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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Parking Lot

This is a love letter to the Dean who told Cassie everything about his life after knowing her for 2 weeks and who didn’t see What Is And What Should Never Be as a horror show until he saw his bond with Sam was gone. I don’t think it would work for a later seasons Dean, who had pretty conclusively abandoned this idea for himself. I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Parking Lot

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3801

Summary: A parking lot quickie leads to an illuminating argument between Dean and the reader.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, angst, ~*idiots in love*~, fluff

In a couple ways it seemed like a lesson; you really shouldn’t have been fooling around in a parking lot no matter how late at night it was. Especially not a bar’s parking lot, potentially more likely to be busy at this hour, shadows be damned.

But it wasn’t all your fault, not by a long shot. Dean knew exactly what he was doing, getting a Manhattan rather than his standard straight bourbon just for the cherry, rolling it around with his tongue and licking his fingers of the juice while you waited for the guys you were playing pool against to shoot.

If Sam had been there you might’ve been able to keep it together for politeness’s sake, but you didn’t give a shit about these people and you weren’t doing research for a case, just blowing off steam post-job before heading out of town in the morning.

Two could play at Dean’s game, though, you arching your back deep into the table to make a shot and practically purring “your turn” when he was up, hovering close enough to see the goosebumps spread over his neck when he smirked and obeyed. He finished the game lightning fast with a string of laser-focused shots and you silently downed the rest of his drink as the guys ponied up, tossing thick folds of cash onto the table and shaking Dean’s hand. You didn’t even feel guilty for hustling them, partly for their ignoring you but mostly for the distraction of Dean’s hands reracking the balls and grabbing your coat, sliding a palm to your lower back with his pinky just barely under your waistband. It was all you could do to wait until you get to the back of the parking lot to shove him up against the Impala and bite his bottom lip almost too hard before slipping your tongue into his mouth.

You felt the smile and heard the groan at the same time, both pouring into your mouth as you ripped at Dean’s jacket, trying to yank his flannel off his shoulders with it. You abandoned the project to paw at Dean’s tee once you’d gotten the outer layers bunched down around his elbows, kissing him hungry and dark like he was yours to take.

One of Dean’s bitten off groans trailed off into a barely-there whimper. For all his posturing he loved this, when he could give up being predator and let go for a few minutes to be your prey. He didn’t start fumbling for the door handle until you flicked open his belt, his other hand clutching at a handful of hair at the back of your neck and kissing down your jugular fast and hard. Imagining the way Sam was going to roll his eyes at the hickeys only added adrenaline while Dean finally got the backseat door open, sliding you in and unfurling on top of you. Still working on his jeans, you dragged him tight between your legs.

“You are—so—mean,” you grinned between kisses. “Teasing me like—that.”

Dean’s eyebrows kicked up on his forehead, playing dumb like you knew he would. “Me? Never.” His act dropped the moment you finally got his fly open, wrapping your hand around his cock through his boxers and punching all the air out of his lungs. His head rolled back on his neck almost violently, impossibly long eyelashes grazing his cheekbones and lips parted around a breathy “fuck.”

His switch flipped, Dean scrambled to strip you as fast as possible. You tried to help him in large part to avoid tearing your clothes, ending up crushed into the leather of the bench seat somehow with one leg fully out of your jeans and underwear, the other knee tangled up in the fabric. He’d shoved up your shirt and bra and it would’ve been uncomfortable and tight if any of your senses had been turned to it instead of Dean wetting his middle finger to slip-slide along your clit, murmuring something about “I love it when you do that,” into the side of your neck as he swirled circles into you. After a few moments you were writhing in the seat and Dean pulled that finger back up, sucking you off of it before pushing it up inside you, then another.

“Fuck me, Jesus Christ Dean,” you moaned against his tongue, yanking him forward until he guided himself into you. The stunted warm-up helped but that first push was always a shock, and whatever sound you made was loud enough that Dean covered your mouth with his hand, grinning conspiratorially down over fingers still steeped in you as he thumped you into the car door.

“Quiet—someone’s going to hear you.”

You bit his hand and Dean yelped with a chuckle, pulling it back before you roped around his neck and kissed him lasciviously. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do,” you smirked.

He stabilized himself against the Impala’s door to pound into you harder, you wrapping your legs around his waist and whisper-moaning filthy nothings into his ear, biting his neck until suddenly you felt that finely honed awareness pique in the back of your mind, flaring hot enough to burn and you froze, thighs clamped tight around Dean.

“Baby, I—”

“Don’t fucking move—did you hear that?” you hissed.

Dean tried to pull back and tensed hard, shuddering into you as you tried to lift your head to see as surreptitiously as possible before the delayed processing hit you. When you looked up at Dean he didn’t meet your eyes, wincing over one shoulder with his arms still planted.

“Tell me you didn’t,” you whispered.

He was silent for a half-second, still didn’t meet your eyes. “I tried t—you fucking death-gripped me with your legs, what was I supp—”

“Oh my god, get off of me,” you yelped, trying your best to sit up and snatch at anything to clean yourself up before realizing it was useless. “FUCK! Fuck, Dean, fuck, what’re we going to—I can’t be—”

He leaned back into the seat to get back into his jeans and fasten his belt. “One thing at a time, okay? They’ve got like pills and stuff right? We don’t even know if it’ll take.”

You rolled your eyes angrily at him as you jammed your leg back into your jeans. “Our fucking luck it’s already triplets.” You ran a hand through your hair and took a deep, hard breath. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“No, I get it.” He slumped into the seat next to you. A long beat passed, you and Dean both sitting stupid, half-dressed in jeans and untied boots, hair all over the place. He cleared his throat. “Wanna head out?” His voice was small and rough; you knew he was sorry and maybe a little embarrassed. If you were more highly evolved you might’ve been able to console him more in that moment, but your heart was bounding through your chest about what was going to happen next—if. You managed to squeeze his hand in solidarity if nothing else before grabbing your stuff and moving to the front seat.

Minutes of silent road passed before Dean reached over and covered your knee with his hand. You capped it with one of yours and saw his lips twitch up at the corner in response.

He glanced over at you tentatively. “Maybe it uh, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know?”

Your incredulity spun you around in your seat so you were fully squared to him. “What?”

It was dark in the car but you thought maybe Dean’s cheeks started to look pink. “I don’t know, teaching a little squirt how to play catch or whatever, might be cute.”

“You cannot be serious.”

His eyes flicked back over to you and his lips pursed out, trying to look non-plussed. “Whatever. Just trying to make you feel better.”

“No, you’re not. Because that exact possibility is scaring the shit out of me right now and two minutes ago you were trying to convince me we were going to pill this away. So it’s—is that something you want? Having a kid someday?”

Dean took his hand back under the guise of using two hands to turn the steering wheel. “No.”

You waited, willed your own heartbeat to slow down. As you knew he would, Dean kept talking, keeping his eyes on the road more to avoid the vulnerability of looking in your eyes rather than out of necessity on the long, straight stretch of road. “I don’t know. It really seems that bad to you? Having something that’s really, like, ours? Just you and me?”

“We’re not talking about a something, Dean, we’re talking about a fucking kid.”

“Jesus, fine, forget it. Sorry I asked.”

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel and underlined that Dean Was Done Talking. What an absolute waste of a fun little night out, leaving Sam to have a couple hours alone. Now instead of getting back looser to a well-rested Sam, you were going to barrel into this crappy motel terrified with a pissed off Dean, dropping it all at the younger Winchester’s feet to deal with (again).

It took you until the motel parking lot to muster up the courage to touch Dean’s wrist. “Can we talk for a second?” Dean pretended to be annoyed but you could tell it was an act shielding a spot of tenderness. He flopped his hands in his lap and looked over at you expectantly. “Maybe it’s dumb to even talk about this; like you said, it might be nothing. But I just—I mean if—do you really want that? What would that even look like? Not even with me or whatever obviously but leaving hunting, leaving Sam—”

“Leaving Sam? Who said anything about leaving Sam?”

“You volunteering him as nanny?”

Dean sort of half-rolled his eyes and shifted to face you. “You know as well as I do that Sam doesn’t want to be doing this, not forever. I’m not saying we should be fucking trying, obviously, I’m just—I’m going to stick around no matter what happens. I wouldn’t ditch you with my mistake.”

You scoffed. “How noble.”

“Not like that. But I’m not a complete moron, I know we’ve played with fire a couple times and I know what I’m doing.”

“I guess I just figured that was heat of the moment stuff.”

A flash of something passed over his face, gone almost too fast for you to decipher. Offense? Sadness? “Yeah, part of it. But you—you’ve never even thought about it?”

“Thought about how I’d get a couple hundred dollars and find a clinic, yeah. I—we can’t be hunters with a baby. And I won’t be stashed in some safe house somewhere, see you and Sam for a day or two every couple months, be the loner single mom who can’t tell anyone anything about her life.”

“Single mom? I’m not a fucking deadbeat. I just said I wouldn’t make you deal alone.”

You shot him an exasperated look and took a deliberate breath to keep from rising to the bait. “So what, now you want to get married? Dean, I’m not even really your damn girlfriend.”

He reached for the handle fast enough that you had to scramble across the seat after him, Dean pausing in the open door. “Look, if it’s not what you want, that’s fucking fine. But don’t patronize me. Not my fucking girlfriend? Fuck you.”

You flew across the Impala and out of the passenger door, following Dean as he stormed across the asphalt. “Fuck me? How are you mad at me?”

He spun on his heel in the parking lot. “I tell you I’m willing to leave all of this—all of everything I really know, fucked up as that is—for you, would make you my whole future and you, you—your response is that you’re not even my girlfriend? Yeah, fuck you.”

“Dean, that’s not what I—” but he had already started storming back to the room. “DEAN!” you yelled, standing stock still in the middle of the lot. He paused with his back to you for what felt like a long second before turning back around. “I don’t want to bring this back to Sam. I’m sorry, okay? I’m just—I’m scared shitless about something that might not even happen and then you spring the idea of some shotgun wedding on me—”

He rolled his eyes without even a hair of humor, the muscles in his jaw tensing hard enough to catch the cold overhead light. “See, how can you—” he started, before taking a deep, deliberate breath and starting over in a tone that was forced calm. “That’s everything I ha—that’s all I can give you, is loving you and fucking being there for you. So if it’s that fucking cheap or skanky to you then I’m sorry for wasting your fucking time.” When you didn’t respond his spine straightened a few degrees. “What? Say something. Tell me how stupid I am for suggesting that being tied together might not ruin your fucking life.”

You felt that your mouth had fallen open but didn’t care. “You love me?”

Dean’s face contorted like he was looking at a mirage of something bizarre, curious and disbelieving and frustrated. “I lo—of course I love you, what the fuck?”

“Y—you’ve never said that to me.”

“What? Yes I have.” His voice softened a shade, the certainty his anger had afforded him beginning to slip away like sand at high tide, but his eyebrows stayed indignant.

You’d never been more certain of anything in your life, that Dean had never said that, because it was something you wanted constantly. Craved, even. Were kept awake at night by; the desire to have your feelings for Dean reciprocated too intense even to dream about. So you justified and bargained with yourself: if fooling around and this kind of casual commitment—girl who would cover him and Sam in a firefight and didn’t hound him for a label—was what he wanted, it was what you would give. Anything for more time with him or the chance to kiss those lips, to see the way he looked first thing in the morning, to get annoyed at his bullshit idiosyncrasies.

“No, you haven’t.” So many more words tried to burst forward from you that you had to bite your lip to be sure your mouth stayed closed.

Dean held your eyes, willing you to say something until he lost his patience. “Who says that stupid shit all the time anyway? You know I love you; I’d do fucking anything for you.” His voice had started to rise again but the heat behind it was some sort of hungry desperation, not hurt rage. “I’m—you don’t think I love you?”

You started to feel completely exposed by the industrial light, seared alive by green eyes. Shifting your weight from foot to foot didn’t help, and you fought angrily against the lump forming in your throat.

He looked over his shoulder and the barked “FUCK!” startled you despite yourself. “Kid, I—FUCK, that’s what this is? I loved you since that first fucking hunt in Cleveland! You really think I’m just…? This isn’t some Beaver Cleaver ‘I put you in a family way’ bullshit, I—I don’t know, I just, with you it feels like for the first time maybe it’s not insane to think that I could—that we could—whatever, man, I’m not fucking talking about this.” A hand shot up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous tic you recognized immediately.

You took two big steps toward him. “Dean, I just—I didn’t know. That’s—I mean I’m not going to say I’ve been thinking about it; but it—it’s more because I didn’t even think it was on the table, you know? I thought we were, I don’t know, really close friends that sleep together.”

Dean’s eyebrows flew up his forehead and he blew an almost-laugh out of his nose. “I don’t even know what to say to that. Never heard of any friends that live together and fuck raw.” His tongue slid along his molars and he sucked his teeth looking down at the ground, flicker of a despondent, self-deprecating smile twitching his lips. “Uh, noted, I guess. Sorry I misunderstoo—” and his eyes on the blacktop prevented him from seeing you cross the few strides between you, catching him off guard when you kissed him hard enough to bruise, hard enough to feel everything you wanted to say, wanted to scream (at him, from the rooftops, ohmygodhelovesme) take a backseat for a moment. He grunted at the impact, stunned for a half-beat before surging forward into you, wrapping into your hair and pawing at your hips with desperate effort to get closer. Feeling the grin against your mouth, you wished you weren’t standing in the absolute middle of the parking lot, frenzy to have something to push each other against building to a fever pitch inside you when Dean tugged your hair back to look at your face.

He looked downright pornographic; swollen, flushed pout and impossible lashes framing bedroom eyes Marilyn or Sophia would’ve envied. A washing of cockiness only amplified the effect, those pillowy lips pulling into a lazy smirk. “So is this a really-close-friends kiss or what? Trying to figure out how much tongue I’m supposed to slip you.”

You giggled good-naturedly, letting the weight of your head press into his palm. “You are such an asshole.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love it.” He sucked on that sweet pulse spot under your ear deeply, some accessory movement with his tongue enough to make you see stars and miss that it was you letting out that ungraceful whine-moan. When Dean spoke the air passing over your spit-slick neck exploded in goosebumps. “And I love you.”

Dean kissed you in that searching, delicious, eat-you-alive way he sometimes did after a particularly victorious hunt when he either had all the time in the world or didn’t give a fuck about making it; soothing-probing with a little edge of danger that hypnotized you. It pulled at the sweater of your being and tugged, steady and cloying until you were something loose and ephemerous in Dean’s hands, something equally likely to float away or explode right there in that parking lot, clearing a hundred miles in every direction and leaving behind only the imprint of your craving for him. It’s a miracle your brain was able to function at all. In the best circumstances this flayed you open and coming on the heels of having the most beautiful gift you could imagine dropped at your feet—Dean loves you, he loves you and always has—it felt like it could stop your heart and you wouldn’t care.

“I need about twenty minutes in a cold shower or I promise I’ll knock you up right the fuck here,” Dean growled, low with sin directly into your ear.

You laughed breathily. “I thought you said that might be a good thing.”

His chuckle was rough as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. He rested there for a moment before murmuring into your hair. “You really thought we were just messing around?”

“Dean, come on, I—don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

You swallowed shakily, tried to get a handle on your thoughts through the endorphins. “You—I—I’ve had it bad for you, thought if I really like, acknowledged it that it might fuck up what I did get to have of you or that some commitment would freak you out or whatever so I just—I don’t know, tried to be cool about it. Obviously we’ve always been kind of ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ when we were apart—”

Dean cut off your rambling. “Uh, has there been something you’ve been ‘don’t tell’-ing? I wasn’t ‘don’t ask don’t tell’-ing.”

“You haven’t?” you asked, surprised enough to be knocked off your nebulous trail of thought.

“No, I mean—no. You would’ve been fine with that?” The disbelief was so clear on his face it was practically casting a glow around him.

“Not fine with it—of course not—the thought of it kept me up nights, but I didn’t you to think I was some jealous freak.”

A smile spread over his face slowly, butter on hot toast. “So you would’ve been jealous?”

“I was jealous, I thought that’s what was happening.”

Dean’s head lolled back on his neck a few degrees, smirk cementing itself in place. “That’s kinda hot.”

It took the tension out of the moment and you chuckled under your breath, glancing down at your feet. “Yeah, you would say that right now, psycho.” It was breathy and shaky but Dean let you have it, throwing his elbow around your neck affectionately and tucking you into his side. With a kiss to the crown of your head, he started you both walking to the room lazily. At the door, you stilled him as he reached for the knob.

“Would you really want to keep it? Like, no bullshit, if that’s the situation, that I’m actually—you know, you wouldn’t want me to…?”

He licked his lips and bit the bottom one. They parted for a moment before he began to speak as his gaze flicked between your eyes. “Babe,” he finally breathed, and there was a note of croak there. “I’m in this for the long haul. If that’s where we’re going then we’ll deal with it. If you don’t—if you’re not there, I get it, but for me, I—yeah. If it’s going to be anyone for me, it’s you.”

“Even now?”

“I could think of worse things. Worse things have happened to me this week, probably.”

There were so many follow up questions running through your mind, so many rock-solid certainties that Dean wouldn’t really be able to quit hunting, that even figuring out how to go to an OB-gyn on fake IDs was likely to be more complicated than either of you realized, but his lack of hesitation was so sweet, so earnest, and you were still riding that he loves me high. And you might’ve gotten lucky; it might be nothing, no parking lot baby to contend with, just a tense reminder to be more careful next time. It was easier than you might’ve thought to give yourself permission to relish it for the night, consequences be damned.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

Text

without you by my side

i thought i posted this already APOLOGIES !!!

wordcount: 2.4k

_____

Sophie had barely talked to Rafe in the first two weeks she was in Spain, suddenly being consumed with a week-long orientation and then going straight into her internship, juggling her Spanish lessons and trying to just get by in an unfamiliar city. She’d texted him a few updates here and there, and had FaceTimed him briefly in her first week, but most of her spare time was spent getting to know her roommates and checking off random errands.

The time difference made things extra tricky, but Rafe made it a priority to talk with her, no matter where he was. When they finally got a chance to talk, she called him, grinning when the call connected. “Hi!”

He grinned to himself too, feeling warm just from the sound of her voice. “Hi, you. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d be so busy.” She worried her lip between her teeth and he shook his head quickly, although she couldn’t see him. “It’s alright, I knew you had things to do. Don’t stress about it. I want to hear about Barcelona, tell me what you’ve done!”

Sophie beamed and launched into an excited description of everything - her students in her classes, her new coworkers, how she got assigned to a cool project and how she got drunk on a two dollar bottle of wine that was ‘the best she’d ever had.’ Once she told him everything, she paused, letting silence fill the air.

“That sounds awesome, Soph.” He smiled, then frowned hearing her pause. “All good?”

“Yeah, just. I wish you were here. Um, I wear one of the shirts you let me take to bed, and I just realized it doesn’t really smell like you anymore. Washed it too soon, I think.”

Rafe let out a small sigh and clutched his phone a little tighter. “I can send you another one.” His voice had a teasing lilt to it, but he was dead serious.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s stupid.” She spoke quickly and he could distantly hear a few sniffles, then when she brought her phone back to her ear, voice nearly cracking. “I’m okay.”

“Wait, are you crying? Sophie...” He trailed off and she could hear the frown in his voice. He closed his office door so he could talk to her more freely, without having to keep his voice so quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just miss you a lot more than I thought I would.”

He immediately pressed the button to facetime her, smiling when she picked up, then instantly dropping it once he saw her teary cheeks. “I can change my flight and come visit sooner. I’ll do it, angel, you know I will.”

She smiled a little at the pet name, swiping her sleeve over her cheeks. “I know, but it’s fine. Once I get into a routine I’ll be okay, everything’s just a little jarring.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I thought I knew Spanish and turns out all I can really manage is where’s the bathroom and hello. Everyone speaks so quickly, I feel like an idiot.”

He grinned. “You’re not an idiot, baby, you’ve been practicing for this for months. Just don’t go around telling anyone else te amo.”

She sniffled a little as she laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Hey, how’s home? Have you gone surfing or something yet? Any big parties?”

He shrugged. “It’s alright. I think there’s a party this weekend, but.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Feels kind of strange without you by my side.”

“Aw, Rafe, you miss me.” She teased, fully aware she was in no position to poke fun, as she’d just cried over missing him two seconds ago.

He paused and glanced away for a second, not wanting to guilt trip her in the slightest. He just wanted to be sure she enjoyed her trip without having to worry about him. “You know I do.”

“I miss you too.” Her face dropped a little and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop herself from crying again.

“I want you to have fun though, okay? I’m only a call away, and I’ll see you soon enough. Three months will fly by. Easy.” He told her, almost trying to convince himself. Just the last two weeks alone had dragged by for him, especially with how quickly he’d had to leave all his friends in Columbus once the frat house closed for the summer.

“Two months and two weeks,” she corrected. “We’ve made it half a month already.”

He laughed and flipped the camera briefly to show his calendar pinned up behind his desk, little numbers scribbled onto each square. “I know, I’ve been counting down the days.”

“That’s sweet.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, where’s your ring?”

Sophie instantly blushed and grabbed her backpack, fumbling through it until she found the ring box lying haphazardly at the bottom (and brushed off a few crumbs before showing him). “Here! It’s right here, I have it, promise.” She quickly flipped open the box and slid it on her finger to show him.

“Do you not like it? I should have asked you before, I -”

“No! I love it, no, it’s not that.” She reassured him quickly. “I’m just really worried I’m going to lose it, like on the metro or walking to work, and I can’t have that happen. So I carry the box with me.”

“Oh.” Rafe sat back in his chair, thinking. “How about I get you a chain?”

“A chain?”

“Yeah. You can wear the ring on the chain, like a necklace, when you’re not wearing it on your finger. And when I come visit, we can take it in to Cartier and get it resized, if you need to.”

“No, it fits perfectly, I’m just nervous.” She smiled. “A chain sounds like a good solution.”

He nodded and wrote himself a reminder to order one and have it shipped to her apartment in Spain the second they were off the call. “You got it.” At a knocking on his door, he hesitated before glancing over for the source. “Hold on one second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rafe stood and opened the door, letting his dad in. Ward strode in and dropped a stack of papers on Rafe’s desk, regarding him with annoyance. “You need to go to the printing company right now and get these flyers fixed. Half of them have the ink fucked up and the phone number’s wrong on all of them.”

“You said I got a half hour lunch break.” Rafe replied evenly, not glancing at the papers - that were the secretary’s responsibility, not his.

“You can get a lunch break when you pay closer attention to the details.” Ward fished his card out of his wallet and slapped it on top of the stack. “Grab me lunch while you’re out. Don’t be long.” He turned to leave, but paused upon seeing Sophie waiting on the facetime call, Rafe’s phone on the desk. “Who is that?”

She froze, hair hiding her face a little, and wasn’t sure if she should hang up or not. Rafe made the first move and flipped the screen over so his phone was facedown on the desk. “I was talking to Sophie. Remember, I told you she’s in Spain, so the time difference -”

“I don’t care.” Ward interrupted. “Don’t let some girl distract you from work.” (Rafe swore he hadn’t acknowledged that Sophie was his girlfriend once.) He left abruptly and kicked out the door stopper as he went, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Rafe winced and took a breath before flipping the phone back over. He looked defeated, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sophie gave him a small smile but her heart was racing, embarrassed about how easily Ward was able to dismiss her. “Call me later, if you want? I’m staying in tonight.”

He glanced at the door again and cocked his head a little to catch the sounds out on the hallway, just giving her a nod and a forced smile before ending the call.

___

Rafe only had a week back in Columbus before he had to pack up and head back to the Outer Banks for one last summer. He had resigned himself to the fact he’d be going home, but was mainly fine with it until he learned Sophie wouldn’t be coming home too. Ever since then, he’d been dreading it - the beach days, country club and even his friends at home weren’t worth the amount of time he’d have to spend with his dad at work.

His dad had been preparing him over the last few years to take a high position in the company, and Rafe had never protested it, just figuring he wasn’t meant for anything else. It wasn’t until Sophie sent him a few links for internships in downtown Columbus that he began to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of more. He ended up applying to five internships in whole, not sure if he could handle too many rejections. Other kids in his major already had at least one, sometimes two internships under their belt, and Rafe’s resume with work at his dad’s company and a couple leadership positions in his frat didn’t exactly measure up.

He was rejected almost immediately from a couple internships, but interviewed for the three others based on a few strong recommendations from his professors. No matter what, he had to return to the Outer Banks and get some extra clothes and furniture to haul back with him for his senior house, so he settled on going back for a little while he waited to hear back from the other companies.

Later that night, he called her back after getting berated by his dad at work and taking the blame for two other interns’ mistakes. It was late, nearly one am for her on a Tuesday, but she picked up anyways, anticipating the call. “H’lo?” Sophie mumbled into the phone, half-asleep.

“I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick of it.” He confessed immediately and she sat up in bed, concerned. “What? What’s wrong, baby?”

“It’s my dad, I swear to fucking god. I have to get this internship, Soph, it’s the one excuse he’ll take for me not working for him.” Rafe huffed, trying his best to calm himself down, shaky fingers pressing the Facetime button.

She picked up right away, the lag in wifi barely interrupting their call. “Breathe, Rafe.”

He nodded quickly, taking a few shallow breaths, then frowned as he saw the pillow marks pressed into her cheek. “Fuck, did I wake you up? This fucking time zone shit -” He cut himself off, knowing he was just angry with his dad, not her.

Sophie shook her head. “No, um, was just scrolling through social media and laying down.”

It was a blatant lie, but Rafe accepted it anyways. “You need to sleep earlier.”

She shrugged, not wanting to share that she couldn’t sleep that well without him sometimes. “I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s just.” He paused and propped the phone up, then pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “He puts so much pressure on me, all the time. I’m supposed to take over this company and I don’t even know if that’s what I want to do, I’m a business major just because he told me that’d be a good idea, it’s just -” Rafe took a breath, trying not to get himself more worked up. “It’s a lot.”

Sophie frowned, catching herself reaching toward the screen for a moment in an attempt to comfort him. “You’ll get the internship in Columbus, I know you will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. You need to think more highly of yourself, Rafe.”

He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. “Kinda hard when no one else is thinking highly of me.”

“Rafe.” She caught his attention with a stern tone, frowning. “That’s not true, not in the slightest.”

“A little bit.”

“You’re a loyal friend, you’re generous, you’re smart. I know I can always count on you. You just need to be nicer to yourself.” Sophie encouraged, smiling when he gave her the tiniest hint of a shy smile.

“You don’t need to say all that.” He countered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I know. But I mean all of it.” She got up from her bed, taking the phone with her. “Hey, go look outside.”

“Why?”

“Just go look outside.”

He furrowed his brow but followed along, bringing his phone to his bedroom window and walking out to his balcony. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“You see the moon?”

“Yeah.”

She flipped her camera briefly, showing the glow of the moon in the sky over the city. “It’s the same moon, okay? We’re seeing the exact same thing.”

“Okay...” He trailed off, confused.

“It’s almost like I’m there with you.” She paused. “Kind of. We’re not that far apart.”

“Four thousand miles.” He argued, getting more miserable. “God, I miss you.”

Sophie nodded with a frown, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know. I miss you too, baby. I’m sorry your dad is being so shitty.”

“He’ll hear you.” Rafe half-teased, glancing around just to make sure he wasn’t down below on the deck or nearby.

Her jaw set, stubborn. “Good. When do you hear back about the internship?”

“In a couple days, probably. I had the final interview yesterday and they’ll give me a few weeks’ notice before I need to move back.” He opened his mouth, about to add another self-deprecating comment, but stopped himself. “It went okay.”

“I’m sure you were fantastic. Model candidate.” She grinned and he just ached for her even more. “It’s late for you, isn’t it.”

“Um...a little. But I can keep talking if you want. Any time.” She promised, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

He shook his head, smiling. “Go back to bed, angel. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be, I’m glad I got to talk with you again.” Sophie paused. “It’ll be okay, Rafe. I know it.”

“Yeah.” He agreed just to appease her. The last thing he wanted her to be doing when she was in Barcelona was worrying about him. “Love you. Sweet dreams, Soph.”

“Love you too.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #college rafe #frat rafe #outer banks fanfic #college outer banks #rafe x sophie #mine #i win the award for shittiest titles ever lmao sorry bout that

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ae0nx · 3 years

Text

FRUITS BASKET S3 EPISODE 1 + 2 RECAP!

Yayyy! Season 3! Finally! I’m hoping this season will make me understand/sympathise with Akito and maybe even Shigure a little bit more because... honestly? My opinions on episode 2?... I might get some flack for my opinions on them... 😬

But, first: I’d like to appreciate how on the Funimation app we got a little interview/message from a few of the english dub VAs! Specifically Colleen Clinkenbeard, Jerry Jewell, Eric Vale, Ian Sinclair and Brina Palencia (Akito, Kyo, Yuki, Kureno and Isuzu). And it was nice seeing some of their opinions of the characters they play and how much they’re emotionally invested in the story. (Ian’s such a nerd ‘I wanna see giant mechs later this season’ 😂 - I lowkey stan him lol)

You should definitely check it out if you’re interested in what they would have to say!

ANYWAYS, let’s get into it...

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

EPISODE 1

I really love this depiction of the original zodiac and how you can just tell from the tone of the scene how desperately the God of the Zodiac was clinging on to these connections that they had with the participants in the banquet. How much they clung on to and loved the cat... Also, interesting how Tohru’s narrating this scene... almost like she can relate to the desperation of wanting to keep things the same... but we’ll get to that later. But also, Tohru is a God

This new opening is beautiful, I love the way that camera moves around the still illustrations and how the general tone just hammers down that... this season is gonna be some real shit lol (which makes me nervous for the opening for the second half 😳). It’s so warped and the general blue, grey and black tone that follows around every Akito scene we get in the anime has bled into every scene in this opening concerning the rest of the zodiac. Almost... like something is decaying. It’s great, it’s just very sad lol. I love the song tho, issa bop.

One of my favourite things in stories is when we get a bigger villain than the ‘pronounced’ villain of the story. Ren’s introduction through a manicured outstretched hand towards Kureno and Hatori is so weirdly gross in what it insinuates (especially when you apply her connection with Shigure) but again... I wanna know why she’s such an asshole to Akito specifically besides the bad mental health management within the Sohma compound. I have an inkling of what it is through memory of the manga, but like Akito and Shigure... I just wanna understand why.

Also, Ren is gorgeous and I’m sorry for simping.

I mean... she’s kinda got a point? She just didn’t need to be so mean about it lol. It’s pretty clear that the connection the zodiac have to each other is real and something they cannot control. BUT, wouldn’t it be easier if this connection wasn’t perpetuated by outer circles of the family and if Akito herself wasn’t so cruel about it? But, I guess Akito - through her relationship with her mother - kinda doesn’t know how to genuinely show love and affection. (Which brings me into my thoughts of how the manga ends and how I kinda... have a few problems with it which I will get to... when that comes lol)

Lol - weeeeeeeee! (flashes back to Tohru being yeeted into the river). Is this a part of Akito’s god-like powers?!

Again. She’s got a point! They’ve both got a point. But, they’re both the source of the problem. It’s really painful to see two mentally ill people duke it out. This whole institution is just rotten.

- I am super curious about what Akira’s relationship was like with the zodiac and if it was just as dark. I’m gonna assume it slightly already was, as the exclusion and degradation of the cat curse is already dark in itself but maybe the rest of the zodiac were just fine with how things were? I dunno if we actually will get the full backstory of Akira and his zodiac but I’m definitely intrigued

Ok, but if four crying children came up to me after I’d just consummated with my partner to reach out at my stomach chanting ‘we’ve been waiting for you’. That would disturb me and scar me for a while too so... 😂. I know it’s supposed to be ethereal and spiritual but... dude, wtf lol

...I don’t like how much I’m into Ren being such a Villain™ 😅

- Akito being seen as a crying child by the older zodiac members has always been interesting to me because yes, they could see her as that through mainly the age gap, general empathy and the way she sometimes irrationally acts out. But, also the depiction of Gods being seen as children having tantrums has being reflected in many different beliefs and myths (especially Greek Mythology) and I just like the fact that this all powerful, all knowing being would be compared to a child. It gives you a different perspective on power.

- Is the paper note in the CD case that Kureno gave back to Tohru an extra addition or was it always there?...

Mannnn... I really wanted Isuzu to fuck shit up after seeing Tohru so upset but... *le sigh* (outfit’s still on point)

But, I’m so glad we get an equal Ethereal Goddess to save Tohru! HANAJIMA! We love her, we stan her. <3

- ‘Tohru will be in my custody’ 🤣 I personally think Hana’s bluntness was a kindness in her conversation with Yuki because if I found Tohru upset? I’d automatically start firing metaphorical shots at everyone in that house

- Shigure fearing Hana makes me sleep better at night <3

Hana’s just like ‘hmm... sounds like someone I know... 👀’ I’m here for this parallel between Tohru and Kureno in the hopes that Tohru doesn’t ever get in as bad a situation as Kureno. Ahhh... Kureno... (Also, Laura Bailey was killing it in this scene as always)

- Hmmm... there’s something terribly poetic about Kyo saving Tohru’s scarf from oncoming traffic... but also, Kyo can’t help himself aha

KWEEEN! I love this look for Uo, it’s very Kyoko. I already said this in Season 1 but I STILL need to get wool-lined jacket. Outfit Appreciation goes to her - 3.5 stars.

<3<3<3 Friendship is magic!

- Megumi is such a good egg as always! From him going to get Uo to him being so wise with his outlook on love and how it takes time to really flourish. The best!

- This whole episode ends really nicely from Tohru’s return home and Kyo washing and returning Tohru’s scarf and Yuki being happy to see Tohru and Shigure being somewhat decent. It was nice to get a bit of relief after the tornado of emotions

Also, this was a nice screencap! Even Kyo is smiling!!! :))))

EPISODE 2

*takes sip of wine* ...ok.

👀... later lol

This scene really highlighted how Tohru is starting to see Shigure and the whole zodiac curse in a new and darker way. For the first time, it felt like Tohru was a little bit more guarded around Shigure and I hope they delve more into this season. Her description of her feeling around the curse being like a ‘dark well with no bottom in sight’ is pretty spot on. Ugh.

Aw! Is this the last we’re getting of Small!Momiji?! I love them :3 (Momiji’s shorts look a little shorter too, like he’s growing out of them ahaha)

- I haven’t found the Yuki fan club funny since their first scene in the anime but their poor disguises made me chuckle

- Yayyy! Kyo has an obsessive fan club too? ...Yay?? 😅 haha

- ‘I won’t kill them but they can go to hell’ why is Kyo speaking like me?! 😂

The fact that we got a scene of Yuki kinda admirably looking at a group of friends (boys and girls) playfully physically interacting and he unconsciously reaches out to Machi almost like he forgot about the curse? Heart eyes... 🥰

Again. Relatable. 😂 God, Yuki. You really are an airhead. Bless your soul. <3

And that look says it all. Damn. Kyo’s sense of hopelessness is heartbreaking but I still stand by it being understandable considering his circumstances.

Kyo freaking out about Tohru being visually upset was super cute but I couldn’t even appreciate the fluff because the whole scene had such a morbid tone to it, despite it being so visually romantic:

KYO’S FACE!!! 💔 Ahhh, my emotions!!!! Also, that shot from Tohru’s perspective under her bangs is great.

- Poor Mitsuru, I’d ask for extra pay just for dealing with Shigure’s ass.

Hahah - what a great metaphor!

- Now that Shigure’s ‘true form’, so to speak, has been fully exposed all his comments that are supposed to be teasing come off so much more awful. Him insinuating Mitsuru wasn’t ‘upper class’ enough for Ritsu was awful

COLLLDDDD. AS. IIIIIIICE. But seriously, Shigure this whole episode was cold in many different ways but I definitely felt this personally since I’ve been told something like this by a family member before... 😕 Also, it’s just gross how both Shigure and Akito are taking their own personal issues and mistrust of each other out on to other people. The curse and the institution behind the curse complicates a lot of feelings for sure, but there’s a difference between wrong and right and I get the general feeling that they both are just using the muddy waters to their advantage. Although, I feel like Shigure is taking more advantage of this than Akito but I’ll get into that in a bit.

- There’s also something about this episode that made me sympathise a lot more with Kureno in a more understandable way. But, it also makes me question the ending of this whole story and the resolutions that happen and what life for the whole Sohma institution/family looks like after the curse has broken.. I guess, I should read ‘Fruits Basket Another’ after this, huh?

😳... Shigure is so petty, man. Really?!

So...

I hate this relationship. I’m sorry. I know there are loads of people who like this relationship. And I’m still giving myself space for the show and the story to convince me why it’s worth it. But... I really don’t like this relationship. It’s so toxic. In so many ways. And in a weird way, this scene made me feel a LITTLE bit more for Akito than Shigure. It feels like Shigure gaslights everyone in his life but none no more than Akito, herself. I hate the fact that he keeps saying he loves her while hurting her or disregarding her. You know, almost like he’s treating her like a child. But on the other hand, I hate the fact that Akito has lowkey gaslighted herself into thinking she can treat people however she wants because she is ‘God’. I understand this is part of the way she was brought up and it seems like life in the Sohma compound has been very isolating for her so there’s been no one really to show her better (or have the confidence to show her better). But, at least I can be a little bit more sympathetic on her side than Shigure’s. I dunno... it’s just all very ugly and toxic and I’m hoping that it’ll turn around somehow.

I just hope it’s not one of those relationships that are ‘so good cos it’s so bad’.

...I’ll briefly talk about the ending theme to end this on a good note lol:

I really like this ending! I dunno if they’re gonna have two endings and two openings for this season but this ending definitely feels like it should’ve gone in the second half as it’s almost spoiler-y? But, then again what anime opening and ending isn’t packed with spoilers lol

All the illustrations are gorgeous, I’m assuming they were drawn by Takaya-sensei herself as it seems very much in her current style of artistry but my favourite illustrations are definitely the ones shown above! <3

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

Ahhh! Fin! Sorry, about this one being super long and you probably having to scroll past a whole lot on your dash 😝 As usual, I had a lot to say. I’m open to hearing from people who actually like Shigure and Akito’s relationship btw, it’s just that everything before and episode 2 just really didn’t sail the ship for me, personally. I do want to understand! Haha

See you soooon!

#fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket season 3 #fruits basket 2021

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roxa-sos · 4 years

Text

princess - jj maybank

jj maybank x kook!reader

tw; verbal and physical abuse. bad dads >:(. sexual assault. drugs. rafe cameron lmao.

request; “Hey can you do a request where jj works for y/n’s kook family and one day he eves drops on how her dad is forcing her to date rafe for business. All rafe wants is sex and drugs and y/n doesn’t want any part of it. But her father yells and almost hits her. On her way out of the house to ask rafe to date she sees jj moving the lawn. They both kinda have a thing for eachother, they flirt. Jj asks what’s wrong and she vents about rafe and her uptight life. He invites her to join the pogues“

a/n -- this is my first non-anon lengthy request so i’m pouring my heart and soul into this :’) also this hits kind of close to home bc i have a shitty dad, so i’m basing y/n’s shitty kook dad off of my own shitty rich dad... enjoy :)

“morning, daddy.” you saw your dad standing next to the dining room table as you looked through the kitchen, trying to find something to eat. such a bougie lifestyle, yet you never really fit in.

that morning, you’d woken up to the noise of the kid that always mowed your lawn. god, he was loud, but he was good company when you shouted at him from your second story window. he was one of those kids your dad told you to stay away from. lowlives, whatever he felt like calling them. you could still hear the hum of the motor through the open windows as your dad started talking.

“good morning, baby.” he greeted you with about as much emotion as you gave him, setting his phone down on the table. “you know the camerons. yacht club friends, ward and i go for cigars and golf every few weekends?” your dad spoke about them as if they were rather obscure, but ward cameron owned the outer banks, so obviously you’d know the family whether you knew them personally or not.

you knew sarah cameron through school anyways. she was the kook queen. actually, you were both like kook royalty. your dad was loaded, her dad was loaded, therefore you had to get along with the camerons no matter what you wanted.

“yeah.” you didn’t feel like your dad deserved too much of an answer from you. you didn’t know where this was going, anyways. it always seemed like he wanted something from you, like that since you were his kid, you owed him something.

“and rafe, rafe cameron’s a good kid. nice and proper. he’s growing into good money. honest guy. your age.”

your dad even sounded slimy.

everything he said was wrong. rafe cameron was... chaos. rich, unchecked, powerful chaos. rafe cameron was mean and reckless.

but the change in your dad’s tone caught your attention. it made you turn to fully face him, abandoning the cereal that sat in the dumb plastic container that sat on the counter.

he wanted something from you. your dad was always convincing people - selling an idea to them before he’d even made an offer. that was the kind of guy he was. he was disgusting. and he was already asking you to do disgusting things.

“sure.” you didn’t feel like arguing with him either, though you could tell he was getting fed up with your improper responses. “do you want something from me?” you asked, leaning your hand on the counter. you and your dad had been on a good streak lately, no matter what you thought of him. you gave him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he was trying to be nice... or something. but you had to be straightforward to get anything from him.

“alright, let’s get down to it, then,” your dad chuckled, putting up his hands defensively as he crossed the kitchen to stand next to you. he sounded like he was socializing with one of his friends. “it’d be good for... the family, it’d be good if you and rafe got together. dated. good for us, the camerons, good for the outer banks.” he spoke with his hands, making broad gestures.

he could tell you didn’t like the idea as soon as your expression changed.

“hard pass, sorry daddy.” you laughed like he’d been joking himself. his expression changed to something darker, like he was frustrated.

“sorry, you must’ve misinterpreted me or something, y/n. you’re smarter than that. i’m not proposing this, i’m telling you to do this. you don’t know what’s good for you yet, you’ll understand.” he put his hands down like he’d just finished the conversation. he’d made the decision for you, he was done talking about it. but you weren’t.

“dad, he’s a sex obsessed drug addict who feels my friends and i up at parties topper holds. i’m not dating him.” you weren’t getting aggressive, but you weren’t about to drop this and give in to your dad’s wishes.

“shut - would you just shut up, y/n? he’s a respectable boy who you’d be lucky to have.” your dad made his argument again, raising his voice. he looked you up and down like you were something he was selling, but something he was disappointed in. your jean shorts and tube top obviously disappointed him, but that was your goal with the outfit anyway. pissing off your dad in a nonchalant way that he wouldn’t bring up unless you made him mad some other way.

“no? i won’t shut up, he’s-” you didn’t get a chance to finish before he started yelling.

“y/n, i’m not dealing with this disrespect right now. you’re being a crybaby, you’re going to go over to the cameron’s and you’re going to ask him to take you to the yacht club later. i’ve made myself clear.” his voice was booming and terrifying, and the only thing you could focus on.

“i’m not doing that, dad-” he never let you finish when you argued. you took a step towards him as he began to back away from you, not wanting that to be the end of the argument, but he grabbed your wrist and raised his free hand in a threatening manner.

“don’t make me do this, baby. i won’t forgive myself.” he didn’t sound like he would regret it, but you flinched. you were scared, like you always were.

you stayed quiet, and after a few seconds, he lowered his hand and let go of his death grip on your hand. “good.” he muttered, leaving the kitchen.

you felt like a coward, but you’d saved yourself from a black eye.

yet, you possibly signed up for many future injuries by obeying your father.

you figured you just needed to get it over with. abandoning whatever breakfast you’d planned on having, you headed to the foyer to put on your shoes and leave. knowing rafe cameron, he probably wasn’t even out of bed yet. you’d unfortunately catch him or one of his friends before you even left the neighborhood.

this couldn’t be that bad. it was... for the family.

you slid your feet into some sandals, and you couldn’t help but think about what you were heading towards. drugs. long nights. bruises. y/n cameron. your own father was having you do this, almost on free will.

opening the door, you looked across the lawn to the source of a noise you’d blocked out. you’d forgotten that one of the pogues was mowing your damn lawn.

he was blond. wearing some dumb surfer-dude snapback and cargo shorts. it looked like his shirt was tucked into his back pocket, and he was glistening with sweat. the lawnmower stopped humming when he saw you, and he raised his hand to wave.

you figured it couldn’t hurt to talk to him. just to delay the inevitable.

a few strides across the lawn and you were in front of him, and it looked like he had a dumb smile on his face.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the lawnmower. he used the name jokingly, and he’d been doing so ever since you met. he compared you to a princess locked in a tower - rapunzel. it was cheesy, but it didn’t take you long to realize that he wasn’t really wrong. “trouble in paradise?”

you scoffed, but a smile stayed on your face. this was dumb, he was dumb. but he was nice to talk to.

“rafe cameron is what’s wrong” you laughed, hearing his name come out of your own mouth stung.

jj grimaced, shaking his head. “ouch. rich boy causing problems? that’s news to me.”

“nice joke. funny.” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. he only knew the half of it. “no, actually, i’m on my way to ask him to... date, i guess. long term stuff. for the family, or whatever my dad was talking about.” you rambled a bit, half talking to yourself.

jj almost looked concerned, the smile barely fading from his face. you didn’t want to confide in him, but he seemed to welcome it.

“and, and i don’t want to,” you continued, shaking your head, “my dad’s just... he’s a scary guy. you know? i’ve been dealing with him for forever, but he’s just... terrifying when you don’t do what he wants you to. that’s why i live such a comfortable life, though, right? i should be thankful.” you laughed in a bittersweet manner, gesturing to your obnoxious house.

“that’s how things work around here, princess.” jj laughed, watching you look at the world the way he did.

“well, yeah. yeah, i know, but he’s making me go and... get with rafe cameron. rafe. cameron. rafe fucking cameron! isn’t that insane? and when i said no, he got all loud and he grabbed me and i almost made him hit me.” you unintentionally put the blame on yourself, rubbing your sore wrist.

jj’s eyebrows furrowed when you mentioned your dad getting a little physically violent with you.

“that’s... not cool.” he didn’t know what to say. he was nowhere near letting you in on some of the more personal parts of his life, but... he could... relate.

“no, no it’s not.” you agreed, taking a deep breath. god, you were almost crying. you didn’t even know when the tears had started threatening to come out. “it’s just... i’ve done everything. i’m, like, the perfect kook girl. i do everything he says. i’m nice to my mom. i take care of his stuff. i run with his people. you’d think he’d let me have a say in something like this.”

jj stayed quiet again, biting his lip.

“but no, no, i’m dumb for thinking like that. freedom is a privilege i don’t have. i’m a rich girl in a cage.” you nodded, laughing a little more. you sounded so sad - like, you didn’t know why you were complaining.

“you should meet my friends.” jj suggested, shrugging like it was a random idea he threw out there. “we aren’t into drugs. well, okay, that’s a lie, our livers are all probably shot and i’m a pothead, but we’re nice.” he joked, rambling a little himself.

he couldn’t save you, but he could sure as hell make things a little better.

“boat rides. fishing. the marsh. not a yacht and definitely not a yacht club, but i like to think we’re a little cooler.” jj kept going, waiting for your answer.

“yeah. sure, why not?” you didn’t have to be the perfect daughter. especially when you were being treated like shit by the people you gave everything to.

you could... probably take a few beatings. it was worth a good time, though.

“good to know. we’ll swing by tomorrow morning, unless you want to get out of here asap?” he suggested, looking at the rest of the lawn he had to mow. he’d be screwed if he didn’t wrap it up, but he seemed to think he had his priorities in order.

“as soon as possible, please.” you admitted, watching him push the lawn mower next to your house, just out of view.

“alright, princess. let’s get you out of here.”

a/n -- psa i love jj. in case u didn’t already know. send me more requests :’)

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onaf · 4 years

Text

Of Dogs and Children

Believers in Christ have their hang-ups, their own theological baggage when it comes to the faith. This doesn’t always come in the form of outright denial of the core tenets of the Christian religion. But it can mean there are teachings that are quick to be absorbed mentally, yet slow to penetrate the heart.

For me, one of the most difficult things to understand at heart about Christ is how He condescends to sinners like myself. When I read Matthew 11: 28-30, Christ’s character takes on a peculiar timbre:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

To some, this may be an inconsequential passage. But I wonder how one can think that! What is easier for me to understand is that Christ - the One through whom the universe was created - has authority to judge the living and the dead. It isn’t hard for me to accept how He performed miracles, for what is difficult for the Christ? Theophanies? Old Testament prophecies about Jesus? Awesome!

But a Christ that is lowly? A savior that is gentle when with but one word He could annihilate all that is unholy (namely myself)? A King to whom I am - by rights - condemned forever, but gave Himself as a ransom for me? More food for thought from Hebrews 4:14-16...

“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

I think many of us can understand that God would be a righteous judge against ungodliness, that He has wrath against sin, that He wields great power, and that He is holy. But I hope I’m not alone in finding His closeness to the downtrodden, the fallen, and the broken as being really hard to wrap my mind around!

This is a deeply practical problem. You can’t divorce theological conviction from how you live your daily life. Finding Christ’s meekness a difficult concept to absorb, I sometimes lean toward an imbalanced life. Without meditating enough on Christ’s mercy and sympathy to the struggles of a wicked man like myself, I gravitate more toward what I believe I do understand: my wretchedness.

What do you get when you have a believer who understands that he is a sinner deserving of eternal judgement but struggles to accept that he is a recipient of mercy? Though his heart yearns for Christ and His righteousness, a lie makes the honest truths seem beyond reach. The lie is: your redemption is insignificant.

A heart in this condition is divided. The honest hope of this man is truly in Christ, and his salvation has been secured already by the grace of God. But a pernicious untruth has craned the neck of this believer to look inward at the remaining filthiness of sin and to believe this to be the most accurate representation of his state. The Spirit-led part of his heart hopes for the Kingdom of God, but - since his focus has been on the irredeemable sin of his flesh - he has been convinced that the honest hopes of his heart are actually born of self-deception. It is a confusion of the highest order, one that prevents a Christian from living out his true calling with his undivided attention - and a confusion with which I am well-acquainted.

In short, instead of believing that I am a child of God by grace, a fallen part of me condemns me as if I was not. So, in my weaker moments, my heart resorts to an unholy compromise: that perhaps I am welcome in the house of God, but only as a dog. I may be in the dining room, but I only lay on the floor and eat the crumbs from the table while others more worthy garner God’s more rapt attention.

Matthew 15:24-28 says...

“He answered, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ But she came and knelt before Him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ And He answered, ‘It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.’ She said ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.”

There’s a theme there that I grabbed onto a long time ago. I knew that I had been bought with a price, the Lord wouldn’t let me forget that. But my heart refused to unfocus from my sinful nature. It instead used this passage in Matthew and keep me where I didn’t belong. The mistake in my thinking was that Christ redeemed me who was dead in my trespasses and sins (Eph. 2:1) and made me a dog - a second rate, quasi-Christian. For the hopeless, going from being dead to being a dog isn’t that bad of a deal. Unless you know better, it’s a great deal. From being cast into outer darkness to at least being in your gracious masters’ dining room is a worthy trade! Everyone knows, however, a dog has no share in the inheritance of the master's children.

But this falls short of what the Bible teaches. To settle for being a dog is a tragedy when, in reality, you’ve been adopted as a son or daughter! The obsession with relegating oneself to the station of a cur is to, in reality, choose to disbelieve the promises of God. It is a tacit allegation of dishonesty on God’s part - saying that He is either not that mighty to save or that your sin makes you an exception to the redemptive rule. This is faithlessness hidden under the veil of fake piety.

Consider the following:

“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Luke 19:10

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.” Romans 8:1-2

But most importantly, this:

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died - more than that, who was raised - who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:31-39

To say to your own soul that the best God did for you was to bring you from death to a grudgingly-awarded spot on the floor in His general vicinity (with the unspoken threat of expulsion for the slightest mistake) is to do violence to His mighty ability to bring about your salvation (Zeph. 3:17). Why does my heart insist on its own harm by attempting to shackle God’s redemptive work?

One of the greatest resources I’ve encountered lately in dealing with this struggle is found in The Bruised Reed, by the Puritan Richard Sibbes. A great quote here:

“If Christ should not be merciful to our weaknesses, He should not have a people to serve Him. Suppose therefore we are very weak, yet so long as we are not found amongst malicious opposers and underminers of God’s truth, let us not give way to despairing thoughts; we have a merciful Saviour.” (pg. 58)

Even to those who are in Christ but find themselves in sin - as we do all too often - there is hope. Sibbes continues:

“What course shall such take to recover their peace? They must condemn themselves sharply, and yet cast themselves upon God’s mercy in Christ, as at their first conversion. And now they must embrace Christ the more firmly, as they see more need in themselves; and let them remember the mildness of Christ here, that He will not quench the smoking flax.” (pg. 60)

Through these struggles, I have learned some things:

Christ is indeed lowly enough in heart so as to understand our weakness and not despise it.

The redemption that true believers find in Him is no lie, it is not done by half measures - since it is with the death and resurrection of Christ’s whole body that we have been purchased. Thus, the redemption is total, to be fully seen in due time.

To doubt one’s standing with God after being redeemed by Christ is to accuse Him of being less than He is. Do you believe Him to be an effective Savior? Then you must trust that He is qualified to save!

When a sinner is saved by grace, it is to no small and insignificant station. Consider the following:

“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.” Romans 8:15-17

Where, then, is there room for God’s children to act as though they are just dogs at the dining room table?

#Christianity church puritan puritans salvation doubt bible scripture dogs children despair hope Jesus Christ

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years

Text

Follow the Beacon Taiyang—Fair Grounds

[Link to Masterpost]

[Oof, Tai’s chapters are long.]

"Okay, that's enough," Tai said, standing up and stretching.

"Huh?" Qrow glanced up from his notes for half a moment. "...Oh. Thanks for your help."

"What? No. I'm not bailing, I'm saying we need a break." He lifted the book out of his hands and snapped it shut. "Aren't you hungry? We've been working for hours."

"Uh… yeah."

Qrow had fallen pretty far behind during his bout of "flu", but at least he was eating and talking again. Since… well, since then, they'd been careful not to leave either of the twins alone too much. Which meant spending a lot more time holed up in their room.

Not that that's a bad thing, he thought irritably as his scroll buzzed in his pocket again. What part of taking some time off made Dan think he wanted to text with him all day?

He glanced over at the girls, also bent over their desks. Raven was still unusually withdrawn—which, for her, meant that her average words-per-day had gone from fourteen to about six. And Summer…

It was like losing Sterling all over again, finding out he was murdered. At least—that's how Tai felt, and it wasn't even his dad.

That really had been the worst winter vacation ever, hadn't it.

"Let's go check out the fairgrounds," Tai said to the room at large. "They're supposed to be setting up for the Vytal Festival today."

Qrow paused, one hand still reaching for the book in his fist. "I thought Professor Mikado said that was next year."

"The Tournament happens on a bi-annual basis, but people celebrate every year." He grinned. "And it also means that our first official missions as Huntsmen-and-Huntresses-in-training are coming up too."

"Oh yeah." Qrow scratched the back of his neck. "I forgot."

"What kind of job should we pick?" Tai asked, setting the book on Qrow's shelf before opening the door and holding it for everyone else. Slowly, they got up and gathered their things. "Search and destroy? Wall patrol? ...Migration tracking?"

"Ha, ha," Summer rolled her eyes as they followed him into the hall.

"We are gonna have to pick."

"...What about a bounty mission?" Summer asked absently.

Tai stared. She'd never talked about doing that kind of work before—was she thinking about revenge? He glanced back at the twins and found a dual reflection of his own shock. When had she told them?

She glanced back at the three of them and scowled. "It's just practice—godssakes, Tai, it's our first mission. I'm not saying we should fly to Anima!"

"...I…" he scrambled for a way to tell her that no, this is a terrible idea and also I think we should talk about this, maybe with your mom, but all he managed to say was "I don't think they let first years take bounty missions."

"Oh, yeah," she muttered, pushing out of the exit. "I forgot."

The door clanged shut behind her, everyone else still stuck in place. "She told you about her dad?"

"N-no?" Qrow stammered. "Is… is she okay…?"

Summer probably wouldn't mind them knowing—and he could really use help talking her down. "We thought he died on a mission, but we found out over break that he was…" It was still so hard to say. "Murdered. I guess she's taking it harder than I thought."

"I'm sorry. That's awful."

"Come on, we'd better catch up."

Summer was only a few paces ahead, and they hurried after her. "So, should we stay in Vale or head out into the wilds?" she asked, as if nothing happened.

Raven folded her arms against the chill. "Why don't we just go with Professor Mesánychta?"

"Because you're the only one she likes."

"She likes me," Qrow protested.

Tai grabbed her hand. "Summer. Don't you think we should talk about this?"

"Aren't we?" she asked, barely glancing at him before pulling away. "I'd like to get out of the Kingdom. It'd be good experience, even if you two laugh at our outdoor skills the whole time—"

"Summer!"

She stopped, finally turning to face him directly. "What?"

"Are you planning on going after them?"

"I don't know who they are," she said evenly. "But we'll run into them when we start working for Ozpin. Fighting people is different from Grimm, that's why it's a separate career track. The earlier we start, the better prepared—"

"Is that what you want to do? After we graduate?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

Tai rubbed his arm, eyes dropping to the sidewalk. "I… I haven't thought about it, to be honest."

Summer shrugged, turning back down the path toward the fairgrounds. "Are you going to the dance with Dan?"

Oh. Forgot about that. "No." Probably why he keeps calling me.

"Want to go as a team then?" she turned, smiling as she turned to walk backwards and gauge their reactions.

"Sounds good to me." Dan might leave him alone if he was with his team the whole time.

Raven almost flinched as the attention turned to her. "I can't meet the dress code."

"Well, you've been eyeing my sewing machine since I brought it back from break," Summer said. "Let's alter something from Ramparts and I'll teach you how to use it!"

"O-okay."

"Maybe we should go now, then," Tai said, checking the time. "You'll probably want tomorrow to work on it. The dance is Friday and who knows how much homework we'll have this week."

"Who's 'we'? Summer demanded, taking Raven's arm. "Dress shopping is strictly Girl Time."

Tai leaned toward Qrow and fake-whispered behind his hand, "Except when it isn't."

"Huh?"

"Anyway, you two have fun. We're going to see if any of the food stalls are open yet," he continued aloud, carefully putting his arm around Qrow.

"But—"

"My treat. I want to eat outside."

"Great! See you at dinner!" Summer shouted, pulling Raven toward the docks. Tai didn't want to risk jostling Qrow's bad shoulder wrong so he let him go before continuing on toward the fairgrounds.

"...Think I can get away with just wearing the uniform?" Qrow muttered.

"Well I'm not renting a tux. We'll make some bow ties out of scrap fabric and change it up, how about that?"

"You mean I'll make some bow ties," he teased, quietly. "You can't sew."

"If the three of you are going to keep making fun of me, I'll have to learn." They rounded the forge, and the rows of tents finally came into view. Three or four were fully set up and a couple dozen were nearly finished—Tai hadn't expected it to go so fast.

"They're still not done?" Qrow asked.

...But not fast enough, apparently. "Okay, well, not all of us are intrepid hunters-slash-wilderness explorers," Tai joked, "and only put up tents once or twice a year at most." That got a laugh out of him. "Camping is just too in-tents for us city-dwellers." That got him a laugh and a light punch on the arm. "Hey, I thought you liked my puns."

"Yeah, but Summer's not here so I thought I'd fill in."

They walked around the outer edge, trying to stay out of the crew's way as they looked around. Most were food stands from restaurants in Vale, popped up to serve the tourists from outlying settlements that always flocked to Beacon this time of year.

Qrow shuffled oddly on his feet for a step, pulling Tai's attention from the activity around one of the largest stalls back to his teammate. He walked normally for a few more steps, and then limped again. A few more paces and Tai realized he was stepping on the tent stakes as they walked past them, trying to push them deeper into the ground before moving on.

"Oh come on, we're not that bad with tents," he said the next time Qrow's pace faltered.

He froze. "Uh—"

CRASH.

They both jumped about a foot—the largest tent, that most people were working on, had collapsed on a truck full of lights. Even several paces away, and buried under torn fabric and snapped poles, he could see a whole lot of scratched paint and broken glass.

"Ouch. I stand corrected."

Qrow stepped back, horrified gaze fixed on the accident. Hands shaking.

"H-hey, man, what's wrong?" Tai asked, and his eyes snapped toward him, stretched wide in fear. So this is why panic is the first thing we learn about in first aid, he thought in a detached way as he slowly stepped forward to put his arm around Qrow, holding his elbow instead of his shoulder. "It's okay. Take deep breaths with me." It only took about a minute for the shaking to stop. "…You want to get out of here?"

He nodded.

"Sounds good." Tai started back toward the castle, guiding Qrow along with him. "We can just grab some to-go boxes from the cafeteria. I don't think any of the food stalls are even open." Ugh, that was just typical of his luck lately. It had upset Qrow and it would have been pointless to boot. "Do you want to talk about it?"

To his surprise, Qrow slowed to a stop.

"…Qrow?"

"They…" he swallowed, eyes fixed on the grass, choosing each word. "They hurt me when I messed up the tents."

Tai's stomach churned. Gods, what was he supposed to say to that? What could possibly make that any better? "I'm sorry." The words tasted flat. "They were shitheads. You deserved better." He shook his head. "Man, they can't be bothered to deal with their own tents and then they hurt you for making a mistake? People are worse than Grimm."

Qrow blinked. "I never thought of that."

"Oh. It's, uh, something our parents said a lot."

"They…" Qrow didn't seem to hear him. "If they'd taken six fucking seconds to check their own damn stakes they would have been fine."

Had he helped? Gods, he hoped that helped. "Can… can I ask you something?"

"…What?"

"Why didn't you leave? Sooner, I mean."

He fumbled with his thoughts for a moment. When he spoke he couldn't meet Tai's eye. "I was scared."

"Of being on your own?"

His eyes stayed fixed on the ground as he picked through his words like walking through a field of Creep burrows, and the answer was barely above a whisper. "They kill people who run away."

Tai's whole body seized with a chill like he'd been dropped in ice water. Instinctively, he grabbed at Qrow's hand. "Are—are they looking for you?"

"N-no. We—" he swallowed again, and Tai squeezed his hand. "We convinced them to send us here. So we could protect them."

Who in their right minds would send someone they'd treated so badly to a Huntsman Academy? Then again, Dan had proved that Qrow didn't have a malicious bone in his body. "Don't go back."

Qrow shook his head. "Never." The word rang with lethal certainty.

"…What happens when they realize?"

"If I can earn Valian citizenship, I won't have to go back to Anima, at least. …I didn't really think I'd make it this far," his voice petered out and Tai's stomach twisted. From what Summer said, he almost hadn't. "P-please don't tell Raven I said any of this. It's supposed to be secret."

"I won't," Tai promised with a pang of guilt. So far he had a great track record with Qrow's secrets. "…What about Summer?"

After a moment, he nodded. "As long as Raven doesn't find out."

Should he push his luck? "…What's been going on between you and her?"

This time, Qrow really did whisper, and he almost missed it. "She wants to go home."

"What?" Tai breathed. "Why? After what they did to you?"

"She—" he picked through the words again, selecting them one by one, "—they didn't hate her. She felt safer there."

"But why?" Tai cried. "What did we do wrong? How—how could she be more afraid of us?"

"It…" He had to think. "…It was easier to tell what people wanted."

"We want to be your friends. Qrow. You—you know we would never hurt you."

After a moment, he nodded. "You're…you're nothing like them." The next words had to fight their way out if his mouth. "W-we—I—"

"It's okay. It's okay." He pulled him into a loose hug, throat tightening at the way he shivered. As much as Tai was desperate to know more, he'd probably pushed Qrow far enough for one day. "Come on, we should get something to eat."

He nodded gratefully. "Y-yeah."

[Oh look more accidental Taiqrow. And next week's chapter with the girls ended up about 80% more Rosebird than intended]

Next Chapter: Raven—Strictly Girl Time

#rwby #taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #taiqrow #summer rose #raven branwen #strq #team strq #tw panic attack #rwby fanfiction #follow the beacon

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finntaur · 4 years

Text

A Fae’s Wife (GerBela)

Natalya didn't want to marry some random man, so she decided to ask the Fae for some help.

Read it on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345356

The snow crunched under Natalya’s boots as she made it to the outer wall of her sanctuary. The bottom of her black dress had been covered in snow a while ago, and it chilled her as it brushed against the back of her legs. Her long, platinum blonde hair hung loosely off her shoulders, blowing in the cold wind. She had brought nothing with her but a black silk shawl and her trusty leather-bound grimoire. She fully intended to summon a faerie tonight, mainly to spite her brother and sister.

As she approached the final wall - a towering piece of ugly-faded-orange cement and concrete - she pulled the book out of her shawl. She remembered the law for summoning something as she rubbed a bit of snow off the cover with her thumb; if she were caught, the penalty would be death - only, if she does it within the walls of the sanctuary. Which is why she lumbered through the snow in the middle of the night just to do this.

She looked back at the wall for a second, a small puff of air leaving her mouth. She then looked back at the town behind her, feeling a ping of guilt in her chest. After a few moments, she turned back, looking determined and continued past the wall.

Natalya’s family was one of nobility, due to some ancestor saving the town a-hundred-odd years ago. Her sister, the current matriarch, was trying to get Natalya to marry, and Natalya has hated every single suitor that has been presented.

Sir Alfred was loud and obnoxious, Sir Matthew was too quiet and shy, Sir Young Soo was rowdy, and Sir Marco was too flirtatious. None were a fit, and she knew Katyusha was getting antsy. So, Natalya’s solution was to summon a faerie and hope the faerie can somehow convince Katyusha to back off.

This plan was foolproof, really.

She stopped at the edge of the forest surrounding the sanctuary, pausing to look at it momentarily. She took another breath and pushed on, lifting her arm and pushing away a branch above her head. She was surprised to find no snow on the ground, not thinking the trees were thick enough to keep the snow away. She looked up at the top of the trees and could clearly see the night sky, but shrugged and looked back ahead. She decided to go a bit deeper in, just in case.

She walked for what felt like a couple hours, and eventually made it to a clearing. A giant wall of rocks lay in front of her, with a steady waterfall leading directly into a pond at the base of the wall. She stepped forward, looking at the waterfall mesmerized. She slowly placed the grimoire on a moss-spotted boulder beside her, looking at the scenery before her. She listened to the sounds of the forest around her, not noticing that she couldn’t hear any animals, only the waterfall. After a few minutes, she seemingly snapped out of it and turned back to her book. She took another look around then stepped back to it, grabbing it and opening it to the middle, where she dog-eared the page on summoning.

She took a deep breath, gathering the courage to go through with it. She knew the risks, but she’d rather die by a fae’s hands than marry a man she could never get along with. Just before she began to recite the spell, she looked back to the waterfall, feeling pulled by an unknown force. She stepped toward it, coming to sit on a boulder just in front of the edge of the pond. She looked back down at the pages and began to recite the spell.

“O fae o so great,” As she began to recite the spell, a wind blew through the trees, and a chill ran up her spine. “Tonight I need you,” the wind picked up, blowing the leaves, flowers, and weeds wildly. “I fear my life is gone,” She started to feel a warmth blossoming from her chest, and a golden glow started to appear from the ground. “For my hours have withdrawn,” The wind died down, leaving the golden glow and silence. Natalya couldn’t even hear the waterfall anymore. She closed her eyes, continuing on with the spell, “O fae o so great,” The glow was brighter, almost blinding. Natalya could even see it behind her shut eyes, and the wind was back in full force, loud enough to make Natalya sound muffled. She had to shout in order to hear the last line of the spell, “Greet me where I meet fate!”

Finally, the wind stopped, the glow dissipated, and all Natalya could hear was the waterfall. She opened her right eye after a moment, looking suspiciously at the pond. She opened the other eye and stood, looking around and seeing nothing but the trees and boulders that she had seen before. She looked disappointed when she turned back to the pond. She sighed and sat back on the boulder, book in her lap, with her elbows on her knees and chin in her hands. “Y’know, you could’ve told me you weren’t going to summon anything.” She said to her book, pulling it out of her lap and holding it out in front of her. After a few seconds, and no response from the book, she sighed and placed it on her right on the boulder.

She tucked in her knees, laying her arms on top of them as she stared at the water. “I want to touch it.” She announced to no one in particular, kicking off her left boot, she reached over and stuck her big toe into the water. A golden glow streaked across the pond, causing Natalya to pull her foot back. She stared at the center of it, waiting for something else to happen. After a second, it began to bubble, as if there was a geyser in the middle of it. She stayed on the boulder, watching confusedly as the bump in the water grew taller and taller. She noticed something green reaching towards the bump and followed it with her eyes, seeing it lead back to the boulder she was sitting on. She jumped up, pulling the book with her and stared at the boulder. The water kept bubbling, loud, and she felt a growing sense of no longer being alone.

When the water settled, she looked back to it. There seemed to be nothing new, and she squinted her eyes confusedly. “What the fu-” Suddenly, a man came from where the bubbles were, slowly rising out of the water. The surface of the water went to his hips. He was - muscular, to say the least, with blond hair and striking blue eyes. He looked at Natalya, and she placed her fist on her chest, feeling that same warmth in her chest as she did before. The two stared at each other for a moment before the man spoke, voice deep and smooth and with an accent unlike her own. “I am Ludwig.” She stared wide-eyed for a moment before clearing her throat and speaking. “I’m Natalya.” She lowered her arm and turned fully towards him. His eyes scanned her for a moment, making Natalya want to shrink back and hide. She instead just readjusted her skirt. “Is there a reason you summoned me?” He asked, eyes boring into hers. She cleared her throat again, feeling slightly scrutinized. “I uh… I don’t really know. I just…” Her words were lost to her, and she bowed her head. “Needed someone?” He asked, sounding more casual and polite. She looked back up at him, thinking over his question for a second. “Yeah, just… needed someone.” He nodded towards the boulder. “Sit, tell me what you need, and I shall provide you with what I can. Even if it is just to be an ear.” She looked at the boulder, then back to him. She decided to listen to him, sitting on the boulder with both her boots off, and her feet in the water.

He came to the edge, his arms folded beside her legs and his head in the middle of them. “Well. My family is nobility.” He nodded at that. “And, my sister married young. My brother also married young. And because I’m now older than they were when they got married, they want me to get married as soon as possible.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow at that. “That hardly seems like any reason you should get married. Did they marry for love?” She nodded. “Okay, and have you fallen in love with anyone?”

“Oh god, no.” He unfolded his arms and held them out in front of them, looking exasperated. “Then you shouldn’t get married!” She pointed at him, “Exactly! And they act like it’s not such a big deal? Like,” And she rambled on about her family while Ludwig listened. She eventually got off the rock and sat at the water’s edge, her legs up to her knees now in the water.

She was laughing at something he said when he placed a hand on her knee. “So, what do you actually need from me?” Her laughter faded, and she stared at the water. “I… I just want them to get off my back. Let me live my life.” She looked at her knees, folding her hands in her lap. “I know they won’t do that until I’m married.” Ludwig stared at her, a sadness to his eyes. He then looked down at the ground, an idea coming to mind. He looked back at her and placed his hand on hers in her lap. “I’ve got an idea that just might work.” She looked at him, her right eyebrow raised. “What?” He squeezed her hands.

“Marry me.” She widened her eyes, then closed them as she chuckled, shaking her head. “Ah, you’re joking-“

“I’m not.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. He looked serious, like he was trying to protect something. “You said you wanted them to leave you alone, and the only way they’ll do that is if you’re married, or dead.” She furrowed her brows in confusion, “Where do you come in-“

“Because I know your feelings on the matter, and I would never ask anything of you. You summoned me to solve your problem, and I’ve come up with a solution.” Her mouth hung open slightly, nothing but aborted sounds leaving her lips as she was struggling to deal with what he was asking of her. He squeezed her hand again, looking defeated. “Just… think about it. Please.” He leaned back, turning around and walking towards the middle of the pond again. When he reached it, and was about to sink in, she lifted a hand. “Wait!” He stopped, turned halfway towards her. She stood, hands by her sides, with a nervous, yet fierce, look on her face.

“What… What If I were to say yes? What would you promise me?” He smiled, turning fully towards her. “To never hurt you, to give you whatever you wish, even if it is just my ear, or my time, or my love.” She felt her cheeks heating up, and he chuckled at the expression she was making, which was akin to eating a sour lemon, only she had wide eyes. “Do you want to know what I’d give you?” Her tone came off as nervous, and her hands, now balled into fists, were trembling slightly. He shook his head, “I’d ask for nothing in return.”

Her shoulders drooped and her body relaxed, the tension leaving her bones as the nervousness and anxiety melted away. She stood tall, faking confidence, and half turned away from him, sticking her left shoulder and chin out to him. She said with a slight nod, “Then. Then I say yes.” He quirked an eyebrow, now becoming playful. “Yes to what?” He asked, teasing her. She became nervous again, starting to tense up again. She sputtered, motioning with her arms to him. “T-to your question!” He furrowed his brows and tilted his head. “What question?” He unfurrowed his brows and chuckled lightly as she sputtered and flailed once more. “Your proposal? You asking me to marry you?” He nodded, faking as if he just got it. “Ahh, I get it now.”

She exhaled, the tension once again leaving her body as she turned to face him. After a moment, she started rubbing her left arm. “So… What do we do?” He looked at her questioningly for a moment before getting it. “Ah, right.” He swam back to the edge. “You need to come into the water.” She looked at him like he just kicked her puppy. “Get in - Get in the water?!” She looked to the pond and then back to him. “The magical people-spouting water? Not to mention, this is an expensive dress, and I’m sure that water would absolutely ruin it, which means I’d have to get naked - “ He stared at her, an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed.

“The water’s fine, Natalya.” She clenched her jaw, then unclenched it, sighing. “I. Fine, okay. Do I at least get to keep my clothes on?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Ok good then -“ She paused, looking back down at him. “Wait. Are. Are you… naked?” She asked, pointing a finger up and down his torso. He nodded his head from side to side, “Ehh, technically yes -“

“It’s not a ‘technically yes’ kind of answer.” She interrupted. He sighed, backing up and reaching his hands out, he started rolling them towards himself, motioning for her to come to him. “Come on, your family might realize you’re gone.” She sat back down on the edge, knees in the water once more.

She pushed off the edge, landing in the pond. She shivered at the cold, but it quickly settled, feeling better. The water went up to her waist, causing her skirt to puff up. She held her arms up, muttering about her stupid skirt. Ludwig chuckled at that, coming closer and grabbing her hands. She looked back into his eyes. The trees around them had hung small lights, illuminating the pond. She stared at him, mesmerized as she had been before. He nodded towards the middle of the pond, coming to stand beside her. He had his left hand on her left hip, and was holding her other hand with his own, moving them to the middle.

Once in the middle, he turned to face her fully, grabbing both her hands and holding them over the water. “Now, memorize what I’m going to say, because you’re going to have to repeat it.” She nodded. He looked into her eyes, looking into them the entire time.

“You cannot possess me for I belong to myself,

But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give

You cannot command me, for I am a free person,

But I shall serve you in those ways you require and

The honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.

“I pledge to you that yours will be the name

I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning.

I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink from my cup

I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care

I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine

I shall not slander you, nor you me

I shall honor you above all others, and

When we quarrel we shall do so in private and

Tell no strangers our grievances

“This is my wedding vow to you

This is the marriage of equals.”

He finished, looking at her as if she was his one true love. She stared back, stunned momentarily, before remembering and reciting the vows he had done. She stumbled a few times, but got it near perfectly. After she finished, he placed his right hand on her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. He then looked to her lips for a split second, before returning to her eyes. “May I kiss you?” He whispered, the two having moved closer. Their bodies were pressed together now, the water having pushed them. She stared for another second before nodding.

He leaned in, and the two kissed. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Around them, the lights burst, making small fireworks. Each time the lights exploded, a new one formed and repeated the previous ones actions. This lasted for a few more seconds before the two pulled away, staring into each other’s eyes once more.

“We should probably get going.” He nodded, “Right.” He then looked down at himself. “Though I do need clothes.” She blushed and pulled away, stepping back and pressing her arms to her sides. “Ihaveaspellforthat.” She blurted out, covering her face with her hands. He chuckled and stepped towards her, leaning in and pulling her hands away. “Natalya? Clothes?” She nodded, turning and walking to the edge. She braced her hands on the edge and pushed off, getting out of the water. Miraculously, her dress seemed dry, as if it hadn’t even been near the water. The only difference was that there was no snow.

She grabbed the book and flipped through the pages, finding the spell for a wardrobe change. She nodded towards him, face still in the book. “You need to come out so the spell can find you.”

“Got it.” He walked over to the edge and did the same thing she did, coming out of the water and standing right in front of her. Luckily, she didn’t look down, or she would’ve noticed he was, indeed, very naked.

She waved her hand towards him in a circular motion, mumbling to herself before looking him square in the eyes. “Got it.” She placed the book back down and lifted both her hands, both aimed at him. “Адзенне, з'яўляйся!” A dark, almost black, purple dust began to spin around Ludwig, starting at his feet. In its place, as it began to move up his body were shoes, simple black pants, and a loose brown shirt. As it lifted off his head, his hair was slicked back, making him look more presentable.

After it left, he pulled his shirt away from him, looking slightly impressed and nodding. “I like it.” She smiled at him. “Are you ready to go?” He nodded, holding his arm out. She chuckled lightly and looped her arm through his, the two walking back through the forest to the next step of their lives.

#GerBela #hetalia germany #hws germany #hetalia belarus #hws belarus #hetalia #Axis Powers Hetalia #writing

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justjessame · 4 years

Text

The Deal Chapter 16

Hershel, as I sit alone dealing with my pain and cradling Judith while feeding her a bottle, tries to break it to Dad that we have newcomers. Dad, confronting the new group, tells him he doesn’t want nor need the responsibility. Their leader tries to convince him that they’d carry their own weight, but then, out of the blue when I think Hershel was beginning to think Dad had made a different choice, I witness Dad go rigid. He’s not looking at the group, or even at any place that holds a human. Staring up at the walkway above us, he starts yelling. Asking “what do you want from me?” and telling this imaginary terror that he “Can’t help you.” and “Get out!”

Glenn, seeing that I’m broken, that our newcomers are getting freaked out, takes it upon himself to hussle them outside. I’m thankful, as I watch Dad pace the common room frantically.

The next day dawns with the strangers gone. Glenn, learning from Carl that they had found a way into the prison that no one witnessed, recruits him to help him reinforce the prison. When they return, I have to say I didn’t notice how long they’d been gone, they give us more great news. The boiler room, where Mom died, was overrun with walkers once more. Hershel wants us to retreat, but where? So Glenn, showing more leadership than I’d ever noticed from him, takes Maggie so they can attempt to find the breach that brought the group into our ‘safe place’ as well as the walkers.

It could have been hours later, or it could have been minutes, but Hershel comes to me to let me know that Glenn has driven off in a rage. Dad had wandered off into the forest, reiterated by Michonne, who mentions to me that she witnessed him having an intense conversation with no one. Hershel admits that Dad mentioned seeing Mom, and that Dad feels it means something. I think, sure, it means he’s lost his fucking mind.

Then, in another blink, I learn that Axel is dead. And before I can think, we’re fully under attack. I’m numb, not the same numb I felt when I took care of Sofia, but numb so all I can focus on is keeping Judith safe. I leave the fighting to the others. I leave it to everyone else, because Judith and Carl are all that I can care about, even Dad seems far from me now.

When Daryl returns with Merle, I unthaw, barely. I don’t understand. Anything. And I fear that I won’t ever get the full story.

I do know this, when the dust settles, when the walkers are contained to the outer fence and The Governor and his minions are gone, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. This was just the initial offensive.

As they regrouped, I felt more removed from the others. I hadn’t contributed, and I didn’t regret it, but I didn’t feel a part of the entire situation. Daryl wrapped his arms around me and Judith, as I vaguely listened to Hershel calling again for a retreat. And in the back of my mind, I wondered, again where? Merle shocked me, his new hand, his almost compliance to being detained. He told us that The Governor, his master (former or current I didn’t know) had the firepower and manpower to kill us all. On that cheerful thought, I begged off and went to the cell that I’d taken against Daryl’s insistence that he’d prefer the perch. I was not, then nor now, going to be intimate with him somewhere that fucking open.

I listened as Hershel boomed, at my dad I realized that he’d “said this wasn’t a democracy. Now you need to own up to that. And do something!”

I heard a familiar pattern of my brother’s stomping run and knew he’d chased after our father.

Daryl didn’t join me. I sat holding Judith, thankful when Beth brought me a bottle for her, and waited. I was certain that plans were being made. I was certain that preparations were being made. I was also certain that I was no use to any of it. I heard an argument break out over Merle, sides were taken, and Hershel surprised me again by giving Merle his backing.

Eventually Daryl came to find me. He watched from the doorway as I smiled down at Judith in my arms, rocking her and feeling like she was the only thing anchoring me to the earth for now. When I look up, seeing him almost too relaxed given the situation that brought us here, I try to smile.

“I’m glad you came back to me.” I scootch over, giving him room to sit beside us. “What happened?”

Daryl Dixon, who has made eye contact with me since the day we met, wouldn’t meet my eyes. He focused on Judith. He looked at the edge of my shoulder. Anywhere, but my eyes. He muttered getting separated from Dad and the others, and that it didn’t matter, since he was with me now.

“I’m happy you have Merle back,” I offered, giving him Judith to hold for a bit. “It’s just, he’s not always the best person for you.” I bit my lip, watching him cradle my sister. “Please, Daryl, don’t let him bring you down.”

He kissed me, telling me things that I couldn’t hope to decipher in the kiss. Except his love, of course, that was loud and clear.

And then, because life wasn’t fucked up and all around batshit enough-Andrea showed up.

Apparently, Dad failed to mention quite a bit about their time in Woodbury. For instance, Andrea is alive. And shacked up with The Governor. And Michonne and her are besties. And, now I’m wondering what else he left out of their field trip.

Andrea, winning the award for worst taste in men ever, swears she’s on our side. Sure, I think, holding Judith tighter than necessary especially when her eyes lock on my sister’s existence. She swears that The Governor, Philip she calls him, wants to negotiate. She turns her doe eyes on Dad, begging him to consider. Dear God, I think, turning away and taking Judith far from this scene, I hope that Dad isn’t completely addled and agrees with her.

Dad, trying to broker peace with Andrea, with Carol’s backing, takes Judith to allow the witch to hold her. Using my sister to try to get this woman to kill her new boyfriend, sure ok. That’s absolutely going to work. And while she’s at it, maybe she can find a cure for whatever that causes people to go rabid after death. I’m sure that’s just as fucking likely.

And then, my ever gracious father gives her a car to drive back to the enemy.

That night, as Daryl holds me, Beth gives us another acapella concert. As she sings, Dad gestures for Daryl and Hershel to join him. I give them space, still not wanting a part in any of it, feeling that too much is being kept from me to matter. And rocking Judith, I decide that at some point, I won’t care about much at all.

Dad decides that he’s going on a run back to our former home. As in where he, Mom, me, and Carl lived prior to the unholy hell we currently live in. He picks Michonne and Carl to accompany him, still having issues meeting my eyes. It’s for weapons, he says. To stockpile against an onslaught that Merle keeps warning us about.

I go about my business at the prison. Feeling that Daryl and Merle need some brother-time. Feeling that the others need their own space. Mostly just needing some alone time. I gave Judith to Beth and Carol, and walked to a lonely spot, away from everyone, and sat with my thoughts.

Dad couldn’t look at me. Daryl was having similar issues, going so far as to sleep in the perch by himself, after all. Judith, this tiny being that was reliant on me for everything now, was becoming the symbol of hope for the group. And here I was, feeling like alone was where I was going to be stuck.

“I can’t believe he finally made a move on you.” I heard Merle’s voice say, from below where I’d found a quiet spot. “Thought for sure you’d end up with someone else before he’d man up.”

I rolled my eyes, and looked down at Daryl’s brother. “Maybe he didn’t make the move, ever think of that, smartass?” He chuckled and climbed up beside me. “Truth was, we moved together.”

Merle settled beside me. “I’m glad, however it happened, that it did.” He was looking out across the horizon that I’d been studying. “He deserves it, you.”

“I know.” I answered, feeling my chest tighten at the thought that he was keeping things from me.

“It was because of me.” He said, causing me to glance at his profile. “The reason he didn’t come back with the others. Your daddy made him choose, and he stayed with me.”

I felt a tear fall. Ah, Merle over me. “I see.”

He shook his head, glancing over at me. “I don’t think you do. It wasn’t cause he gave up on you, how the hell do you think we ended up back here?” He reached over with his real hand and brushed my tears away. “Hell, I thought he’d toss my ass in a river to get back to you.”

I tried to smile, but I couldn’t believe that Dad and Daryl, the two who had made so much progress had argued to the point that this had to happen. “I’m sorry about Dad.” It was weak, but it covered so much. “He’s-” I didn’t know how to finish that. He’s distraught over Mom. He was unnerved by the world he woke up in that he didn’t know to show you more humanity and left you behind on a roof. He hasn’t been himself, not really, for some time now.

“Don’t be.” He brushed it off and refocused on the horizon. “My brother needs you. That’s all that matters.”

We went down not long after our heartfelt chat. Daryl was waiting, Judith in his arms, when I went inside. He finally met my eyes, and I nodded. I understood, sort of. He pulled me to him, shifting Judith so he could hold the two of us.

“I’d rather die than be away from ya, Jessi.” My heart clenched in pain at the mere thought. “But he’s my brother, and Rick was being-”

I shushed him. One day, hopefully soon, the three of us would have to sit down and discuss it. But for now, with Dad being away, I shelved it. For now, I’d take what I had and enjoy it. Even if it felt like it was all on borrowed time.

#daryl dixon x ofc #eventual negan x ofc #mention of smut #rick grimes daughter #mental illness #The Walking Dead #alternative universe #angst

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

Text

A/N: This is a big one. Trust me. 2.7k words.

TW for violence, blood, and threats

Synposis: Your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, has gone missing. After acting erratic for a few weeks, spending all his time locked away in his studio, he suddenly vanishes into thin air, leaving only an unreleased album behind. Zodiac.

Chapter Seven - devotion bent me broken

“We should probably go back to your house,” you mumble reluctantly, feeling Jin’s chest rise and fall rhythmically under your ear. “I’m pretty sure there’ll be nothing edible left in my fridge at this point.”

You let your finger swirl lazy patterns on the warm skin of his torso as he chuckles. “Mm, you’re probably right. But I think I just want to stay here for a little longer. With you.”

For a while, you let time tick by and just listen to the sound of his heart beating and enjoy the feeling of his strong arm wrapped around you, but eventually the bed grows cold and the light streaming in through your window is too harsh to ignore.

The two of you dress quietly and he drives you back. As he pulls into the driveway, though, your head lifts up off the headrest and your mouth drops.

The driveway is littered with chunks and slivers of glass. The glass walls of the lounge, once showy and modern, now are smashed with jagged edges, a crime scene. “Oh my god,” you whisper in disbelief. “Someone’s broken in.”

Jin swears. He looks angry rather than frightened like you. “Come on,” he commands brusquely, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him, “let’s see the damage.”

You rush to join him, cowering behind his broad shoulders as you cross your fingers tightly and hope the criminal who had done it wasn’t still in there. As you cross the threshold and follow Jin into the kitchen-dining area, you swear too.

The place has been trashed. The tile of the kitchen is littered with shards of wine glasses and plates, someone’s taken something sharp to the walls, scratching it up to slivers. The television isn’t missing but it has been smashed; a web impacted in the center with one of Jin’s debate competition trophies lying at the foot of it.

Jin keeps running a hand through his hair and sighing, and part of you is almost scared to venture upstairs to the bedrooms in case they’ve been upturned too. But at the same time, you’re not really that focused on this event. Instead, you think back to what you need to do. Hoseok had done something to Namjoon, and you needed to work out what. Some part of you thought perhaps he had done this, although realistically you knew it was likely a petty criminal taking the opportunity of an empty house.

“Jin, let’s call the police and let them handle this. I want you to come to the studio and talk to Hobi with me. I think he knows more than he’s letting on about Namjoon.”

Jin lets out a huff. “That’s not- We have other things to worry about, Y/n. My house has been trashed, can’t you see? I’m sorry, baby, I wish I could come with you to visit your friend but right now I need to sort out insurance claims. This fucker’s probably trashed my study; I need to make sure all my case files are intact for work. I have a hearing tomorrow, for God’s sake! It’s just not a good time. I’m sorry. Take the car if you want.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, that’s understandable. Listen, I just… If I don’t call you or text you in three hours’ time, can you please come to the studio? I don’t know what I’m walking into, but I have to do this.”

He looks up at you with a soft smile and walks over to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You’ll be absolutely fine,” he says reassuringly, “but I will, I promise.”

Hoseok isn’t in his studio when you stop by, so you drive quickly to his apartment ten minutes away. It’s not ideal; you’d feel much safer in a public place with security cameras, but you can’t give up and go home now. Not when you feel like resolution is so close.

He gives you a warm hug when he answers the door, surely noticing the way you tense up, and offers you a drink. Not so easily fooled, you decline.

“I know about the threats. The argument you had with Namjoon, the deal you made with the cops.”

He freezes, back to you as he slowly shuts the fridge door behind him. “y/n, I…”

“It’s over, Hoseok. Those detectives, they don’t care much for justice, but I do. I need to know the truth. What did you do with him?”

He runs a hand through his dull hair and sighs, rubbing at his eyes. You notice the sunken look to them. He’s lost weight. “I didn’t do anything. I promise you.”

You scoff bitterly. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe you. See, an innocent man would never destroy evidence and bribe members of the law. Did you really think you’d get away with this? You disgust me, Hoseok. You really do. How could you do this to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he bellows, turning around and slamming a fist on the bench in front of you. You flinch violently and step back, which causes his face to crumple and the tension vanish. “Y/n, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You have to trust me, sweetheart, I would never do something like this!”

You shake your head slowly, feeling rage well up within you. “Just tell me, Hoseok. Tell me where Namjoon is, please.”

You step forward again, knowing that right now you needed him to see you as a threat rather than someone who was weak and easily manipulated. Your eyes flicker to the wooden knife holder on the bench to your right.

He sighs and rubs his face again, looking completely defeated. When his hands come down, they open up toward you and he steps forward as if to embrace you. “Sweetheart, I-”

Reflexively, your hand shoots out in a fist and you catch him square on the nose. He cries out and clutches at it, stumbling back until he’s flush against the refrigerator door. His legs buckle under him and he slides to the floor, viscous blood beginning to slip between his clasped fingers.

Your heart lurches sickeningly seeing him clench his eyes tightly in pain, but you force it down. This is your chance to show you mean business and get answers. You crouch in front of him, grabbing onto his shirt as he sobs weakly. “Hoseok, stop lying to me. I… I won’t even press charges if you just tell me what you did to him and where he is, Hobi. I promise. Just tell me the truth and I’ll go away, okay?”

“I…am,” he forces out, spitting out the blood that drips into his mouth when he opens it. “I didn’t do anything.”

You growl in frustration and stand up again, stalking over to the wooden holder and tugging out a small knife, returning to crouch in front of him.

Hoseok widens his eyes. “Jesus, Y/n, I-”

“Don’t make me do this,” you whisper, feeling adrenaline take a hold of you. This is your last shot. You have no intentions of using the knife; you know you could never sleep at night if you did, and the blood from his nose is making you queasy enough as it is, but the threat might just suffice.

He moans thickly, tears pooling in the outer corners of his eyes. “Fine, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you.”

Your eyes widen, and you drop the knife. He jumps when it clatters against the tile, but sighs out in relief. “Tell me.”

“On Thursday, he visited my studio.” “I know. You made the detectives delete the footage.”

“Yes, well… It’s not what you think. Namjoon, he… He was going mad, Y/n. Ever since I sent him those texts, which I apologized for, he wouldn’t talk to me. Acted like I was a supervillain out to get him and get you. I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you, sweetheart.” His lip trembles. “You’re my friend. Anyway, the little I did see of him coming and going, he was different. Whispering to himself, writing lyrics on his arms like he didn’t want to forget them in the time it took to get inside the studio. Then all of a sudden, on Thursday, he unlocked my door and came inside.”

You feel yourself begin to shake slightly. Suddenly, the guilt of your actions crashes upon you and the pressure feels unbearable. Even though he’d done something, you were sure of it, you felt disgusted with yourself as you watched him wallowing in pain. You stand up and grab a box of tissues, offering it to him.

He grabs a wad out, gingerly wiping his gushing nose and cleans off his fingers, leaving dried brown stains behind. He balls them up and presses it underneath his nose with a grimace. “When he came in, he was erratic. Kept glancing at the door, making sure it was still open behind him, like he needed a quick exit. He told me he was going away, that he couldn’t put you at risk anymore.” Hoseok sobs once more, and coughs weakly. “I tried, Y/n, I swear I tried to convince him to stay, that he didn’t need to go. As much as I told him the texts were a mistake and I wouldn’t do anything, he just wouldn’t listen to me. He felt like the only way you’d be safe was if he disappeared completely. It doesn’t make sense to me, I don’t know why he did it, but… That’s what really happened.”

You frown, dropping out of your crouch to sit fully on the kitchen floor. “But… I don’t understand. Why would you destroy the evidence and bribe Jeon and Park if you didn’t do anything?”

He laughs bitterly, finally dabbing away the last of the fresh blood as it began to congeal and stop flowing. “Because the moment anyone looked into it, they’d realize I looked suspicious as fuck and arrest me. I’m not as successful as Namjoon, Y/n. My career would be dead in the water if I had a scandal like this.”

“So, you just pinned it on Yoongi?”

“I just wanted someone they could point fingers at long enough for me to sort my mess out, I swear! I thought if I just got them to focus on him for a while, then once I got that footage wiped and those text records deleted, then the detectives would say they didn’t have enough evidence and it would remain unsolved. To be honest with you, Y/n, I really thought Namjoon would chicken out and come back. I just can’t believe that he’s completely gone. He loved you more than anything, you know? So much that it drove him crazy.”

You stand up suddenly, vision spotting for a moment. The guilt inside you was threatening to pull you under, and you had to leave. “Hobi, I am so so sorry. Fuck, I… I thought for sure you’d killed him, or kept him in your basement or something, fuck.”

“It’s okay,” he waved off, though you could recognize the smile he plastered on as fake. “We both made mistakes. I hope…” he breaks off with a sigh, dropping the smile and looking at you intensely. “I really hope that you feel like you can move on now. Nobody should’ve had to go through that, least of all someone as kind and loving as you.”

You break his gaze, feeling anything but kind and loving. “…I have to go, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have come here.”

He pushes himself up off the floor with a pained groan, leaning against the bench for support. “It’s okay, I understand why you did what you did. I’m sorry for not being honest. I wish I had handled all of…this better. I love you, sweetheart.”

You wrinkle your nose and blink, fighting back tears of your own. “Love you, Hobi.”

As you pull onto Jin’s street, your phone goes, off, but you wait until you park his car outside his house before you check it. You frown. It’s a text from Jin.

Do you have feelings for me?

A little out of the blue, but you supposed it was probably fair, given the two of you had slept together just last night. You figured it’d be better to just speak with him, so you ignored the message and went inside.

“Hey, Jin?” He called out to you from the kitchen, where he was poring over some documents, reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hmm? About what?” He breaks his gaze from the paper and glances up at you, twirling his wrist and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose absentmindedly.

You tilt your head to the side. “Your message?”

“Oh, did you try to text me? Sorry, I’ve been on the phone with the insurance provider for the past hour, so I’ve put it in my study to charge. What’s up?”

You glance down at your phone. Do you have feelings for me? “No, it’s fine, I’m just gonna go to my bedroom and grab a sweater. It’s a little cold in here with the hole in the glass wall.”

He chuckles good-naturedly and returns to his work, leaving you with nothing to do except go up and see if his phone was where he said it was.

But as you ascended the steps quietly, sneaking on your tiptoes like you didn’t want to disturb whoever was in his study, using his phone, something else caught your attention.

A light on in the attic, with the door slightly ajar.

You glance quickly into Jin’s study, seeing it in a very similar state of chaos as downstairs was, but his phone is on his desk, plugged in like he told you.

You glance back to the attic and bite your lip, uncertain. He was probably just up there to check if the criminal had done the same damage up there and forgot to shut the light off. It was probably nothing.

It was probably nothing, but you had to check anyway. You climbed up the steep narrow steps at the end of the hallway and pushed the door open. You expected a creak or a groan, but it swung open silently, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your own gasp.

It was a mess in here, but nothing like it was downstairs.

No. With a sick twist in your stomach and a throbbing in your head, you slowly entered the room, glancing around you. In the far corner was a blow-up mattress with a blanket tossed haphazardly over it. A couple of plastic bags were filled with clothes, and there was a plate of half-eaten food on one of the dusty old boxes near the wall. You recognized it as the kimchi fried rice Jin had made for dinner two nights ago. Someone had been living up here.

You walk in further, feeling a lump in your throat as you see what the papers littering the floor are.

What must be at least eighty photos of you are scattered around the attic. Some are selfies you have posted on social media, but most of them are photographs you recognize from yours and Namjoon’s photo album. The one that went missing a week or so before he did.

Some of them have Namjoon in them too, photos of the two of you posing at the top of a hill, or with your arms wrapped around each other tightly as you grinned your cheeks off. Just the sight of him…the sight of him happy and carefree brings tears to your eyes.

With a dawning sense of heartbreak and terror, you think you understand exactly what is going on, but you can’t truly believe it until you hear a creak on the stairs.

You turn around slowly.

“You didn’t answer my question, baby. Do you have feelings for him?”

OOHHHHHHH shit’s getting reaaaal (sorry I’ll see myself out)

But seriously, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to get to this point in the story. We only have about two or three chapters after this, our poor MC is finally starting to get to the bottom of this.

Tell me your thoughts! Come scream at me in my inbox. Did you see it coming? Were you suspicious of the right man/men?

TAGLIST Message me or send in an ask if you wish to be added to the taglist. You’ll receive a notification every time I update ZODIAC.

@itishebihime-samaforyou || @hoodiebangtan || @sunnysideupsmile|| @emilypkuzu || @youngmsfts || @sugarrimajins || @samisderp || @6ukks

#bts fic #bts x reader #bts au #jin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi #jungkook #jimin #taehyung

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spectraspecs-writes · 5 years

Text

Tatooine - Chapter 55 (HK-47)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 54. Chapter 56.

@averruncusho thank you for reading, you get a tag

I just got a bad feeling. Something’s coming. Or we’re getting closer to something. Dark. And it’s close. “Hey, Mission?”

“Yeah?”

“You have your stealth field generator on?”

“Always.”

“Would you do me a favor - turn it on and just look around the corner.”

“Is something wrong, Rena?” Bastila asks me.

“Bad feeling,” I say, “I want to confirm.”

“Does this bad feeling involve me cracking some skulls?” Canderous asks eagerly.

“I’ll go check it out,” Mission says, and she activates her stealth field. We wait about a minute or so before she comes back. “Three Dark Jedi,” she says, “Mean looking. They got face masks on.”

“They were probably sent by Lord Malak,” Bastila says, “Is there any way we can get past without fighting them?”

“Not without tripping the poison mines I set in front of them,” Mission says proudly.

Canderous beams, laughing. “Smart kid!” he says. (And he gets away with calling her kid - I love their friendship so much.)

“Well done, Mission,” Bastila says, and I expect a “but” coming, “Although in the future I would advise against taking such risks.” Not a “but”, an “although.” How surprising.

“You’re welcome,” Mission says. God, I love her. “We should probably go say hi before someone else triggers the mines.”

“Good idea,” I say, “Ready everyone? Let’s go fight the Sith.”

We round the corner, and right on cue, three Sith. Three mines. “Lord Malak was most displeased when he learned you had escaped Taris alive!” one of them says, but I can’t tell which one because of the masks, “He has promised a great reward to whoever destroys you.”

“Why don’t you come collect that reward, you pack of hairless banthas?” They step forward - and have their faces flooded with poison gas. And in the chaos, Canderous gets off a shot at each of them. When the gas clears, they hit the ground dead.

Canderous sighs. “This is getting too easy,” he says, “Have the Jedi lowered their standards or do the Sith just let in anybody with a chip on their shoulder and an axe to grind?”

“I assure you, it’s the latter,” Bastila says. Is… is she smiling? Is she smiling at Canderous? And he’s smiling back - oh, my God, this is so cute!

“Oh?” Canderous says - oh, wow, he’s making a move, is he? “So if I ever went up against you, you’d give me a good fight?”

He’s trying to flirt, but Bastila is working more the friend angle. “If it ever came to that.”

Canderous backs off the flirting angle, but that doesn’t stop Mission from saying, “Sheesh, get a room, guys!”

Canderous - holy hell, Canderous blushes. Bastila says, “I hardly know what you’re talking about, Mission.” She brushes her hair away from her face. “We should get moving. I know Rena is especially eager to see this droid.”

“I am, yes,” I agree, sifting through what the Dark Jedi dropped, including some lightsaber crystals and a datapad from Malak with a description of me and Bastila. Seems like these guys won’t be the last Dark Jedi we face. “But the cantina is also around the corner and we should ask about your mom.”

“Rena, we really don’t have to,” Bastila says, stammering a bit, “If it takes time away from the mission…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Mission says, “I’ll ask around, you guys go see the droid.”

“No arguments here,” Canderous says, “I’ve spent more than enough time in cantinas for one lifetime.”

“I agree,” Bastila says, “I see no point in waiting there if my mother is no longer on the planet.”

“Yeah, you guys go have fun,” she says, “I’m going to hustle some nerf-herders out of their credits.”

“Don’t bet too much,” I say, and we head off to the droid shop.

Already I’m skeptical. There’s a droid out front with sand in his vents, still functioning somehow. You don’t store droids outside, dude, come on. We step inside, and there’s nobody out front to sell us anything. Wonderful service. I only see the one functional protocol droid, must be the one we’re looking for - may as well ask it to sell itself.

Wait, hang on -- “This droid has sand shields!”

“What?” Canderous says, because he wasn’t part of yesterday’s conversation.

“I thought you said you developed those?” Bastila asks.

“I thought I did.”

Then the droid activates. “Greeting: Hello to you, prospective purchaser. I am referred to as HK-47, a fully functional Systech Corporation droid skilled in both combat and protocol functions. Query: Would you be so kind as to purchase this model from Yuka Laka? It would serve my purposes to be removed from his ownership.”

“Certainly talks like a protocol droid,” Canderous scoffs.

“I’ve never heard of Systech Corporation,” Bastila says.

“No, neither have I,” I say, “but they seem to make good droids if this model is any indication.” The sand shields are still throwing me off; they look just like the ones I made for T3 yesterday. I look back at the droid. “What else does Systech make?” I ask him.

“Answer: With the restraining bolt in place, I do not have access to my memory core. I suspect, however, by the fine quality of my manufacture that they are a prestigious company, indeed. I suspect I am of unique construction,” the droid says, “…or perhaps I was intended for a very specific customer. How I ended up here I can hardly say. It is sufficient to say that I am a fully capable translator and cultural analyst, and I am also proficient in... personal combat.”

I pull out my microspanner and make a quick inspection of the restraining bolt. “Yeah, that thing’s on there good,” I say, “And it’s restricting access to your memory?”

“Statement: Indeed,” HK tells me, “It is possible that the Ithorian Yuka Laka placed the restraining bolt on me to prevent my return to a previous owner. It is also possible that the removal of the bolt will not restore memory functions. Without my memory, I do not know if I know the answer.” Yeah, that would certainly put a damper on things. “Do not interpret this as a reduction of my worth, however. My capabilities are quite expansive.”

“I can tell,” I say, still examining him with my spanner.

“What are you seeing, Rena?” Bastila asks.

“Well,” I say, “to be honest I’m not completely sure. I’m more familiar with utility droids. But I can tell this droid has everything a utility droid has and more. There’s a lot going on in here.” I tuck my spanner away. “Not much in the way of computer interfacing, but a droid like you, I’m not sure you need it,” I say to HK, “You said you’re a translator and a cultural analyst. I understand most languages pretty well myself, why would I need you?”

“Extrapolation: Intuitive language comprehension? That would be the result of recognition and training of Force sensitivity.”

“Smart droid,” Canderous comments.

“Your kind have little use of translation droids,” he says, “Of course, your kind also encounters danger on a far more frequent basis than the average citizen. You would do well to have me work for you, then, before someone else makes use of my… more exotic functions.”

Sounds like a low-key assassin droid to me. But I doubt anyone else knows that. “Well, I’m sold,” I say, “Is Yuka Laka around? I’ll see about purchasing you.”

“Statement: The fool Ithorian has decided I am to be an expensive purchase. He does this out of greed and not out of knowledge of my true capabilities.

“Advisement: I have observed him. He is a coward, and will be responsive to… aggressive bargaining.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, then I call out, “Is the proprietor in?”

There is a very large metal clamor out of sight, followed by a garbled series of beeps and whistles and some swearing in Ithorese. When the Ithorian comes out of the back room, it is on a small wave of droid parts. “What is this?” he says, “A customer I don’t recognize? Perhaps you bring off-world credits to Yuka Laka?”

“Talk to me about HK-47.”

He ambles over to me. “It's a fine protocol translator. I think it's been modified. It claims to understand the Sand People dialect, and also has some armor mounts. Combat ready, perhaps?”

“I’m interested,” I say, sparing a glance back at HK, “Let’s talk price.”

“It's a very solid machine,” he says, considering a price, “in good shape. I can't let it go for less than 5000 credits.”

Yikes! “If that’s the price, you can keep it.”

“4000!” Yuka Laka quickly amends, “Not a credit less!”

HK was right, he is a coward. “That was quick. Desperate to sell?”

“Ah, no, not really,” he says unconvincingly, “but the first figure really was a little high. You never know, the occasional person bites right away.”

It’s still a bit high. “Perhaps I can convince you to go lower?”

“Lower?” he repeats in disbelief, “How low are you expecting me to go? These are difficult times.”

“Listen,” I say, trying to be charming - I’ve never had much luck with Ithorians when it comes to feminine wiles, but when it comes to business sense, they’ve always been receptive to me, “I’m a Republic droid tech. This war with the Sith has been moving farther and farther out to the Outer Rim. There’s been a greater and greater need for parts and capable droids, and yours is the only place to get them in Anchorhead.” I think I see him softening. “Now, when I go back to my superiors and they ask me about the business in Anchorhead, I can tell them one of two things. I could either tell them that Yuka Laka sells substandard tech at exorbitant prices, or that he’s a sharp-minded Ithorian with a keen business sense who’s willing to make a deal that will do him better in the long run.” Almost there, almost got him. “Which do you think will convince my bosses to come to your store?”

He’s so close. “And you think your superiors will listen to you?”

Bastila catches on. “Sir,” she says, “As a member of the Jedi Order, I can assure you that the Republic has the utmost trust in this woman.”

“You--” Yuka Laka says with a bit of a laugh, “You can’t expect me to give you the droid for nothing.”

“Of course not!” I say reassuringly, “That’s bad business. But it would also be bad business to quote me a price that I can’t take back to my superiors.”

Got him. “2750.”

“2500 even, and I’ll throw in a top-notch microspanner.”

“Done.” I hand him my microspanner - not even my good one but it’s still in good shape - and transfer him the 2500 credits. (Some credits come right back to me - Mission must be doing pretty good at Pazaak.) “Well, thank you very much. Just go on over and talk to it. I'll deactivate the restraining bolt when you take possession. It's a good purchase, especially if it actually speaks a Sand People dialect like it said. Now,” he says, “you’ll be sure to tell the Republic about this business deal?”

“Most definitely,” I say, “Next time the Republic fleet is in the area, expect an increase in profits.”

“I look forward to it,” he says.

“HK!” I call to the droid, “Let’s go.”

Yuka Laka pops off the restraining bolt. “Statement: I will enter into your service now, master. I am certain you will make adequate use of my primary functions. My gears are practically quivering with anticipation.”

When we step out, Bastila - I should have expected some disappointment from her - says to me, “Why did you lie to that man?”

“It wasn’t a complete lie - and you helped.”

“I did not lie!” she protests, “The Republic obviously has trust in you if they recruited you. You were lying - you certainly have no intention of informing your ‘Republic superiors’ of this transaction, do you?”

“If someone asks, sure.”

“And to expect more business the next time the Republic fleet enters the system?”

“Of course - economies get a bump whenever the fleet rolls in.” She’s still not satisfied. “You want long-term? I’ll give you long-term. We get a droid who can speak the Sand People dialect, we make peace with the Sand People, we find the Star Map, we leave, destroy the Star Forge and end the way. Instead of making a better life for one merchant, we make a better life for the galaxy. Now, is that an acceptable trade for you, or are you going to make me give back the droid, which will hinder the peacemaking?”

She tries to argue, but only stammers. Then she just gives up: “You are becoming a horrible influence on me.”

“Yeah, I like you, too.”

Just as we’re on our way back to the cantina for Mission, she finds us. “Okay, two things. Well, three things,” she says, correcting herself. “First off, they won’t let me play Pazaak in there anymore - “

“You hustler, I love you,” I say, and she smiles.

“Second, it didn’t take much asking to learn about Bastila’s mom. She’s there most days and yells at everybody.”

“That sounds like her,” Bastila comments.

“She wasn’t there just now, but tends to come later in the day according to the bartender. And third, apparently there’s a sandstorm coming and Czerka told all their miners to either come back or stay put.”

“Guess we’re not hitting the dunes today,” I say.

“We should return to the ship,” Bastila says, “We can continue our search tomorrow.”

“I tend to agree,” I say, “I want to look over HK, anyway.”

“Objection: Look over? I assure you, master, I am in prime condition!”

“I know,” I say, “but I’d like to know what ‘prime condition’ entails.”

“Statement: As you desire, master.”

#knights of the old republic #star wars #Star Wars knights of the old republic #kotor #fiction #specs writes stuff #kotor fic #tatooine #rena visz #oc #fem!revan #ls!revan #bastila shan #canderous ordo #canderous x bastila #bastila x canderous #mission vao #hk-47 #chapter 55

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silverdragon-imagines-blog · 5 years

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A Glitched Death - Chapter 3 - The Two Overseers

Read it on AO3 here

Reaper was on his phone texting Geno about whatever happened to pop into his head as he waited for the first “Council Meeting” to start. He hadn’t expected to be here, let alone for Ink to call for a "Council", to be perfectly honest.

He had known about Ink for some time, especially since he was the reason that Reaper was called to fight for his realm in the first place. The attack was from an outside force, “outcodes” Lord Asgore had said, and Ink was in charge of the gods at the time, relaying each and every weakness he knew about the enemy to the inhabitants of “Reapertale”, as he had called Reaper's home. They had owed him after that, Reaper especially. So when he was requested to come to this “Council” thing, he hadn’t questioned it.

Now, here he was, floating a bit above his seat and off to the side where he wouldn’t accidentally kill anyone with his touch. It had been a few minutes, but everyone in the room was growing restless waiting for Ink to arrive. He was late, though judging by the expressions of those at the head of the table, this was a regular occurrence.

Suddenly, the door opened and a disheveled looking Ink stepped through. He took his place at the head of the table, and everyone stared as he took a few breaths before speaking.

“Friends, acquaintances, and others. I have called you all here to discuss something important,” he spoke, more seriously than Reaper had ever heard him speak.

“There has been a disturbance in the multiverse. Someone has been going around and disposing of several of our connected universes, all within the span of about two weeks,” Ink explained, as the room became tense, “For now, only copies have been attacked, but it's unclear whether this will spread to the core worlds, those being your homes, or if the destruction will stick to only being copies.”

“Wh-who would do such a thing?” Papyrus of Red Swapfell questioned, the other inhabitants of the room beginning to echo the question, a few panicking at the thought of losing their homes.

"Is it Nightmare?" Reaper heard a Fell Sans ask, loud enough to attract the attention of the yellow cloaked skeleton next to Ink. "Th' asshole has it out fer us anyway, why not graduate from crimes ta straight up murder."

His accusation was met with a lot of agreement, the cloaked skeleton looking more and more distressed and upset as it continued.

“His name,” Ink began, his voice loud and sudden enough to quiet the room, “is Error. He is a very powerful outcode, who I have fought once or twice, always ending in a draw. Nightmare hasn't had anything to do with the attacks as of yet, and we're hoping it stays that way.”

‘Error, huh.’ Reaper thought to himself, interest piqued. ‘Wonder what he’s like.’

The room filled with voices again, many Fell-verse monsters suggesting ways to trap the outcode in order to stop the destruction. Reaper could tell that this wasn't going anywhere, watching as the other monsters in the room began arguing with each other.

“For now,” Ink spoke up again, the room going quiet once more. “I think that you all should keep watch, make sure that your worlds are safe from him. His main attack is blue strings, but he also uses glitched bone attacks and blasters. He looks like a sans, bones are primarily black and red, and he wears those same colors. Once I know more, myself or Dream will be sure to spread the word around.”

The meeting ended shortly thereafter, and Reaper got up to leave, hoping to spend some time with Geno in person, only to get stopped by another skeleton in front of him. One of the ones who sat closest to Ink during the meeting.

“Oh, you must be Reaper, correct?” the skeleton questioned, bright yellow eyelights staring up at him with a pleasant smile on their face.

“Yes, and may I ask your name?” Reaper smirked, holding out a hand in the skeleton’s direction, fully intending for the other to flinch back away from him.

“I’m Dream, of Dreamtale,” he replied and took ahold of Reaper’s hand, smile widening with barely concealed amusement as Reaper flinched.

He wasn’t expecting the other to actually touch him, and when he didn’t immediately fall to dust, Reaper stared at him in surprise.

“H-how did you know that you wouldn’t die from that?!” Reaper exclaimed, Dream laughing at his response.

“I’m technically a god as well,” he replied between his laughter, shaking Reaper’s hand before withdrawing. “Though I guess guardian is closer to my title. I’m called the guardian of positivity and work alongside Ink, as both a co-worker and a friend. I noticed that you seemed to be interested when Error was mentioned, so I thought that you might be able to help us out a bit more than the others, especially considering your… abilities.”

“Sure, though interest might be pushing it. I’ve only just learned about the guy today.”

Dream waved off his explanation, gesturing for him to follow him over to where Ink was currently sitting with his head resting on his crossed arms, exhausted from whatever he was doing prior. Reaper smirked at the sight, Ink really looked like Death.

“Ink? I was wondering if you wanted to join in on the conversation?” Dream asked Ink, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him.

Ink made a questioning noise as he lifted his head and stretched his arms in front of him.

“We were gonna talk about Error with Reaper since he can traverse the worlds like us.” Dream huffed in amusement, Ink looking up with bleary eyelights at the two, which were slowly shifting from simple pastel shapes to the usual ever-changing rainbow eyelights he had.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he mumbled, standing up and rubbing his eyes before looking at the two, no longer looking as exhausted as he had been.

“What exactly do I need to know that you wanted to talk to me so badly?” Reaper questioned, slightly impatient that he was being kept away from Geno longer than he planned.

Ink nodded for a moment, then pulled out a notebook from his inventory. He flipped to a page, nodded again, then turned it around to show Dream and Reaper.

“This is Error,” he stated, pointing to the picture of a dark skeleton, with mismatched eyes and a crazed yellow grin on his face. “I’m not too sure where he came from, but he’s ruthless in his attacks. Though, he never seems to be fully aware that he’s attacking a world once he lands in it.”

“Not fully aware. . . like he’s possessed?” Dream questioned, and Ink shook his head.

“More like he’s acting on impulse, or auto-pilot I guess you could say,” Ink closed the book, putting it back into his inventory to instead focus his gaze on the two skeletons near him. “Now, this is why I wanted to speak with you Death. You can see when a monster or human is supposed to die, right?”

“To an extent, yes,” Reaper nodded, and Ink seemed satisfied.

“I want you to see if you can get your power to work on a larger scale. See if you can determine which worlds are being targeted based on when they are supposed to die. If we can somehow get a few steps ahead of Error, then maybe we’ll be able to stop him.”

Reaper paused for a second, then put a hand to his chin in thought.

“And if my powers can't work to that degree?”

“Then you can work with me,” Dream spoke up, a smile on his face, “since I can feel the emotions of people, I’ll be able to feel when the positivity of a world turns to despair, to an extent of course.”

“Besides that, you’ll be our lookout,” Ink said, a confident smile on his face. “Your regular duties as Death mean that you are practically everywhere already. I’m just going to ask that you divert your focus more to the copies on the outer edge of the multiverse instead of just the core worlds. I can always talk to your Asgore so that you have the 'all clear' to do this job.”

Reaper nodded, though stunned at how well thought out their plan was. Despite the fact that he wasn’t sure he could do what they were asking, he figured that, if nothing else, it was worth looking into.

“As long as you can convince Asgore, I can help you. In fact, if you need an extra set of eyes, tell him that my brother, Respite, is needed as well. That way we can cover more ground.”

The two skeletons smiled at Reaper, his suggestion already being decided as a part of their plan. Ink held out his hand, and Reaper grasped it as they shook on it.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Death.”

#silver writes #A Glitched Death fic #AGD #ink sans #dream sans #underfell sans #fellswap papyrus #reapertale sans #error sans #nightmare sans #implied violence against nightmare and error #glitcheddeath

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jake-guentzel-59 · 7 years

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Shoot your Shot Part 2 - Auston Matthews

I didn’t think i would get this part up today because I’m busy with packing and moving for college but I had some spare time. Sorry again for the lack of Auston in this one. I do believe that he is in this one more but I’m working on part 3 now and I can say he’s in most of that one. Also I’m pretty sure it’s going to have more than 5 parts. I don’t know how many yet though. Words: 1773 Warnings: Cursing, I think that’s it

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The first two periods were going great, for Toronto fans. Yes, I was wearing a Toronto jersey but you always have to go for your favourite team and right now mine was losing 2-1. Auston scored a goal and pointed in the direction of where me and Kenzie were sitting. She's convinced that he was pointing at me but I know he was just celebrating the goal. The teams were both out shooting around before the third period started. Kenzie had made me go and get her food because she had to stay and see if Auston looked for me. I think she is a bit naive to think he's actually looking at me. There's 100's of people here and about 40 around me for him to be looking at. He was probably looking at a friend or family member in the audience. I was making me way back with Kenzies' food, almost at our seats when all of sudden I feel the worst pain I have ever felt in my eye. I ended up dropping all of the food while grabbing my eye. Kenzie came running up to me asking if I was okay. "I don’t know" I told her taking my hand off my eye seeing blood. Kenzie gagged at the site of my blood. She can't handle blood very well. "Oh my god! We have to get you to a hospital now, like right now!" She exclaimed, dragging me out of the arena and to her jeep "Put this on your eye and keep the pressure on it" She told me handing me a towel that one of the Leafs players gave her during the second period. "Are you sure? I don't want to ruin it on you." I asked her "You know, you're the only person I know that would rather bleed to death then ruin a god damn towel. Yes, I'm sure Logan! Now put it on your eye, I don’t want you losing an eye or anything."

We made it to the hospital in record time. I got in to see a doctor right away because it's an eye injury. The doctor came in to tell me about my eye and to fix it. "Now your eye is fine, no permanent damage to the eye itself. As for the outer portion of your eye, you're going to need stitches and you're going to have one hell of a black eye in the morning. What did you say happened to it again?" The doctor asked starting to stitch around my eye. "I actually don't kno-" Kenzie cut me off. "Her future husband was trying to hit a puck at the glass again but this time he hit it to hard and it went over the glass and hit her in the eye instead." Kenzie told the doctor. "Okay well he's not my future husband, I never even talked to him before." I explained. "Well if some hockey player shot a puck at the glass at my girl I would think he had a thing for her. But if he tried to do it again and hit her in the eye like this, I would defiantly say he wanted her attention" The doctor said laughing. "See Logan! he gets its." She told me, trying to high five the doctor in the process. "Can't high five you right now. A little busy." He told her nodding towards my face. "Anyways, Kenzie did you call my dad?" I asked. "I didn't have to, he already knew. He's on the way, should be here soon." "How did he – Ouch- know?" I said glaring at the doctor for hurting me "I think he was watching the game and saw it. Also, it's all over the internet already. You're basically a meme now." She said laughing "Great, that’s exactly what I wanted..."

The doctor finished with my stitches and I went to go look in a mirror. My eye was already getting a nasty bruise. It’s going to be some much worse in the morning. I can't lie though, all of the stitches and the black eye made me look like a bad ass if I'm going to be honest. "So how many stitches do I have?" I asked the doctor "17 in total, 8 on the one on the side and 9 on the one under your eye." He explained "You know what Log, you kind of look like a bad ass with your eye like that" "I was just thinking that." I told her laughing. "Alright well were done here, you'll have to come back in about a week/week and a half to get them out. I see you wear make-up so try and go make-up free until you get the stitches out. Or at least try from getting the make-up near your stitches." "Great more time for you to do my make-up!" Kenzie said a little to excitedly. I just rolled my eyes at her like usual. "Thanks for making me look like a bad ass doc!" I say as I'm leaving the room "Don't thank me, thank your future husband for hitting with that puck" He says laughing.

Kenzie was still laughing at the doctors comment while we waited for my dad. I called him to ask him where he was because I thought he would have been here a lot sooner. He ended up getting stuck in all of the traffic from the game. I pulled out my phone to text my friends we were supposed to meet to tell them that I wouldn't be there tonight and that we could it another night. They fully understood why I wouldn’t be there. Seeing as I never got to see how the game ended I decided to check twitter to see how they did. That was probably the biggest mistake ever. Somehow people found out who I was and were tweeting at me asking if I was okay, making fun of me, and sending me a bunch of memes of the puck hitting me. "While isn't this great..." I tell Kenzie as show her my twitter. She thought it was hilarious and went on her phone and retweeted a bunch of the memes. "Hey will you take a picture of my eye? I want to put it on Instagram."

It took her about 10 minutes to get the right picture. Apparently, the hospital had the worst lighting in the world and that’s why it took so long to get the picture. I say it was just her shitty picture taking abilities. My dad arrived right after she got a picture. Of course, he was freaking out and even went to go talk to my doctor. I told him everything the doctor told me but he insisted to go ask him and get told the exact same thing I told him. As soon as we made it home, and my dad stopped freaking out, I hopped in the shower and got ready for bed. I knew my eye was going to be sore tomorrow so I laid out some Advil and a bottle of water for the morning. I got under the covers and started scroll through some social media. Looking through the pictures Kenzie took I finally found one I wanted to post. Coming up with a caption is always the hardest part so I decided to keep it simple, 'Thanks for turning me into a meme and a bad ass all at the same time @auston_matthews'. After locking my phone and putting it on the charger, I went to sleep.

I woke up with the world's biggest headache. I took the Advil and laid back down until it went away or until it was more bearable. I checked my phone to see that it had blown up with notifications overnight. Most of them were from Instagram. Apparently having Auston Matthews, Mitch Marner and William Nylander follow you, and like and comment on your picture on Instagram does that. '@auston_matthews: Sorry about the eye but it does make you look like a bad ass' '@marner_93: Not the way I would have picked to get a girl's attention Aus but Logan you really do look like a bad ass. Suits you.' '@williamnylander: Best looking bad ass I ever seen. Also, the memes about you are my favourite.'

I took a screenshot and sent it to Kenzie. She won't see it till later because that girl sleeps until like 2 in the afternoon every day. Seeing as it was only 830, I decided to go for a run. I got changed into my workout clothes, grabbed my headphones and headed out. There were a few people looking at me when I ran. It was either because of my eye or because they saw me all over the internet. Everyone looking at me got a bit uncomfortable so I decided to end my run early. I stopped by the café where Kenzie works first and got some breakfast. They have the best coffee and bagels in Toronto, I swear. It was about 930 by the time I started to head home. There was a car I never seen before in my driveway. My dad was already at work and Mads was at preschool so I didn’t know who it belonged to. The windows were a very dark tint so I couldn’t see who was driving so I knocked on the window and they started to open the door. I backed up to give them enough room to get out. It was Auston fucking Matthews. At my house. In my driveway. Standing in front of me. "Okay Logan say hi or hey or hello or anything. Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Of course, that’s exactly what you're going to do" I thought to myself just staring at him. Auston was the first to talk. "Hey, sorry about the eye and I hope it isn't weird that I showed up at your house" He said awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head "Not it's okay but how did you find out where I live?" I asked him "Well we have a friend of a friend in common and they told me when they saw it was you. I wanted to say sorry in person rather than over an Instagram comment. It felt more meaningful in person." "I understand, but thanks again, it isn't that big of a deal. I know you didn’t try to give me a black eye on purpose." I say laughing. "Well I still feel absolutely terrible for what I did. Is there anyways I can make it up to you?" He asked me "Actually, there is! Are you and a couple of the guys on the team busy today?"

#nhl imagines #hockey #auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #tml #toronto maple leafs #imagine #william nylander #mitch marner #part 2 #shoot your shot

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emalynde · 8 years

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Dwin’orrel & the Dinner Date 9

Emalynde sipped at her own flute of champagne delicately, letting the golden liquid coat her lips before running her tongue across them in a gesture that was both dainty and almost sensuous. "I cannot deny as much; I do have that drow priestess to thank for my life, in all likeliness. But it is certainly an intriguing subject--the drow as a goodly race." The redhead was not responding in any negative fashion, more so musing about how ironic it was. She took Thalandril at his word, it seemed, and trusted his knowledge of the matter, despite being somewhat fascinated by the concept in general. At the mention of his direct involvement, both crimson brows loft in subtle incredulity, "You?" A light laugh parts lips like velvet, sure that Thalandril was in some way mocking her. "I have not known you to care about anything other than yourself, and now you suddenly have an interest in saving an entire race of almost exclusively evil elves--the same elves who you keep from encroaching upon our fair city with their single-minded plans of destruction? Surely you jest." Emalynde shakes her head, jostling the curls that fell about her doll-like face, "Next you shall tell me that you're hopelessly in love with me and wish to be bound." It was definitely Thalandril's altruism that the freckled elf did not believe in--not that the drow could not be redeemed. She'd seen proof of that already. Thalandril's innate selfishness was what was in question.

***

After reality warps and the tea had turned into champagne, Thalandril sipped delicately at it, enjoying the sweet aroma and fizz. He thought about what the priestess was saying to him. Indeed, he did probably seem selfish--and in many ways was; yet, few knew of his actual intentions. "By the gods, not the entire race. However, everyone deserves a better life if they are willing to put in the work, don't you agree?" Thalandril gave her an amused, knowing look. It was much the same as he did for her: offer assistance to those who want a to better themselves and could be useful to him in the future. He taps the flute of bubbly liquid with his fingers in a rhythmic pattern while pursing his lips, thinking. "You say that like it would be a bad thing." An arched brow matched by a single side of his lip curling upwards donned his handsome face, wondering how she would reply.

*** At the mention of his own benefactor-like role in her life, the freckled elf quiets for a moment, rolling the notion about within her mind before replying smoothly, "Your personal doting does not align with those sentiments. You did what you saw fit because that effort served you. You now have a rather disposable asset who can gather what information you might need with the skills toward that end and the perfect 'cover' to execute them from. You did not mold and groom me from the kindness of your heart." She hated speaking of this; it left such a sour taste in her mouth to be reminded she was just another one of his tools--especially as of late. Thusly, Emalynde was not convinced of any altruism Thalandril might claim. She by no means thought him a bad man, but he had ever shown himself--in her opinion--to be single-minded and concerned almost exclusively with his own desires.

But the jibe at falling in love with her catches Emalynde off her guard. She had fully expected him to roll his eyes or otherwise express a lack of interest--in the very least--toward the entirely playful proposal. Golden orbs hold his gaze, if he would allow it, visibly searching for signs of mocking or crueler such antics. She found none. "It would be," she replies for him, a hint of bitterness subtly coloring her speech--although it would only ever be noticeable to one as perceptive as Thalandril, "you not only are bound already, but love another--do you not? Did you not wish--just this past week--to be free of my company in such a manner?" It was... a low blow. The redhead already knew, but decided to drag out Thalandril's dirty laundry anyways in a small semblance of spitefulness. She rarely did such things, but the pair did have their fights. It was a display of hurt feelings more than anything, but she was not above such things.

*** Thalandril listened quietly as the young priestess of Hanali talked about his selfish nature, it was not wrong. There was always a plan to use her. "I could have chosen any number of other candidates for my personal designs. However, you kept coming back, kept impressing me, kept trying to prove yourself. That is why I made the arrangements that I did." He spun the half empty flute of champagne enough to get the liquid within to create a small whirlpool. "You are correct. I did benefit from our exchange, but it was because of who you are that I chose to engage you in the manner that I have. You have always impressed me and that meant you deserved a better life."

Thalandril keeps her gaze a moment but soon darts his eyes off to the side to look across the rolling river before them, just listening. The flute stops moving and his visage takes on a grave look to its handsome contours. "It seems that you are not the only one to think negatively of me in such a way--being in love and bound to them. It would seem to be a fairly common sentiment of late." The flue was making straining sounds under the pressure of his two fingers holding it. ***

Emalynde did not know what to make of Thalandril's declaration. Another compliment seemed hard to believe, not to mention that the redhead was rather cross with him, and so she assumed he was simply being logical. That made the most sense. Dry logic was something the rogue was unprecedentedly adept at. "It seems you simply chose the most suitable candidate for the job, then. It was nothing more than a business deal. You would have nothing less than your expectations and I was the only one to meet them. You know nothing of, nor little care for, who I am as an individual." She'd remembered the zone of silence, no longer letting her anger simmer underneath the perfected mask she wore. Her outer visage remained pleasant, but her brows contracted every so often, betraying slightly--alongside her tone--her irritation.

The freckled elf makes note of the diverted gaze when she spoke of the intelligence agent's bindings. A sinking feeling manifests in her stomach. She'd gotten what she wanted, but the result did not make her feel any better. Guilt at her behavior starts to creep up Emalynde's spine, like a slow, eventual chill. After a few moments of weighted silence, she exhales in resignation, "You have my apologies. I should not have. It is not my business and... " Her torso heaves a sigh once more, "I am sorry, Thalandril." That apology was not for her conduct, but more for the fact that he, too, had been rejected. While the enchantress could be petty, It was usually only a flash of anger--lashing out like a lick of flame only to retreat once more. Normally, she would have comforted him physically--a hand on his, upon his knee or shoulder, etc. But she refrains, still miffed about being an implement but not so heartless as to not see her closest friend's pain. She still did not believe him about his altruistic 'goals' or that he in any way loved her--besides a small affection given their time together.

*** "It seems as though you and Chelyse both would prefer to keep me at a distance as a business acquaintance." Thalandril made a motion implying washing his hands of the situation. He would not look at her. His face was grim, tight, pulled into a very business-like manner. "It seems as though that is what I am best at, and so I shall keep it at that." He moved to get out of his seat unless stopped. Pain was evident in his eyes; this was not how he wanted the evening to go. He had fully planned on expressing himself in some way to Emalynde, to let her know he did in fact have feelings for her, however, perhaps that was not what was best.

*** Emalynde's brow furrows, confusion marking the delicate contours of her face. It was... so unlike Thalandril to be emotional, much less self-pitying. Could he really be so thoroughly affected? The redhead quiets, watching the facial features of the intelligence operative closely and placing her own anger aside for the moment. Elongated ears wilt slightly at recognizing just how hurt Thalandril must be to have been rejected by the person he cared so deeply for. It was likely the first time he'd cared about anyone other than himself. And she was not like him, in that manner, Emalynde reassures herself. She was being as selfish and self-centered as she chided the blonde for. As the freckled elf sorts through all this, her visage begins to reflect her thought process, sympathy slowly overtaking her. At the declaration that business arrangements were all that the rogue was cut out for, Emalynde's resolve breaks. While he had hurt her, hers was not the only hurt in play. The rustle of chiffon sounds as the Companion rises quickly in Thalandril's wake, closing the distance between them in short order to attempt to wrap her arms about him. "I am sorry she did not return your affection; she knows not what she surrendered," the fiery-tressed elf murmurs gently to her friend, petting the back of his head in soft, soothing motions if he would allow it. They had only been here a select few times--perhaps twice in their many years in each other's company. And this was in public--Thalandril must have loved her greatly, Emalynde admits with a pang of disappointment. *** Thalandril allows the affection. Instead of leaving, he even returns the embrace. He looked quizzically at her for a moment, though. "Oh. You think I am upset because she did not return my affection? I could not care less that she did not love me in return." He continued the embrace if allowed, permitting the young elf to question what he meant if that was her course of action, as he had assumed it would be.

#i love this rp #Dwin'orrel and the Dinner Date #rp #elves #elf #Emalynde Ilayne Inara #Thalandril Van'drys #Ema writes stuff #short story #fanfiction #fanfic #story #write #because I really only write about elves

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justjessame · 4 years

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A Little Ass and A Lotta Sass Chapter 20: We're Going to Either Break Down the Walls... Or, Are Those Candles?!

OK. So learning that Negan’s deal with Dad did NOT include anyone outside Alexandria was my come to Jesus moment. I had a difficult choice to make. Was I going to be able to let it go, knowing that out there Maggie lived knowing that the man I loved killed her husband in cold blood, and that she would no doubt seek vengeance? Or would I try, even knowing that Negan had repeatedly told me he’d given all he would, to convince him to give more? And how would I do it, when he didn’t know that Maggie survived? When he had no idea that my family had spread out among the other communities, that Dad for his own reasons hadn’t negotiated for them?

I stewed, and for once the two of us kept our hands to ourselves. Negan, as I was learning, was a great judge of when to push his luck and press his advantages, and when to wait. Biding his time and letting me come to terms with this new knowledge in my own time. Even his ego could take a break. And so, while I rolled the newly confirmed logistics about the deal, we talked about other things.

He continued to explain the Sanctuary’s rules. For others, clearly, since I was a cut above. The point system. How his people tried to keep the others in line, without utilizing him until absolutely necessary. The fact that he felt pretty fucking happy that he no longer had to enforce the wife laws, shooting me a glance to be sure that I took note of his trust in me. I nearly laughed, the very thought that I’d give the time of day to one of his minions. Downgrading to something less powerful and alluring sounded like fucking stupidity to me, but then again, I hadn’t been taken by the overlord from my mate. And I hadn’t thought I’d sold my soul to Satan to be with him either, that tiny voice whispered in the back of my mind, but here we are.

Of course, I thought, now my fucking overactive brain decided to pipe up with some fucking complaints. Sure, thanks a lot, you twit.

“Callie,” I felt Negan take my hand and forced myself out of my own thoughts. “While you and Laura talk about who to add, I want you to keep in mind that the guard outside isn’t permanent. I just-” He took a breath and I stared at his face. “I want to make sure you’re safe. Here with me. Even when I’m not right here.” He was explaining himself again. “You’re not stuck in this room, go wherever you want, I just need to know-”

I found myself smiling at him. He was so fucking worried, about everything. “I get it.” I nodded, thinking that I’d need to have the former wives pointed out to me, and wondering if Laura would help with that. “I do, and thank you for letting me know that I’m not locked in a cage.” I turned my hand over so our fingers could link. “Maybe Laura and I can stroll around and talk about the technical aspects today.”

His smile, those dimples, returned. I could almost feel the tension rolling away from him. “That sounds like a fucking plan.” He stood up from the table and our clutter of dirty breakfast dishes. “I have to get ready,” he looked uncertain. Would I want to join him for our morning shower? Should he ask? I could read his face like a book. And the uncertainty nearly broke me in two. I stood up to join him and took back the hand he’d held mine with, with a tug, I pulled him to our bathroom and showed him that it didn’t matter. At least not for now.

Dressed in his uniform, that damn leather jacket, t-shirt, and jeans combo was always going to do something to me, I stood naked in the center of our bedroom. “Darlin’, you’ve gotta put something on,” his voice was strained, and I looked over my shoulder at him staring at me. “You’re fucking killing me here.”

I grinned, “I just-” I gestured at my open closet. “Fuck I have no fucking clue what to wear.”

He came up behind me, his fully clothed self pressed against my completely bare back. “Why the sudden problem with grabbing an outfit, Callie? It’s just fucking clothes.”

Sure, I thought, to him it was ‘just fucking clothes’, but I’d been informed how his people viewed me and I had to prove that I was worthy. Of him, for them. And God, I don’t know, in case I met up with one of the cast offs. Shit. “Dwight told me that your people see me in a certain way, and-”

He groaned. “What the fuck did that moron tell you?” I felt his hands sliding down my arms, distracting me slightly from my nerves. “Tell me, Callie.”

I sighed, and shrugged. “That I’m half goddess and half Queen?” I gave my own groan. “The fuck does that combination wear to go out there?”

I felt him chuckle. “I’d suggest you pick something, because if you think you’re going out in what you’re not wearing now, I won’t have fucking people. They’ll all be fucking dead. Cause no one sees you like that but me.” This came out as a growl and I grinned. Fucking territorial, shocked he hasn’t pissed on my damn leg to show just who I belong to.

“Even the women?” I asked, liking this new game, even if it wasn’t technically helping.

“Especially them.” He said, his mouth starting a tortuous path down my neck. “Don’t fucking care if they want you or envy you, dead. All of them.” I felt a slight nip and my eyes went closed. “Mine.” He growled, tongue flicking against my pulse. “All fucking mine.”

I turned to face him and our lips slammed together. Fuck. The shower hadn’t been enough. Would we ever really find out what ‘enough’ was? My naked chest flush against the leather of his jacket, and even through those damn jeans, I could feel how hard he was for me. In a flurry of hands, his clothes were ripped away, and then, as though denying one another for mere moments amounted to years, we came together. All teeth and moans, pounding need and absolute rawness we joined. And I had to wonder if he’d released the guard already, because if not, then whomever had been picked, must have bleeding ears.

We hadn’t made it to the bed. This was absolute raw sex. And it happened against the wall beside our closet. A part of me was thankful that it was the outer wall, because I was certain that he’d have pushed me through the drywall as hard as he was going. Our noises, my name ripped from his lips, his fighting out of mine, were so loud that the echoes seemed to go on even after we finally rushed over the cliff.

As he held me to him, my legs still wrapped around his hips, our breaths coming out in heavy pants I felt his fingers massaging my hips where he’d gripped so tightly. “Damn it, I think I fucking bruised you, baby girl.” I heard how upset he sounded and looked up at him.

“Hey,” I whispered, my voice almost gone from the screaming. “Worth it, Negan, those bruises were fucking worth every fucking moment.” I kissed him gently, letting him know I knew he’d never intentionally hurt me. “Now we have to start fucking over,” I chuckled, thinking about the shower again.

He shook his head, the pain in his eyes lessened by my reassuring words. “Nope.” He said, carefully setting me on my feet. “You, Callie Grimes, are going to walk around all fucking day smelling like ME. Like us. Like the sex that we just fucking had.” I felt a twist of lust build in my stomach. “And I’m going to do the same. Smell like you, all fucking day, until we come back here. Because I want every fucking person in this fucking place to know exactly who belongs to who.” He kissed me on my nose. “But you still gotta pick a fucking outfit out, because you can smell like fucking, but no one gets to enjoy that fucking body like this except me.” And with a swat on my ass, he whistled while he redressed.

While I stood there, tingling from the mere thought of what he was saying. His. Smelling like him and sex and every fucking person here knowing. Shit. Fuck.

I’d managed to pick something out. If you asked me once I was dressed what I chose, I’d be lost. No fucking clue. I had to stop myself from checking to see if I really did smell like him. Like sex. Because then I might have fucking stayed in the damn rooms, and I’d be stuck there for the entire day again. Shit.

Negan had remembered to procure me a walkie of my very own. After walking me through which channels were important, and the most important, his, he kissed me and waited while I told Laura I was ready for her to come up. I swear, he looked like a proud papa. I rolled my eyes, about to inform him that Dad and our group actually utilized the fucking things too. I stopped when I watched him staring at me.

“What?” I asked, feeling strangely self-conscious. I fidgeted, pulling at the blouse I’d apparently picked. Tugging it down over, wait did I pick jeans today? Hazarding a glance down, I confirmed. Well fuck. And I’d put on boots. When did I fucking do that? His smile was almost blinding. “You.” He said, simple and easily. Like I was the answer to it all. “You’re a fucking-” he stopped, licking his lips. “One day, you’re going to tell me what I did, Callie.” I raised an eyebrow, what the fuck was he talking about. “To deserve you.”

Ah, well shit. I wondered the same thing, half the time, I couldn’t fucking understand how we came to be. But whether we deserved one another, I was fairly certain that we did. “I think we’re just-” I fought to put it into words. Non-sappy or weird romantic words. “We complement one another.” I squinted at the fucking inadequacy of that explanation. “Shit, I can’t even articulate what I want to.”

Negan’s hand came down to Mom’s rings. He fiddled with them, and I could see that he had a question burning through him, but then he let go and sighed. “Me either, princess, me fucking either.”

Another kiss, and the knock on the door came. Laura, reporting for duty, I thought. He pulled away from me reluctantly, and I moved to open the door. My new head of security stood there looking totally at ease. “Hey, boss,” she grinned at me, and nodded at Negan as he came up behind me.

“Hello, Laura.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. This was fucking absurd. “I thought you could take me on a tour and we could chat about who you’d like to add?”

She nodded, and after Negan gave me another kiss, we started off. “Remember, Callie, call me if you need me.” He called after me, and I felt that same tingle from earlier. I always needed him, and it scared the fucking shit out of me.

Laura gave me a better tour than Negan had, simply because I wasn’t completely freaked out by everyone dropping into the dirt or floors when we walked together. Thank fucking God that I didn’t merit the same fucking attention. She took me through the marketplace, showing me how the points system worked in reality. Through the kitchens and cafeteria, pointing out how everything came together. We skipped the infirmary when I mentioned I’d been, happy that she didn’t pry. We finally ended up outside, and I breathed in the fresh air, happy we were upwind from Negan’s grotesque security measures. Taking a seat at a table off to the side, we started to discuss her ideas.

Laura was thorough, and careful with her ideas. She’d noticed how I gauged them the night before, and mentioned that I’d get to meet each of her choices to make the final decisions. As we sat, I finally asked what was burning me up with curiosity. “Laura? Could you point out the former-” I stopped and swallowed the bile I felt built up at the thought of multiple women who knew Negan intimately being in the same place as me. “Wives?”

She studied me. Watching to see if I’d elaborate. When I didn’t she offered a comforting smile. “Guess I’d want to know too,” she shrugged. “Sure. I’ll point them out. I’ll even tell you who chose to offer themselves and who went back to their men.”

I was thankful. For her understanding, and for her lack of questioning. As my guard, she had to know that some of these women might be a threat to me. And soon enough, they’d have more reason to hate me. Like when I started to show the proof that Satan’s grand-baby was growing inside of me.

We walked back, taking a similar route so Laura could inconspicuously show them to me. Sherri, who was married to Dwight, and looked pretty happy with her new lot in life. Working in the marketplace, she had a smile on her face and her brown hair tied back. She offered a wave to Laura and a look of interest in me. Amber, a small blonde, working in the laundry. She reminded me of a mouse, but Laura told me that she was happier now that she was returned to Mark. Mark, like Dwight, wore his punishment for cheating with her on his face, but I watched as he walked in and kissed her. Her entire bearing changed. Lighting up and giggling.

Frankie, the red-head who’d been relegated to kitchen duty, was scowling at the orders being thrown at her. Laura didn’t have to tell me that she’d chosen to be with Negan. She was pissed at having to be back among the commoners, I could see that even from a distance, and when she caught sight of me with Laura, the look she shot me could have singed my fucking hair. Tanya, Laura told me, I may have seen in the infirmary. And it clicked. The assistant, the look she’d shot Negan. And I knew she too had chosen Negan.

There were two more, both having been returned to their men. Janet and Ali, and they, like Sherri and Amber, were content. So clearly the danger lay in Frankie and Tanya. And I knew, from the look that Laura shot me that she agreed.

I let Negan know that I’d finished with Laura as we walked back to our rooms. His answer seemed brief, but I hadn’t expected us to use the walkies for phone sex. I let myself into the rooms, and my eyes had to adjust. The lights were off and the living area was lit entirely by candles. What the hell? I felt my heart pound, and walked toward our bedroom, where the scene was set. More candles, everywhere, and lounging on our bed looking more like a male pin up than a man like him had the right to, was Negan. Stripped down to a pair of red silk boxers that I hadn’t seen before, and looking good enough to eat I felt my mouth go fucking dry. Dear God-fuck that dear Satan, we thank you for the bounty we are about to fucking enjoy. I smiled, and pulled off my clothes as he watched, wanting nothing more than to join him and forget about any reality that existed outside our rooms. For as long as we could.

#negan x ofc #The Walking Dead #Smut

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