone just laid it on its back and dumped the resin on it and let the plants fall where they did.”

“Very good,” Thrawn said, sounding pleased.

My heart soared at the words and I stood up a little straighter.

“This piece comes from Mon Cala,” Thrawn explained, “It is an aquatic planet and therefore most of its art is meant to be viewed under water.”

“So when it was brought to the surface, someone wanted to preserve that effect by dumping resin on it,” I said slowly.

“Indeed. To the work’s detriment, as you can see. The plants are meant to move with the water, not be glued in a static location. In addition, the plants didn’t survive the process and have decayed within. I believe the yellow came from the color of the plants leeching into the resin.”

“That’s unfortunate. I bet this was really beautiful before. The background looks so purposefully done, but it’s covered by dead plants and flattened visually from the resin…”

“Come,” he beckoned, moving to his desk. I followed him and he pressed a few buttons on his desk. Suddenly a hologram floated in front of us. “This is not the exact piece I have here, but it is a similar work.”

I examined the glowing blue image. It certainly was a different piece, but I could see what it was meant to be. The plants flowed with the water, giving the work the feel of being alive.

“If these pieces can’t exist properly out of water, why didn’t someone just… put it in a tank of water or something?” I asked.

“I suspect there are several reasons for that,” Thrawn began, “First is simple practicality. It is much more difficult to move around a tank of water than a static work of art. Secondly, I suspect the plants do not thrive outside of the waters of Mon Cala. The work may last for a time in a tank of the right water, but I believe that it would still degrade. Whoever encased this piece in resin was no doubt attempting to preserve it, but sadly they did more harm than good.”

“Unfortunate,” I sighed sadly as he turned off the hologram, “Looks like it was beautiful before.”

“Yes, I believe it was. Sometimes the method of preservation, even poor preservation such as this, can tell us something, however.”

“I suppose so… at a high cost, though.”

He inclined his head, “Indeed. Thank you for indulging me, [Name]. However I am certain you are still recovering. Shall I return you to your room?”

I nodded and he began to lead the way out of his office. As we came to the elevator, I veered off to look out the view port again. The planet was in a different place relative to the ship than it had been. I looked out at the countless stars, wondering what all was out there. Who all was out there…

“W-what planet is that?” I asked quietly.

“Coruscant,” Thrawn replied. “The capital of the New Republic.”

I nodded my understanding. I suspected it was Coruscant based on the patterns of lights I could see. But… how was it the New Republic? How was Thrawn and the Chimaera part of it?

“Come,” Thrawn called, “You are beginning to look tired. I think you should rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, stepping onto the lift with him. I didn’t look at the blue alien, but I once again was fairly certain I saw the glow of his eyes intensify.

#unknown's writing

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“You may want me, but you need you.”

seokjin x reader (or oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 1.7K

a/n: This drabble includes talks of therapy and anxiety so possible trigger warning. In this, Poopsie is just kind of realizing her struggles with her insecurities and how she projects it onto Jin. And as always, Jin is an absolute sweetheart. Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoy! :))

YOU were doing it again. You knew you were. Jin was just busy, his job was stressful at the moment. They were preparing for a fucking comeback, for godsake, it wasn’t about you.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from sending the text.

You: Can we talk when you get here? If you’re even still coming over.

It wasn’t volatile or aggressive, but you knew he’d read it and know that you were upset, and therefore you’d receive his attention, and that’s all you wanted. Well, that’s what you thought you wanted.

Waiting for the response was the worst, because you couldn’t take your text back. Your emotions were high when you sent it and you knew it was a destructive thing to do, but it felt like the physical illness from the anxiousness sitting in your stomach wouldn’t ease until you hit send.

It had been fifteen minutes since you sent the message, and Jin hadn’t even opened it. God, you were acting like a fucking lunatic, checking the conversation repeatedly to see if he had read it yet.

Trying to distract yourself, you grabbed the drawing pad Jungkook left at your apartment from a few days ago, sifting through the sketches to find a blank page. The kid could draw, you thought as you appreciated his work.

Landing on a blank page, you picked up the pencil from the coffee table and began dragging it across the page. You were not an artist, you just needed the mental break that watching the graphite appear on the white page provided.

Half way through your child-like drawing, your apartment door opened, a very tired Jin stepping inside with his bag thrown over his shoulder. Kicking his shoes off, he lifted his gaze to find you staring at him from the floor in front of the couch.

“Ah, my love,” he sighed out, trudging forward until he reached the couch, plopping down on top of it, his face pressed against the cushion right beside where you sat against the furniture. You turned your head to look at him, smiling slightly at his puckered lips and closed eyes, swaying his head a bit as he cutely tempted you for a kiss.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his sweetly, but quickly, sitting back and watching as Jin opened his eyes.

“You ok?” He asked, his eyes pulling together in concern.

“Did you get my text?” You asked him, hoping it had somehow not made it through.

“Text?” He asked, digging in his pocket to fish his phone out. Holding it up to you, he showed you the darkened screen. “It died about three hours ago, I didn’t have a charger with me.” You nodded in understanding, a bit of relief flooding your feelings at the realization he hadn’t seen your message. “Did something happen?”

“Just me on my bullshit again,” you said with a small humorless laugh. “When you read it, just ignore it.”

“Hey, what happened?” He asked, rolling from his stomach onto his side to face you.

You lip quivered at his concerned expression, fighting back tears as a result of the realization of what you were doing to him, as well as the frustration with yourself for doing it. “I’m projecting again,” you told him, shaking your foot quickly to release some pent-up anxiety and emotion.

“What’s going on, my love?” He already knew. You could tell. He was sweet to pretend to be clueless to your ridiculous doubting.

“You’ve been busy and I’m taking it personally,” you said sadly, frustrated with you and your mind.

“Did I do something to make you feel less loved?” He asked, the question breaking your heart. Why was he taking blame like this?

“No, Jin,” you whimpered, tears flooding your bottom eyelid.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tried to calm you, bringing a hand to soothe through your hair. “It’s ok, we’re ok, just talk to me.”

“I’m so fucking sick of doubting you any time you can’t dedicate as much time to me, I can’t keep doing this shit,” you told him, and yourself, in frustration. A tear slid down your cheek and you wiped it away with the side of your hand.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you all my time,” he apologized sadly, and the comment not only shattered you, but it made your self-loathing accelerate. If you love this man, why do you keep doing this to him? You thought to yourself.

“Don’t fucking apologize, oh my god, Jin, this is all on me, I’m fucking crazy,” you cried, Jin shaking his head adamantly.

“You’re not crazy,” he told you calmly.

“What if something is wrong with me? Like, what if nothing will ever be enough to stop the insecurities?” You asked him desperately.

“What will be enough? What do you want?” He asked you. He was trying to give you more and more, but he was already giving you plenty. The doubting his love was all in your head, you knew that, but it didn’t feel any less real in the moment. That was the problem.

“You,” you told him, bursting into tears, burying your face in your hands as Jin continued stroking your hair, dragging his hand down to your shoulders before repeating the motion.

“But you have me, my love. You’ve had me for a long time, and my feelings have not faltered. Not even once,” he told you with a sigh. Jin was trying so hard to be understanding, but you knew it hurt him deeply whenever you doubted his feelings for you.

“I know that,” you insisted, looking up from your hands at the man. “I do.”

“Do you?” He asked, his own securities peaking through.

“Yes,” you assured him firmly. “And I can’t keep doubting you. You’ve given me no reason, it’s just me, it’s all in my head.”

Jin grabbed your hand and gently ran his thumb across the back of it, peering at your face thoughtfully. “Can I be honest with you?” He asked, a nervousness in his tone.

“Always.”

He took a moment to think about how to phrase his words, his eyes scanning your features as he did so. “You may want me, but you need you,” he finally spoke, the words hitting you harder than either of you expected. A sob racked through your body, Jin scooting off the couch to sit next to you on the floor, pulling you into his arms. As you cried against his frame, he gently rocked your bodies.

Speaking into the shirt against his chest, you admitted, “I think I need to talk to someone.”

“Someone?” He asked calmly, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Professionally,” you clarified, though you both knew he already knew what you meant.

“You want a therapist?” He asked, making sure you were on the same page.

“I think I need it,” you told him, pulling away from him to look at him. Jin took your hands in his as he looked at you with understanding and maybe even pride. “What I’m putting us through isn’t fair to either of us.”

Jin stared into your eyes, and you tried to avert eye contact but he dipped his head to hold your gaze. “I don’t want you thinking you’re putting us through something we can’t overcome, ok? I wouldn’t walk away because your mind gets mean toward you sometimes. Do you understand that?” He spoke the words so sincerely, it had you wondering how you could ever doubt him. You nodded, and he nodded back.

“But I think therapy is a good idea if you do,” he told you, you watching him intently as he continued. “You shouldn’t have to become overtaken by your thoughts like this, and if therapy will help you manage that, I support it completely,” he told you, more tears gathering in your eyes at his words. “I want you to be healthy. I want you to be ok. You and I? We’re ok, I promise,” he insisted, moving your hands with his as he spoke, as if talking with his hands would more firmly plant his words in your mind. “But now it’s time for you to focus on yourself.”

You sniffled, nodding. “I love you.”

“And I love you. You do know that. And I’m proud of you,” he told you, kissing the back of your hand.

You scoffed, a tear rolling down your cheek. “Why would you be proud of me?”

“For stepping up for yourself,” he said simply. Grabbing your thumb, he gently guided your hand toward your face, wiping your tears away with your own digit. “You’re an inspiration to me, my love,” he told you sincerely.

You let out a small laugh at his words, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks, which Jin quickly used your own thumb to wipe away again. “I hope I can understand why someday.”

“You will,” he smiled warmly. “I know you will.”

Giving him a single nod, you leaned against his shoulder, Jin wrapping his arm around you as he looked to the open drawing pad. “Did Jungkook draw that?” He suddenly asked in confusion.

“I think Jungkook would be horribly insulted if you asked him that,” you giggled, Jin chuckling with you.

“No, you’re really good,” he told you, a bald-faced lie.

“See, that’s how I know you’re being sincere when you tell me you love me,” you smiled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Jin let out a squeaky laugh, leaning into you to kiss your temple. “I’m actually a great liar, I just can’t lie to you.” You hummed in response, nuzzling closer to his side. “Might want to rip that out though, Jungkook will be relentless with that one,” he teased you, you slapping his abdomen gently.

“You’re right though, get rid of the evidence,” you giggled, reaching for the drawing pad and ripping out the drawing. Before you could crumble it up, Jin stole it from your grasp, you staring at him in surprise.

“I’m gonna hang it on the fridge,” he smiled, you glaring at him. “People will think we have kids.”

“You’re the worst,” you laughed, Jin smiling proudly.

“I know, little one.”

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

'Till Death Do Us Part

Part 6 out of 13

When Alex has to bring Philip to work, he and Thomas discover that they both have something in common: they lost their love. They form an unexpected bond and connection about this that grows into something more.

A medium burn with parental feelings about Philip and flowers.

On AO3.

Ships: Jamilton

Warnings: brief mention of trauma in regards to water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6: Garden Daisy Means ‘I Share Your Sentiments’

Alex and Philip played in the park the next day. He pushed Philip on the swings, they tossed a ball back and forth, making Alex feel very stereotypical, so he taught Philip how to make flower crowns from the little daisies in the grass.

Philip was especially excited about making the daisy chains, telling Alex animatedly about making one at school tomorrow: “Yeah, Theo loves flowers, so I’ll make her one, because she is my bestest friend.”

“I’m sure, she’ll appreciate that,” Alex smiled.

“Are you going to make one for Mr. Thomas?” Philip asked.

Alex shook his head: “Probably not, buddy. I don’t think Thomas is much of a flower crown person, but it’s a sweet thought of you.”

“Why?”

“What? I’m going to need more context than that, Pip.”

“Why doesn’t Mr. Thomas want a flower crown?” Philip asked, looking heartbroken about it as he then also asked, “Is a flower crown not a fun gift for your bestest friends?”

“No, no, Pip, it’s a wonderful gift for Theo tomorrow, but are Theo and Thomas really the same?” he tried to do damage control.

Philip thought about it, then said: “No, but they both think my art is the coolest and they like hearing about dinos and Uncle Laf said Mr. Thomas really liked the flowers you gave him and that he was adorable over them, so he must like the flowers. Don’t you think, so Papa?”

“Uncle Laf said what?” Alex was unable to help himself, immediately backtracking, not wanting to involve his kid in that, “Never mind, not important. You make some really good points, Pip,” he had to acknowledge that, but he wasn’t giving Thomas a flower crown.

“I do?” Pip sounded excited about it.

“Yes, you do,” building up self esteem was good, “But Papa is probably not going to do that, because there are no flowers around the office and they will wilt if I make it now,” he wasn’t going to make Philip sad, so hopefully that would be enough.

Philip hummed thoughtfully, then shook off the entire thing: “I suppose you’re right.”

They went home soon after, eating dinner, before Alex read Philip a bedtime story. When Philip had drifted off, he gave him a kiss on the forehead: “Sleep tight, Pip. You’re going places.”

In return Philip snuggled closer into his pillow with a soft sigh. Alex smiled at the sleeping kid, before retreating downstairs, planning to work a bit on his essay about biphobia within the queer community.

He had written a few good paragraphs when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and smiled when he saw it was a message from Thomas: ‘Since you told me that if I wanted to pay so bad, I would have to ask you out and because I said I would, here is me formally asking if you have time next Saturday?

Alex giggled at the wording, before shooting back: ‘dork’

‘me and pip usually hang out on saturdays, but i think hercs free to babysit’

Thomas replied: ‘I was hoping to take you on a picnic, if Philip wants to come and you don’t mind, he’s more than welcome’

That was something Alex hadn’t seen coming. He would love if Thomas and Pip got along and it seemed Thomas was willing to spend time with his son, but he worried that the man had only offered out of guilt.

He took a quick screenshot and send it to Angelic, asking: ‘is this thomas being nice and awkward abt it even though he doesnt mean it?’

After a few seconds, she replied: ‘He wouldn’t lie about shit like that, now reply before he gets anxious about your silence’

‘yes, ma’am’

Alex quickly went back to the chat with Thomas and send: ‘ill ask if he wants to come, but iwould love to take you up on the invitation :D’

‘Good’

‘Talk to you tomorrow?’

‘yeah, see you then’

‘goodnight’

‘Sleep tight, Alex’

Alex sat for a moment smiling dumbly at his phone, looking forwards to tomorrow to see Thomas again as he got up to get ready for bed.

The next day, he quickly put his stuff in his office, before going to the break room, knowing that Thomas would be in soon and meet him there. It always took a few minutes, so Alex busied himself with making coffee, trying not to look at the door.

He was just taking his first sip when Thomas came in. Almost choking he managed to wave as he greeted: “Hi.”

“Hello, be careful there,” Thomas smirked, noticing Alex struggle with the coffee.

“Shove off,” Alex told him, finally swallowing the sip that had betrayed him.

“Nah, don’t wanna,” Thomas shrugged, making himself coffee, “How was your weekend? Did you get terrorized by Lafayette as well?”

“God, he got you too?” Alex asked.

“Naturally,” Thomas replied, “He was at my house first thing in the morning on Saturday, I think he had a notepad.”

“He is such an idiot,” Alex facepalmed.

“You’re telling me,” Thomas laughed.

“But no, my weekend was good,” Alex said after a pause, “I was over at Eliza’s on Saturday, she and Maria were watching Pip and on Sunday me and Pip went to the park. You?”

“Well, on Saturday I hosted Laf, unprepared, but it was alright,” he was not telling Alex he had been draped over the couch, dramatically recounting the entire night like a teenager, “Then on Sunday I read a bit,” and botheredJames about date ideas, which he did not appreciate, before bothering him about what would bea good message to send, which he also didn’t appreciate; he added mentally.

“Are you reading anything interesting?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, I’m reading Frankenstein, just a classic I never got around to,” Thomas answered.

Alex lit up and their conversation went on, discussing the want for bodily autonomy that Mary Shelley as a woman in that era must have had and how that was integrated into the book and how the story of being otheredcould be applied to other minorities today.

The rest of the week sped by like usual. Their lunches together had felt a bit odd at first like it had gained a deeper meaning after the date, but then Thomas had spilled his coffee and Alex had snorted and inhaled a few crumbs, so that had worn off quite quickly.

When Alex had asked Philip if he wanted to come with him and Thomas on a picnic the boy had been beyond excited, which made that easy for Alex.

Now was just the issue of making sure that they had a kite for Pip, the drawing of Mr. Thomas he had made and wanted to give to the man, and sunscreen on as well as a jacket with them, because the weather was mostly good, but there might be winds later on.

Thomas came to pick them up in his car, it was a bit flashy, but the normal amount of flashy for Thomas. Still Alex said: “Hi there, show off.”

“And proud of it,” Thomas just grinned back, before he could say anything more though, Philip came running out of the house, yelling: “Mr. Thomas, Mr. Thomas, do you know how to fly a kite? Will you fly it with me?”

“Wow, calm down, kiddo,” Thomas said to the kid clinging to his waist.

“Sorry, Mr. Thomas.”

“It’s okay, and you can call me Thomas if you want to, you know that, right?”

“But it’s rude to not call people Mister,” Philip frowned.

“Well, it’s okay with me, I am hereby giving you permission to call me Thomas,” Thomas told the kid gently, the whole Mr. Thomas made him feel old.

Philip nodded, then said: “Okay, Uncle Thomas. Do you know how to fly a kite?”

Okay, that was- that was an upgrade that Thomas was unsure of how to deal with, so he just ignored it: “Yeah, I know how to fly a kite. Do you have one?”

“Yes, it’s the bestest one, it gots all the colors of the rainbow on it!” the kid was clearly beyond excited about it.

“Wow, that sounds super awesome, kiddo.”

“What is also super awesome, is car safety,” Alex interrupted them, “I got Pip’s booster seat, do you mind if I put that on the backseat?”

“Of course not, need help?” Thomas answered.

“Nah, I’ve done this before,” Alex grinned.

With Philip’s booster seat firmly in place and the kid buckled in, they got into the car. Thomas holding Alex’s door open with a flourish, making Alex blush as he called him a dork.

“Not a dork, darlin’, just Southern hospitality,” Thomas winked at him, letting his accent coat his words heavily.

And with that he closed Alex’s door and got into the car, driving off in the direction of the nearby park Alex often visited with Pip.

After they arrived Alex got Philip out of the car, while Thomas grabbed Alex’s bag andan actual basket out of the back. When he noticed Alex staring with a raised brow, he shrugged: “You were cliché, so I thought why not.”

“It’s very picturesque.”

“Papa, what is pictuu- pictuu- that word?” Philip asked.

Breaking the eyecontact with Thomas, Alex explained: “Well, sometimes things look just like a picture, they’re put in on purpose to be pretty, like with a drawing. So, we call it picturesque.”

Philip hummed thoughtfully, before he said: “Okay, can I go on the swings?”

“Sure, buddy, but first we go find a spot to sit and maybe eat something, okay?” Alex said, taking Pip’s hand, holding his other out to Thomas with a raised eyebrow.

Thomas took it with a smile, leading them to a spot near the little pond in the park, where a tree provided both shade and an easy marker to find it again if Philip wandered off on his own, which Alex was grateful for.

Out of the basket came a checkered blanket, which made Alex laugh as he and Thomas struggled to lay in down in the wind. But there were also sandwiches, orange juice, brownies, fruit salad and a thermos with coffee.

“Wow, you thought of everything, didn’t you,” Alex whistled.

He got an eye crinkle smile in return as Thomas said: “I try,” before turning to Philip and asking, “What sort of sandwich do you want, kiddo? I got PB and J, ham and cheese and one with chicken and eggplant.”

“May I please have a PB and J sandwich?”

“So, polite,” Thomas commented, handing him the sandwich, “Here you go. Alex?”

“Uhm, can I have one with chicken?”

“Of course, there you are,” Thomas handed him a sandwich, before taking a chicken one as well, nodding a cheers to the others before eating it.

It wasn’t really quiet while they ate, neither Alex nor Philip had a talent for keeping their mouths shut while Thomas was comfortable enough to mix himself into the conversation, either to argue fondly with Alex or to encourage Philip to keep going.

When most of the food was gone, Philip asked: “Can I go on the swings now, Papa?”

Alex checked if the swings were in sight, they were actually quite close and since he was trying to let Pip be more independent, he nodded: “Yeah, just be sure to stay in sight and to come tell me if you’re going somewhere else, okay?”

“Okay, Papa.”

“Can you pinky promise me?” he might be trying to let Pip be more independent, but he still worried about his son.

“Pinky promise,” it was adorable how serious Philip looked while making the pinky promise.

Then Philip skipped off to the swings to play. Alex watched him closely until he got there, then a few moments more just to be sure.

“It’s incredible to see how much you love him,” the comment startled Alex for a moment and he asked: “Wha?”

“Just- you love Philip so much and you can see it every time you two interact,” Thomas explained, “It’s kinda amazing to see. You know, with a big family it wasn’t all that one on one, so seeing how much attention you give him is weird – in the best way of course.”

Alex blushed, no one really every complimented his parenting much, with the trans thing and the single parent and the busy job, most of the PTA moms looked down on him, so it was refreshing to hear: “Oh, uhm, thanks, really means a lot.”

“No problem,” Thomas smiled, “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Alex held out his cup and watched it get filled, nodding to Thomas gratefully as he took a sip.

It was quiet for a moment, then a thought popped into Thomas’s head, making him a bit unsure and he asked: “Philip is calling me Uncle Thomas, you okay with that?”

“As long as you are. Pip’s never had a conventional family, I’m not sure he knows exactly what the word is supposed to mean, so he just calls adults he knows well that,” Alex explained, before quickly adding, “If you want him to stop, I can talk to him.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mind – honored, actually – just, you know,checking in.”

“Okay.”

Then it was quiet again. They both stared at the little playground where Philip was now playing tag with a few other kids, obviously done with swinging on the swings.

The sun was out and there were birds in the trees that were chirping, they were sitting on a checkered blanket, nearly completely leaning on one another and Alex was enamored by how picturesque this actually was, even if it had been teasing before.

He remembered Thomas complimenting his date and how relieved and excited that had made him, so he leaned more into Thomas’s side and softly said: “This is pretty amazing, thanks for asking me out again.”

Alex couldn't see it, but Thomas grinned as he replied: “Well, I am glad for inviting you, the company makes it much better.”

“How romantic,” Alex told him, trying, and failing, not to be touched by the comment.

“I try,” Thomas merely replied.

“So,” Alex looked around for something to talk about when he spotted the daisies in the grass and was reminded of his trip to the park with Pip last week, “opinions on flower crowns?”

“What?” Thomas sounded very confused.

He sat up straighter and plucked a few flowers, making a chain and holding it up: “Opinions on flower crowns?”

Thomas laughed for a second, then saw Alex’s face andexclaimed: “Oh my God, you’re being serious.”

Alex laughed too, before schooling his face into a more serious expression: “A trustworthy source told me these are very great gifts.”

“Oh, and who might that source be?” Thomas challenge.

“Well that would be my very own flesh and blood, Philip Hamilton, UncleThomas,” Alex emphasized the title teasingly.

Thomas grinned: “Oh, you should have said so, can’t argue with such an esteemed member of society.”

They both laughed again as Alex plucked more daisies and made a flower crown. It might have been a bit of a joke, but he had never known when to stop and he wasn’t going to start now, so he concentrated on braiding the flowers together while Thomas watched with an amused smile.

“Here, a pretty flower crown, for a pretty boy,” Alex said, handing Thomas the flower crown, taking much delight in how he had a front row seat to a blush blooming over Thomas’s entire face.

Mutely Thomas took the flower crown, mentally trying not to die at Alex’s face and words, which was really hard.

“Well, aren’t you going to put it on?” Alex asked, it was kinda mean to tease at this point, but he couldn't help it when Thomas looked like that.

“Ye- yeah, naturally,” Thomas managed, putting the flower crown on as he regained his bearings, “So, how do I look?” his voice was still a bit squeaky.

“Ah, just like I thought,” Alex smiled, “beautiful.”

“You can’t just say things like that, Alex,” Thomas tried to hide his face.

“Yes, yes, I can. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m kind of known for always speaking my mind and being honest. Can’t help it if it’s true.”

“I hate you.”

“I sure hope that’s not true or this is going to be awkward.”

It was a teasing reply, but both stilled for a moment, before Thomas slowly and softly said: “No, I- I didn’t mean that, you’re- you’re pretty alright.”

“Pretty alright… Hm, I’ll take it,” Alex was smirking, trying to play off the fact that his heart was beating like a marathon runner’s as relief flooded through his veins.

Thomas shoved him over and said: “You’re an idiot.”

“Now that- that I already knew,” Alex grinned, before getting up and looking back to the playground to check in on Philip.

He didn’t have to search much, because the boy was just running their way, yelling: “Papa, Papa, I slayed the dragon.”

“Wow, really buddy? That’s so cool,” Alex caught him as the kid practically tripped into his arms as he gestured wildly while recounting his epic encounter with a dragon and a witch and some fairies who were ‘the coolest, Papa, you should have seen then, they went pow pow and it was so cool.’

Then he spotted Thomas with the flower crown perched on his head and he smiled widely: “Did you give Uncle Thomas a flower crown like I said, Papa?”

“Yeah, I did, Pip. You were right, it was a great gift.”

“I have to agree, you have way better ideas than your Papa,” Thomas budded in.

Philip’s smile widened: “Really? I think so, but Papa is an adult and people always say adults know better.”

“Well, in some instances, adults have more experiences so they can make better decisions, but that doesn’t mean they’re always right,” Thomas said, “Kids can have interesting ideas too. Think of it like painting, experiences are different colors, but you don’t need every color, you can just make a more elaborate picture with more.”

Alex watched as Philip took a moment to think about it, before he nodded in understanding and saying: “So, I may not have all the colors yet, but I can make a good picture?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Thomas was grinning so broadly that Alex was going to loose his mind with how much he adored Thomas and Philip interacting and how fucking cute it was.

Suddenly Philip’s eyes lit up and he said: “Papa, I forgot to give Uncle Thomas his picture.”

“You can give it now, buddy,” Alex told him, reaching over to the bag he brought himself and digging through it.

“My what?” Thomas asked in the background.

“I made you a picture,” Philip was bouncing in place waiting for Alex to find it. When he did, he handed it to Pip, who in turn handed it to Thomas.

“It’s you,” he said, “You’re all purple, because you like purple like me and you have big hair like Uncle Laf and Uncle Herc do, though Uncle Herc’s is smaller and I gave you a book and a laptop ad then I thought planes would be cool, so I added those.”

“Wow, Philip, this is amazing,” Thomas said, “I feel like I should donate it to a museum, but something is missing for that.”

“What?” Philip’s face fell slightly.

“I need it signed, can’t have a masterpiece and forget who made it. What if you get famous? I want to be able to brag that I got an original Philip Hamilton drawing,” he dug around in his pocket and got out the purple pen he used to sign things when he was annoyed at Washington.

Philip took it excitedly, messily scrawling his name at the bottom, before handing it back: “Here, for you.”

“Truly, I’m speechless,” Thomas said, “I’m going to have to frame this.”

“You will?” Philip’s eyes were as big as plates.

“I am a man of my word and I promise,” Thomas told him, holding up a pinky. He had alreadyfigured out that promise meant the most to Philip at this age.

Philip happily interlocked their fingers, before Thomas carefully put the drawing away. Once it was gone, Philip asked: “Can we go kiting now?”

“We first have to put it together if you want to do that, so while I do that why don’t you drink some more juice,” Alex said, already pouring juice in a cup for Pip.

“Thank you, Papa,” Philip started drinking happily.

He struggled with putting the kite together, but luckily Thomas had more experience in putting together kites, citing his big family. So, they had it assembled by the time Philip had finished his juice.

Alex forced Philip to eat a brownie too. It might not be the healthiest, but he wouldn’t let Philip run around on an empty stomach if he could help it.

“I have no clue how to do this,” Alex confessed holding the kite. He had bought it on a whim in the supermarket about twoweeksago. However, he had no childhood memories to draw from on how to do this.

“Fortunately for you, I do,” Thomas said, taking the kite from him, “Here, let me take this.”

Alex gladly gave the task away and watched as Thomas gave Philip the handle of the kite and instructed him on what to do as he threw the kite into the air.

Philip whooped when it stayed up and Thomas cheered as well. Alex took out his phone and sneakily took a picture of the two, before cheering as well.

He flew the kite for half an hour before it went wrong. It was nothing big, just a sudden gust of wind that ripped the kite from Philip’s small hands and carried the kite away from them until it dropped into the water.

They looked at the kite for a second, before Philip turned to Alex with big eyes: “Papa, we have to save the kite.”

Looking at the water, Alex shuddered before he replied: “I’m sorry, Pip, but I can’t retrieve it for you. I think you’re going to have to say goodbye to the kite.”

“I can go get it, please, Papa,” there were tears gathering in Philip’s eyes.

In his mind images of Philip drowning flashed and quite harshly he said: “No!” cringing as Philip startled slightly. In a softer tone, he repeated: “No, Pip. You can’t swim, I’m not letting you in the water, because it’s dangerous and your clothes will get wet.”

“But- but the kite,” Philip argued.

“It was an accident, but we lost the kite,” Alex tried to break the news gently.

They were distracted by Thomas, who said: “I can go get the kite.”

“What?” “Will you do that, Uncle Thomas!”

“No, I can’t ask that of you,” Alex said, “You’ll ruin your clothes and it’s in the water and it might get cold later, it’s too much to ask.”

“I’ll be fine, Alex. Unlike Philip here, I can swim, so it’s fine if I fall. And this isn’t a natural pond anyway,” Thomas explained, “It’s made to trap rainwater so the neighborhood doesn’t get flooded, but because it’s in a kids park, it’s shallower. I don’t think my shorts will get wet.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Alex pressed again, making sure that Thomas didn’t feel obligated just because Philip would be mildly upset about it.

“I know,” Thomas smiled as he sat down to toe off his shoes and socks.

Before he stepped into the water, he looked at Pip and seriously said: “Can you watch over our spot and your Papa for me while I go rescue the kite?”

Philip nodded, equally serious: “With my life.”

“Good,” Thomas chuckled, then set his first step.

He had been right about the depth of the pond and got to the kite without any difficulties. More onlookers had turned their attention to the water, but Thomas tried to ignore them as he saved the kite.

Returning to the shore he handed it to Philip, who beamed: “Thank you so somuch, Uncle Thomas.”

“No problem, kiddo, though I don’t think we can kite any more with the kite all wet,” he replied.

“That’s okay, I can still swing,” Philip said.

As the kid ran off again to play, Alex turned to Thomas: “Really, thank you, you didn’t have to do it, but thanks.”

“Did you see Philip’s smile? Worth it, really,” Thomas assured him.

Alex smiled, he didn’t think his heart could contain all the affection he had for Thomas in that moment, so he just hugged the man and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Thomas gently touched the spot Alex had kissed before smiling like he was the happiest man on earth, which only made Alex scream more internally.

They returned to their blanket and watched Philip play. After a few minutes of silence, Thomas lightly said: “So, water. Not a fan?”

“Ah, no, not really,” Alex replied, not sure on what to say.

“You don’t have to tell me, just good to keep in mind,” Thomas told him gently.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, just not something I talk about much,” Alex shrugged.

Thomas repeated: “You don’t have to tell me, really.”

“I know,” Alex assured him, “You know how I’m an immigrant, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I come from the Caribbean and uhm- You see, there was this hurricane that hit my island when I was seventeen. It’s- uh, it’s not something I’d recommend living through,” he told Thomas.

“Oh wow, I remember that being on the news,” Thomas felt like he had maneuvered himself into an awkward position. He was bad at comfort, with John he could relate, but here he was way out of his depths.

“It’s okay now, I got over it- mostly,” Alex shrugged, trying to move on, “Just don’t like water or storms that much.”

Thomas nodded, staying quiet. Instead he slung an arm over Alex’s shoulders and let the man snuggle close as he stared off in the direction Philip was in, though Thomas wasn’t sure if he was seeing much, so he kept an eye on the kid just in case.

After a moment, Alex asked: “Do you have one of those brownies left?”

“What? Huh, oh yeah. Here.”

“Thank you, these are amazing.”

“Why thank you, I made them.”

“You did?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” a beat, then Alex said, “Well, I am, but it’s more pleasantly surprised than anything else. I didn’t know you baked.”

Thomas was glad for the change in topic and that the atmosphere hadn’t been ruined by his comment. So he replied: “It’s calming, repetitive and you have something nice at the end.”

“Never pegged you to be a stress baker,” Alex commented.

“According to Jemmy it’s one of my more redeeming qualities,” Thomas joked.

Alex laughed: “James is good in pinning people, I’ll take his word.”

“He thought you to be annoying and a dick, so I don’t think you wanna do that,” Thomas raised a brow at him.

“Schematics,” Alex waved his hand, “And in my defense, I was annoying back then, maybe even a bit of a dick, butI just aged like fine wine.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many faces.”

“You’re a dork, that’s what you are.”

“Maybe so,” Thomas smirked, before looking over to the playground again. Philip was going down the slide, before running around with another kid. Thomas said: “He looks like he’s having fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, he does,” Alex agreed, snuggling closer into Thomas’s side.

Thomas planted a kiss on the top of his head and Alex was pretty sure he was one day going to melt out of affection.

Philip stopped running for a moment, to turn to them and wave excitedly. Alex waved back and so did Thomas. Alex couldn't stop the smile on his face, this was nice, so much nicer than he ever thought he was going to get after John’s death.

He send a quick look to the sky, slightly wistful, before fully draping himself over Thomas, earning a not-that-offended offended squawk that he ignored in favor of draping even more until Thomas gave in and let them both topple over.

Alex vowed that he was going to try to hold on to this for as long as possible.

I am not a parent btw, I feel like I should have stated that early, also don’t take this fic as parenting advise. I try to write Good Parent!Alex, but that doesn’t mean it will be entirely, bc, again, no experience in this field.

Btw, Philip not understanding Uncle and Auntie and being over at the other’s houses so much is a concept I love, bc it’s a very queer way to raise a kid. Sure, Alex is his primary care giver and dad and stuff, but a village raises a kid and- ugh, I love found family dynamics.

Also this is getting incredibly fluffy, I was worried this was going to be too dark for me with my other fics, but no within a few chapters the angst has made place for this. Love that for me *gay peace sign*

#RR writing #tw: trauma mention #Hamilton #Hamilton AU #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #philip hamilton #Jamilton #'Till Death Do Us Part #'Till Death Do Us Part Part 6 #'Till Death Do Us Part AU

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: A Pressing Engagement ch3 (Not baon AU)

Summary: Edge has questions. Stretch would pretty much like to avoid the answer.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Fluff and Angst, Dating, Developing Relationship, Humor

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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Edge was still waiting patiently for Stretch to pick up the ball of conversation he’d tossed in his direction and since talking was way down on the list of what Stretch actually wanted to do, he let it fall to the ground between them, rolling around loose.

The bedroom was at least a room he knew, even if he wasn’t usually upright when he saw it. The contrast to his own shabby chic was always impressive; there were no balled-up socks on the floor, no collection of dishes waiting with dismal hope for their chance to hit the dishwasher. Not perfect, though, not tonight. The blankets were drawn down and there was a book lying on the bed, a mug sitting on the side table. All clear signs that Edge had probably been settled all cozy into bed, ready to dive into his secret stash of trashy dime novels when he clued into their silent alarm.

Now he was sitting on the bed all but aiming the ring box at Stretch’s head as he picked up the conversation he’d dropped. “I understand you not wanting me to see these, but I’m failing to see why you thought committing a possible felony was the best route to keep it from happening.”

“oh, come on,” Stretch let out a dismal laugh, “seriously? like you would’ve let me root through your car without seeing what it was?” He’d learned a long time ago not to take Edge’s distrust personally, especially since Red was usually higher than he was on Edge’s shit list.

Edge hummed thoughtfully, “True, but what was stopping you from showing me literally anything else? A lucky lighter or one of those atrocious little toys you always have. I would never have known the difference.”

“yeah, that’s actually a pretty good idea,” Stretch groaned, sagging back in his chair, “shame i didn’t get your input earlier.”

“Well,” Edge didn’t open the box again, only twisted it in his hands. “That doesn’t really matter. I have seen them. Stretch?”

That was a hint for him to get talking and, fuck, did he want a cigarette, a little numbing nicotine buffer would go down swell right about now. Stretch went ahead and fumbled out his lighter but left his smokes where they were. He knew better than to try smoking in Edge’s room, adding a sprinkle of annoyance on top of this meal probably wouldn’t end well. Or maybe he should go ahead, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to end his favor, anyway. He thumbed the rasp of his lighter, watched the little spark form. “i don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“Perhaps some insight into what you were thinking would be a good place to start,” Edge leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “We don’t even live together and here you are planning proposals?”

Said like that, it didn’t sound like he was thinking at all, not past the simple fact that when he heard about Alphys and Undyne planning to get hitch, he sort of…wanted that, for himself, and everything that came with it. He’d spent all day thinking about it, letting different scenarios play out in his head where Edge would say yes and maybe kiss him in the park right in front of everyone and then they’d all break into applause because hell, if you’re gonna daydream, do it right.

He’d even talked about it with Blue, a little piggly wiggly before he went whole hog with the shopping, but now that his head was below the clouds, Stretch figured that his bro probably wasn’t an impartial audience. He’d gone starry eyed, literally, yammering about planning weddings and flowers, hell, they’d both gotten swept up in the idea and before he knew it, he had rings and something like a plan to propose. Probably should’ve felt it out sooner to make sure he had a groom before they’d started thinking about receptions. The way this was going, the only thing he was gonna be going home with was his bruises, fuck the rings. He was gonna toss them out the window on the drive.

“all right, i was stupid, is that what you want to hear?” Stretch hunched over, wrapped his arms around himself. His head ached and so did, well, all of him, his reward for spending the evening getting knocked into walls. Worse was the tightness inside his chest, his soul squeezing together disappointment and hurt. “just give me those and let me go home.”

The gentle touch on the back of his skull startled him. Edge’s hand slid down to cup his cheek bone, trying to urge him to look up. “Don’t say that, you aren’t stupid. Stretch, I care about you, you do know that.”

“yeah.” The word came out small and he couldn’t keep the miserable hurt out of it. Cared. Yeah, right.

A soft sigh, then, roughly, “Fine, I love you. I have said it before.”

He had, a couple of times during sex and the more this chat dragged on, the dumber his impulse to buy rings seemed. He’d been blinded by his own hopes and goaded by Blue’s eagerness, thinking he and Edge were on the same page when a quick glance up at Edge’s impatient frown seemed to confirm they weren’t even in the same section of the librarby.

“All right, this isn’t working," Edge announced as he abruptly stood, "all I’m doing is hurting you.” Stretch squawked as Edge scooped him up right out of the chair and for one absurd second, he panickily thought he was about to get tossed out the door.

Instead, Edge settled them both on the bed, leaning against the headboard with Stretch lying back between his spread legs.

Okay, yeah, that helped, a little. Edge was warm and solid behind him, pressing soft kisses to Stretch’s skull as his gloved hands soothed over him. He made a quiet sound of dismay when he found a bruise, probably leftover from Blue attempt at scrubbing him against the garage, and brushed a gentler kiss over it, his breath a soft gust as he said, “All right. Let’s talk about marriage, then.”

Stretch squirmed, but it wasn’t their position bringing the uncomfortable, "why? we already talked about marriage, you were very clear on your opinion.”

“I know what I said, I was there. Now I’d like to talk about Underfell marriage. If I may?”

Then, despite his little announcement, Edge didn’t say anything. His hands moved absently, following the lines of Stretch’s jaw, down the bumps of his vertebrae to toy with the strings on his hoodie. The silence drew out, but Stretch didn’t rush him; the sooner Edge spoke, the less time he’d have to be here in his arms.

“Marriage in Underfell isn’t like here,” Edge said at last. That flatness in his voice was familiar, a relic from his old world; he always sounded like that when he talked about Underfell, like he couldn’t bear to discuss it if he didn’t have his mental shields in place, and Stretch hated himself, a little, for forcing Edge to dredge them up. “Generally, it was only done by royal decree. Asgore would arrange marriages to encourage offspring for his army, without any care for the wishes of the Monsters involved. I know your experience is different, but when I consider marriage, it is not a loving bond, it’s little more than royally sanctioned slavery.”

“I’m not liking the sound of that,” Stretch admitted. A soft puff of amused breath gusted over his cervical vertebrae in a soundless chuckle, that flat coldness fading.

“Neither do I,” Edge agreed, “We were on the surface for some time before I understood the differences here, but even in this world, it seems to be a contrivance that’s easily cast aside in divorce and used mostly for health benefits and to assign a next of kin.” Gloved fingers slipped beneath Stretch’s chin, urging him to look up into Edge’s gaze. “That brings us back here, to our relationship. What we have is entirely by our own consent and our freedom to choose.”

“And that’s fine,” Stretch said, trying to keep the desperation at a minimum, “we can keep doing that.”

Edge shook his head. “I don’t think we can. Because that’s what I want. It’s not fair to you, if you want more.”

Stretch tried to swallow around the sudden lump of his soul rising into his throat, managed to mumble out, “please don’t dump me.”

Not that he’d blame Edge if he did, ill-considered proposals followed by breaking and entering were probably not anywhere on Edge’s list of fun weekday activities.

It was impressive the way Edge managed to fit so much exasperation into an expression that barely changed, “I’m not about to leave you for loving me. If you care to recall, I love you, too,” He leaned in to brush a soft kiss over Stretch’s mouth and that simple, gentle touch wrung most of the aching fears out of the Stretch’s soul, relief surging in to fill the new real estate. He didn’t linger, drawing back to say, “And there were loving bonds in Underfell, they simply weren’t ones of marriage.”

“okay. then what would a loving bond be like?” He had to assume that’s where Edge was leading this, and how the hell did he always managed to be straightforward in such a roundabout way.

Edge hesitated and Stretch wondered at his answer, but what he got was, “Will you wait here until I come back? Please?”

That meant moving so Edge could get up and as much as Stretch wanted to latch on and cling ‘till dawn or joint cramps, that was probably not the multiple choice answer he was looking for. So he went with the first option and reluctantly roll off to let Edge get up. As long as he was going solo on the bed, Stretch took the chance to kick off his shoes, hey, the deeper he got under the covers, the harder it was for Edge to toss him out. Edge didn’t protest when Stretch burrowed into the blankets, only paused at the door and called, “If either of you are out there when I open this door, I will make you regret it.”

There was a muffled thump, the sound of brothers frantically scrambling away.

Typical. “you still got it, babe.”

“That implies I could possibly lose it.” Edge walked on out, closing the door behind him for which Stretch would always be grateful. He couldn’t do much about their brothers’ intense need to meddle, but he didn’t really want their podcast switching to pay-per-view.

Edge wasn’t gone long and when he came back, Stretch couldn’t really figure out why he left in the first place. He didn’t pull Stretch back in for another round of spoons, either, instead sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that each section of the Underground had its own societal quirks,” Edge said, softly. He shifted a little, then again, and Stretch realized abruptly that he was actually fidgeting, seriously, this was a night of strange happenings. “Snowdin was far enough away from New Home to come up with its own way of handling familial bonds. My brother and I assumed them not long after we moved there and I joined the guard.” His gaze moved over Stretch’s face searchingly, “You’re aware that Red wears my collar.”

“yeah, of course,” Stretch said. All of them learned real quick that dog jokes did not go over well with either of the Fell brothers.

Edge nodded. “I believe the trend may have started with the Dog family, but it took hold quickly. Collars are distinctly visible from some distance with little room for protesting about misunderstandings. Red’s collar distinguishes him as being my brother and under my protection in a way that no one can mistake. Children often wore collars that allowed others to easily identify their parents. And—”

He hesitated again, shifted again in that peculiar fidget, then moved his arm. From his sleeve slid a long, plain box and he didn’t hesitate, boldly handing it to Stretch without another word.

The white cardboard revealed nothing and when Stretch cautiously lifted the lid, all his prickling suspicions were confirmed.

A simple collar, plain leather with none of the spikes that poked out threateningly from Red’s.

Hesitantly, Stretch picked it up, draping it over his hand. The leather was buttery soft, a narrow glossy black backlined with a border of rich crimson. The burnished buckle was delicately tooled into the shape of a soul, what Humans always wanted to call a heart. Lovely and simple, subtle instead of blatant. There weren’t many people who’d get the implications here, but as of about ten minutes ago, Stretch was one of them.

“oh,” Stretch said quietly.

“I had it made a few weeks ago,” Edge said hurriedly. He reached over to run his thumb down the length of it, more deep red against black. “Although I will admit, I wasn’t expecting this conversation to come up so soon.” His chuckle was tinging on shrill, holy shit, he was nervous, after everything tonight, how could he be…? “It would be considered a betrothal collar. Not a marriage, but a promise to a certain level of commitment to each other. I’m aware that it isn’t what you were hoping for—”

The words broke off as Stretch flung himself at Edge, kissing him silent, and then not so silent, a groan muffled between their mouths as Stretch straddled him. It shifted to a sound of displeasure as Stretch drew back, but he knew where that road ended and there was something that needed to be done before they hit the delicious trail.

The box and collar had fallen beside them onto the blankets and Stretch picked it up, holding it out as he asked, “can you put it on me?”

Edge rose up on his elbows and took the collar, and the rough way he said, ‘of course,’ almost ended him right back on the bed.

Down, boy, Stretch told himself, tipping his head back to exposing the line of his cervical vertebra. The leather was cool against his bones as it circled them, the buckle cooler still and hardly took a moment for the collar to settle. Stretch looked back down, taking in the deep satisfaction in Edge’s crimson eye lights, swallowing hard at the way they moved over him, lingering on the collar.

Oh, he could feel it when he swallowed and Stretch did it again, just to feel that faint rise and fall.

“does it look okay?” Like he even needed to ask.

In answer, Edge made a hungry sound and lurched up to take his mouth again, abruptly rolling them both until he was on top, his weight was settled between Stretch’s spread femurs, heavy and perfect. He kissed his way lower, down the line of Stretch’s jaw to the collar and Stretch shuddered at the feel of his tongue testing the difference between delicate bone and leather.

A gloved hand starting to work its way beneath the dark hoodie, oh, fuck yes, maybe the game tonight ended on an unexpected score, but they were going into overtime and—

It would probably be pretty rude to shout ‘fuck off’ at the knock on the door. Especially when his brother’s voice followed it.

“Can I please go home now?” Blue asked plaintively. “because I could use a hand, there’s a great deal of, well, road under and around my car, and not in the good way!”

“think we can talk him into sleeping over with red?” Stretch whispered.

“I think that merely assisting in a felony shouldn’t involve cruel and unusual punishment,” Edge said dryly, then called, “Hold on a moment, we’ll be right there.”

With a grimace, he rolled to his feet and Stretch started to follow, wincing as he accidently knelt on something hard, what the hell…he dug through the covers to pull out whatever trap was hidden in Edge’s bed, but what he pulled out was the ring box.

Oh.

It still pinched a little to see it, surrounded by all those deflated daydreams, and Stretch started stuffing it into his pocket, trying to laugh it off, “i’ll give ‘em to blue to toss into my place, see what the return policy is in the morning.”

A light touch on his arm stopped him.

“Don’t,” Edge said quietly.

“but—", and he’d said it before, a wedding ring laying around the house was like having a loaded gun, and Stretch was fast figuring out that neither should go off prematurely.

“Hold on to them,” Edge paused, struggling for words, then asked, pleadingly, “Give me time?” And it was stupid for that to make Stretch soul swell with love and hope and every other damn soft emotion that could cram its way in, but eh, he’d always said he was idiot. Might as well hold the title for it.

Stretch cleared his throat and managed a hoarse, “babe, you can have all the time in the world.” And then it was his turn for kisses, kept them as soft and reassuring as the collar around his throat.

“Thank you,” Edge murmured against his mouth. Then he pulled away with a grudging sigh and headed for the door.

Stretch touched the collar at his throat lightly. A level of commitment, Edge said, and fuck it, may as well go for broke, “you think we could go out on a date this weekend?”

Edge paused with the doorknob in hand, frowning faintly, “We have a standing date every Saturday for movies and dinner.”

“yeah, but.” But that usually included their brothers, along with Sans and Papyrus, and look, Stretch was openminded, but a six-way split was out. “how about something that’s just you and me?”

“Of course,” Edge said, surprised and pleased. “What did you have in mind?”

‘Anything with you’ probably came off as slightly desperate, so Stretch improvised, “let me surprise you.”

Which was code for ‘I have no idea, give me a day to panic and figure things out’. Good thing Edge spoke his language, he only smiled faintly and agreed, “All right.”

A date, Stretch thought giddily, a real date, and maybe proposals were off the table for now, but not for never.

Blue and Red were sitting on the sofa when they came down and Stretch couldn’t see Edge’s face, but he could see Red’s and knew the second he caught sight of the collar. The shifting emotions pouring across his face could’ve been made into a short film for Sundance, but in the end Red only slouched further into the sofa, and if he looked smug, eh, Stretch was feeling charitable, he’d give him that one.

Blue was less happy and followed anxiously behind as Edge led the way out to his car. “What happened?” he hissed.

“i’ll tell you later,” Stretch whispered furiously out of the corner of his mouth and at Blue’s doubtful look, he sighed out, “promise.”

He didn’t miss the way Blue glanced at the collar, but he blessedly didn’t ask. An hour in Red’s company was a good way to make even the stoutest teetotaler beg for a drink and Stretch didn’t want to stand in the way of his brother’s well-deserved hangover. Between the three of them, they got Blue’s car clear of the rubble and off he went, tires squealing and leaving Edge and Stretch standing alone beneath the darkened streetlight.

He missed out on getting the post-engagement kisses of his dreams, but suddenly getting swept up into Edge’s arms on an empty street was a pretty close second.

“Now, where were we?” Edge murmured. He paused with his mouth a breath away from Stretch’s, “Wait. How did you get in the garage?”

“um,” Stretch hedged, because that was sort of one of those secrets he was hoping to take to his grave.

Rescue came from an unexpected source, in the form of a hoarse, cheery voice, “Still up tonight, boys?”

Edge turned, carrying Stretch with him, to see Mrs. Gerson making her slow way down the road. Huh, she’d made it a whole house down since they last saw her.

“Not for much longer,” Edge said, politely, “Good night, Mrs. Gerson.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, carrying Stretch back to the house and yeah, it wasn’t a happily ever after, not yet.

But it was on the right path.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus

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scottybrock · 5 years

Text

Someone Like You - Colby Brock

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: “Can you write something about the reader being sick with a bad cold and also being on her period. And not wanting Colby around so he doesn’t get sick but doesn’t listen anyways and tries to comfort/take care of her”

“Leave me here to die,” You groaned, burrowing yourself further into the comforter, pulling it over your head. Colby laughed, trying to tug the blankets out of your hands, but you held on tightly. “Stop,” You whined, yanking the covers out of his hands. He let go, his expression twisting into one of concern. He ran a hand over the top of your head, his frown deepening when he could feel the heat radiating of off your body. “Baby,” He started, but was cut off by deep, chest-rattling coughs coming from underneath the blanket.

When your coughing fit stopped, you peered up at him from under the blankets, your eyes fever-bright. “Go,” You wheezed. “Save yourself. I have the plague.” Colby laughed again, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. You shoved at him weakly, trying to shoo him away from you. “Seriously, Colbs,” Your voice was raspy. You looked horrible. You had deepset bags that seemed to take up half of your face. Your skin was a ghostly pale shade of white, except for your cheeks, which were an alarming shade of red, due to your fever.

“Baby,” Colby reached out a hand to you, but you swatted it away, releasing another chest rattling cough. “Colbs, seriously, I don’t want you to get sick,” You rasped. Colby ignored you, his hand resting against your bright red cheek. It was burning hot. “What are your symptoms, other than an obvious fever and a cough?” Colby asked, concerned once again.

You struggled to sit up, but you finally managed to do so. Your tired eyes peered up at him, and he felt his heart clench in sympathy. “It’s just a cold, Colby,” You assured him. “It just sucks, because I’m also on my period, so my body is really achy.”

You flopped back onto the bed, closing your eyes. “I just need some rest, that’s all.” Before Colby could reply, you were out cold. Raspy snores filled the room, and Colby couldn’t help but smile at your sleeping form. He quickly slid off of the bed and made his way to the kitchen. He found his shoes piled haphazardly by the front door and slid them on carefully, not wanting to make a single noise that would disturb you.

Colby hopped into his car and drove to the closest pharmacy. He parked, then quickly made his way inside of the pharmacy, grabbing a cart on the way in. He strolled down each aisle, humming thoughtfully. He grabbed a bottle of cold medicine and plopped it into the cart. He studied the bottles of over-the-counter medication, then grabbed a bottle of aspirin, a few bags of cough drops, some throat spray, fever reducer, and a bottle of pain reliever, tossing all of it into the cart.

Next, he walked down the feminine products aisle. He quickly grabbed a few packages of tampons, and then a pack of pads. He knew that you preferred tampons during the day, and pads at night. He tossed those into the cart, then strode to the candy aisle.

Colby scanned the array of chocolates and candies in front of him, then grabbed all of your favorites. He wasn’t finished yet; he purposefully made his way to the chips were, yet again grabbing all of your favorites. But wait! He wasn’t finished yet! He hurried over to the freezer section, scanning the cartons of ice cream displayed in front of him, and- you guessed it, he selected all of your favorites.

Satisfied with his bounty, he made his way to the cash register. However, something caught his eye on the way there. There was a tiny stuffed koala sitting right there, right amidst the discarded DVDs. Random, but it felt like a sign to him. Without a second thought, he scooped the koala and stuffed it into the nearly overflowing cart.

He stopped once more on his way to the register, distracted by the different colored roses that were displayed right near the front of the store. Amidst the bouquets of random was a bouquet of dark blue roses. He was riveted by them; he’d never seen roses of that color before, and he was intrigued. He plopped those into the cart as well.

Finally, he made his way to the cash register. The cashier gaped at the sheer amount of shit that was in his cart, then glared at him. He glared right back. His girl was sick. The cashier scowled, but obligingly scanned each item, with Colby watching intently. If the cashier purposely crushed the bag of Doritos, he was going to lose it; that was the last bag in the store.

Thankfully, the cashier didn’t. The cashier flatly told him his total, Colby paid, and then Colby placed each bag into the cart carefully, then made his way back to his car.

He drove back to the apartment complex. He carried each bag to the apartment, determined not to have to make a second trip, because, well, pride. He successfully managed to carry all of the bags in one go, nearly tripping over his own feet. The door slammed open, and he cringed at the loud bang that echoed throughout the apartment, mentally cursing at himself.

“Colbs?” Your hoarse voice floated out from the bedroom. “Is that you?” Colby kicked off his shoes, then prepared to carry the bags to the bedroom, even though he knew that he was going to have to carry them all back to the kitchen eventually. “Yeah, it’s me,” He called back.

There was loud rustling, then Colby tripped into the room. His arms were loaded with plastic bags, that seemed to be bursting with food. You spotted the tampons and pads through the thin plastic, and smiled at your boyfriend gratefully. You were glad that his masculinity wasn’t threatened by buying tampons and pads, like so many other dudes out there. He grinned back at you, his beautiful blue eyes sparkling at you.

He dropped the bags onto the bed unceremoniously. “I got you a lil’ something,” Colby announced. You raised your eyebrows at him, then dropped your gaze back down to the countless bags that littered the bed. “A little?” You teased. Colby laughed, his cheeks flushing the tiniest bit. “So, I kinda went overboard,” He shrugged. “You don’t feel well, and you know that I had to treat my baby.” Your cheeks flushed, and it had nothing to do with your fever. You shook your head at him, smiling softly. “Thank you,” You told him, your voice soft. Colby beamed back at you, batting his hand in the air like it was nothing.

Colby dug through the bags, handing you the medicine first. You placed it on the nightstand next to you, your smile never wavering. You opened a bag of cough drops, popping one into your mouth and sighing at the instant relief it brought you.

Then, Colby showed you all of the junk food he got for you; all of the ice cream, the chips, the candy. You clapped your hands excitedly at the sight, your gaze especially focused on the ice cream. It would be so nice and cold, soothing against your aching throat.

Finally, Colby brandished the bouquet of blue roses and the tiny stuffed koala, offering them to you. “For you, milady,” His tone was joking, but his expression was unbelievably soft and sweet, a shy smile curling at the corners of his lips.

You promptly bursted into tears. Colby’s eyes widened, and he dropped the roses and koala onto the bed, crawling onto the bed to pull you into his arms. “Baby?” His voice was soft, worried. It only made you cry even harder. Colby opted to just hold you in his arms, rubbing your back gently as he waited for your tears to stop.

You sniffled, burying your face into the soft material of his hoodie. You were getting snot and tears all over the front of his hoodie, but he didn’t seem concerned about that; more concerned about you, rather than his expensive designer hoodie. The simple thought of him caring more about you than a hoodie made tears well in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry,” You croaked. You looked up at him through your lashes, tears still clinging to them. Colby let out a soft hum, his hands continuing their soothing path up and down your back. “Did I do something wrong?” He wondered, his brows still furrowed in concern. You let out a soft sob, shaking your head, the action causing more tears to spatter onto your cheeks. “No,” You choked out, a shudder running through you. Colby pulled you closer. “I just,” Your voice cracked. “I’ve never had someone care about me, not this much.”

Colby’s heart practically shattered in his chest. What he thought was a normal, small little thing, you thought the world of. He briefly wondered who hurt you so badly, that him taking care of you while you were ill seemed like something monumental. “Hey,” His voice was soft, gentle. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” His hands continued rubbing up and down your back soothingly. “I love you. I want to take care of you, for the rest of our lives.”

You smiled at him tearfully, reaching up to brush the hair that had fallen into his face away. He smiled back at you, his eyes bright and full of adoration, aimed directly at you. “You’d do the same for me,” His voice was nonchalant, but you nodded fervently. “I would, I so would.” You told him. You stroked his cheek, marveling at the feeling of smooth skin beneath your fingertips. “For the record, I love you, too.”

Colby leaned in for a kiss, but you dodged him, albeit, regretfully. “You’re going to get sick,” You told him, your brows furrowing in concern. Colby simply chuckled, then pressed his lips to yours gently. When he pulled back, he shrugged. “Totally worth it,” He replied. You opened your mouth to argue, but his lips were on yours once again, and you couldn’t help but melt against him.

Colby pulled back, his eyes twinkling at you. “You’ll always be worth it, baby.”

#colby brock #sam and colby #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock x reader #cole robert brock #xplr #traphouse

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hegleg · 4 years

Text

Beelzebub x sick reader

(I've taken this x reader from my wattpad story, if you'd like to read more or support me visit my wattpad @kek_its_me)

Notes:

- This will contain switching point of views between the reader and Beel

- several time skips

- bit of a longer fic, word count (3795)

- enjoy~

The bell ending class at RAD finally rang, echoing sweetly in your ears. You smiled, throwing your bag around your shoulders and sitting up from your desk. Your desk was positioned right next to the window, making it easy for you to notice what had caught your eye. It was raining: thundering to be precise. You shuddered, 'did I even bring my umbrella today' you thought. Checking your bag twice and around your desk it was decided: you hadn't. 'Great' you uttered in your mind, silently shaming yourself for your carelessness. You breathed out a long sigh before deciding to face your enemy, the rain, head on. Boldly, you pushed open the heavy school door leading to the front of the school and dashed outside. Immediatly you felt it hit you. The cold sensation of tiny wet bullets overwhelmed you. You thought rapidly about your options. You could lift your bag over your head to cover yourself. Sure, it wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. With all your might, you began to lift your bag over your head. No dice. Instantly you dropped it back down. Curse RAD for giving you such heavy textbooks! You'd be sure to complain to Lucifer later and see if he'd mention it to Diavolo. For now though, the bag plan was a bust. Your remaining option: deal with it. Groaning, you trekked your feet forward through the growing puddles on the ground. 'Great' you thought, 'now my socks are wet.' Angerly, you marched onward through the pouring rain until you reached the House of Lamentation. Swearing under your breath you fished out your spare key from your bag, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. You were dripping wet, but you were finally "home." Drawing a sigh, you found your way to your room and closed the door behind you. Grabbing a nearby towel, you began to dry yourself, changing into a spare change of clothes shortly after. After you were properly dried, you fell first into your cushiony bed, exhausted from the day. As you were lying there, a thought crossed your mind. You scratched your head furviously, "ughhh why didn't I just ask one of the boys if I could share their umbrella. I'm sure Satan would of had one at the very least." However, Satan wasn't in your class. Mammon was, but considering Mammon wasn't good at keeping track of things, you realized asking him would be no good. Exhausted physically and mentally, you drew another sigh and wrapped yourself in a blanket. 'Forget dinner, what I need now is rest' you thought, lying your head on a soft, comforting pillow. You were pulled from your thoughts into a deep, feverish sleep.

.........

"Ughhh..." You groaned, clutching your head, which was now burning beneath your touch. Groggily, you turned your head and steadily tuned in the boys standing in front of you.

"-she's waking up. Hey, y/n are ya finally with us?" Mammon said.

"Huh...I think so- yeah I am, what are you guys doing here..?" you asked. "You didn't come to dinner so we wanted to check on you" Beel said, his gaze trained on you, steady and concerned. "Luckily, we just found you napping here" Levi added.

You groaned again, sitting up slowly.

"Guys.." You said. "Yeah?" The demons asked in unison.

"I feel like shit"

"Oh, uhm, did'cha want us to leave you alone then?" Mammon asked, dejected.

You shook your head. "Nonono- it's not like that. I think I'm just ill. Can anyone check if I have a fever?"

The boys looked at each other in confusion. "Right...I forgot you have no idea what human illnesses are like.." You groaned. "Okay new plan, can somebody get Soloman?" You asked. "Soloman? Why that guy?" Mammon grumbled. 'Uh, because he's human, ya dingus', you fought the urge to say. "Solomon and I are both humans, so he would know about my sickness and how to treat it better, plus he knows magic, which he might be able to cure me with" you said.

The brothers seemed to understand this much, and didn't pry further.

"I'll go find Solomon then-" Mammon said, dashing out of your room. You took this a sign Mammon was worried for you and felt a small expression of gratitude towards him.

"Is there anything we can do?" Beel asked. Weariness clung to you and you desperately wanted to lie back down. "Uhm..could you two actually leave me for awhile? I don't feel so good.." You groaned. Dejected, Levi and Beelzebub understood you needed your rest and left. Sighing, you flopped back down into the bed, letting your exhaustion overtake you and lead you into sleep.

"-Y/n...Y/n.." A voice called. You groggily opened one eye and saw a tall, silver haired man before you. "You wished to see me?" Solomon asked. "Yeah..ughh.." You groaned, "I think I might of come down with something, I feel awful.." You said weakly. "You don't look great either"

"Hey..!" You protested in nearly a whisper. A blush crept onto his face as he realized what he'd said. "My apologies! I'm sorry, I only meant you looked ill" he apologized profusely.

"Its okay.." You shook your head. "So do you think you may be able to cure this with magic?" You asked. Solomon shook his head. "I don't even know what 'this' is. Would you mind if I checked your forehead?" He asked.

You shook your head, "not at all."

Sweeping hair from your forehead, Solomon gently placed his hand onto your head. You groaned under his touch and his hand recoiled.

"You're burning up, you definetly have a fever. If I may ask, how did you even get sick?"

You thought back to the rainy day and frowned. "I walked home in the rain" you scowled. "Don't you carry an umbre-"

"Are you really gonna shame me now?" You asked. "Fair enough, y/n, but know, I can't cure the common cold with magic. That's not what magic is for anyways.." Solomon mumbled. "So what should I do..?" You asked. Solomon looked at you thoughtfully, "I'd put a cool rag on your forehead to get rid of the fever."

You nodded. "Any other symptoms?"

"No, thankfully. But that could change" you muttered. "If it does, come get me" Solomon remarked. "Alright, thank you Solomon, I mean it." He smiled at you, "don't mention it. Gotta look out for my fellow human." You smiled weakly at this. 'Human solidarity' you thought.

Finished, Solomon turned heel and opened your door to leave. As the door opened, Mammon, Beel, and Levi fell into the room. They must of been listening in on you two.

"Looks like you've got some visitors" Solomon chuckled with a hand to his face. The three demons were blushing madly at being caught.

"-I told you we'd get caught" Levi scowled. "Oi, oi, its not my fault, we all wanted to listen to them, remember?" Mammon protested. "Sorry, y/n..we were worried about you" Beel said softly. You smiled at the three, lucky to have such caring friends. "Perfect timing" Solomon remarked, "Y/n if you need anything I'm sure these three would love to help anyway they can." Feeling he overstayed his welcome, Solomom took his leave, waving to you before leaving your room.

"So..what should we do..?" Mammon asked. You mentally facepalmed. He should know, he was listening in after all. Summoning your courage you asked, "could one of you take care of me..?"

...........

"-Gotta look out for my fellow human" I found myself feeling dejected at this.

"-guys are you sure this is ok?"

"-Levi, you're totally invading my personal space"

"-maybe don't hog the door then, there's nearly enough room for us"

"-Oi oi that's hardly my fault!"

I let out a groan. At this rate, I won't hear anything else. Suddenly, the door which had all our listening ears on it, opened, sending us face first into the room's floor. I looked up to see Solomon's suprised expression and

y/n's discerned, slightly confused/slightly disappointed expression. My face felt hot with embarassment. "Looks like you've got some visitors" Solomon chuckled.

"-Mammon, I told you we'd get caught-" Levi scowled. The two of them bickered back and forth while I looked over at y/n regretfully. "Sorry, y/n, we were worried.." I apologized.

For reasons unknown, y/n just smiled weakly back at us. My heart panged at this. "Perfect timing" Solomon remarked, explaining how we'd be available to help take care of y/n before promptly leaving. I don't know why, but the idea of taking care of y/n made my heart race. I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. Mammon, thankfully, spoke up first. "So what should we do...?" He asked.

"Could one of you take care of me?" Y/n asked, a blush tinting her face.

"What should we do?" I asked the two of them. "A game", Levi suggested, "rock papers scissors, best 2/3, winner gets to take care of y/n"

"You're on!" Mammon cheered.

I didn't know why, but I found myself wanting to win, wanting to take care of y/n. Sure, I cared for them, but wouldn't taking care of them feel like a chore? So why is my heart racing...

"-Beel you're up. Play me. Mammon already lost" Levi said, freeing me from my thoughts. Without much hope to win, I threw down rock idly. And to my surprise, Levi had thrown scissors. "Again!" Levi said, jealous I'd stolen a win from him. Again, I threw paper idly, surely I couldn't win twice.

And much to my surprise, Levi had thrown rock. "No way..." Levi pouted, looking defeated after his loss. I felt bad for my brother but I was looking forward to taking care of y/n. "No fair!" Mammon protested. "You lost, fair and square, Mammon" Levi grinned. "I can't believe I won..."

...........

You looked onward at the demons quizzically, lifting a brow in amusement. "So, you guys make a decision yet?" You asked. Immediately, Beel stepped forward.

"I'll take care of you, y/n, leave it to me!" Beel grinned. A small blush tinted your cheeks and you forced yourself to look away. 'That damn smile..too pure...too bright..curses' you thought. To distract yourself you turned your attention to Levi and Mammon still in the room.

"Shoo- shoo- " you said motioning them away with your hand. With disappointed faces the two of them left, leaving you and Beel by yourselves. The room was dead silent. Beel looked onto you with worried eyes. Tension was building. You broke the silence first.

"Uhm..Beel would you mind wetting a rag and bringing it to me?"

As if snapped from a trance he blinked awake. "Yeah, of course. Hold on" he said taking off. You let out a long sigh. 'Damn', you thought 'what was with that tension? I hope we're not like this the whole time.'

The sound of Beel's footsteps broke you from your thoughts. Hesitantly, he leaned over your form in the bed, and whispered lowly in your ear, "what do you want me to do with this?"

You felt your face flush, and you twitched at the sound of his low voice on your ear, the sudden closeness between you became apparent.

"B-Beel y-you don't have to be that close, you know?" You replied shaky from embarrassment. "Sorry..." he murmured, leaning up and stepping away from the bed. "I thought I should talk closer, because of your condition it might be harder to hear me, right?" He said, eyes studying the ground. You considered this for a moment. Difficulty hearing wasn't usually a symptom of the common cold, but Beel didn't know any better, he was probably just trying to help.

"Ah, thanks Beel. I appreciate it, but my hearing should be fine." You said awkwardly. Silence filled the space between you again. 'Crap, now the tension's back. Good going y/n' you silently cursed yourself. You cleared your throat. "Beel, can you put the rag on my forehead?" You asked, blushing slightly. He nodded, "oh, right" he said, forgetting he even still held the damp rag. Leaning back over the bed, he brushed hair from your forehead aside and placed the cool rag onto your burning forehead. You immediately let out a sigh of relief. Beel, hearing this, was prompted to ask, "is everything alright, y/n?"

You nodded at him, "its ok Beel, that was a sigh of relief."

"Oh...thank goodness.." He said lowly.

With nothing else to do Beel stood awkwardly at the foot of your bed, studying his hands. Feeling sympatheic, you decided to give him another task: to fetch you soup. Definetly because you felt sympathetic, you were absolutely not hungry. "Grrrrrlllllllll..." Your stomach let out a loud growl. Beel looked suprised, probably because it didn't come from his own stomach. Embarassed, you blushed, and asked in a low voice, "could you get me some soup.." Beel nodded and his eyes lit up, this was the one thing he could do for you with expertise. Ecstatic, he left the room to make you some soup.

"Ughhhhhh..." You groaned, "I can't believe I did that. That was so embarassing.....I hate you stomach!"

You flailed your arms weakly in protest.

.............

Finally, I feel like I can relax, I'm finally in familiar territory. At least I can make half decent soup. Belphie always likes it, so I'm sure y/n will like it too!

After fixing the soup, I dropped a spoon in and scooped some out, taste-testing it.

"You get hungry, eh Beel?" Mammon called from behind me. I shake my head at him. "Eh? Its not for me its for y/n" I said. "What? But you were already gobbling it down?" I frowned, "no, I was taste-testing it, Mammon."

"No way! You're serious? I never thought I'd see you make food for someone else!" He exclaimed. For some reason I feel insulted. I'm sure he doesn't mean harm but his words echoed in my head, stinging my chest. "I care about people other than my self, Mammon" I said defensively. He looked at me taken aback. "Oi- Oi- Beel did'cha have to go that far? Besides..I was only kidding.." He mumbled, his eyes focused on the ground. I started to feel bad but remembered y/n was still waiting. 'I'm sorry Mammon, I'll make it up to you later, but for now I've got to get back to y/n' I thought, pushing past Mammon.

............

Sighing, you wondered what was taking Beel so long. Your stomach was waging a war on you skipping dinner last night. You made a mental note never to do that again. Just as you were wishing for Beel he appeared through the door, soup in hands. Although some Devildom ingredients were definetly fishy, you'd never been happier to see Devildom soup in your entire life. "Thank goodness" you breathed out, "any longer and I might of starved to death" you chuckled.

This raised Beel's concern. "Really y/n? This won't be enough then. I'll come back with more-"

"Beel- I'm only joking" you laughed. He was such a worrywart, sometimes. Which, admittedly, you found very cute. "Oh. Thank goodness. You scared me y/n" he said relieved. You smiled at him. "Beel, I have one more favor to ask of you" you said. "Yes? What is it? I'll do whatever you need-" you must admit, his willingness to help you made you blush a bit, but what you were about to ask him would make you blush far worse. "Beel- could you...f-feed me?" You asked. Normally, you'd find this too embarassing, and used your reserved strength to eat. However, something about the situation prompted you to ask. And you were weaker, so, perhaps it wouldn't be as embarassing. Beel stared at you blankly at first, needing a minute to process it. First came the blush that rose to his cheeks, then the silent contemplation, then agreement.

"Yeah" he nodded, "sure, anything to help you." You bit your lip in anticipation. Sure you'd proposed the idea, but you really hadn't prepared yourself for his agreement. Beel made his way to the bed with a tray that held the bowl of soup on it. Hesitantly, he sat next to were you were lying on the bed turned to you. You blushed at the distance closed between you two. He sat the tray in his lap, picking up the spoon and scooping some soup in it. Nervous, you tried to make idle conversation. "So..I heard from your brother you make this very soup for Belphie sometimes! Is that true?" You ask, a bead of sweat appearing on your face. "Yeah...he loves it. I hope you do too" he said with a light smile. That bright, careless smile. You loved it, and caught yourself staring at it. Clearing his throat, Beel brought the spoon towards you. 'Crap, its happening, its really happening' you thought frantically, a blushing mess. Beel reached the spoon towards your mouth and you gripped his wrist, stopping him. "Uhm..B-Beel..don't you find this embarassing?" You asked. "Embarassing? I supposed so..but..its something I have to do for y/n, so I don't care how embarassing it is.." Beel said blushing and showing an awkward smile. Your heart swooned at this. How could he be so selfless and cute at the same time?

"Alright," you said dropping his wrist, "y-you can continue then.." You said, feeling the temperature in your cheeks rise. Beel nodded, and brought the spoon to your face again. "Say 'aaaaah'" he said. You quit biting down on your lip, which out of embarrassment, you had bit down on quite a bit, bloodying it very slightly. Hesitantly, bit-by-bit you opened your mouth, and allowed him to feed you. You locked gazes for a few seconds, and almost felt your heart stop. This continued until you had finished the soup, and although you were relieved of the tension, you somewhat missed it. Beel picked up the tray, and took the empty bowl out to the kitchen to clean. You felt somewhat bad for making him responsible for you, but still found yourself somewhat enjoying it. As. Beel washed the dishes, with a full belly it was easy for comfortable sleep to overtake you.

..........

You drowsily awoke to your body shivering. It must be a reaction to fighting off the cold. Shaking, you found yourself pulling for more blanket, only, your blanket wasn't there. "Beel- where's my blanket?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. Beel was sat on the very end of your bed, facing you with a look of concern and guilt. "Solomon advised that you have a fever, and that a blanket will only raise your body temperature, so..I'm sorry but I took it! I didn't want your fever to increase..." Beel said, narrowing his purple eyes at you with concern. His eyebrows knitted together, "I understand if you're upset-"

"I'm not upset", you said, "I'm just cold." "Oh. I see, I'm sorry you're cold, is there something I can do?" He offered. "Gimme back my blank-"

"Not happening" he shut that down real quick. "I'm sorry, y/n but it's for your own good.." He said. You pouted, and rubbed your shivering shoulders. "Beeeel I'm really cold..please" you pleaded. You saw Beel's face contort with anguish. "I'm really sorry, y/n but I can't-"

"Can you lay with me then?" you couldn't believe what came out of your own mouth. Maybe you were delirious with confidence from the fever, maybe you were fed up with concealing your true feelings but you were damn cold and Beel was damn warm. His face lit up at the suggestion. He clearly hadn't expected you to say anything like that. He bit his lip, and the process began again. First he blushed, then the silent contemplation, then the steady agreement. "A-alright. I don't want you to freeze.." He said picking himself up and lying next to you in the bed. Instinctively, your heart began to race. 'This was a really bad idea. Why the hell did you suggest anything? This'll be impossible to do without passing out from embarrassment!' you cursed in you mind. You felt the bed shift under Beel's weight as he moved. You flinched, closing your eyes tightly your cheeks flared bright red. Suddenly, you felt strong arms wrap around you. Your heart began to pound even faster, you felt it pound against your chest so hard, it might as well fly out. "Is this okay..?" You heard Beel ask, his voice low and close due to the distance closed between you two. A chill shuddered down your spine that wasn't caused by the fever and you felt your skin getting hot, also not due to the fever. "Y-y-ye- ahem", you composed yourself, 'calm..down..speak clearly' you thought. "Yes" you replied with more confidence this time. Beel gave you a reassuring squeeze in his arms. "As long as you're ok, that's all that matters. Although y/n, I can hear your heartbeat going like a rabbits" he chuckled. 'Crap he can feel how nervous I am.' "Sorry, I'm just..embarassed I guess.." You felt yourself shrink from embarrassment. A moment later he replied. "Mmm, so am I.." Silence fell upon the two again. "Beel..." You said. "Yeah?" He replied. "This might be the absolute worst timing in the world to tell you this, but I think I like you" you said, covering your face with your hands. You felt Beel press his face into your back. "B-Beel..?" You questioned. "S-sorry y/n..I'm a little embarassed..but..I like you too" he said, covering his blushing face in your back. You squirmed in his hug and turned to face him. You saw his face turn bright red, perfectly reflecting your own. You looked into his purple, darting eyes. "Really..?" You asked. He gulped, meeting your gaze, "yeah..really, y/n.."

This put a smile on your blushing face. You rested your chin in the crook of his neck. "Beel, do you mind if I go to sleep?" You asked. "Go right ahead. I'll be here when you wake up." Hearing this, you'd never felt more safe in your life. "Just don't catch my sickness.." You whispered playfully. "I wouldn't mind if it meant getting taken care of by you.."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #beelzebub x reader #obey me beelzebub #obey me x reader

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elcorhamletlive · 5 years

Link

I can finally post this!

fandom: MCU (Post- Avengers 2012) tags: Fluff and Humour, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Idiots in Love, POV Tony Stark, Stony Loves Steve 2019

summary: Tony is thrilled about his new relationship with Steve. He's on cloud nine, in fact. It's so amazing he can believe it's real.

He just wishes they could... Uh. Touch a little. Just a little.

Ok, so, here’s the thing: Tony never, in a million years, thought Steve would say “yes”.

Not because of some exacerbated insecurity or anything. As anyone who knows him can attest, Tony is far from oblivious to his appeal. He knows he’s an attractive man, and that he could charm his way out of nearly anything, if he wanted to.

He also knows he’s good at flirting. He knows how to be seductive without being inconvenient, how to be flattering without exaggerating, how to be suggestive without pushing any boundaries. He has mastered his technique over years, practicing with many different people. He never had any trouble getting a date, and, to be completely honest, he doesn’t think he ever will.

But.

There is a huge difference between dating, in its usual simple, casual meaning, and the utterly other-worldly, mind blowing, frankly almost terrifying concept of dating Steve Rogers. Dating is easy, but dating Steve – going out for a movie with Steve, holding his hand, kissing him after the night is over, asking if he wants to come up to the penthouse… If you ask Tony, there’s an entire universe of distance between these two ideas. They’re barely in the same astral plane.

And Tony—Tony doesn’t even know what possessed him to ask. It had been an insane impulse to rival every single one of his most self-destructive habits. There he was, in the kitchen, filling himself with coffee, when Steve walked in with a book in his hand, sitting on a stool. He was wearing his grandpa clothes, his brow was furrowed and his blond bangs were falling a little on his forehead.

Tony watched him, and at one point he closed his book and fished out the tiniest notepad from his pocket. He wrote something down, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth, deep concentration as his fingers brushed his bangs to the side, and Tony had thought: Oh. Oh, I wish I could have him.

That hadn’t been a new thought – actually, it bordered on repetitive at that point, echoing in his head anytime he watched Steve do basically anything - but it apparently resonated with something in Tony’s sleep-deprived brain, because the next thing he knew, he was rambling about reservations that he had made for him and Pepper, and how Pepper had cancelled, and how he missed eating steak, and if Steve wanted to have dinner with him.

And Steve said yes.

And that—well, to say it caught Tony off guard would be an understatement. He had just stared at Steve for a moment in silence when FRIDAY helpfully jumped in to inform him of the reservation's time. Steve had smiled, and Tony had gaped at him like a fish, and, just like that, he had a date with Steve Rogers.

The hours that followed were some of the slowest of Tony’s life. He had been a pile of nerves in a way he didn’t remember ever being before a date. He found himself trying on the suit he used to meet the president and finding it incredibly ill-fitting.

Then, at 6:38, he was ready, exactly twenty-two minutes too early. Fortunately, Steve, being who he was, had also shown up to meet him in the living room early, so Tony didn’t have to wait for long.

Dinner was… surprisingly great. Granted, Tony was almost vibrating off his chair, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He had been outraged by the prices, which Tony found both exasperating and adorable, and after a moment of initial awkwardness, they fell into an easy, natural banter. Steve was a great listener, Tony found. He heard everything Tony said with the utmost attention, but he wasn’t always quiet either – he’d interject with a blunt wit that made Tony grin a little ridiculously at times, and he’d nod at Tony’s rambling as if it were worth listening to.

The restaurant worked, too. It was a discreet bistro not too far away from the Tower. The food tasted delicious, and Steve cleaned up his plate with such voracity that Tony simply had to convince him to order dessert. Steve complained a little, saying it wasn’t fair to let Tony pay for everything, but Tony won the argument, promising he’d let Steve pay next time (Steve didn’t even blink at the suggestion that there would be a next time, which, really, made Tony feel like floating off his seat).

All in all, it was a great choice, even though it was far from the place Tony would have picked to take Steve on a first date – though, to be fair, Tony wouldn’t have been able to rent out the Louvre on such little notice anyway.

By the time they got home, though, Tony’s anxiety had resurfaced again. Even as he grinned at Steve and continued to talk normally, his hands twitched hopelessly in the pockets of his jacket. He wondered if Steve’s occasional lingering gaze was enough of a hint of what his reaction would be if Tony tried to close the evening with a goodnight kiss.

When they got to Steve’s floor, Steve turned towards him and smiled – a large, sincere smile that knocked Tony’s breath right out of his lungs.

“Thank you, Tony. I… To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I had that much fun, in this time.” And he looked a little embarrassed, a little awkward, but still… almost giddy with happiness, as if he had truly forgotten how it felt to be this way. “Thank you.”

And then the elevator doors opened, and Steve got out, and there was no kiss but really, that had been even better. The doors closed, and Tony rested his head on the wall and smiled like an idiot at the ceiling.

That had been date number one. Date number two happened almost a week later, after Rhodey managed to convince Tony Steve wouldn’t want to drop everything and go to Paris with him just because Tony thought anything New York had to offer simply wasn’t good enough. Tony then finally caved and, rambling about how Pepper had talked up the MET’s latest exhibit at the office, asked if Steve would like to go see it on Friday. The way Steve’s face lit up at the suggestion made Tony mentally promise Rhodey a dozen new upgrades for his suit.

“Dude,” Rhodey had laughed when Tony informed him of it that night, “You are so screwed.”

Tony had rolled his eyes and ignored him.

By the time Friday arrived, he was already regretting following Rhodey’s suggestion – what was so great about the MET, anyway? And even if Steve liked it, Tony couldn’t stand art museums, not even the Louvre, so wasn’t this proof of the unavoidable truth that they were ultimately incompatible? It had to be, right? Really, he should just cancel the whole thing and spare them the inevitable misery.

Except then Steve showed up, with a button up shirt and a leather jacket and a bright smile, and Tony’s brain promptly melted and leaked right out of his ears, so. They ended up going.

As the hours went by, walking with Steve through the MET’s hallways, watching the way he frowned thoughtfully at a few pieces and stopped to analyze every detail, Tony’s thoughts changed. Museums could be fun, he realized. Museums could be… witty, and smart, and sweet. Really, museums were so, so…

Rhodey is right, Tony thought, watching Steve struggle with his phone settings to attempt to take a selfie with a painting and having to fight back an honest to god sigh. I’m completely screwed.

The following dates only consolidated that reality. He and Steve went to the Natural History Museum, to Coney Island, to the Brooklyn Bridge. The city Tony knew since his childhood seemed to gain new life when he was exploring it through Steve’s eyes. Steve had so many stories, and so many interesting insights about how things had or hadn’t changed, that it made Tony feel that New York was, suddenly, the most interesting place in the world. He started to spend most of his time at the Tower, only going to Malibu when Pepper really, really demanded his presence.

And Steve. Through these adventures, Tony found out so much about him – little things like his favorite ice cream flavor (rocky road), the kind of movies he liked (mostly sci-fi and fantasy, but he was also fond of animations), the fact that he liked buying the newspaper to do the crosswords. He learned things about Steve that Steve himself couldn’t tell, like the way he walked, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he brushed his bangs off his forehead when he was nervous or embarrassed. Things a person could only learn by spending time with him, which Tony was doing in ever-growing levels – and yet, worryingly, it never seemed to be enough.

And, yeah, it was a little… weird, at times. Tony had never dated – or hell, even been attracted to someone for so long without moving things to the physical side of the equation. With Steve, though, that side didn’t seem to exist at all. Two months after their first date, they were going out at least once a week, and they still hadn’t kissed, or, shit, even held hands.

Tony had thought about it (by God, had he thought about it) but anytime he thought he could take the initiative, something on Steve’s demeanor would seem to stiff, too skittish, and then it wouldn’t seem like a very good idea.

read the rest on ao3!

#stony #stevetony #steve rogers #superhusbands #tony stark #my fics #reblogs are love

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txladyj-blog · 5 years

Text

This Time Around - Chapter 17

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx by request of @txladyj-blog

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 23/?

The next morning saw Jess making her way to Deanna’s place via the pond. Bypassing hunting for one day meant she could take the time to wander casually around the town before many of its residents had risen and therefore, she could enjoy the peace and quiet. The Pond was usually occupied by those who needed to take some time out and just…be. It was the quietest part of town and was frequently host to smooching teenagers and individuals needing to mourn a loss which unfortunately, had become the norm in the apocalypse.

On that particular morning, Jess happened upon the lonely figure of Carl. His checkered shirt and sheriffs’ hat being the main giveaway. His hunched over stance lured her over to him, something wasn’t quite right. Whistling a subtle tune from behind him alerted him to her presence and he smiled broadly when he twisted his body on the bench and set eyes on her. His youthful, innocent face could have fooled anyone into thinking he’d not been exposed to the horrors that lurked beyond the walls. But Jess knew better than that. Carl was a smart kid, brave too. A little too brave, his father might say.

“Hey Carl” She chirped as she plonked down next to him.

“Jess, hi.” He grinned as he studied the attire she dressed in that seemed to intrigue him so much. He was sure he’d played computer games that mimicked her apocalyptic style and as much as he knew she only wore it for practical and defensive reasons, he thought she looked pretty cool.

“How’s it going?” She asked with a light pat on his knee.

“Good” He replied with a lingering look. Jess wasn’t buying it. The fact that he was occupying the most somber spot in the town all alone proved he was lying. Having been the one to encourage her to reveal her identity to everyone, to Daryl, meant that she felt she owed him one. The world hadn’t imploded and she still had her home and her life. She just got to look at Daryl a whole not more than before. Deciding she wasn’t giving up on the conversation any time soon, she threw one leg over the other and settled down beside him.

“Right. Of course. Because when I’m doing good, I like to come and sit out here all alone at the ass crack of dawn.” She challenged with a sympathetic expression as she looked down at him beside her. “C’mon, kid. What’s up?”

His eyes moved round to cast over the pond. Dragonflies and bees flitted in the air, going about their daily business and creating a hive of life over the body of water. Yellow and white flowers decorated the edges amongst the bright green hues of the foliage. A small piece of paradise in a rotten world.

“I talked to Enid.” Carl whispered. His hands fumbled in his lap, his fingers not quite sure of what they were supposed to be doing. Jess thought it might be a physical representation of what was going on in his head. She could relate. It was how she felt whenever she was near Daryl, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone.

“Oh, you did, huh? How’d that go?” She pressed.

“Alright, I guess. We played some video games. I think we’re friends” He explained.

Jess was confused. To her, there was nothing bad about what he’d told her.

“That’s a good start.” She commented.

Carl side glanced at her, unimpressed but curious to hear her reasoning.

“It is?”

“Sure. They say that friends make the best lovers” she winked. Worried she was treading on dangerous territory with such a topic and having used the word ‘lovers’ she considered that she should just cut the conversation short there and then. But he looked too distracted and conflicted for her to just walk away and leave him with his thoughts without an attempt to help. The damage was done, so she opted to just roll with it.

“Who’s they?” He wanted to know, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

“I don’t know… people that were once friends and are now lovers?” She reasoned without a clue as to what the correct answer might be.

“Yeah. Right. I don’t have a chance anyway.” He dismissed as he adjusted his hat. It still seemed too big for him, even after he’d grown considerably. It was a reminder of his innocence and vulnerability.

“Sure, you do.” She encouraged.

Then, he turned his body to her and she prepared for the punchline.

“No, you don’t get it. She has a boyfriend.” He told her.

Her heart dropped.

Shit, kid. I bet he’s a douchebag too.

“Oh, dang.” She said, her words a little more PG than what was running through her head.

“Yeah. It sucks.” he complained

“Well, maybe she’ll get to know you a little better and she’ll realize you’re way cooler than the stupid boy she’s with and you’d make a better boyfriend” She offered with a genuine sincerity. All too often, the nice guys finished last and she wanted to urge Carl to be the exception to the rule.

“I don’t know about that. But Thanks, Jess.” He sighed.

“No problem. I gotta go. Keep me posted, OK?” She requested, getting to her feet and straightening her clothing.

“Jess?” He croaked. She halted, looking down at him still sitting on the bench. “Has it ever happened to you?”

“I’m sorry?” She asked.

“Have you ever had a friendship that turned into something more?”

What followed was a long and uncomfortable silence while Jess weighed up her two options; lie and give him hope or tell the cold, hard truth about her lack of dating experience. Lying wasn’t one of the skills she possessed, that much had been proven when she eventually caved in and admitted who she was to the group. After witnessing Daryl’s rage at her mistruth, she promised herself she wouldn’t lie again. Not to him and not to anyone else if she could help it.

“No.” She confessed. “But, I’m just not the kind of girl that guys want to date.”

His features fell into a truly baffled expression and he smarted at the statement.

“What? Why?”

Truthfully, aside from the fact that bigger girls were always overlooked in the dating pool and she thought herself to be nerdy, awkward, clumsy and clueless about relationships, she didn’t have a simple, clear -cut response that wouldn’t induce hours of trying not to sound like a self-pitying mess.

“I don’t know” She shrugged “But I’m OK with it.”

Yeah, maybe that was a small lie.

Carl still looked confused, but seemed to accept her interpretation. He nodded a couple of times and peered up at her.

“Well, I think you’re awesome.” He wanted her to know.

Jess’s heart swelled at his attempt to boost her confidence and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was Rick or Lori that had instilled such a fierce need to see people happy in him. Carl cared about other people and often went beyond the limits to try and inject a dash of positivity into their lives. She remembered how he’d begged her to come clean to the group, because they needed it. They’d been through so much, he truly believed that being reunited with Jess would make his father, Carol and Daryl happy.

“You’re a good person, Carl. You deserve some of the light that you try so hard to give everybody else. If she means something to you, fight for her…” She quickly checked over her shoulder, sweeping the area and mentally ticking off the list of routes to the pond that could potentially hold someone that could overhear her. Seeing no one, she turned back to Carl. “…But don’t you dare take any shit, you hear me?”

He giggled and held her gaze. “I hear you.”

She reached out and tugged his hat over his eyes, hearing him laugh from beneath. When he tipped it back again, he caught sight of her vanishing around the corner.

The furniture on the front porch of Deanna’s house was frequently used as a place to touch base, to make plans and to relay ideas and concerns. Deanna was clear that whether it be day or night, the inhabitants of the town were permitted to use the front porch at any time.

After the weekly meetings, those involved in the supply runs schedule would often meet here to sip lemonade and plan their next move, which was exactly what Jess, Rick and Abraham were doing under Deanna’s watchful eye one sunny morning. With a straw situated in her glass, thoughtfully provided by Deanna with no questions asked, Jess sipped Lemonade under mask and rocked back and forth on her chair with her boot planted firmly on the wooden fencing in front of her. Occasionally, she coughed and fanned the air in an attempt to rid the air of the smoke from Abraham’s cigar.

Rick and Deanna were hashing out the details of what type of vehicle would be required of such a run and what weapons could be checked out of the armory while Abraham made faces at Jess across the table, some crude, some goofy and some downright weird. In the street, Carl played with Judith, gently kicking a bright blue ball back and forth with her. Her innocent chatter and laugher were a welcome sound to everyone, grateful to hear anything but the growling beyond the walls. By all accounts, it was a normal Monday morning.

“Good morning Mr. Dixon.” Deanna called out, attracting Jess’s attention from blowing bubbles through her straw into her drink.

“Mornin” He muttered back.

Jess couldn’t help but do a small double take. Something was different about him but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it straight away. She wanted to laugh but in an ill-tempered way at how annoying it was that no matter what he was doing, Daryl was always extremely nice to look at.

This is ridiculous. How is he getting hotter? Now, what the hell is going on here? That’s me not concentrating for the rest of the day.

Biting down on her straw, she pondered over what could possibly be different. Ripped pants patched up at the knees? Check. Leather vest with dirty angel wings? Check. Messy, ruffled and wavy hair that obscured his eyes most of the time? Check. No, she couldn't figure it out.

“Hey Daryl, we were just discussing clearing a five star hotel for supplies. We’re after another couple of generators too.” Rick conveyed “We need them, now the population here is growing thanks to you and Aaron recruiting.”

“Plus, I like those chocolates they give you with coffee and the mints they leave on the pillows.” Jess shrugged as she collected her quiver from the floor beside her and started to count her arrows.

“She’s lyin’.” Abraham droned from across the table “She just wants to be alone with yours truly in the honeymoon suite. Aint that right, Angel?”

Jess slowly looked up the big, red-headed military man that was winking at her shamelessly in front of everyone.

“Oh yeah, so I can drown you in the bathtub.” She shot back nonchalantly.

Daryl witnessed their exchange with a mild impatience. It wasn’t in his nature to converse with anyone like Abraham Ford did, least of all a woman. Therefore, his efforts to understand the motivation of such talk when the endgame wasn’t to pair off were all but failing. If he wasn’t interested in her in that way, why would he persist?

“When we goin?” Daryl asked, involving himself in the run without bothering to ask permission. Larger groups were always beneficial. Or, that’s what he would say if anyone asked. The real reason masked behind his stoicism; he just wanted to be near Jess.

“Oh, you’re not invited” She joked and he could see the smile behind her mask portrayed in her eyes.

“Today.” Rick replied with a more polite response.

“A’right. I’ma leave the bike here, sit up front." Daryl expressed "We can toss her in the back seat like a burger wrapper”

At that, Abraham chuckled loudly and extinguished his cigar on the sole of his boot. Deanna offered her a sympathetic smile but quite obviously found the whole thing highly amusing, having never seen Jess, or ‘Parker’ as she knew her in such a relaxed and social environment before.

“Hey!” Jess complained.

“Can dish it out, but ya can’t take it.” Daryl mocked with a slight curl to the side of his mouth.

“Easy you two, or I will turn the truck around and we will come right back here” Rick told them with a chuckle, as if he were a fed-up father taking his kids out on a trip to the beach.

“Want some company in the backseat?” Abraham asked Jess as he got to his feet and shuffled past her on the porch. His nose was turning pink from the sun. Jess merely rolled her eyes in response, meaning he only chortled louder and lowered a big hand into her shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he passed.

Daryl’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure why he was faced with such feelings, but the playfulness that had developed between Jess and Abraham made his temper flare and his mood turn irritable. It was strange to him despite knowing that now, she was just as likely to engage in such mockery and teasing with him as well as Abraham and in public as well as when they were alone. It just wasn’t flirtatious. Jealousy wasn’t something he’d had to contend with in the past, having never had any real feelings for anyone in that capacity. Did this mean his feelings towards Jess were changing? Was he experiencing something akin to a romantic attachment? He wasn’t quite sure. But he did know what when she smiled, she lit up a room and with it and sparked a fire inside him that left him unable to deny that he thought she was the prettiest creature he’d ever seen.

“Be safe.” Deanna intercepted as everyone started to filter down the stairs and over to the waiting trucks that could be borrowed “stick to the route on the map. Please let me know when you return. Oh, Mr Grimes?”

Rick stopped and handed the map to Abraham.

“Yes?”

“No diversions, no changes of plans. You are all our best fighters; I can’t have you all away for too long.” She requested

“You got it.” He accepted, looking at Daryl and nudging his head towards the trucks.

“Parker, a word before you go?” Deanna called out.

Jess stopped in her tracks, already suspecting that whatever ‘word’ Deanna wanted to have with her was likely to exasperate her after a certain topic hadn’t been mentioned in a while. She hung back, sliding her quiver onto her back while Deanna waited for the others to move out of ear shot.

“Any particular reason you’re around here so much these days?” She asked.

Jess’s brow furrowed, she thought that if anything, Deanna would be pleased to have her around after being pestered so much to join the community, then to live among it.

“Any particular reason you’re asking me?” She retorted.

“Because it’s nice. I like having you here. I know Aaron and Eric do too.” Deanna expressed.

Ah, here it is. A few weeks of peace and she’s back at it.

“Annnnd here we go again.” Jess groaned

Deanna placed her hand over Jess’s leather gloved hand and peered at her with pleading eyes.

“Please reconsider. You would never have to give up the fairground. It’ll always be yours. But you’ll be so much better off living here with us. I know you and Mr, Dixon work well together and I always see you and Abraham laughing. Since their group arrived you’ve been happier.”

Not wanting to seem rude or cagey, Jess stepped back slightly, breaking the physical contact and clearing her throat as she tried to think of yet another way to decline an offer which had been put to her many, many times before.

“I just like being kept busy. This new runs schedule has me out almost every other day.” She mumbled in a tone that came across as less than interested.

“It’s more than that. I know it is.” Deanna pressed, managing to catch her eye.

“Your observation skills still remain unrivaled, I see.” Jess challenged with a smirk that could be detected even with her mask as a barrier. “Look, I’m not moving here. I like my life as it is. But thank you for yet another offer and I have to hand it to you, you’re one persistent woman.”

The Wyndham Grand Hotel was a five-star establishment, nestled into the woodland that surrounded a town that was a two-hour drive from Alexandria. As soon as she arrived, Jess was impressed by the grandeur of it all and couldn’t wait to get inside and start sweeping the rooms for luxury items and non-perishable food stuffs.

The lobby boasted marble flooring and pillars with a sweeping, oval desk and a plush, red carpet. Couches and cushioned armchairs filled the space and in the corners were what must have once been large and colorful exotic plants. Jess was glad they’d managed to make good time so navigating the building with be easier without the use of a flashlight. Having parked the truck in the loading area, Rick and Abraham made their way to the reception desk to collect keys and sweep the place for generators that could be removed and fit onto the back of the vehicle.

“I’m going to leave you guys to the technical stuff and heavy lifting. I’ll be clearing the rooms, see if I can find anything useful.” Jess announced over her shoulder while heading to the stairs.

“I’ma go with her unless you guy need me?” Daryl asked.

“No, it’s OK. We’ll be fine. You go with Jess, none of us should be wandering around alone.” Rick told him. He signaled to Abraham to follow him from the reception desk to a set of double doors with a sign above them which told them they were heading to the Kitchen.

“They could use some more alone time together.” He mused.

“What, Jess and Daryl?” Abraham questioned in surprise. “That’s a thing? He’s into her?”

“Think so” Rick confirmed. “Let's just say it has potential.” He stopped and positioned himself on one side of the door while Abraham did the same opposite, both with knives drawn and held up, ready to defend themselves.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Abe chuckled.

Getting a head start on Daryl, Jess breezed through any open rooms she could access, eventually finding a large designer suitcase on the bed in the penthouse suite which from the window, provided views of the mountains for miles across the canopy trees. So far, she’d found the maids trolley in the hallway and taken a series of miniature bottles. Shampoo, shower gel, soaps and spare toothbrushes.

They’ve thought of everything. She thought.

Pulling her mask down, she felt a trickle of perspiration run down her temple and decided to lose her hood along with it. It was hot in the room, mainly from the daylight hitting the windows and creating a greenhouse effect. She used her knife to crack the small and relatively useless padlock on the suitcase and flung it open, rummaging around various boxes of make-up and clutch bags until she spotted something she really could not bypass.

She gasped as she pulled out a huge box of tampons and stared down at them with her mouth open like they were the most precious thing in the world.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, thank you.” She said to herself.

Tampons and sanitary products, like medication and food, were becoming increasingly scarce and coming across such a find felt like a major triumph to Jess, who, like many other women, despised using old school, washable products that created not only a level of self-consciousness from such an adjustment, but a lot of getting used to.

“Hey, you find anythin’?”

At the sound of his voice cutting through the air so unexpectedly, Jess jumped. Everything seemed to kick into slow motion as she tossed the box in the air, widening her eyes in horror as the contents created an explosion of tampons all around her, rotating as they spiraled out of control and careered to the floor. Time jolted back to normal when they all scattered onto the carpet like a million grains of sugar, each tiny, little thud like a gunshot as they hit the floor. Jess stood with her hand’s half risen, still poised as if she was holding the box which was now at her feet. She slowly looked up to see Daryl stood completely still in the doorway with one eyebrow raised.

“Uuuuuh…” She tried. “I uh, I, I-found some of the mints I like.” She stammered “Aaaaand then…it started…” her eyes lowered to the floor at what felt like a sea of offending articles “…. raining tampons.”

The corner of Daryl’s mouth quirked up as he stepped into the room and nudged his head up at her

“Okay” He replied quietly and she could tell it was taking every single bit of his self-control not to burst into fits of laughter.

Jess sighed and grit her teeth, offering him a bizarre and strained smile as she pointed to the floor with one hand.

“Just going to…pick those up.” She uttered, bending her knees, staring in total embarrassment at the floor and feeling unwaveringly certain that her face was now a deep shade of crimson. Her hands started to scramble across the carpet, collecting the tampons and shoving them in the box. Daryl knelt down and started to assist her. “Oh, you don’t have to.” She said.

“Gonna be here all damn day if I don’t.” He pointed out. She had to admit, he was right, there was a lot of them. Or maybe it just seemed like there was because of the painfully awkward nature of the situation. Jess reached out to grab the last two which lay next to one another near the bed, unaware that Daryl also had his sights set on them. Their hands collided and Jess withdrew as if she’d just shoved her hand into a furnace. Dread engulfed her and she was sure her entire body had now turned red and not just her face. “Uh, sorry.”

“My fault.” He grunted, avoiding her gaze.

“No, it was mine. I’ll just-”

“-Let me”

Once again, they both reached out, this time stopping half way.

“Ooookay” Jess breathed, taking a minute to decide who she was going to pass her possessions onto when she died of humiliation "I’ll get them”

“Yeah. K.``he murmured, quickly withdrawing and scratching the back of his neck with his head low.

When Jess got up, she braved a quick look in his direction and noticed him staring right at her.

“It’s the end of the world. These are like the holy grail. I’m still expecting a pig to fly past the window at any moment.”

“Right” He nodded, straightening up. “You um, you want me to bring some back for ya if I see ‘em when I’m out?”

Not expecting such an offer, for a moment she was rendered speechless. Until it occurred to her how useful and thoughtful his offer was.

“That would be great, thank you.”

“Sure.” He nodded “So, uh…you just want the little bullet-shaped ones or are they like a ‘one size fits all’ thing?”

Feeling her skin literally crawling at the awkwardness of it all, Jess let a small uneasy laugh escape her and wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

“Hah. Um, that is not a conversation you and I are going to have. Just, bring back anything you find.” She told him, turning her back and exhaling the large breath she’d been clinging onto and letting it flare out her cheeks and blow tufts of her hair upwards. She set to work removing the sheets from the bed and trying to put the last few minutes in a box in her mind so she didn’t ever have to re-visit it.

“Ya ain’t already got sheets?” he inquired, confused by her actions.

“Daryl, these are Egyptian cotton. I could never afford sheets like these before. But I can now”

Just about having enough with the topics of discussion so far, he reached out to help her remove the folded quit cover from the bed. His hand brushed against hers and it makes her skin tingle and her eyes closed. Her body froze and he noticed her still beside him briefly. He said nothing, only licking his lips and stifling a smile. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that she enjoyed the fleeting contact of his skin on hers.

From the risen bar area above the lobby, Daryl and Jess sat at a table by the window, watching the trundling mass of Walkers pass by outside. Trapped until the way was clear, Abraham and Rick played cards on the reception desk while Jess drew patterns on the table with a marker and Daryl watched her carefully. She glanced out of the window to what looked like the endless line of dead people below. Each one with a past, an identity. She scanned their vacant and pale faces, spotting one in particular that held her attention.

“Huh. He looks like Ben” She said to herself, forgetting for a moment that she was in Daryl’s company and was speaking aloud.

“Who’s Ben?” He questioned.

Having backed herself into a corner by absentmindedly voicing her thoughts, she accepted that Daryl was about to find out that when she lived in the city, she reached a whole new level of crazy.

“My pet Walker from the city.”

Sure enough, he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Your what?”

“It’s not as weird as it sounds.” She began to explain “I found him trapped at the bottom of the elevator shaft in my building. He was wearing this janitor’s uniform with a name tag. Ben. I tried to figure out how I could get him out of there and put him down. But as time went on, I changed my mind.”

Daryl lit a smoke as she was talking and sat back in his chair, throwing a leg across his knee and resting his cigarette between his fingers, which were perched atop of the chair’s arm.

“Why?” he wanted to know.

“He became a kind of listening post for me. I stopped journaling and started telling him everything. He kept me sane.” Saying the words for the first time gave Jess a kind of clarity about the situation. She had indeed credited the Walker with helping to keep her sanity after spending so long alone and slowly learning to feel the fear and use it to her advantage.

His expression was unchanged, a wary disbelief in his eyes. Jess felt like a fool trying to explain her strange relationship with the dead janitor but worried that if she didn’t finish her story, the half truth would be much worse.

“Eventually I realized that he had the keys to the elevator grate in his pocket. Long story short, I managed to get him out of there and tied him up on the roof.”

“Why didn’t ya just get rid of him?” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head back, finding her story interesting. Having made out that she was better off solo, she was now proving to him that she did, in fact, need somebody when she’d left all alone.

“Because he taught me things. Like how the dead detect sound and how much they can see. How they move and how they deteriorate with time. He’s the reason I’m better at dealing with Walkers than with live people.”

Daryl thought it over while he checked the progress of the herd wandering by below. It was one of the smellier herd’s he’d seen, but it still meant they’d been waiting for almost an hour for it to pass.

“I dunno if that’s smart or stupid.” He eventually said.

“It was smart. Y’know why?” She asked.

He shrugged and smiled thinly, enjoying their conversation more than he cared to admit. Aside from the dead beyond the doors, and the uneasy quiet, it was like they were sat in a bar as friends, or maybe even on a date, swapping anecdotes over a beer. Only the beer in reality was in the form of his hip flask and her plastic bottle of water and the only date Daryl had ever been on was having to hold back a crack head’s hair in a parking lot after Merle had given her too much booze.

“Because if it wasn’t for him creating a distraction. I’d have been caught by those assholes we encountered in the woods. I’m sure they were from the same group that tried to capture me in the city. Ben bought me valuable seconds to make my escape. He saved my life”

It didn’t bear thinking about; Jess being caught by the gang and never walking back into his life. He held up his hip flask “In that case” He rasped, tilting it slightly “To Ben.”

Jess raised her own water bottle and gently touched it on the metal flask.

“To Ben”.

She grinned and took a sip. Then, out of nowhere came memory that she’d been mulling over for a while; The fact that he kept her T-shirts. She felt guilt come creeping back into her mind.

“Daryl, you know I’m sorry, right?” She blurted out, albeit quietly. A hushed whisper on her tongue.

“Thought ya wasn’t good at apologies.” He pointed out.

“I’m not.” She admitted.

“That explains the weird timin’ I guess. What’cha sorry for?”

In truth, she was sorry for a lot of things but didn’t want to ramble on for too long and make herself too vulnerable. It was only now, after getting to know him again and learning to trust him that she felt reasonably comfortable with bringing the topic up.

“Leaving the quarry without saying goodbye. Lying to you. The note I left. All of it. I realized I never really apologized. Not properly.”

He was peering up at her through the wavy strands of his hair, his blue eyes fixed on hers. She expected him to speak, but time passed and he said nothing. She tried to divert her vision but found that it just didn’t feel right.

“M’sorry too. Didn’t mean to be such an asshole to ya” He confessed.

“It’s OK. So, we’re cool?” She grinned.

“We was cool anyways.”

“I just wanted you to kn-“

“-I know. You can quit yabberin’.” He teased, provoking a subtle giggle and a playful slap of his hand.

Some time later, Rick interrupted an intense game of I-spy when he thundered up the stairs, calling both of their names and pointing to the fire exit. When Daryl shot up and asked him what the racket was, he simply yelled “They’re inside! Move!”

Jess could hear the sound of hundreds of Walkers pushing through the glass doors on the ground floor, shuffled steps and groans striking fear into her chest. Without hesitation, Daryl grabbed her wrist and hauled her out of the bar and to the fire exit stairs, following after Rick. Behind them, Abraham was racing to reach the door with his M4A1 Carbine gripped in his hand like a relay baton. When he caught up, he slammed the heavy metal door behind him and flew up the steps.

On one of the floors, which one Jess wasn’t quite sure, Rick flung open the doors to a lounge area with floor to ceiling windows, plush couches and heavy, gold and cream drapes. He hurried everyone inside, breathless and panicked, just as the mass of Walkers began to appear at the end of the hall.

“There’s a hell of a lot more than we thought, they’re moving up the hotel, right on our tails.” Abraham told them while behind him, Rick set to work securing the double doors with a fire axe slid through the bars. “There I was thinkin’ we were going to have to bed down here for the night. Shame. Looks like you’re going to miss out on a steamy night in a hotel room with me, honey” He prodded.

“Oh my god” Jess muttered to herself between labored breaths “shut up”. She shoved him in the arm and he laughed as he tried to catch his breath, clocking Daryl’s unimpressed expression.

Deciding to steer clear of winding Daryl up any more, Abraham aimed at one of the huge window panels and fired off a few shots, shattering the glass and leaving a whistling, gaping hole in the side of the building.

“OK. No guns unless we have to. We’ll just attract more” Rick instructed, quickly holding up a hand to stop anyone else getting ideas “We need to figure out how to get out of here before they break through that door.”

Daryl edged closer to the glassless window and peered out of the gap. Jess heard him sigh and her heart started to pound even faster.

“Can’t jump this” He said “It’s way too high.”

Jess, Rick and Abraham all joined him at the edge, agreeing that it was indeed too high for a human to jump and walk away with no injuries. But Jess knew they had to do something and fast.

“If you lower me down as far as possible, I could try? Go get hel-”

“No” Daryl interrupted loudly “you’ll break ya damn legs fallin’ that far.”

His tone was firm and stern but if there was a chance that she could make it then that was good enough for her. She charged back to the couches, lifting one of the cushions from the frame. The doors heaved with the Walkers outside and the fire axe clunked in its place.

“We could throw these down there, it’ll cushion my fall.” She suggested.

“No, Jess” Daryl replied without giving anyone else a say.

“We have to do something or we’re all going to die here!” She cried, stamping her foot like a child having a tantrum “I’m chunky but I’m the lightest out of us all. I can do this.”

“It is an idea” Rick admitted

“The only one we got” Abraham agreed

“I have to try”

Daryl crossed the space between them and stopped inches from her face, causing her to raise her eyebrows so she could look up at him.

“You not hear me or somethin’? I said no, Jess. We’ll find another way.” He scolded.

When he spoke, it was like there was no one else in the room and she couldn’t deny that his bossy refusal and need to protect her from injury was an unsettlingly attractive trait in him. Rick and Abraham swapped knowing glances before Rick took Daryl to one side and Jess wandered around the room and looked for another option.

“You got another idea?” Rick asked.

“No. But we ain’t lettin’ her go out that window. She ain’t gonna get outta that without an injury which means she could get bit. I ain’t riskin’ that.” Daryl confirmed. It was non-negotiable, there was only one way Jess was executing her plan of going out of the window alone and that was if Daryl couldn’t stop her. For that, he’d have to be dead.

“There are enough couch cushions in here to take a few feet off that fall, Daryl.” Rick tried.

“Gotta make a decision people!” Abraham announced from the door, the doors were splitting open, rotten hands with nails hanging off were slithering through, grasping at the air and leaving coagulated blood stains on the woodwork.

“It ain’t an option.” Daryl growled at Rick “She aint doin’ it. Over my dead body. Ya gonna have to shoot me because I won’t let it happen.”

“Uh, guys?” Jess said “I think I have an idea”

The three men all turned to find Jess sat on the floor, clawing bedsheets from her bag and testing their strength by trying to rip them as best she could.

“Can’t set up camp in here, sweetheart” Abe commented. But Jess ignored him and started knotting them together and pulling them tight. “Rick, give me a hand.” She instructed. Rick was on the floor beside her in seconds and she handed him the corner of a bedsheet while she took hold of another, a tight knot connecting the two in the middle. She got up, handing the other end to Daryl “You’re physically strong. Both of you pull each end, as hard as you can, try and rip it.” They nodded at one another and engaged in a tug of war. The sheets went taut as both men became red faced and failed to even dislodge the knot. Jess emptied the rest of the sheets from her bag and dumped them on the floor. “Great. If we tie all these together and attach it to that pillar over there, we have a rope.”

“Not just a pretty face. Let’s do it!” Abe cheered

“It’s a little ‘Cartoon Network’ but it could work.” She shrugged, picking up more sheets and tying knots. “Means we can all get out of here together”

Tying the crisp, white bed linen around a pillar and fastening it with a hefty knot, Jess, Rick and Daryl all applied their weight to the makeshift rope, pleased when it failed to break.

“OK, it’s holding” Rick declared “Good job, Jess.”

“I’ll go first.” She told him. A hand clamped down around her wrist, halting her before she could even take a step.

“Like hell you will.” Daryl cut in “You’ll go second. Looks clear down there right now but it might not be once ya hit the deck. Pass me those couch cushions”

Swallowing her pride and allowing Daryl to have his protective moments, Jess began throwing parts of the couches to Daryl and Rick, who tried to drop them as strategically as possible to the ground outside. Before she could protest, Daryl shot her a warning glare, picked up his crossbow, slid it across his torso and grabbed a hold of the sheets.

“Alright, stay aware” Rick told him, holding onto the white rope himself as well as relying on the pillar for stability. Daryl slowly backed through the window and Jess was sure she was going to throw up from worry.

“Gotta hurry this up, guys. This door aint gonna hold much longer. This is makin’ my ass itch!” Abe informed them.

As Daryl worked his way down the rope, Jess appeared at the top with her bow aimed in case any Walkers appeared on the ground.

Don’t you dare fall. She thought, over and over again.

Her stomach lurched and her heart almost exploded when he slid at least two feet down unexpectedly, but managed to regain his grip by using a boot on a window ledge to halt the momentum. She was sure the two other men could hear her practically hyperventilating. When he was safely at the bottom, he equipped his crossbow, stood balanced on the cushions and beckoned for Jess to go next, followed by a finger pushed to his lips that urged them all to keep quiet and not attract any more attention.

Jess descended the rope under Ricks careful instructions, slowly working her way down and crediting herself for building up her upper body strength. She could hear Daryl below, encouraging her quietly and informing her of the distance she had left to go.

Back up in the hotel lounge, Rick quickly left Jess once she was a few feet above Daryl and shoved a couch over to where Abe stood with his back now pressed against the doors. The two of them worked to push the heavy piece of furniture into place, knowing it wouldn’t hold for long due to the shiny surface on the floor. Abraham was ordered to get to the ground next and Rick monitored the barrier they’d created between them and the dead as it threatened to release. When it was finally Ricks turn, he scaled the outside of the building as fast as he could, hearing the doors slam open above him and the snarling of Walkers filling the room.

The four of them ran through the trees and around the building to the loading dock, which by some stroke of luck, only continued a dozen or so Walkers. Jess started firing off arrows alongside Daryl, the two of them working together to take them down, while Abraham and Rick secured the generators and started up the Truck. Arrows and bolts criss-crossed in the darkened, warehouse like area and with each thud of a brain being penetrated, an echo sounded out, making the experience even more visceral.

Daryl yelled at Jess to get behind him as the second wave of Walkers closed in around the truck, when she didn’t comply, he moved in front of her and gradually stepped back, all the time firing and eliminating the dead in front of him. Eventually, Jess was forced to retreat to the vehicle and Rick hit the accelerator, ploughing into two corpses and allowing the archer to grab a hold of the truck and climb in as it passed.

Inside the truck cab, everyone tried to catch their breath with the hotel becoming smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. Daryl leaned over to Jess in the back seat, pulling her coat to one side.

“You hurt?” He demanded.

“No. I’m fine. Are you?”

“Naw.”

“Good” She panted, turning to lean her head against the cold window. “Good.”

The aftermath of the hotel supply run was almost non-existent to Rick and Abraham, who arrived back at Alexandria and unpacked the cargo without the bat of an eyelid. For Jess and Daryl, the events of that day were entirely more lingering. Jess had chosen to be the one to relay the happenings of the run to Deanna, who listened in horror as she recounted the sheer numbers of Walkers they had to contend with and their close brush with death, had it not been for her quick thinking with the bedsheets. She made no bones about accepting the credit for the idea, it had been one of her better ones and she knew from her time in the city that she was resourceful and smart.

Daryl refused to leave the front porch of Deanna’s house until Jess reappeared and he smoked in a brooding silence, offering a feeble wave to Aaron when he rolled back through the gate, returning from recruiting. Rick tried to check on his welfare when he passed the porch on his way back to the house but Daryl simply told him he was good and that he’d be home later on.

Jess left Deanna’s place and descended the stairs without even checking the porch. She wanted to get back to the fairground and sleep, the adrenaline that pumped through her veins and aided her to come out of almost being eaten by a heard but now resulting in a crashing, heavy tiredness. Daryl sprang up when he saw her walk straight past him and to the gate, deciding to follow her.

“Hey” He called out. The gate closed behind him but Jess continued on her path.

“Oh, Hi” She sighed “Look, I’m exhausted, I gotta get home. You’re welcome to walk with me but I’m not exactly full of conversation.”

Wordlessly, he followed her, matching her pace and witnessing her check her distance from the town before she lowered her mask. He reached out, gently touching her arm which stopped her in her tracks.

“What is it? Are you okay?” She asked, concerned by the downcast look on his face.

“Maybe you should opt outta these runs” He suggested.

“Why would I want to do that? I like going on runs.” She turned her body to face him, shifting her weight to one foot as if she was preparing to be there a little longer than she’d expected.

“You could have died today, Jess.” He said sadly.

She studied his features, the way he nibbled at his lip when he was trying to say something revealing or awkward or out of character. His eyes were tired but still bright enough when he looked at her. Well aware that she could have met her demise, she’d tucked it away in her memories and counted herself lucky that she was with a strong team who took a chance on her idea. But as Daryl stood before her and refused to break their eye contact, she realized that what she was witnessing, was how deeply he cared for her.

“But I didn’t” She whispered with a small smile “Tomorrow is never promised for any of us.”

“I know.” He nodded, stepping back and digging his toe into the dirt. “S’why I don’t want ya to go no more. I um…” He grunted quietly and Jess waited, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought or distract him to the point that she would never find out what he wanted to say. He risked a look at her face, relieved to find she was still with him and waiting patiently. His head buzzed with thoughts, things he wanted to say but didn’t know how. He rubbed his chin and sighed and then, at the sight of her shy smile the words were there.

“…I can’t lose you. Not again. Not for good. I just can’t.”

His voice shook as he spoke, cracking at the end of the sentence and Jess had to close her eyes and take a step back to stop herself from doing one of two things; crying or kissing him. She slowly licked her lips, thinking over his intent. How exactly did he mean that?

To Daryl, he’d just spoken a very secret and emotional truth and was way out of his comfort zone. He hadn’t considered the true ramifications of his admission and that was that Jess now knew that her cared about her enough to follow her halfway home and beg her to take herself off of the supply runs team. That he cared so deeply, he’d taken longer than anyone else to admit it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Daryl.” She attempted to assure him.

“You don’t know that.” He countered. She didn’t. She didn’t know how much longer she would survive in the world. She knew that some people left Alexandria’s gates and never returned. She’d attended funerals inside the walls and even helped Aaron to retrieve bodies. She’d felt the heavy weight of loss and that was the people she didn’t even know that well. She tried to imagine the pain Daryl would endure if she were to never return. Based on what she could see in front of her, it was clear that it would destroy him.

“I’ll compromise with you.” She suggested “I’ll only do the local supply runs.”

Her offer seemed to placate him and he nodded subtly, mulling it over and eventually taking a deep breath.

“A’right. Thank you.” He mumbled.

“I’d ask where this has come from, but it's been a rough day.” She grinned. Her effort to lighten the mood and make him more comfortable fell flat when she noticed him suck his lower lip into his mouth once more. She braced herself for yet another one liner that was bound to silence and stun her.

“I know I was a dick today.” He acknowledged “I care about you.”

Now he was refusing to lift his gaze, his eyes focused on the dirt under his boots. It was not lost on her that Daryl was the kind of man to show his feelings through actions rather than words, which explained his snappy and bossy demeanour and refusal to put her in harm's way at the hotel. But hearing him actually say the words to her had stunned her. She couldn’t believe what she was experiencing. It was a big first, a man so unusual and unique, a man so attractive and unattainable was declaring to her that out of everyone, he had some kind of feelings for her. It may not have been outwardly romantic, or even romantic at all. But it was enough to make her nervous when she contemplated that no matter how much Daryl cared about anyone else; Carol, Rick, Michonne, he never asked them to step away from their duties in order to keep them safe. Up in the lounge of the hotel, it wasn’t the thought of Rick or Abe being hurt that drove him to his defiant comments. It was her. Jess dipped her head, managing to encourage him to lift his vision just enough to see her return the sentiment.

“I care about you too, you idiot.” She told him. When his head raised enough for her to see his face, she beamed at him and saw him smile back for the first time.

“I’ll uh, let ya get home.” He moved back, shoving his hands into his Jeans pockets. His crossbow clanked against his back with the movement and he adjusted his shirt at the collar.

All at once, Jess had an epiphany.

“I know what it is!” She cried, the second time in one day that she’d thought out loud.

“What?” Daryl was baffled.

She held her breath and thought that in that moment she probably looked as awkward as she did when he’d walked in on her throwing tampons around.

“Ah. This morning, I thought there was something different about you. I know what it is now. You got a new shirt.”

Daryl huffed and glanced down at the plain, black, button down shirt beneath his leather vest. She was right, it was new, dug out from the mass of clothing they’d fetched from the Cherokee Club. But he never expected her to notice, he never expected anyone to notice. It was just a shirt, after all.

“Um, yeah. Carol made me.” He shrugged. Jess laughed at the thought of Carol ordering him to get himself a new shirt. If Carol told her to do the same, she wouldn’t argue, the woman could be terrifying. “Why’d ya notice that?”

“Because you look great in it.” She said without thinking.

Oh god. I just gave him a compliment without thinking it over a million times and taking into account every possible consequence. Shit.

He sucked both lips into his mouth and gave her a slow and uneasy nod and she was sure, beyond any doubt, that she witnessed his ears and the tops of his cheeks turn pink.

“Thanks” came his gravelly response.

“Isn’t it supposed to have sleeves?” She asked as she squinted at the frayed edges around his broad shoulders.

“Cut ‘em off.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s fuckin’ hot here.” He shrugged as if she should know the answer to her own question.

Her mind delved into the gutter and for an indulgent moment she wondered what it would be like to slowly drag her fingers over the taut muscles of his arms and shoulders. She emitted a long sigh with her tongue tracing a line along her lower lip and her eyes shamelessly fixated on his skin.

“You’re right. It is…fucking…hot.” She breathed.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what the change in her signified and then it hit him; he’d seen this expression before. A long time ago, back at the quarry, stood in the water while she insisted on teaching him how to use rocks to clean clothes.

Is she…checking me out?!

“What?” He said loudly, snapping her from her delectable daydream.

“What?!” She quickly exclaimed back.

“Uh, I’ma head back now.” He smirked a smug sensation filling his body.

“Huh. Um. No problem. Yeah. I should go, too. I’m tired and hungry and I have mints. From the hotel”

You’re rambling! Shut up!

“See ya” She chirped, throwing him two finger guns.

“Sure. I’ll see ya tomorrow” he chuckled. Walking away, he tried to remember if he’d ever met anyone like Jess and came up with nothing. Not a single soul he’d come across in all his years was as delightfully awkward, funny and genuine as she was and when he wasn’t around her, he craved her presence and the ability to see her contagious smile and pretty features. Yes, he did care about her and the thought of her not being around anymore was just too abhorrent to comprehend.

Turning rapidly on her heels, Jess looked down at her finger gun hands and curled her lip in disgust.

“Such a loser” She whispered to herself.

Next Chapter

--- tagging as requested --

@lilred254

#daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x oc #daryl #twd fanfiction

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frenchpsychiatrymuderedmycnut · 10 months

Text

unhinged…deranged…manic…unbalanced…bonkers…loopy…insane…bananas…mad…touched…mental…crazed…berserk…lunatic…batty…disturbed…

+++

..:this positively…thoughtful…day…of yet…another day…

+++

…sitting…thoughtfully.…shitting…mental illnesses…

+++

…my dark hole…my empty hole…my holy hole

+++

…amen…

~by unofficial wannabe wanker

_____

I made it out by the skin of my griefs.

~Ocean Vuong

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et-lesailes · 5 years

Text

the summer at vlyvalle // chapter one

featuring: bryce langley (chris evans in fierce people, 2005) x reader

summary: you are bryce langley’s best friend as well as the love of his life, and he, yours. your two families live in the large, wealthy estate in vyvalle, new jersey owned by his grandfather; your family has been business partners with his family for some time now, and therefore, you and bryce were practically raised together. both of you grew up incredibly rich and privileged, though humble and grounded-- however, there has always been something slightly off about bryce’s mind and the way he thinks. you are the only one who sees this side of him, yet you still can’t help but love him, hoping that you can help him become someone more stable and healthy. when a new neighbor moves in for the summer, you can’t help but suspect that bryce’s interactions with him aren’t completely innocent, but he always manages to convince your more hopeful and optimistic side otherwise.

story themes: romance, drama/angst, psychology, semi dark!fic

chapter themes: ** TRIGGER WARNING. mentions of rape and mental illness

word count: approx 1400

taglist: @quant-um-fizzx, @thefvcker-tucker

note: as you’ll probably be able to tell, this story is highly based off the movie Fierce People, and while some events in it are involved in the movie as well, some are also added in from my own imagination-- especially concerning bryce’s character. if you’ve seen it, you know it’s a pretty dark movie, and so this story will have dark themes as well-- please don’t read if you feel you will get triggered. however, i will keep this story pretty short, and so the chapters will be a little short too! please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming chapters.

Your eyes flickered over your best friend’s face as his deep blue ones were completely fixated on the video he had borrowed from the new neighbor next door; Bryce had been talking about Finn Earl for quite some time now, and while his words expressed that he loved the kid and that his interest in anthropology was fascinating, you knew better than to fully trust the positivity emanating from Bryce’s sharp tongue. He may have been all laughs and smiles when telling you about the conversations he and Finn would share, but after years of growing up with him, practically being raised beside him-- you could see far beyond the surface when it came to Bryce Langley. You could see the darkness that would take over his hues when he thought nobody was looking, you could feel it. You could pick up on the undertones in his voice that were completely concealed to anyone else, even his own sister. While others found awe and joy in watching how passionate he became about a subject, you knew it was not so alluring as it seemed.

Bryce Langley did not simply develop passions, he developed obsessions.

And yet, he did not scare you in the least. You knew what he was capable of. In fact, you were one of the only people in his entire life that knew, and this was why the man was not behind bars for using his gun to put his own father in a coma.

Perhaps you were equally as messed up to remain by his side, but you believed you could help him. And to an extent, you were right. Bryce seemed to calm down when he was around you, and while he may have found a little too much comfort and dependence on you at times, you figured that was better than him being completely independent and eventually going off the rails entirely.

His brain fascinated you. Was that messed up, too? The way he analyzed situations, how he interpreted others’ actions, how his mind reached solutions-- you could not wrap your head around how someone so brilliant could also be so delusional, so rash. He needed help, and you knew his rich and privileged family would never give it to him considering their money and image were far more important, and so you had taken it upon yourself from a young age to be Bryce’s anchor.

“God. Christ. This is- this is just so fucking fascinating, babe, come over here and look at this.” Bryce gestured for you to join him on the couch, his eyes still glued to the screen. Standing up from your seat at the table where you had been reading, you set the book down and came over to stand behind the couch, eyes studying the screen with interest. Bryce had told you that Finn’s father was an anthropologist studying a South American tribe called the Ishkanani, and he had also told you how violent and savage these people were. You barely bit your lip as you watched, seeing a rather vicious, bloody fight unfold between two warriors of the tribe-- you were not weak hearted, but you looked away to look down at him instead, more interested to see what those beautiful blue eyes would tell you. You recognized the look instantly; he was absorbed, he was sucked in, this was officially the beginning of his newest obsession and it did not look promising.

He suddenly grabbed your hands and pulled your arms down on either side of him so that they were wrapped around him, looking up at you with a smile so damn pure and excited that you really, really wanted to believe he was simply a former anthropology student, interested in learning about a new topic. This was what any other person would have seen, anyways. But you knew the unfortunate truth, because deep in those sparkling eyes was wickedness, and you hated that it was a part of him.

“What do you think is interesting about it?” you asked softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He laughed and pulled your face back, turning his head to kiss your lips. “What’s not interesting about it? I mean, look at them. They just-- they just fuckin’ take what they want, when they want it. Isn’t that how it should be? We’re so weak as a society these days, if we focused more on power and strength then the people who truly deserve high status would get it. Wouldn’t that be more fair?”

You inhaled sharply but knew better than to start an argument with him; when he got into moods like this, it was important to be calm and patient. Humming thoughtfully, you moved to sit next to him on the couch, running your fingers over his bicep. “You told me that rape is a common theme with this tribe. That they rape their opponents to make them feel humiliated, to empower them.” Arching an eyebrow, you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “Do you really think it’s necessary to go that far?”

“Well, I mean, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, right? How else will they learn their lesson?”

You bit your lip harshly, somewhat looking away. You knew he was only like this because of how damn mentally unstable he was, of how erratic his brain was. It was terrifying sometimes, but if you pushed him away, it would only make it worse. He needed to learn, and if you were the only one willing to teach, then so be it.

“How would you feel if somebody did that to me? What would you do?” you asked softly, looking back up at him. He blinked before immediately frowning, growling, “I’d fuck them up, that’s what I’d fuckin’ do. You’re mine, nobody touches you.”

“What if I did something really bad, though? What if I hurt someone really bad, and that’s what they were doing to punish me?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, babe, I’d still beat them to shit. I’m always going to protect you, you know that.”

“So you don’t think I deserve to be raped, even if I, like, really fucked up?”

“Of course not, what kind of question is--”

“Then why should other people deserve to be raped?”

He barely bit on his lip as he frowned. “It’s not the same-” he started to say, then paused, now looking deeper in thought. Yes, perhaps this was a concept that most could understand, perhaps it seemed like common sense. But you knew Bryce’s brain had always been different. Even when he was a child, he had a strange sense of humor, strange interests-- you weren’t sure if you had ever seen the man feel guilt. When you were younger, you had gotten quite easily frustrated with him. You couldn’t believe some of the things he said, the thoughts he had-- it absolutely baffled you. However, he truly was a scholar, an intellectual. He had made remarkable grades throughout his entire school life, and he excelled in philosophical and anthropological debates, despite how messed up his mind could be. It was as you grew older that you realized there was hope for him yet; he just needed guidance. Didn’t everyone, even if it was to different extents?

You could practically see his mind working, the gears whirring. A scholar like him could not simply accept the elementary argument “it’s not the same thing”, which was why he had cut himself off in the middle of saying it. He pondered for a few more moments before slowly sighing, looking down as he ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Okay, I-- maybe, maybe you’re right.” He spoke lowly, and you couldn’t help but feel pride that he was able to think himself out of what could have been the start of a dangerous obsession-- maybe he really was getting better.

At least, that was what you thought, especially as he pulled you in to give you a sweet, seemingly apologetic kiss, his tongue sliding out to lovingly wrap around yours as his hands pulled you onto the comfort of his lap. The rest of your lazy Sunday afternoon consisted of kisses pressed all over your bare skin, hands feeling every inch of your body, your own fingers tangled through his soft hair as his eyes practically pierced through yours, shining with nothing but love and admiration.

#bryce langley #fierce people #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #super big advocate of mental health here and writing stuff related to mental illness and messed up minds is my thinG #tw: mentions of rape #tw: mental health #romance #drama

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nadisabug · 5 years

Text

Fictober 2019-Day 18

Title: Chapter 16: Collapse

Prompt number: 18 "Secrets? I love secrets." Fandom: Danganronpa (SDR2) AU: ya know ;) Rating: T Warnings: none Tags: SuperDanganronpa2, Komahina A/N: this one is longer :) i didn’t feel like the next two prompts flowed, so they are going to be apart of the alone series thing i also did. ill have to make a masterlist when im done....

♥♥♥

"Secrets? I love secrets!" Moida laughed. She nudged Saoinji and nodded towards Nagito. "I say we hear him out."

"He's not going to tell us about the boy," Nevermind chimed in.

"Pft, why do I care about some Reserve Course student? You guys are focusing on the wrong thing. Komaeda has information about an uprising."

"I agree," Owari chimed in. She was sitting on a desk, elbow deep in a bag of chips, but she seemed to be seriously thinking about this. "I think the boy doesn't matter as much as the former one of us."

"In my opinion," Soda exclaimed, waving a screwdriver around as he spoke, "I don't give a fuck about Komaeda's boyfriend."

"Seconded," Mahiru smirked.

Nagito nearly choked on his own breath when he realized they were having a full blown side bar.

With him still in the room.

Nagito listened as more and more people came to the conclusion that no one really wanted to hear anything about Nagito's "boyfriend." The discussion slowly degraded until all anyone could articulate was that they had to choose between listening to Nagito talk about his boyfriend, or learn more about the deep dark secrets of the school.

It was times like this when he was really thankful for his class's collective stupidity and short attention span.

"Okay," Nevermind finally announced, clapping her hands and turning to Nagito. "We have decided to hear you speak on this former classmate of ours. Please, enlighten us."

Nagito almost had to physically bite his tongue to keep him from saying, "You mean you decided to hear me out in the first place?" Instead he just told them everything.

Everything except for anything pertaining to Hajime. And they listened.

"So. What's the plan?" Kuzuryru was the first one to speak after Nagito finished.

Nagito blinked. "The what?"

"Yeah, I would like to know too," Nevermind said thoughtfully, as if she too had come to some smart decision. After her, murmurs of agreement broke out between the class.

Nagito swallowed heavily. Shit. A plan? Nagito didn't have a plan. He seriously hadn't thought anything out past convincing his fellow classmates to drug the literal shit out of him in a desperate, and probably futile, attempt to remember something. He really didn't think he'd get this far.

"Well..." Nagito began slowly, piecing his thoughts together as he spoke. "We first need to figure out how to get our memories back."

"Didn't you already get yours?" Kuzuryu frowned.

Nagito tilted his head back and forth. "Well, kind of yes. And no. The science behind it is sketchy, but I assumed that they had not taken the memories, and instead just put up a mental blocker. Much easier to do. But, much easier to remember again. All you have to do is realize you are missing your memories and confront the blockade head on. I was able to slip past for a bit, only because I was so far under, but most is still foggy. It would be so much easier if I knew what kind of blockade it was, like if they stimulated trauma and induced repressed memories. If it was that, it would be much more difficult because your mind will have a natural aversion to-"

"So you're saying it was dumb luck you slipped past and it'll be harder for us if we don't know what we're up against?" Kuzuryu cut in.

Nagito pursed his lips. "Yes."

"They would probably keep that information in the headmaster's office," Nevermind mused.

"Pardon me Miss Sonia, but how the /fuck are we supposed to get into the headmaster's office?" Soda whined.

"We use our talents." Nevermind answered simply. "Ultimate Impostor can sneak in-"

"That won't work if the head master is still in the office," Impostor noted.

"So we make a distraction," Nevermind replied curtly. She glared at Impostor for cutting her off, but they didn't seem phased.

"But what will we do after that?" Saionji frowned.

"What do you mean?" Mahiru asked.

"Well, we aren't just going to stay here afterwards, are we?"

"She's right," Teruteru spoke up. "There's no way we are getting out, the security is too tight. We might as well give up now."

The classroom fell silent as everyone thought. No one wanted him to be right, but no one could come up with a solution. How /were they supposed to get out?

"What if... we just made our distraction a bit larger?" Nagito mused.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Kuzuryu spat, but there was genuine curiosity behind his voice.

"Well, we are going to need a distraction anyway, to get into the Headmaster's office."

"Yes? And?" Kuzuryu prompted.

"So, what if we made the distraction big enough to draw everyone away?"

"Just spit it out Komaeda," Nevermind finally sighed, fixing a cold glare on him.

Nagito smiled. "What if we blew up the school?"

#fictober19 #komahina #hinakoma #super dangan ronpa 2 #nagito x hajime #komaeda x hinata #nagito komaeda #hinata hajime #fictober day 18

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

Text

Friends in Dark Places [remastered; ch 3]

pairing: moxiety and logince (later on) with the addition of others if i feel like it

WARNINGS: mentions of self harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of scars, mentions of throwing up, food mentions, mentions of pain, hospitals, ivs, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, swearing, a knife, blood, insensitive language regarding mental illness, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog

a/n: idk why linebreaks don’t wanna work so we’re just gonna pretend they’re there okay thanks bye

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12

companion fics: exes and ‘oh’s

The first thought that popped into Virgil’s mind when he woke up was that it was far too bright. He squinted, trying to make out something. A dull, throbbing pain coursed through his wrists, and he groaned at the memories. Patton was going to give him so much shit.

It didn’t take too long for Virgil’s eyes to get adjusted to the bright lights. He was in a hospital room, and everything except for his blue smock was bright, clinical white. There wasn’t anyone else in the room with him--for the time being, at least--but a light blue backpack had been discarded on one of the chairs in the corner. Patton must have quickly thrown it together before they’d left.

The door slowly creaked open, and Virgil’s eyes snapped to the movement. Patton creeped through, only standing up straight once he’d realized that Virgil had woken up. A frown spread across his face as he moved to sit in the chair at Virgil’s right side.

“Virgil, you’re lucky that Logan and Roman had a free period today and were able to come get us to the hospital. What you did was very dangerous, though I’m sure that was your intention.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but obviously I did, and I’m so sorry about that. Still, we need to talk about your situation because you aren’t fit to be left on your own. I’m not going to force you into any situation you aren’t comfortable with, but I want to keep you safe.” Patton was speaking at a million miles an hour, barely comprehensible due to worry. Virgil shrugged and turned toward the only window in the room, watching the cars pass by on the road many stories below. In the back of his mind, he dreaded having to leave. He’d been in this hospital before on the rare occasion that a family member was dying, and from his memory, the local hospital only had elevators and emergency-only stairwells. Of course, Virgil was wildly afraid of elevators.

Patton was still talking when he tuned himself back in. “I know you didn’t want anyone to find out about your situation, so I cleared it with my parents, and we checked you in under my name and made sure that there would be complete confidentiality. You’ll be covered under my parent’s insurance, so you won’t have to pay for anything. They want to make sure you’re okay and are perfectly fine with this.” He knew that Patton was trying to be comforting, but it just made Virgil feel more guilty. He was taking so much from this family. They were committing fucking insurance fraud for him.

Hot pinpricks formed in Virgil’s eyes. He tried his damnedest to will them away, but they began to slip down his face regardless.

“Hey! Virge, it’s okay. What’s wrong, kiddo?” Patton placed a light hand on top of Virgil’s arm, avoiding the tender spots where the bandages had been wrapped around him. Virgil forced himself to look at his companion. He hadn’t noticed before, but Patton had intense bags under his eyes, suggesting that he hadn’t slept at all during the night. His guilt only grew.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil whispered. “I’m so, so sorry that you have to deal with my depressed emo garbage. You don’t deserve this.” He was a burden to everyone he met--merely bringing them down with him. There was no escape the sinking ship that was Virgil Thomas. Once you got on, it was hell on earth.

“Y’know,” Patton began. It was obvious that he was trying to pick his words out very carefully. “I’ve been in situations similar to yours. Although they weren’t nearly as intense, I’ve had great doubts about my self-worth. You really are a good person who deserves a good life, Virgil. I can just feel it. I really do want to help you, and I don’t care what I have to sacrifice to get you back on your feet.

“All of that aside, we need to talk about your living situation. Do you have anybody at home who will be worrying your whereabouts?” Patton laid expectant eyes on Virgil.

“Um, not really. My dad is almost always out of town, and my mom hasn’t been around for years.”

Patton nodded thoughtfully. “Alrighty then. Would you be okay with staying at my house for the foreseeable future? We would obviously have to grab your things from your house, but I’d feel better if you stayed with me. And I’m sure that you’ve seen that we have more than plenty of room for one other person.”

“I guess that’ll be okay.” Virgil’s voice was shaking slightly. He didn’t know whether he should be sad or happy. He was receiving so much kindness, yet he didn’t feel like he deserved it. His thoughts were interrupted when a nurse came into the room.

“Mr. Thomas? I need to ask Mr. Shea some questions. I’d ask that you leave the room… unless Mr. Shea is okay with you staying.” The nurse had a large smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes like Patton’s did.

“Um, I’d rather Pat--uh, Virgil stay in the room, if that’s all right.” Virgil gave her the best smile he could scrounge up, and she gave a curt nod, her brown hair swishing around her face. She took the seat on the opposite side of the bed from Patton.

“Mr. Shea, my name is Nurse Lucy. Do you remember what happened before you were admitted into the hospital?” Nurse Lucy pulled a pen from her pocket and began to write on the clipboard she’d had on the table next to her.

Truthfully, the events of the day had become fuzzy in Virgil’s mind. He could remember with clarity yelling at Patton and running to the bathroom. And then he punched the mirror and cut his knuckles, but after that? He had nothing.

“I don’t really remember anything…” Virgil’s face scrunched up just slightly in thought.

“Well, Mr. Shea, your friend with the tie told us you had a ‘severe panic attack,’ and Mr. Thomas followed up by saying you hurt yourself with ‘broken glass from a mirror’ and then passed out due to a mixture of blood loss and anxiety. Do you remember any of that happening?”

“I remember the panic attack and the mirror part; although, I remember the latter only vaguely.” The teen didn’t really like the direction that these questions were going. They were getting far too close to striking a nerve. As if he’d been reading the other’s thoughts, Patton piped up.

“Nurse Lucy, Vir-- Patton has been through a lot today. How long do you think these questions will take?” Virgil sent a silent thanks to whatever deity that was watching over him.

“Just a few more minutes, Mr. Thomas,” the nurse replied with a saccharine smile. “Mr. Shea, have you had any bouts of depression within the past four months?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered.

“And how long did the depression last?”

“It started when I was fourteen and has been on and off for the past three years.” His hands began to shake.

“Have you had suicidal ideations or attempted suicide in the past four months?” The clinical tone of the nurse’s voice caused Virgil’s breath to hitch. Patton gave a small squeeze, reminding Virgil that he was still there.

“Yes. To both.”

“How long have you been having suicidal thoughts?”

“Since I turned sixteen.” He raised his left hand and ran it through his hair. He already knew the next question she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth.

“When was the last time you attempted to commit suicide?” Time seemed to freeze in the room. Virgil glanced over at Patton, who had a pained expression on his face. Lines of worry were etched across his fair skin, and his normal smile was pressed into a harsh frown.

“Today,” Virgil whispered. It was the truth, and he was sure Patton knew it regardless of if he wanted to believe it or not. He looked at his feet, refusing to let his gaze shift to either of the people at his sides.

“I see,” Nurse Lucy said with sterile crispness. “Since you were admitted due to injuries from a mental illness and have admitted to other mental instabilities, you will need to stay in the hospital for at least three days for further mental examination.” She stood up and smoothed out her pants.

“Um, Nurse, will I be allowed to stay during the exams?” Patton’s soft voice broke through the unrelenting silence.

“That depends on the doctor’s specifications. If you have any questions, I can leave his phone number here so you can discuss with him. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have another patient that I need to check up on.” Virgil could hear her clicking footsteps leave the room and the hollow thunk of the door closing.

“Virge, will you please look at me?” Patton asked with genuine sweetness in his voice, not the fake sugary bullshit that the nurse had given him. Virgil turned his head slowly. His breathing was becoming shallow, and he could feel a panic attack coming on.

“I need you to listen to me, okay? You are going to be okay. I’m going to stay with you through all of it, even if the doctor wants me to leave.” A whole new wave of tears began to stream down Virgil’s face. This time, however, Patton climbed into the hospital bed, bringing his new friend into his arms, not caring about the tears that would end up staining his shirt. They stayed in that position, Virgil crying into Patton’s shoulder, until the former fell asleep.

---

“I don’t understand why we have to run errands for some kid that we barely even know!” Roman complained, crossing his arms with a huff. He and Logan had received a text from Patton that, as soon as school let out, they needed to go to the house of the kid they’d drove to the hospital and pick up anything they thought he’d need, whether it be clothes or electronics or whatever.

“Technically, Roman, we’re not running errands for Virgil. We’re running errands for Patton, who happens to be working to help a stranger. This is for our friend.” Logan turned off the engine of his disgustingly old Dodge Intrepid. He shoved open the squeaky door and walked up to the porch of the large white house.

“Yes, but--” Roman argued as he’d exited from the passenger seat-- “Why do we have to do this? Why can’t he do it?”

“Did you see how Patton was acting when we were checking Virgil into the hospital? He was an emotional wreck. I doubt he’d even leave Virgil’s side if we threatened to murder a puppy right in front of his face. He obviously has some sort of emotional attachment to the kid.” Logan punched in the code to unlock the door. The way that Patton had gotten the code was a mystery that Logan would probably never be able to solve. Shaking the thought from his mind, he pushed open the door and led Roman inside.

The inside of the house was just as plain as the outside. Light grey linoleum tiles lined the floor, and every surface was painted white. Even the doors were white. It was the biggest disgrace to the profession of interior design that either of the teenagers had ever seen.

“The bedroom is upstairs, correct?” Logan asked, looking around for any semblance of a clue that indicated someone actually lived in this house. The whole thing was oddly bare; there were just a few pieces of furniture in each room that he could see.

“Yeah, second door on the right.” Roman had already made it halfway up the stairs by the time he’d finished his sentence. Logan sighed and followed his dramatic friend.

It would have been easy to find out which room was the correct one even if they hadn’t had the directions. The door to Virgil’s room had been painted black and stuck out like a sore thumb against the blaring white of everything else. Roman swung the door open and walked inside with a flourish that only he would add.

“What a dreary nightmare this place is.” Roman grabbed a vinyl sleeve that had been discarded on the floor. American Beauty / American Psycho by Fall Out Boy. With a slight eye roll, he shucked the sleeve onto the desk to his left. He looked to Logan and saw that he’d had already gathered a pile of assorted black clothes onto the black duvet. Shocking.

Roman let out a long sigh and gathered things from the desk. He took a few notebooks that were labeled with school subjects and their corresponding binders, a pencil case, a pair of over-ear headphones and attached cell phone, a well used black eyeshadow single, and a weird little cube with a bunch of buttons on it. He placed them on the bed and grabbed a backpack from the floor, stuffing his finds into it. Logan had pulled a suitcase from somewhere-- probably the closet--and had begun to neatly fold clothes and pack them up.

“I’m going to search for the bathroom to grab Mr. Black Sky’s toiletries.” All Roman got in response was a nod. With a slight eye roll, he left the room and began to peek into each room in the hallway. The one third on the right turned out to be another bedroom, as was the fourth, the one across the hall from that one was a linen closet, and the two down the hall were completely empty. Last, he checked the first door on the right. He opened the door and found a pristinely clean bathroom, minus the spread of toiletries across the counter.

Roman grabbed the toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush that was laying on the ground near the edge of the counter. He picked up a small rectangular metal thing that was hidden behind a stack of washcloths. It suddenly snapped open to reveal a small knife that had little flecks of blood on it. His stomach dropped, and he quickly closed the blade, nearly throwing it back onto the counter.

His mind strayed back to the time when Pat had been having a rough time. He and Logan had stayed up until ungodly hours researching things to help. Roman remembered when he’d clicked on a link and was brought to a website about cutting with graphic images of scars and cuts. Although he was not normally squeamish around blood, the thought of his friend hurting himself had nearly made him throw up.

He’d seen similar scars on Virgil when he’d helped Logan patch up his cuts. A shiver ran through his body. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Roman? Have you acquired everything that you need?” Logan’s voice called from the room over. Roman shook his shoulders and stood up straighter.

“Yeah, Lo. I’ll be there in just a moment.” After throwing one last glance at the knife on the counter, he made his way back to Virgil’s bedroom. Logan grabbed the toiletries from his hands and shoved them into the backpack before slipping it onto his shoulder. The two brought the bags out to the car and stowed them in the back seat. Roman’s memories from the bathroom were soon forgotten when he received another text from Patton.

Patton Delivered at 3:30 pm Virge has to stay in the hospital for the next few days for mental examination. They’re worried about him attempting suicide again. If you guys could pick up a stuffed animal from the gift shop, I’d really appreciate it! <333

Roman Read at 3:31 pm Of course, Pat! We’re just leaving the house now, so we’ll be at the hospital soon. Do you need anything?

Patton Delivered at 3:31 pm Just a water bottle. See you guys when you get here! <33333

Patton Delivered at 3:47 pm I just realized I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Can you grab me something to eat in the cafeteria?

Roman Read at 3:50 pm I’ll add it to the list of things we need to do that Logan’s forcing me to write. Be there in 15.

Patton Delivered at 3:50 pm Awesome! <3

Patton Delivered at 3:54 pm Roman?

Roman Read at 3:54 pm Yes, Patton?

Patton Delivered at 3:55 pm Thank you both. I really appreciate what you’re doing for Virge and I.

Roman Read at 3:56 pm It’s no problem Patton. You’ve had a rough day and deserve some rest.

Patton Delivered at 3:56 pm You and Logan are fam ILY.

chapter 4

#sanders sides fic #m writes things #moxiety #logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders

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writebythenight · 6 years

Text

The Silence

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Rose(OC) is assigned the job of talking to Negan in his Cell.

Chapter Five

Michonne walked in to see Negan stood towering over Rose looking furious while she stood her ground. "Everything okay here?"

"Fine. I just need to finish up his bandage." Rose told the woman who stood looking ready for anything.

Negan sat back down giving his hand to her as she began to wrap his knuckles gently, she held his hand with more of a grip this time.

Once she was done she stood, both of them still silent as they all walked back to the cell. Rose gave the keys to Michonne not wanting to be the one to lock him back in there and as the lock sounded she saw Negan physically stiffen.

"Come on." Michonne told Rose.

"Goodnight." Negan said watching them through the bars behind which he looked so much smaller.

When they walked out into the dark street Michonne turned to Rose. "Rick said to stay with you the whole time." She explained.

"Yeah I know thanks for coming."

"What was going on before I came in."

"I was just asking him about some things and it got out of hand."

"You should be careful and only make him angry when he's behind the bars."

"I can handle him." Rose told her earning a strange look from her friend.

The next morning Rose was strictly told not to do anything too strenuous. Even though the wound wasn't as bad as originally thought she'd still needed some stitches and time to heal. She'd forced Tara to take her to where they were building camp then she could at least be on watch.

"Hey." She recognised the gruff voice straight away and stiffened before looking up at the sky. She didn't even turn around.

"Hey."

"Look I wanted to apologise."

"Daryl... what you did was fucking A grade stupid and you know that. You let your pride take over and I know you think I don't get it but I do." She turned around now seeing him stood holding the strap of his crossbow which was over his shoulder. "I understand why you don't like the fact that anyones talking to him nevermind taking his advice but I'm going to keep doing it because it's just who I am." She shrugged. "I don't only want you to be my friend as long as I don't do anything you don't like, I'm doing what Rick asked of me."

"Are ya though?"

"What?"

"Just doin' what Rick asked." He explained.

"What else would I be doing Daryl?" She asked with an irritated tone.

"I dunno."

"Well you must have some idea or you wouldn't have said it."

"Ya ain't just doin' it for Rick! Ya want to do it. That's what fuckin' annoys me."

"I'm gonna be straight with you. Yeah I do want to do it because before all this it's what I did! I helped people with mental illness, I helped people who just needed someone to be there."

"He don't deserve it!"

"Maybe he doesn't! But I can't sit by and let someone rot down there!"

"Ya think he sent someone to talk to me?" He poked his own chest angrily. "Ya think I had someone bringin' me damn sandwiches?!"

"No... but I'd have done it for you too."

"Ya think he'd have let ya?" He laughed harshly.

"Probably not. That's what I'm trying to get to the bottom of."

"There ain't no fixing a man like that!"

"I know that but I can't just let him go crazy down there. It's against everything I believe in." She knew it must be annoying as hell to be around someone like her but she also knew when to stop, she wasn't about to kill herself trying to help the man who did so much wrong.

"You two made up?" She turned to see Rick coming towards them.

"Yes, Dad." Rose grinned.

"Good. I need to talk to you."

"Wow, aren't I popular today."

"I'm gonna go make sure the saviours aren't killin' everyone." Daryl told them before walking off as Rose rolled her eyes at his comment.

"It's about Negan." Rick started.

"Isn't it always." Rose sighed as she found a log and sat down, Rick sitting beside her.

"Michonne told me what she walked in on. What was that about?"

"I mentioned Lucille... and Glenn." Rick looked taken aback. "You told me to talk to him about that stuff."

"I guess I just didn't think he actually would."

"Yeah, he actually made some sense of it all for me." She rubbed her forehead. "I mean in his head obviously." Rick nodded looking intrigued. "He started talking about the outpost, about how people from our group snuck in and killed people in their beds while they were sleeping. He mentioned them by name, he looked almost upset by it when he said one of them had a wife and baby waiting back at the Sanctuary."

"We all have people waiting on us."

"I know." Rose told him, wanting to make a point of how the only thing different in that situation to the line up was that their group had the decency to do while they were sleeping. But of course thought better of it. "It was just interesting to see his side you know? Like we were fighting him then, he was just fighting back."

"Wait... are you trying to say we're just like him?" He was getting angry.

"Rick do you want me to be brutally honest?"

"Of course I do."

"What he did was fucked, theres no doubt about it. But if someone had snuck into your camp while you were on the road and killed members of your group do you really think you'd have been any less brutal about it?"

He was silent for a long time.

"I'm gonna say something and I really don't want you to be angry at me." He nodded looking wary. "When I talked to Carl about it... looking back I think he saw it the same way. Simplified. Two groups fighting each other when there wasn't really any need."

"I've thought the same thing. About how when you strip it down me and him are alike."

"Except you had something to hold on to. Something to keep you grounded." She remembered what Negan had said about his world being turned upside down before the end. "He didn't."

Rick looked around thoughtfully for a while before looking back at her. "He's not getting inside your head is he?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want him to manipulate you. Are you sure you're okay doing this?"

"I'm gonna try not to get offended here, Rick. I'm an intelligent woman." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I've been watching out for that too."

"I know... I just wanted to make sure that you know you don't have to do this okay?"

"I know but thank you. Every time I see him he's worse." Rose shook her head. "You know how there's people angry at you for keeping him alive?"

"Yeah?" He sighed.

"I honestly think this is worse for him."

Rick looked at her seriously. "That's what I thought."

He grabbed her hand. "It's a big help having you do this. We can use him." Rose stomach churned at that phrase, he was a broken man and it just didn't sit right with her. He stood up and left her sitting with those thoughts.

Tired and hungry after travelling back to Alexandria Rose took two plates into the cell room with her. "Here." She said as she paced it in the usual place before sitting down and tucking into her sandwich. Negan hadn't said anything or even moved which was very strange for him.

"Hey!" She called.

"What?" He snapped.

"Food."

"I ain't hungry."

"Okay..." She stood up and walked to the bars just about making out him laid with his bandaged hand over his face.

"Are you okay?" She asked. "Well as okay as you can be..." He let out a bitter laugh.

"I've got a mother fuckin' headache."

"Oh... I'll go get you something for it." She told him putting her sandwich back on her plate.

"Ya think they're gonna let you waste medication on me?" She froze, he had a good point.

"I've got a few spares somewhere. I'll go get them."

That seemed to get his attention and he slowly got up to come to the bars. As he came into the light she noticed that he looked older, tireder, he looked vulnerable. "Why would you do that for me?"

"Are you ever gonna stop asking me that and just accept that I'm not an asshole like you?"

He laughed and the sound of it shocked her so much that she didn't notice his hand come through the bars and onto her cheek, making her heart race. "Thank you." He told her. She cleared her throat and stepped back like he had slapped her not caressed her.

"I'll be right back."

Making her way back to the house she shared she replayed the moment over and over again, the way he touched her so gently while looking at her with a vulnerability she didn't think he was capable of. Was he doing this to manipulate her? It had to be that. What other reason would there be? That he cared about her in some weird way? She didn't think he was capable of that either. Then again... Stockholm syndrome. When the captive begins to get positive feelings for there captor, the person they are reliant. She wasn't his captor though, it wouldn't be that.

She got back to the cell to find him back in the same position. "Got some." She called out to him. He gave her a weak smile as he took them from the palm of her hand and threw them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. "Drink this. Dehydration can cause headaches too." She passed water to him.

"You're something' else."

"Don't I know it." She sighed and sat down to finish her sandwich. "I didn't think the great Negan had any weaknesses."

"Call me that again." He said tiredly before going to his cot. He sighed as he laid down. "I got weaknesses."

"Like what?" She asked.

"Guess."

"A finger up the ass? You seem like the kind of guy to like that shit."

He laughed loudly. "Fuck. You choose now when my heads splitting in two to be funny?"

"I'm always funny." She drank some of her water and got out her pad and pen. "Is it Lucille?" The silence told her everything. "So I'm not as stupid as to believe your weakness is a baseball bat. So who is she?"

"Lucille?"

"Yeah."

"She was my wife." He said quietly. "She died just before all the bad shit happened. I'm almost grateful for that." So that was why his life had been turned upside down before. She was about to ask him to elaborate on why he was grateful when he said, "cancer."

"I'm sorry."

"She was too good for this world. Too good for me." His voice sounded stronger and she assumed that the pills were taking effect. "I was already a prick before all this started. I'd been having an affair and of course when I found out that she was ill only then did I end it. There was nothin' in it... I just needed that extra attention... my massive fuckin' ego needed more. She was just some stupid whore I picked up in a damn bar, average lookin' had absolutely nothin' on my Lucille."

"They never do." Rose sighed.

"You been cheated on?" He asked as she watched the dark outline of his head turn towards her.

"Yep. I was married too."

"Us men are the worst, huh?"

"Ohhh yeah..." She scoffed.

"Did she know? Lucille I mean."

"Of course she did. Women are miles clever than us." She smiled at that not often hearing something like that from a man and never expecting it from him. "She forgave me. So you see... I was a bad person way before this shower of shit."

"Do you think you felt that way about yourself so strongly that you just kind of went with it?"

"Maybe yeah... but it worked because I was exactly what you need to be now, a ruthless prick who takes whatever he wants."

"So your weakness was your wife... but she wasn't here. So you never really had a weakness since she was gone." She nodded as she explained it to herself out loud. "That made you dangerous because most people they gravitate towards others, they need them to survive and end up with relationships... weaknesses."

"I bet you got paid a shit ton doing this didn't you, darlin'. You're good."

"I did okay. I hadn't been doing it long. Spent most of my life studying to get my PHD and then hadn't even had it a year before my clients starting eating each other."

"Was you a geek, princess?"

"Kinda... I mean I had fun but got married young too."

"Oh I'd have loved corrupting you before then." He laughed.

"You really are an asshole." She said through a yawn. "I'd better get to bed." She told him.

"Goodnight, Doctor Rose." He said in a tired voice as he turned over probably to sleep now that his headache had gone and the strong painkillers would make him woozy.

That made Rose feel better this time as she left him.

"Goodnight Negan."

Chapter Six

A/N I'm going to do a few more chapters of the lead up to season 9 and then a bit of a time jump to season 9! What do you guys think of that? I can't wait especially if it's anything like the comics!

#twd negan #negan fanfiction #negan x oc #neganxoc #negan x rose #twd fanfiction #the silence #the walking dead fanfiction

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corvid-knight · 6 years

Text

Shitty Feelings and Cuddly Idiots

Dave's having a bad day; Karkat does what he does best: talks him into a slightly better one.

(Read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615118)

TG: need you over here

CG: LIKE YOU'RE MOVING MOVIE NIGHT TO YOUR ROOM INSTEAD OF MINE?

TG: yeah TG: sure TG: karkat please just get your ass over here TG: ill fucking pay you if thats what you want TG: i need you where i can wrap my stupid self around you right now okay TG: you know how you steal my cape? well you dont gotta do that today because you can just pretend im the cape TG: need you

CG: HEY. CG: CALM DOWN. I'M COMING OVER RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR.

TG: trying TG: doesnt work

CG: WHAT DOESN'T?

TG: calming down TG: youre coming?

CG: FIVE MINUTES. COUNT THEM OFF.

You don't think it's going to take you five minutes, but counting the time down will calm Dave at least a little, you think. It usually works; that's one of the ways you use to talk him down from his too-fucking-frequent panic attacks, reorient him on when and where he is when his mind slips a little out of time.

Maybe that's what's wrong now—just him disassociating. You don't think so, though. He texts differently when that happens, either terse and perfectionist or even more rambling than usual, full of misspellings. This time, he just seems upset. A little frantic.

Fuck, you hope this isn't the aftermath of some kind of Time fiasco again. You hate those, not just because you know each of them adds another dead Dave to the dreambubbles but because your Dave, the one who's left, has to process the aftermath of dying every fucking time. He hides it, or he thinks he hides it, but you know how he wakes up stifling screams and grabbing for you, sleeptalk spilling out of him and letting you know how much he blames himself for every doomed timeline.

It's not fucking fair.

You cross your fingers that today's shitshow doesn't involve time shenanigans and push the door to Dave's respiteblock open, slipping inside as quietly as you can (not very) and blinking a few times as you close it behind you, letting your eyes adjust to how dark he has it in here. "Dave?"

"Karkat." Yep, there he is on the floor by the couch, tangled up in his own caps and two or three blankets that he hauled off said piece of furniture. His shades are off—not really a surprise; when he has most of the lights off it's usually so he can ditch the eyewear without being in pain—and as you take a step toward him he drags his sleeve across his face before reaching up for you. "Hey. Sorry."

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Lifting him off the floor is easy; Dave doesn't let you pick him up often, and it's always a surprise how fucking light he is. This time, he curls against you as you sit down on the couch, settling on your lap and burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Actually no, don't shut up, but don't waste your fucking breath on stupid-ass apologies either. What's going on? How bad is it?"

The pained whining sound he makes suggests that it's pretty fucking bad, but he just mumbles, "I'm sorry for calling you over for nothing, dumbass..."

"Nothing?" You want to growl offendedly at Dave, point out that there's no such thing as him calling you over for nothing. If he just wants to hang out, if he decides he needs to watch a movie with you, if he wants to show you prophetic patterns in fucking spilled apple juice, you'd come to him in a heartbeat. You want to make it known that there's nothing here for him to be sorry for.

But that'd become an argument, and while usually you'd love to snipe back and forth with him until you're both mutually annoyed enough to end the argument by cuddling up with a movie, right now that's the last thing Dave needs. So you just shrug, card your fingers through his hair, and offer one questioning chirp.

He's silent for a long minute. You can feel him relaxing, so slowly and in such small increments that he's probably not aware of it.

Finally, "I feel. Like shit."

That's a complete statement in and of itself, but it still raises so fucking many questions. You know that if you ask them, there's a pretty fucking good chance that Dave'll just clam up, pretend that there's absolutely nothing wrong.

Well, try to pretend. You know him too well for that to have a chance of working.

So more waiting. Patience isn't a natural thing for you, but you can manage it for him.

"I shouldn't...feel bad," he says haltingly, after another minute or so. He keeps his face tucked up against you, where he doesn't have to let you see him. Like he's ashamed of whatever emotion's showing there. "Like...fuck, man, nothing's going to shit now. Everything's good, everything's fine, no one's dying and everything is fucking safe, you know? And I'm. Here. Feeling like...like I should fucking tear myself apart, like I am tearing myself apart from the fuckin' inside, do you get it? I want—I feel like I'm dying, like dying makes sense right now, like that's what's supposed to happen, what should happen, what—what I—"

"Dave. Dave, shush. Shush." Normally, you'd let him talk himself to a stop, but that's obviously not really going to happen today. He stills after a moment of shushing and gentle hair-petting, at least, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to go limp against you. "You're not fucking dying. Right?"

"No, but it feels—"

"Shhh. Bad, right? It feels bad."

"Fuckin' awful, horrible." And a shaky laugh, maybe at the inadequacy of bad next to how fucked up he is.

"Does it get better when I'm here with you?"

Dave doesn't even hesitate. "Hell yes."

You can't help the immediate possessive/pleased growling purr that rumbles up from your chest as he tightens his grip on you. Dave obviously appreciates it, too; he sighs, leaning his head against your chest to hear it better, and because it obviously calms him you try to keep the purr going as loudly as you're capable of.

"You're supposed to fucking call me when you need me," you tell him softly, hearing how your own purring smooths out the rough edges in your voice. "Not when you can't fucking stand the shit in your head any longer. You call me when you think things are starting to get bad. Let me try to keep you from spinning out like this."

"I can't," he whispers, and presses his face against your sweatshirt again. This time, you feel telltale dampness and know it's because he's crying. "Can't, fucking—stupid, I know I'm stupid, I let it get this far and I don't even think—"

"Shush. You're not stupid. I can call you an idiot, because I don't fucking mean it. You're not allowed to think you're stupid."

Dave hesitates, then nods slightly, huffing out a sigh. He's quiet for another minute or so, just holding onto you.

Then, "...hey."

"Mm?"

"What if. This is how I am? Just, like, if there's nothing to fight, nothing to worry about, no—no danger? What if this is normal for me? What if Bro knew that, if that's why he was always such a fucking bastard—because he knew I'd, I'd get more fucked up if he r-raised me like a fuckin' normal kid—"

His voice cracks on the last word, and when you shoosh him he gratefully goes quiet. "It's not normal for you."

"What if it is? Dude, I remember—when I was a fucking kid, feeling shitty right around when he'd come home, what if—"

"Does it feel like that? Like your bro's coming home?"

"I—" Dave makes a considering noise, pulling back just a little to frown up at you thoughtfully. "...kinda. But—"

"You know what flashbacks are, right?" God fucking damn it Rose should be the one helping him through this. You barely know what you're doing.

"Yeah, of course I know how those feel, but that ain't what this is, dude."

"Why not?"

"Because—" He shakes his head, groping for words for a second, then very obviously gives up. "Because? It's not? There wasn't a fucking trigger, there's gotta be a reason for my mental shit to act up. This is me being fucked up in the head, is all."

"Oh my fucking god." You give him a Look. It's an expression you learned from Rose, you think; it conveys the general feeling of you're being very stupid but I can't say that out loud really fucking well. "'Mental shit' as opposed to 'being fucked up in the head?' Are you really saying that you're going to try and fucking differentiate between those two?"

Dave just stares back at you blankly for a moment. "There's PTSD shit, and then there's shit I don't have an excuse for—"

"You don't have to have an excuse, idiot!" You let yourself get probably too loud there, and try to apologize for it by kissing Dave's forehead. From the genuinely pleased smile he gives you, it's an acceptable apology. "Who says the shitty feelings aren't your fucking trauma kicking in again?"

"It just isn't."

"Did you ask Rose if it can present like that? Did you talk to her about it at all?" You already know he didn't; you won't force him to answer those questions. "This isn't just you being broken for no reason. We'll figure it out, okay?"

"Mhm." Dave nods and loosens his grip on you enough to lean over and snag the remote from between the sofa cushions, offering it to you. "...thanks, man. Is a movie enough payment for the whole trying-to-fix-me thing?"

"You know I'd do it for free." You roll your eyes at him and hit the correct sequence of buttons to get the TV on and playing whatever he has in the DVD player, raising your eyebrows at the sight of human Leonardo DiCaprio onscreen. "You were watching Titanic?"

He just groans and leans up against you. "Shut the fuck up."

"Nope. I'm too amazed that you finally grew a sense of taste."

"I only watch it because it reminds me of you, asshole."

"Fuck, that's even better." You grin at him and lean down to kiss the corner of his mouth, he turns his head just enough that you catch his lips full-on, and both you and Dave relax against each other as the movie really gets started.

You can't help but be fucking amazed that this is where you are, even though you spend so much time just like this, curled up somewhere with Dave. All the crazy shit you went though, and somehow you ended up right where you belonged. Right where he needs you to be.

It's fucking insane.

You'd never want it any other way.

#Dave #karkat #davekat #ptsf #ptsd #cuddles

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