#he thinks he and Will are on the run after his plans for Florence fell through

[authorafterhours]

Gods, can you imagine what would happen if Will or Hannibal got amnesia and forgot the other one? Especially post-fall?

[samaraannhan20]

Austin Butler Imagine: College AU! I just need to be near you.

Warnings: character with anxiety and depression, fem!reader

You laid curled up under the blankets on Austin’s bed, with your phone laying next to you playing the playlist you and Austin had made together as you napped. Today was not a good day for you. Besides missing Austin while he was out for the last two weeks, because of award shows and interviews, you had received a bad grade on a test, and you had found out that you did not get the part in the college show you had auditioned for. This may not seem bad by usual standards, but as someone that suffers from anxiety and depression, hence the laying in bed with the covers over your head. Austin was supposed to be back for the weekend tonight, so you came over as soon as your classes for the day ended. Austin knew you would be here when he got home, because you had texted him and let him know, but you didn’t want to dampen his mood from Elvis winning awards, and giving great interviews, so you hadn’t told him that you were having a bad day. The original plan you had was to be up and moving, and acting normal again by the time Austin got back. However, you had forgotten to set an alarm and were very much asleep when the front door opened. And you stayed asleep through the steps that climbed the stairs, and the door creaking open and then closing again. It wasn’t until the smells of dinner started slipping under the door, the sweet smell of chicken parmesan, a meal he had made for you many a time before, that you finally started to stir. At first you were confused, but then you sat up. And you saw the tell-tale suitcase sitting next to the armchair, the backpack in the armchair, the coat draped over the arm of the chair, and the boots next to it. As all the pieces connected in your head, you jumped out of bed, grabbed your phone, and ran for the door. After yanking the door open you race down the stairs, through the hall, and into your kitchen. “Austin!” you shout as you run into the kitchen, and he turns around just in time for you to go tumbling into his arms. “Hi darlin’,” he says as he catches you, and then leans down to give you a kiss. “Did you have a good nap?” he asks, and you look down, sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to be asleep when you got back. I wanted to make dinner for you, and be up and, I don't know, okay, when you got back. I was tired, I guess. So I just curled up and I guess I fell asleep,” you tell him as you walk around the counter and sit down on one of his barstools. You could tell looking at him that he didn't fully believe the story, but for the time being he was going to let it go. “How were your interviews this last week?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself. “They were pretty good. I mean, I don’t think I’ll ever be used to the attention being fully on me, but a lot of the time the interviewer brought you into the subject, or rather, as they know you, “my love,” and then I would get to discuss you. Also, Florence said she really wants to meet you, whenever you and I are available at the same time as her,” he casually threw into his story, and your mouth dropped in shock. “No way,” you say in shock, slipping down from your seat and beginning to cross the kitchen to get to him, “Florence Pugh did not say that she wants to meet me. You’re making that up,” you say as you get to him, and wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his chest. “She did, she really did,” he said, and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. You pulled away and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, hard. “So, how were you able to be so quiet that I kept sleeping when you brought your stuff into the bedroom?” you ask him, seriously curious because you were typically a light sleeper. He wrapped his arms around you, basically hunched in half, and tapped on the backs of your thighs so he could pick you up. You hopped a little so he could, and wrapped your legs around his torso as you adjusted. “Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at being quiet in the mornings when I have an early flight or want to surprise you, so I just used those tactics to bring my stuff in. I even kissed you on the forehead, but you didnt budge,” he repsondes, and then pulls you back into a kiss. You pulled back from the kiss momentarily to stare him in the eyes, and as you did you saw so much love in his eyes, that it caused you to tear up. “What’s wrong darlin?” he asked with a furrow in his brow as he saw the tears welling in your eyes. “I just… I’m just… glad you’re home,” you say with a sniffle. “I didn’t want to tell you, because you just got home and I wanted to be able to be happy that you were home, but I had a really bad day, and I’m really struggling.” You then bury your face in his neck, and he carries you around to the other side of the kitchen, and then sets you down on the counter top, and pulls you out of his neck. “Darlin’,” he says, staring deep into your eyes, making sure that you will hear and understand what he’s about to say to you. “I don’t care how good of a day I am having. I want you to always tell me when something is bothering you or something is wrong. It’s a two way street. I get to tell you when I have a bad day, you get to tell me when you have a bad day.” “Yeah, but, my problems are so small compared to yours. I mean, you’re still mourning Lisa Marie, but you’re having to go all over and make all these appearances and do all of these interviews,” you tell him, and the tears are still streaming down your face. “My problems are just stupid, young, college student problems. You shouldn’t have to deal with those. You should be past those.” “And I am. But you, the woman I love, are not. And so, it is my job to sit here and be able to listen to your problems, no matter how small you think they are. So, what’s up?” he asks. “Well,” you start, and then go into all of the details of your bad day, and how the entire week has been leading up to a bad day. He sits and listens attentively, as he always does, and when you finish talking, and the tears are still streaming down your face, he picks you up and carries you over to the couch in the living room. He sits down with you in his lap, and allows you to continue to cry, silently running his hands up and down your back. Eventually, your crying slows, and you pull back to look at him. “If I say something, will you listen to me?” he asks you, bringing his thumbs up to wipe tears from your face. You silently nod, and lay your head back down on his shoulder as he begins to talk. “First, your test. Everytime I called you, you were studying for that test. You did what you could do. And, even if you hadn’t, one test does not define you. You said yourself this would be the hardest test, and so the only way to go from here is up. Second, I’m a professional actor, who has now won some awards, and I still do not always get the part that I want. You are great, and one day your director will see that and give you a part that is made for you. And third, and finally, I am home now, at least for the weekend, if not longer, and we don’t have to do anything besides be together. I’ll tell my manager to not try and contact me unless it is an emergency. I’m all yours darlin,” he says, and places his finger under your chin to lift your head up. “I love you. And that has not changed. I missed you while I was gone as well. Unfortunately, until you graduate with your degree, this is what we have to do. But you graduate in a few months, just in time for the Met, and for my summer break. Just a few more months, and then it’s just us.” He then leans forward and his lips meet yours. Just as the two of you settle into the kiss, a timer starts to go off in the kitchen. He groans as you laugh, and you both pull away. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s go baby,” he says. You climb off of his lap, stand up, and hold out your hand for him. He grabs it, stands up, and the two of you walk into the kitchen. You grab plates as he grabs the food out of the oven, and as he dishes the food out you sit on a barstool. “Wanna watch a movie tonight?” you ask him as he plates the food. “Whatever you want,” he replies with a smile in your direction. You laugh, stand up, and walk around the counter to him. You wrap your arms around him from behind, and he laughs. “Do you need something?” “No, I just need to be near you.”

[40sbarnes]

Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Til Death

(extra)

um,,. have this offering,....

pairing; lorenzo x reader <3

1.6k words; this defo has plot holes idrk whats happening with bianca etc, so just read with a grain of salt pls

Spreading the lip paint across your lips, you half expected it to sting. You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You felt as though you were playing dress up for a mission once again, as if the reflection staring back at you was just another character. But it wasn’t, for this was your life now.

Your hair was arranged in such a way that the prestigious women you had often tried to mimic would wear their own locks, although no longer were you mimicking, you were. The cream gown sat on your body as if it had been plucked from one of your wildest dreams, and not from a quaint dressmaker in Venice. With a smile you recalled your second visit to the shop, how your betrothed had not held back an ounce of opinion, ensuring that you also spoke up for exactly the dress you desired for your special day. Your mind wandered to the blacksmiths surprise on the same visit, as he was given a healthy lump sum to create the rings that would soon sit on your fingers. Your gaze was drawn to your ring finger now, seeing how the band you had stolen so long ago still sat in its place. It served as an engagement ring you supposed, you couldn’t see yourself without it, and as you slid it off and slipped it into a pocket in your skirts, you vowed silently to replace it as soon as the ceremony was finished.

A gentle rapping at the door echoed throughout the silent room. You stepped back from the mirror with one last glance to cross the room, stopping with your hand around the handle as a thought rose to your mind. “Who is it?”

“Your favourite,” even without his unmistakable voice, you would have recognized the cheek in his tone on your worst day.

“Lorenzo! What if I had answered!” you scolded, your hand falling from the handle to join your other as you crossed your arms across your chest in feign anger.

“Well, I was hoping you would,” the confusion in his voice was clear even with the inches of oak between you both.

“You can’t see me before the ceremony! It’s bad luck,” you informed, not sure how much you believed in it but knowing the both of you didn’t need any more misfortune.

“Never knew you were so superstitious,” he teased, although he respected your wishes, accepting that your conversation would take place with the door remaining between you both.

“You have much to learn about me, Medici,” Lorenzo didn’t need to see your face to hear the grin on your lips.

“And I cannot wait to learn it all, Medici,” your heart sped up at he returned your teasing words.

“Lorenzo!” his mother’s voice floated from outside the door, scorning him. You heard the shuffling of him standing up straight, presumably facing her. “Go! They’re waiting for you downstairs, and you shan’t seen your bride before the ceremony, it’s in bad faith!” Lucrezia pushed her son gently in the right direction, ignoring him as he mumbled something along the lines of ‘so I’ve been told.’

She waited until he was gone from the hall to slip into your room, a wide smile falling across her face as she took in the sight before her, “You look so beautiful.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she complimented you, and you returned the grin. Although you had been living with the Medici’s for almost two months now, it was only recently you had the fortune of seeing the woman before you truly smile.

“Thank you, Madonna,” you dipped your head slightly, but she caught your shoulder, forcing you back upright. What is it they say about the apple?

“In a matter of moments I’ll be your mother, officially,” she squeezed your shoulder where her hand was, “no need for the formalities, y/n,” her voice was soft. Your mouth fell slightly agape before you nodded in agreement. Her addition of ‘officially’ didn’t go unnoticed by you. You had quickly fallen into the family, in such a tender time they were more than appreciative to have someone to lean on, and in Lucrezia’s eyes no riches could ever repay the way you cared for Lorenzo after the loss of his brother.

The Medici’s, just as the rest of Florence, believed the story that you had been devoted to Lorenzo from the start, and that you had been kidnapped by the Pazzi’s, threatened to go along with their plan. It wasn’t exactly a falsehood, it just simply emitted some of the more dicey facts. There was no rush on your wedding, most of Florence believed you to be already wed, and with funerals, politics and grieving being the core focus at that time, no one was particularly stressed over officialities. But as time passed, Lorenzo had presented the idea of having a proper ceremony and you certainly weren’t opposed.

“Well,” Lucrezia clasped her hands together as she stood away from you, “ready?”

---

To say it was a small gathering would be a gross understatement. It was strictly Medici in its attendance, Lucrezia, Bianca and Father Carlo were stood out in the garden under an arch of rose bush. With fondness, you recalled some of the earlier planning of this day.

“And where? I suppose it would be a tad awkward to do it in the church,” Lorenzo pondered aloud from where he lay across your bed, supporting himself on one elbow. With everyone thinking that this day had already taken place, it proved difficult to make their beliefs true.

Your gaze fell off of Lorenzo and out of the window you sat in. “What about the gardens?” Somehow, they looked even more spectacular as you made your way into the summer months. The flowers appeared brighter, the grass greener.

“A fine venue for a grand wedding,” Lorenzo joked, his eyes surveying the side of your face, “Is there anyone you wish to invite?” the question escaped his lips as soon as it appeared on his mind, he despised the way he lost his smart tongue the minute you two were alone.

You focused your gaze on one of the rose bushes, “No,” you replied simply, hoping to keep any emotion from the answer. There was no one, you had no one. Only Lorenzo.

You looked to him now.

He looked at you as if you were also all he had, but the glint in his eye made it seem as if that weren’t something terrible at all. It wasn’t that you were all he had in this world, it was that you two were the only ones in his.

Goosebumps rose across your bare shoulders, your eyes remaining on his as you carried your skirts over the grass, joining Lorenzo to stand before Father Carlo. His fingers found yours almost instantly, lacing them together in the small space between you both. He only let them go for the exchanging of rings, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight shake of his hand as he slid the band onto your finger. You gave him a grin as you returned the gesture, earning a wide smile in exchange. You didn’t even hear Carlo’s next words as your now-husband cupped your face to pull you into a kiss, and if you had any lingering doubts of Lorenzo’s true intentions for this marriage, they were mercilessly thrown away as you relished in your lips meeting. Your hands had found his own face, and when you eventually pulled away, you stayed holding one another as you both surveyed your new spouse, trying to commit the image before you to memory; if such a thing was possible.

The look he was giving you made your heart swell against your ribcage, giving you the impression that you were holding his own beating heart in your hands instead of his cheeks. The cheers from your small audience almost weren’t enough to remind you that other people existed in that moment, until they turned into displeased gasps. You tore your eyes from your husband to his family, to see Bianca with her hand held out, her eyes on the sky. You followed her gaze to see the grey clouds that had appeared above you, and were beginning to spill down.

“Come along then, before we’re drenched,” Lucrezia glanced back at you as she headed for the house, Bianca and Carlo in tow.

You faced Lorenzo, wondering why he hadn’t moved, to see his gaze still fixed on you. Your hands slipped from his face to grab his own on yours, taking it to your side. “Come on, or do you wish to stare all day?” your tone was far too soft for the jab to hold any weight.

“Since when have you the ability to read minds?” he quirked a brow, although he seemed to be out of his trance now, a grin sat atop his blushed lips.

“Don’t worry, I can only read yours,” your thumb brushed his knuckles as you spoke.

“I suppose I mustn’t tell you how that only worries me further,” the rain was truly beginning to fall now, but neither of you had moved an inch still.

“You mustn’t,” a large raindrop landed on your brow, threatening to fall into your eye, if not for Lorenzo’s gentle fingers wiping it away before it had any chance.

The sky seemed to have little patience for you newlyweds, and opened up without any further hesitance. Lorenzo squeezed your hand before dragging you behind him, both of you breaking into a sprint as the droplets poured onto you. He glanced back as you struggled to gather your skirts, letting a raw chuckle bubble out from his throat, and you were quick to accompany him in his laughter, realizing that maybe running in the rain wasn’t all that bad.

[hannibalmetaresource]

Some of the s3 scenes between Hannibal and Bedelia really make it look like she is in an abusive relationship with Hannibal (especially if you look at it with no context). She often looks like she can’t leave/escape because she’s scared of him. And even though he doesn’t physically hit her, he clearly has power and control over her. And he inserts himself into her personal space often in an intimidating way. For example when she tries to leave and he goes up to her with a stern expression and takes off her coat. Like ‘I don’t think so’

And it makes you think about why she went with him in the first place. Because he knows that she killed her patient and she feels like he has something he can use against her? So she has to go with him out of fear? Idk man her relationship with him is so weird it’s hard to understand it

And it makes me think about those of us who are smart enough to not deny that Hannibal and Will’s relationship IS an abusive one. Even if Will desires to be with Hannibal, and knows Hannibal accepts the darkness in him etc etc. The two aren’t mutually exclusive and Hannibal is definitely an abusive person. Don’t get me wrong, I still ship them lmao. And it’s fiction so it’s not hurting anybody real. But Hannibal definitely is an abusive person that absolutely thrives off of having complete control and influence over people.

Like Will says : “you don’t want me to have anyone in my life that’s not you”

This is clearly possessive and controlling.

He was possessive and controlling over Abigail in order to use her and get to Will.

And he kinda does the same thing to bedelia just so he has some entertainment and company.

He really is a piece of work 😅

Bedelia's relationship with Hannibal is unhealthy and coercive, you're right. However I think it would be wrong to undermine Bedelia's agency and her genuine fascination with Hannibal.

I don't think Bedelia went with Hannibal out of any fear he would expose her, since she had already been granted immunity by Jack, and Hannibal can't very well turn her in since he's a murderer himself. Bedelia went with Hannibal out of "lucid greed" as he said, she wanted to observe a psychopath in it's natural environment. She had a gun with her, she could have shot him instead of going with him.

As for Bedelia being scared of him, I see that only in Antipasto, honestly. She was probably internally going "oh crap" when Antony Dimmond revealed Hannibal wanted to eat her, and she did try to leave when Dimmond was to be killed, but when Hannibal didn't kill her along with Dimmond, she knew she had time.

By Secondo, the show again makes it clear Bedelia is there because she wants to be. Bedelia could have run away when Hannibal went to Palermo, which was about 700 miles away from Florence. But she didn't want to because she had the situation under control. Instead of leaving, she drew attention to herself so Hannibal would be caught. She started wearing bright, visible clothes and makes sure to be caught on camera, and goes to the store and buys items Hannibal would buy. I think she didn't escape for two reasons, one, she knew Hannibal wouldn't eat her as yet, two, she wanted the fame from being Lydia Fell.

She tells Hannibal she's going to get out of the situation, that she has a plan while he's going to get caught. She mocks him about Mischa, poking at his wounds while being in an extremely vulnerable position (in the bath where Hannibal could easily strangle her). She no longer was afraid of him. And in a brilliant masterstroke, she takes advantage of Hannibal's feelings for Will and manipulates him into eating Will like he did Mischa. If Hannibal kills Will, she gets to be Bluebeard's bride, if Will kills Hannibal, the threat to her life is over. Either way she wins. In Dolce, she leaves after telling Hannibal that he's not going to eat her because she is not marinated enough for his tastes.

A quote from Bryan Fuller about it:

I always wanted Bedelia to be driving her own story. So it would have been very easy for us to say Bedelia has been brainwashed and this is why she has gone off into this adventure with Hannibal Lecter. But the more interesting route for me as a storyteller is for that character who is a strong female character being in charge of her own story with her own drive, with her own curiosities about the human condition and a lot of what she’s doing is for her own edification. And that was a very important point for us to make with that storyline because I feel like we would be doing the actress and the character a disservice if we just made her a drug-induced pawn of Hannibal Lecter’s plot. So we very much did not want to tell that story even though we were looking at telling that story in a different way in this series eventually. But [Bedelia’s] absolutely in control.”

With Will, it's true Hannibal is very controlling, but he absolutely undergoes character development! He gives up his life in Baltimore for Will and he took a lot of risks for him and Abigail. It's true that after Mizumono he couldn't handle Will's influence on him, and tried to eat him like Mischa, but after that failed, he surrendered to keep Will in his life. The ball was in Will's court and it was upto him whether they would meet again. In the Wrath of the Lamb, he allows the Dragon to shoot him, shields Will while severely injured, and allows Will to pull him off the cliff. (Bryan Fuller said he was surprised, but then accepted in that moment). So yes Hannibal is absolutely an abusive person who thrives on control, but we see him slowing give up his control over the course of three seasons, and its very riveting to see.

With Abigail I don't have much to say, you're right in that he controlled and was possessive over her, but he wasn't just using her, he had genuine fondness for her. But sadly that fondness was not enough to overcome his need to punish Will.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas: Christmas Eve Edition is here!

Today we have an STL AU one-shot (it's complete!) about what would have happened if Mary-Alice had left with the Major.

I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to post many of the requests, but December was a bit of a disaster and I fell way behind. I plan on finding something from every one of those requests in January to make it up to everyone <3

Onwards to FicMasEve ;)

And I never wanted anything from you,

Except everything you had, and what was left after that too.

Florence and the Machine, Dog Days Are Over.

—

How long have they been away from the South? From Maria and the wars?

She’s lost track entirely.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She never saw any of it coming.

She watched carefully, she planned and practiced, watched and worried, and she still never saw it coming. Not the Major taking her hand and dragging her out of Mexico and Texas in the dust of Charlotte and Peter’s flight. She never even considered that he’d think to take her with them.

So she does her best, her gaze focused on the future, focused on Maria and their desertion to make sure they see the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of the year. Her head feels tight, so full of what could-might-will happen that she’s glad that the Major doesn’t let go of her hand the entire time, just drags her along behind him.

And that’s how they escape the south.

—

They travel with Peter and Charlotte for many years, a little trio and the shadow. He watches her, the blankness of her face and her emotions as they move past the Mason-Dixon line to peace and safety.

She has no strong opinions about anything, never offers thoughts or ideas about their little trek across the country.

He doesn’t know how to help her. Not at all. He makes sure she’s fed, and that she’s decently clothed. He makes sure she’s not left behind, or alone too often (he knows something about the terror of being alone, and he doesn’t want anyone to feel that way.)

So they continue on. He waits, she watches, eyes empty but all-seeing. They part ways from Charlotte and Peter (there are a hundred little tiny reasons why, and Mary-Alice is one of them. She doesn’t feel safe, doesn’t trust Peter or Charlotte and he’d like to know why, but that’s not the kind of question he can ask her. Especially not now.) They wanted into the north, into wet and damp and green and empty, where the emotions of the cities are long behind them and he can finally breathe a little.

Mary-Alice doesn’t breathe, doesn’t relax or doesn’t seem any less broken. She simply is, still - a shadow, a ghost, his personal spectre of the horror of the wars.

This is not how he imagined freedom would be.

—

The little house had been half-swallowed up by the forest, one half of the building having collapsed under the weight of debris from the trees crowding it, and the smell of mould and rotting vegetation was overwhelming.

The rain had continued for two and a half days unabated, and whilst they ran no risk of getting sick or cold from it, but when it was raining this heavily and for this long, it was unpleasant - their clothes were sticking like a second skin, with rivulets of dirt and old blood running from the fabric onto their skin.

Wiping mud off her face with an equally filthy hand, she followed the Major towards the house; they were both covered in a combination of blood, mud, and ash from the fight. Mary-Alice’s dress was in a far worse state than the Major’s pants and shirt, but neither were particularly salvageable.

The house is a little time capsule of the past, having sat untouched for forty or fifty years, just resting and rotting. The dust that covers the floor is more of a sludge thanks to the dampness and the nearby river, with veins of mould and fungus running up the walls, and vivid green vines twisting and blooming up the door frames and around the ceiling. There might have been wallpaper once, but it’s little more than stained, rotten pulp right now.

(Two fat little frogs have nestled in a hole in the wall, luminous green and content. Mary-Alice watches them for a moment, fascinated. He likes that.)

They move through the house slowly; everything has been abandoned - it was not the home of wealthy people, but there is evidence of a few modest creature comforts - some books, discarded embroidery, painting supplies.

It feels like the other side of the Monterrey mansion; like they’ve stepped through the looking glass to another world. No one would argue that Maria’s home was cleaner - more bodies moving around to prevent dust settling - but the air of disrepair, of abandonment, of a liminal space is the same.

For a moment, he thinks he would prefer dirt and sand and the dry heat. But he’d take the rainiest days, the mouldiest shelter, before he’d go back to the hell of being a soldier in an unwinnable war.

—

The little washroom was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, with lacy spiderwebs strung in the ceiling corners. The tub matches up with his hazy human memories, bringing the smell of castile soap, and the heat of the boiled water sloshing into the the tin tub to the front of his memory.

(It is bittersweet in its simplicity. That once upon a time, he was a boy who washed in a bath like this, with homemade soap and rough rags. That he was a person, a human, a brother and son. A child. Jasper. Those memories sting and feel heavy but at least he has them. There is something amusing but also dreadful at Mary-Alice’s fascination with something as simple as frogs, as folding paper into animals, at how stricken she is out in a brand-new world.)

They are absolutely filthy; it’s been weeks since they washed, in a river somewhere in Virginia. They’ve relied upon the rain, upon the remoteness of their path, but maybe a bath would help. Would make them feel better. Even back with Maria, getting the opportunity to wash, and to claim new clothes made things seem a little less grim.

If nothing else, they’ve both got blood in their hair they need to wash out.

(The first time he had her after their escape, was in the lake somewhere in South Carolina when they stopped to wash the dirt and sand from the south off them. It was rough and hard, because he felt stripped raw, and she had held on to him tightly, her face pressed against him and it wasn’t exactly the cleansing baptism he had hoped for, he realised afterwards. Not for either of them. Maybe this bath will be better.)

—

There’s an old bucket in the corner, rusted tin housing a fascinating colony of something unidentifiable that he takes down to the river when Mary-Alice is exploring the narrow second floor.

It takes a few trips to the river to fill the tub enough for the both of them, and by then, Mary-Alice has crept back downstairs to watch his progress with obvious curiosity.

(A piece of ragged ribbon is clutched in one of her hands, and he wonders why she would want such a thing.)

“Wash yourself,” he says gently, motioning to the bath. The water is off-colour, but it is river water, from an ancient bucket, and it is still cleaner than the two of them.

Mary-Alice nods and strips out of her rag of a dress; there was something utterly pathetic in the wet slap it made when she dropped it on the stone floor amongst the dust and dirt. She’d drag it back on when she was finished in the tub, he knew that - but it looked like nothing. Black and brown and red, the fabric worn thin and frayed. It was barely fit for bandages or as a cleaning rag, let alone as someone’s clothing.

She picks up the dress and rings it out - bloody-muddy water dribbled out of it. And she folds it over the half-broken chair in the corner, as if it is going to be dry or cleaner when she reaches for it again.

The whole thing just feels sad to him. But then, he knows how wrong this is; he vaguely remembers what it was like to have new, clean clothes as a human. Even as a vampire, he got to replace his garments more often than Mary-Alice ever did - so few of their victims were small enough for their clothing to fit her.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing Mary-Alice in clothing that fit her right. Not the ragged hospital gown he found her in, nor any of the dresses she was provided with afterwards. Always swallowing her up, leaving her shoulder bare.

That’s why she had so many scars there, overlapping indiscriminately. It had been like a beacon to others, a vulnerability. Because her clothes never fit right.

(He thinks of homemade sweaters, of crisp afternoon dresses, of pristine petticoats and neat lace. He thinks of rancid dresses and torn hospital gowns and thin, pale limbs unguarded.)

—

It’s been awhile since he saw her bare like this, as she steps towards the tub. (Normally when he does, he doesn’t see her back.)

His fingers have grazed over the narrow plane of her back, but he’s never really just looked at it. At the scars dotting her shoulders and arms, at the long scar that runs from her shoulder blades to her hip raggedly. He wonders how it happened, how old it is.

(Not that old. He knows the small scars under his fingers as well as his own; in comparison, her skin dips into it… how burns on his tongue but he says nothing.)

She turns to him, her head tilted in curiosity some, and she just… stands there. Thin and pale and scarred and completely naked without shame or thought. And that tastes like regret, that she’s been raised up like this, that she doesn’t expect privacy, doesn’t bother with modesty, because she never had a reason to. The Wars take their pound of flesh, and left this girl without the idea that she should-could cover herself. Could turn away, refuse, say no.

Her lack of modesty is something that shames him more than it shames her. It is not enduring, not an ideal. Just another red mark against him.

He turns away and she finally climbs into the bath, a cloud of filth spreading out from her as weeks of dirt and grime and dried blood peel away from her skin. She sits in one end, still watching him as he moves around the little wash room, tugging open cupboard doors and watching the rotten, water-logged door crumple in his hand. Vermin and insects have eaten away at any linens left behind, and water and time finished the job.

They don’t speak as he slips from the room, leaving her in the cold water, waiting for… whatever it is that she’s always waiting for.

—

She sinks into the water when the Major leaves her to wash, and scrubs at her arm with her hand, eyeing the cake of forgotten soap in its dirty little dish. The soap has been left behind and broken down into some mould-riddled pulp that looks almost organic in its curdled decay - it fascinates her, honestly. It’s so innocent, yet so repulsive, a mundane little reminder that nothing last forever. At least, nothing should.

(It’s easy to focus on little things, like rotten soap or the blood dried pink in the Major’s hair, than bigger things. Like her visions. Like the fact that this was never supposed to be their fate. That she hasn’t seen anything in weeks, since they fled. She has no idea what will become of them, truly, and it is ice-cold, hard knowledge that she cannot outrun, that she will not acknowledge.)

Stretching out in the tub, she smiles at the idle thought the she cannot even reach the other end with her toes - unless she submerges herself and stretches right out. Maybe then.

She has to wash her hair, pick out tiny leaves and sticks and crumbs of dirt and matted blood. Will have to wash out her dress, too; it was gingham once. Now it’s just brown. Brown like mud, brown like the bathwater, brown like the dried rivulets of old blood running down her neck. If she ever gets to choose, she thinks she’d like a blue dress. A blue dress with a yellow ribbon around the waist.

(Why can’t she see?)

—

He prowls through the rooms of the house that are still accessible, peeling off things that might be useful - he finds an old wooden comb; a mouldy bedsheet that he rips in half to salvage; and a long-sleeved dress, decades out of style, but perhaps small enough to suit Mary-Alice. It was grey once, and now has water marks and ragged moth holes, but it’s far and away better than what she was wearing.

(He finds himself a cleaner shirt, a little mouldy but certainly wearable. His pants will last until their next hunt - Mary-Alice is a quick study in which human’s clothing will fit him. She might even be convinced into stealing some clothing from a forgotten washing line, so that she finally has something that covers her properly, something that doesn’t leave her vulnerable and exposed.)

Back in the washroom, Mary-Alice looks somewhat cleaner, but not entirely. She straightens up in the bath as he walks back in, curiosity in her eyes at the items that he’s carrying. She always liked getting new clothes back in the South, always inspected each dress she was issued, as if she had to make a choice and didn’t just have to settle for the closest fit, for whatever colour and fabric and style was in the mixed-up pile.

(She always did a little twirl when she tried them on, a little spin as she looked down at her new prize. It was… endearing. Sweet. Hopeful. He didn’t know if she realised that she did it, or that he noticed. He never said anything, but he was always sorry when she came back from a battle with a new tear or stain - she always appreciated her clothes so damn much.)

He nods at her, and she rests her chin on the edge of the tub, her gaze following him as he walked around the room.

The new dress and shirt are folded carefully on top of the bedsheet, so damn obvious in their surroundings like offerings to a pagan god.

(Perhaps prayers for a rebirth, for a revolution and a revelation. New clothes for a new age.

He’s already getting sentimental over a few lengths of moth-eaten fabric.)

When he turns back around, she’s still watching him with that vacant, but half-starved look, grime still streaked on her face.

“Has it helped?” he asks, sitting down by the tub. They are nearly face-to-face this way, neither looking up nor down. Her eyes are darkening, to a deep rose-red. They still have another few days, maybe a week, before they have to hunt again.

“Has what helped?” she asks, confused.

“The bath.” He looks at the stone floor, at the little veins of dirt running through it. “I thought it might help.”

She shifts in the tub, so he can only see the top of her nose and her eyes above the rim, shadows rippling over her face.

“Help?”

He swallows and looks at her. Really looks at her. At the dark circles under her eyes that seem deeper because of the fear. At the way she shrinks back but never breaks her gaze.

(A slim hand gripping his shirt sleeve when the nomads approached them, tucking herself behind him. That had surprised him; he’d never seen Mary-Alice back away from a threat before.)

“I know…” he begins, and he wants to reach out and hold her. But they aren’t there, they don’t casually touch in that way. This was his choice, and he dragged her along for it with little consideration for her, just laser focus on getting them both away.

“I know you didn’t see this coming…” he tries again and he doesn’t finish that sentence before Mary-Alice shudders and folds in on herself, burying her face in her hands.

And crying.

—

He reaches for her, instinctually; her tiny frame shaking as she tries to contain whatever she’s feeling.

(She cries like a little child; little wobbly sobs into her hands with shiny red eyes that will never produce tears but secrete venom down her face, more viscous than the venom from their mouth. It burns white stains on clothing, their faux tears do. Venom from their mouths and limbs eats through most fabrics and papers quickly. But that’s not why he wants to mop up her face and hold her tight.

He wants to because she’s scared and worried and feels like she’s alone. And he never, ever wants anyone else to feel that way, not when he can make a difference.)

The water sloshes in the tub as he climbs in, fully clothed. If the water was cloudy when it was first tipped into the tub, now it’s completely opaque - they would get a better wash, in cleaner water, if they just waded out into the rain-swollen river. She looks up at him with a breath that almost sounds like a gasp, as he sinks into the water, and pulls her into his arms.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, her thin arms wrapping around his neck, and she pushes her face against the rough, reeking fabric of his shirt and maybe there’s a corner of his mind that is a little embarrassed at the state of him when she’s this close, but she’s naked and looking so very broken that she takes priority, not some half-forgotten lessons on gentlemanly behaviour in the back of his head. It’s not like he’s ever been a particular gentleman to her before.

“I can’t see,” she says, and she shudders with misery and sobs. “I can’t see anything, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

Gently rocking her, he ran his hands through her hair, freeing a few small tangles and some debris gently.

“It’s alright,” he says again, because he really is lost at what to say to fix this. To apologise and soothe and heal and repent.

“No. It’s not,” she leans back, and he’s enchanted by her. By her mussed hair, and her big red eyes, and the sheen of venom clinging to the fan of her eyelashes. She really is truly lovely - he thought that the day he found her, with a wide smile and emotions that leapt out at him in their strength and purity. He could have led her anywhere, and she wouldn’t have questioned him. Or rather, she would have, but in excitement and trust. Not in fear or suspicion.

(He aches to go back and make it right. He’s watched her since they left; the blank, cold way she has moved around. Just utterly dull and uncomfortable. Peter had voiced the suspicion that it was him and Charlotte that had been making her so unhappy, that perhaps she hadn’t wanted to leave but had needed to follow the Major’s orders above all else. But even now, weeks after leaving Peter and Charlotte in New York, she was still so miserable, a shadow of all that she had been before - gone was that happy girl he found abandoned in Mississippi; as was the solemn but confident little shadow of the Wars. She was like a marionette with the strings cut away, like an abused animal limping into freedom reluctantly, scared of another set of tests and traumas.

And all of that is his fault.)

“It is. None of us know what’s going to happen next. That’s how it is,” he tries but she scowls.

“We never would have gotten this far if I hadn’t seen,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I need… it protects all of us.”

It takes him a minute to comprehend what she’s saying - the scope and scale of her gift; of her efforts to protect and guide and manipulate. Of the fact that she was never just looking after herself; that she had stretched and warped herself into the shield that protected him and his.

(‘All of us’ is not just them. It is him, and her, and Peter and Charlotte. And he’s seen the way she and Peter stare at each other, at the way Charlotte inches away from Mary-Alice with varying degrees of subtlety. The only reason for her to have guarded them is because they were his friends. His people. And that is a layer of devotion, of kindness, and of power that he’s not sure how to compute, how to articulate.)

“…You did that for us?” he finally manages, pushing a soggy lock of hair out of her eyes, ignoring the rust-coloured stain it leaves on his fingers. They’ve both been hunting a little more viciously in this part of the country, where easy prey is harder to come by. Bloody hair is hardly their biggest problem.

She blinks and frowns. “Of course. We were meant to…” And she trails off, and for once, he feels something from her. Sadness, disappointment, and grief all tangled up. Something that was lost, then; something that couldn’t be retrieved.

His hand slips to cradle her cheek and he has a million things to say and he doesn’t know what to say first.

(I’m sorry, let me protect you, let me fix this, let me fix you. Let me stay with you, let me touch you, let me make you smile again.)

“How does it work?” he asked. “Your gift?” She’s leaning into his touch and he wonders if she notices. He wonders if it’s just wishful thinking on his part.

“Decisions. The outcomes of choices. Things can change,” she says quietly, “but I’d see that as well.”

(She smells like flowers and salt, even now.)

“Does that mean you haven’t made a choice yet?” he asked, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Mary-Alice shrugged. “I don’t know what choice to make,” she said.

It’s such a simple answer, such an easy problem, and he marvels at it for a moment. The idea that she’s been guided by her visions for so long - a hand pulling her along in the dark - that she can’t bring herself to move forward on an unknown path… it indicates so much power, so much discipline, and such a burden. That, to her, any wrong step on the tight-rope could ruin everything.

“What about a small decision?” he asked, and watched as her hands fell to his shirt, to the few buttons that still clung onto the fabric. “What’s something that you want?”

He can see the thoughts turn over in her head, watches her bite her lip and she looks at him like she can see right through him, see every thought and dream and regret he’s ever had before she breaks her gaze and looks back down at his chest.

“I want…” she begins, and another hint of emotion brushes by him, half gone before he can identify it - embarrassment.

“What do you want?” he asks again, covering her hands with his and she looks at him again with a desperate, starving look.

“I want us to stay together.” Her voice is soft and sad but hopeful. “Please.”

(He wasn’t expecting that.

Not at all.)

“I want that too,” he manages hoarsely.

And she looks at him, her face a portrait of unfiltered surprise. He doesn’t ever want to lose her, to let her go. To let her down. He wants… he wants to find her somewhere safe and peaceful, where her dresses fit properly and she smiles. He’s spent so many years using her as a crutch, as a way to keep himself functioning and alive, with no knowledge that she was already protecting him the very best she could, that he wants to repay her, desperately.

“Okay.” She nods and curls against his shoulder, threading the buttons through each buttonhole of his shirt. Pushing the sides of his shirt aside until he sits up long enough to peel it off and fling it onto the floor, she lies half-sprawled across him, occasionally wiping dirt and blood off him.

(For a moment, he feels her - skin to skin, in the dirty bathwater. They are fragile, her emotions, ephemeral and easily missed. But it is more that he ever felt from her before - little flutters of hope and reassurance, relief and a deep well of devotion; devotion to him.)

They sit there, tangled up in each other, for awhile - until she goes rigid for a few moments and then blinks up at him.

“We’ll be together,” she says, shifting against him, and he wishes they could sleep, just so they could do so curled in each other’s arms. “I can see that.”

He doesn’t know why (or won’t admit it) but he presses his lips to her forehead; despite the amount of times they’ve been together (on his terms, always), this gesture is strangely intimate, oddly binding.

They’ll be together.

That’s a future that will never change.

—

He finally strips off and they sink into the dirty water entangled, sponging off dirt with the use of his shirt, when he insists he found a cleaner one. She drags the comb through his curls so gently; her fingers teasing out each piece of debris, each snarl and knot. He attempts to salvage some of the soap for their hair, but it is a disgusting and futile endeavour.

(And maybe it’s worth it because she almost laughs; the mirth bubbling faintly as they both eye the mess.)

He wants to ask her questions about what she has seen, what was lost, and what comes next. But he doesn’t want to, not yet. There’s something more tangible between them now; soft and almost new, unlike what they’ve had in the past. He already likes this little bubble they’ve found themselves in - the way she wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him like she’s going to be torn away from him. The way she presses her face against his neck, he can feel her inhaling, nuzzling closer. He loves that already, that she wants to get closer, that despite everything, she’s so open about taking her comforts from him.

(He wants to press kisses to her cheeks, and cradle her in his arms properly. He wants to watch her spin in new dresses and memorise every mark and every scar on her skin. He wants this peace, this conviction that they’ve both finally found each other in the right place at the right time - a new certainty that has settled into him out of nowhere - to stay forever.)

Her lips quirk against his skin, and he thinks she might have smiled, and he tightens his arms around her.

(The next kiss he gives her will be one she asks for. He promises himself that.)

[mianavs]

Queen of Peace

Oh, the king / Gone mad within his suffering / Called out for relief / Someone cure him of his grief

His only son / Cut down, but the battle won / Oh, what is it worth / When all that's left is hurt

“Queen of Peace” by: Florence + The Machine

knight!Osamu x queen!reader, royalty/historical au, forbidden love

tw: smut, oral (f!receiving), breeding, angst (of course)

a/n: a super self-indulgent fic inspired by the aforementioned song, a fanart of knight!osamu i reblogged a while back, and my undying love for historical fiction; tagging: @hqintheclub​

ty: all my love to @rosesandtoshi @oneblonded​ and @liaslight​ for taking the time to beta read this!

wc: 6.3k+

bg: Kingdoms are named after regions in Japan (ones mentioned to are Chubu, Tohoku, Kanto, and Kansai). These kingdoms are then divided into provinces which are named after Japanese prefectures (Hyogo). Haikyuu schools are used as titles of nobility (Duke of Fukurodani, Marquess of Itachiyama)

The roar of the blowing horn broke you out of your trance; it’s thunderous cry signaled the arrival of the King and his soldiers. Your heart swelled with relief, and you swiftly set aside your needlework before leaving your rooms to greet them. Your ladies, who sat around you in a semicircle with their own needlework, mimicked your movements and fell in line behind you as you exited door after door before finally reaching the main corridor.

“Don’t you wish to change into a different gown, Your Majesty?”

You paused at the sudden inquiry from one of your ladies and glanced down at your simple black gown. “We are still in mourning. This gown is more than appropriate.”

You resumed your trek to greet the King leaving the other ladies who took it upon themselves to reprimand the one that had interrupted you. While you would never show it, you were relieved that you still had some semblance of control over your ladies despite your unpopularity amongst the courtiers. An unpopularity that had plagued you ever since you left Hyogo five years ago by order of the Kansai King to marry the widowed King of Kanto.

With each step you took, unease swirled in your navel and your throat tightened. It’d been a long war against the neighboring Chubu kingdom. One that had taken their king and your kingdom’s heir.

Prince Shoyo had been the King’s only child by his beloved first wife, a Tohoku princess, and his pride and joy. Nicknamed the ‘Kingdom’s Sun’, he had been admired by his peers, respected by the Council, and loved by the people. Even you, his stepmother despite being of age, had found comfort in the amiable prince who had never treated you unkindly. The news of his death had sent the kingdom into a panic and the courtier’s scrutinizing eyes once again fell on your stomach that had yet to swell with child.

“My Queen, are ya unwell?”

The turbulent thoughts that had clouded your mind the entire way to the palace’s front entrance cleared the moment that rich accented voice resonated in the foyer. There in the middle stood your childhood friend and sworn sword that had made the journey to a foreign kingdom without you asking, Osamu Miya.

You instinctively gravitated toward him as if tethered to his armor by an invisible string that pulled you closer, until he was just an arm’s length away. His thick brows knitted together and a frown was etched on his face as he studied yours. You offered him a small smile that might’ve fooled anyone else but not Osamu who knew you better than anyone. He pursed his lips but, nonetheless, went down on one knee, took your hand, and pressed a chaste kiss on the back of it. The warmth that radiated off of his touch and kiss spread like honey over your heart and soothed your nerves.

“I am fine,” you replied when Osamu rose to his feet and took his place on your left. “We should go. The King must not be kept waiting.”

Beneath your grief over the loss of Shoyo, there had been a flicker of hope for a renaissance in your marriage; your already precarious position depended on it. If you could only give the King an heir, then you wouldn’t be seen as the useless foreign queen anymore.

So when you steeled yourself against the autumn chill and saw the King’s banners billowing in the wind, you were determined to lie with your husband for the first time since your wedding night. Even when the old King struggled to dismount his horse, cursed his bad leg, hobbled over to you, and patted your head with the affection usually reserved for a daughter instead of a wife, you plastered a warm smile on your face while your hands fisted the skirts of your dress in frustration.

“Welcome home, My King,” you greeted with your deepest curtsy. “A humble feast is being prepared to celebrate your return. The official mourning processions will begin tomorrow.”

At the mention of mourning, the King’s mouth set into a hard line while his eyes glazed over. “You have worked hard, Y/N. Thank you.”

“Your Majesty is too kind. I am merely doing my duty.”

The King’s greying brow furrowed at your mention of duty before nodding once. “Of course. I am afraid my leg will not let me attend the feast, but I trust you will be there in my stead.”

“You can rest assured that I will be the most gracious host, My King.” You replied, hiding your disappointment over the news of his absence. Like all things involving you, the King was oblivious and continued his labored tread to the palace.

It was only when the King was outside of your field of view that Osamu, steadfast and true, asked after your well-being.

“Are ya alright, My Queen?”

You could feel his steel grey eyes burning the side of your face but kept your gaze fixed on the King’s ghostly trail.

“Of course,” you replied but neither of you believed it.

The welcome feast went by as you’d expected. The war-weary soldiers ate and drank their fill but there was none of the merriment and banter that usually filled the dining hall. The King and Prince’s absence weighed heavily on everyone’s mind including yours, so any conversations that took place were done in hushed voices that didn’t travel beyond its participants.

Yet it seemed that even the soldiers fresh from battle and with a plethora of personal issues already plaguing them had enough time to worry over the lack of an heir. Their eyes occasionally flickered over to your empty womb with varying degrees of concern and disappointment. When they became too into their cups and their stares more shameless, you wiped your mouth and excused yourself from the feast to a chorus of half-hearted ‘goodnights’.

Even in your rooms with your ladies readying you for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the burdening stares of the feast. So after your ladies finished and excused themselves for the night, you wrapped yourself in a thick robe and made your way to the King’s chambers on the other side of the palace.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone floors and you didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

“I do not need an escort, Sir Osamu.”

“It’s late, My Queen. Ya shouldn’t go off wandering by yourself even if it’s to see the King.” Osamu retorted, disapproval lacing his words.

You turned around to face him. “I am trying to do my duty.” You informed him and fixed him with a hard stare.

“So am I,” he declared and moved closer until you saw the determination and something else reflecting off his grey orbs. You knew better than to argue with Osamu when he was being stubborn, so you let out a defeated sigh and resumed your walk to the King’s chambers with your knight in tow.

The two guards outside the King’s door announced you before the King gave his approval. The large mahogany door opened and you walked in, ignoring the knowing stares of Osamu and the other two. You knew your bold actions were improper, but you were done waiting for the King to make the first move. Strengthening your resolve as you walked through the antechamber, you straightened your back and took a deep breath before entering the King’s bedchamber.

The room was dimly lit while the stench of liquor and medicinal herbs permeated the air. You spotted the king sitting at his breakfast table; one hand around an empty glass and the other buried in his thinning locks of hair. As you made your way to him, the moonlight shone on his aged face and reflected the tears that stained his cheeks. It was only when you sunk into a low curtsy that he noticed your presence.

“My King,” you greeted demurely. “I came to…see how you were doing.”

It was a lie, but seeing the King devastated with grief cracked your determination. The King glanced up at you and your heart clenched painfully at the sight. He looked lost with bloodshot eyes, trembling lips, and a furrowed brow.

“M-my son,” he croaked, voice dripping with sorrow. “My Shoyo…is gone.”

Tears blurred your vision and you rushed forward to embrace the desolate king. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed his head against your chest and mourned the loss of his son together.

In the end, your plans were for naught. You helped the drunken King to his bed and stroked his hair until he fell into a deep slumber. It was then that you should’ve left his bedchamber to return to yours, but you couldn’t find the will to do it. Gossip would run rampant in the palace the next morning, and your reputation would only get dragged through the mud for being a useless queen that couldn’t even seduce her own husband.

So, on a whim, you removed your robe and tossed it on an empty chair before lying next to the King.

You woke up at the crack of dawn and left before the sun’s rays spilled into the bedchamber. Throwing one last glance at the sleeping king, you offered him a silent apology before retrieving your robe and exiting his chambers.

The same guards from the night before greeted you with a bow, but Osamu was nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the strange pit in your stomach, you wished the guards ‘good morning’ and set off to your chambers. On the way, you passed by scores of maids, manservants, and guards who looked at your attire and exchanged looks. It was all proof that your ploy had been successful, and you made the long walk back with your head held higher and your back straighter than ever before.

But the satisfaction from your triumph was cut short when you found Osamu in your antechamber. He appeared agitated as his eyes swept over your appearance, lingering on your mussed hair and thin shift. Under his heavy gaze, you became conscious just how scantily-clad you were dressed and wrapped the robe tighter around your form.

Osamu approached you until he stood next to you, facing the door. Heat radiated from his body and enveloped you in it until it seeped into your bones, sparking something in the pit of your stomach. You could have stayed there for hours just basking in the warmth of his presence, but he spoke and broke your trance.

“Did ya get what ya wanted?” His cold tone was ladened with judgement and it bothered you beyond reason.

“Yes,” you admitted. “For the most part.”

His head whipped in your direction but you kept your gaze fixed on the door leading to your bedchamber. You could almost hear the opening and closing of his jaw, but instead of asking his question, Osamu walked out of your chambers, leaving you alone with your bittersweet triumph.

Just when you dared hope for a brighter future, your world fell apart with the death of the King just two days after Shoyo’s funeral. He’d been dealt a deadly blow by a wild boar during a hunting trip and passed away before a physician could arrive. It was the explanation the mob of courtiers offered you, and before you could wrap your head around the situation, a voice piped up amidst the courtiers.

“The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

A couple of moments passed before a weak chorus echoed that call, falling to one knee in the process. Their declaration should have filled you with joy, but the conflict on their faces as they exchanged looks only added to your already perilous situation.

The late King hadn’t even been in the ground for a day when the Council called for a meeting with you, the acting ruler of the kingdom. Exhausted as you were by the funeral processions as well as your new duties as regent, you mustered all your strength and courage before the impressive double doors of the throne room opened, and you were announced.

“Her Majesty, the Queen!”

The smell of cologne and musk filled your nostrils as you walked into that room full of critical men ready to tear you down like a pack of wolves. Your crown felt heavier than usual and your neck ached, but you continued until you reached the dais and lowered yourself unto the cold throne.

Rearranging your skirts, you looked up to find the leader of the faction that opposed you opening his mouth to speak. Unwilling to be shamed so early into the meeting, you spoke first.

“Let us begin.” You turned to one of the dukes of the neutral faction, “What is the topic of this meeting, Your Grace?”

“The matter of succession, Your Majesty.”

You bit back a sneer. You knew this discussion would take place sooner rather than later, but you couldn’t help feeling amused by their impatience in limiting your time in power.

“As a foreigner, you must not be aware of the importance of an heir with royal blood flowing through their veins.” A member of the opposing faction spoke out and the insult was not missed by anyone in the room, including you. Fueled by indignation, you placed a hand over your stomach and watched surprise flash across each of the faces in that room.

“After five years of living in this kingdom as your queen, I am perfectly aware of the importance of a Kanto heir. The late Prince Shoyo might be gone, but a direct heir could very well be growing inside me as we speak!”

The room broke out in an uproar between the factions. The men exchanged glares, insults, and accusations that went beyond you and into the deep-rooted political ideologies that separated them. Agitated by their emotional outburst, you were about to call for order when a voice from the opposition beat you to it.

“Gentleman!” Kotarou Bokuto, the Duke of Fukurodani, spoke up and stepped out of the crowd. “Let us convene on the matter at hand.”

His golden eyes brazenly met yours the way they always had during your prior reunions. His display only showed that he had no more respect for you than when you were just queen consort and you did your best to hide your embarrassment.

“A course of action regarding the future of our kingdom must be adopted.” The leader of the opposition declared, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “A time limit must be placed for the Queen to see if she is indeed with child. If the Queen does not show the signs of pregnancy after the allotted time period, I believe we should decide on an heir here and now!”

“And who, pray tell, do you deem worthy of being declared the Kanto heir if the blood of the late King is not growing in my womb?” You inquired despite already knowing who they would name.

“The Duke of Fukurodani, as nephew to the late King, would be the most suited for that title.”

“That is only if the Queen is not carrying the late King’s child.” From the crowd of the neutral faction, the Marquess of Itachiyama, Kiyoomi Sakusa, stepped out and bowed to you before re-addressing the opposition. “A trial period of six months should be an adequate amount of time to see if the Queen is with child.”

Muttering filled the room as the factions debated Sakusa’s proposition amongst themselves and with each other before the room settled and the leader of the opposition spoke once again.

“The factions accept the time period suggested by Itachiyama and the declaration of Fukurodani as heir if, and only if, Your Majesty is not with child.”

They presented this to you as if you had a choice in the matter when in reality, all you could do was agree to their conditions with a smile like the powerless ruler you were.

“Very well. The matter of succession has been settled and this meeting is now adjourned!” You declared, gazing across the room to find a pair of gleaming golden eyes already on you.

Your resolve was crumbling like your future as queen and your relationship with Osamu. It’d been less than a week since that heated encounter in your chambers and the two of you had yet to discuss the emotions that had fueled it.

As your sworn sword, Osamu still carried out his duties in accompanying you everywhere you went, but there was now a divide between the two of you. It was that divide that stopped you from actively seeking him out to confide in him the way you had over the last ten years of your friendship.

The meeting with the Council had been the last straw regarding your newfound loneliness and as soon as the two of you left the throne room, you turned to Osamu.

“We need to tal—”

“Your Majesty!”

Kotarou Bokuto’s booming voice called out and you turned around to find him followed by his advisor and close confidante, Keiji Akaashi, approaching you from the throne room. He was resplendent in the navy-blue and gold colors of his duchy and walked with a confidence that was befitting of his station—perhaps even more.

“Would you be able to set aside some time for myself and Akaashi? We’d like to discuss some things with you.” His friendly manner of speaking had fooled you long ago, but you knew better now and regarded him with skepticism.

“Pray tell, what exactly do we need to discuss?” You asked, unable to hide your annoyance at being interrupted.

“I’m sure you already know what it is.” Akaashi interjected and you thought it was about time the real mastermind behind Bokuto spoke up.

“Watch your tongue!” Osamu growled, taking a protective stance in front of you. Akaashi held his ground for a moment before backing down and you placed a hand on Osamu’s shoulder. He peered down at you with brows knit and his mouth twisted into a confused frown. You offered him a reassuring look and nodded once before he stepped aside. Turning to Bokuto and Akaashi, who regarded you with mild amusement, you offered them a forced smile.

“Follow me to my office, gentlemen. We will be able to talk at ease there.” You said and led them through the palace to the late King’s office that had been taken over by you.

Once inside and settled at the sitting area in the middle of the room, tea was brought up and served for you and the two men seated across from you. After taking a sip and wetting your tongue with the mild brew, you set down your cup and gave the gentlemen your undivided attention.

“Well then, I suppose you wish to discuss the succession?” You stated, cutting straight to the chase.

“We have a proposition for you, Your Majesty.” Bokuto replied, crossing his arms across his chest. “One that could very well save you from ruin.”

“Oh, how so?” You asked, feigning indifference while clasping your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“When your trial period is over and it is proven that you are in fact not with child, I would be willing to make you an offer of matrimony. Think about it, you could avoid returning to your kingdom a disgraced bride and continue being the queen—my queen.”

His proposition was beyond anything you’d imagined and a heavy weight set onto the pit of your stomach. You should’ve been outraged. You should’ve thrown them out of your office for even suggesting such an outrageous thing. You should have said anything except what you ended up asking.

“And this…arrangement would benefit you, how?”

“Despite what you may think, I believe you have done a wonderful job as the late King’s consort. I have no desire to take a risk with another woman when you are already the dutiful and reserved woman I am looking for.”

His words came out as compliments but all you heard were disparaging remarks about your person that left a bitter taste in your mouth. You turned to Akaashi to see if he was actually in agreement with the outlandish things Bokuto was spouting only to find a pleased smile gracing his lips. You sat there aghast as you realized Akaashi had no doubt been the one to plant the idea into Bokuto’s head. A shiver ran down your spine as the magnitude of Akaashi’s ambition manifested itself in the shape of the Kanto Kingdom’s throne. While it was true you weren’t the perfect queen, you refused to let yourself be used by anyone else and decided to take matters into your own hands with the help of your closest ally.

“I am afraid you will have to find someone else to be your duchess, Your Grace.” You unclasped your hands and laid them daintily over your lap. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have much work to do.”

For your plan to work, time was of the essence. The first chance you got to escape the endless paperwork you were stuck with as ruler, you dismissed your ladies and walked into the forest on the outskirts of the palace grounds with a silent Osamu following you. Deep within the forest was a grassy clearing with a flattened boulder in the middle that resembled a bench. It had become your sanctuary since your arrival five years ago that only you and Osamu knew about. While you had been too busy since Shoyo’s death to pay it a visit, you couldn’t think of a more adequate place to deliver your treasonous request to Osamu and see it through.

The vibrantly colored autumn leaves that adorned the trees had started to fall and created a blanket of deep red, burnt orange, and golden yellow on the ground that crackled with each step you took. Like the trees, you were determined to shed your old reservations to make way for the new risks you would take to be the master of your own fate. Taking in a ragged breath and drawing your woolen cloak closer to your form, you turned around and faced your devoted knight.

“Before anything else, I have something to confess to you. The King did not touch me that night. He fell asleep and I-I stayed the night.” Your voice thickened with emotion as you watched Osamu’s steel grey eyes widen with each word that fell from your lips.

“I thought that by making everyone else believe he did my reputation at court would improve. But now the King is gone and my womb is empty despite what I have told everyone including Bokuto.”

“I-I don’t understand wh—”

You rushed to him and took his gloved hands into yours. “You know as well as I do that returning home as a disgraced bride is not an option for me. In the best-case scenario, I will be stripped of my status and sent into exile with only the clothes on my back.”

“W-what are ya trying to say?” Osamu asked and tears welled up in your eyes from the worry that laced his voice and showed on his face.

“What I am asking of you is a dangerous, treasonous, and immoral thing. It is selfish of me but I am unable to come up with another solution. I will not demand anything of you. If you are not willing then we can forget that any of this happened for my punishment will be delivered in six months’ time.”

“Y/N, please, what do ya want from me?”

“A child. I-I ask that you give me a child to save me from ruin.” Tears fell from your eyes as you closed them, unable to look at Osamu after voicing your treacherous request.

Osamu said nothing. For a long stretch of time the only sounds you could hear were the whistling of the wind, the rustling of leaves, and your thundering heart. Dread washed over you the longer your childhood friend remained silent. Your breathing became strained as a lump lodged itself into your throat. You kept your eyes closed to avoid seeing the scorn that no doubt showed on his face.

“I’ll do it.”

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice, and you saw no contempt from the man before you. He looked at you as if you were the most precious being in the world. All your fears were dispelled when he raised your hands and pressed your knuckles to his lips. Instead of the comforting warmth his chaste kisses usually brought you, this kiss set your skin ablaze and a flush traveled all the way up to your face.

“Th-thank you, Samu.” You whispered, noticing the small smile that graced his lips at your use of his nickname. “I promise you that no harm shall ever come to you from this. This is my sin and mine alone.”

“Y/N, I have to t—”

“We have to be quick about this.” You interrupted and retracted your hands from his grasp to start working on the ties of your robe. Then just before the garment could fall to the ground, Osamu caught it with his hands. You looked up to find disapproval etched on his face while something darker lurked in his stormy eyes that sent a dull ache to your core.

“Not here. I’ll do it but not here.” He said resolutely as he pulled your robe over your shoulders and went to work fastening the ties. “You deserve better.”

You wanted to challenge him on that. You wanted to remind him that what you wanted to do was treason. You wanted to brand yourself as a harlot because that was what everyone else would’ve called you. But Osamu’s fingers were as gentle as his gaze while he worked and all you could manage was a whispered ‘thank you’ as you blinked away a fresh set of tears.

The two of you agreed on that night. You would dismiss your ladies and Osamu would guard your door alone that night. Then when the palace was asleep, he would join you in your bedchamber to carry out the task and return to his post before anyone took notice. It was hardly a fool-proof plan, but it was a risk you were willing to take as you had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Despite that belief, panic creeped under your skin as you sat in your antechamber on the cushioned bench beside your window. You tried working but you were unable to focus and left the pile of paperwork at the table. You even tried picking up your needlework only to prick your finger enough times to draw blood while completing a couple sloppy stitches. In the end, all you could do was wait for him while pressing on your bleeding finger—a miniscule punishment for the enormous transgression you were about to commit.

 A singular knock broke your reverie. You rushed to open the door and pulled Osamu into the room before closing the door behind him.

“Was there anyone lurking nearby?” You asked, still holding onto his hand.

“No one, My Queen.” He replied, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

“Call me by my name,” you insisted before pulling him along to your bedchamber.

Except for the dim light from a couple of candles, your room was dark and you found that you preferred it that way. It was easier to forget your shame under the cover of darkness. You led him to your bed before you sat on the edge and waited for him to make the first move—except he didn’t.

“We do not have much time, Samu.” You breathed and glanced up at him only to find a pained expression on his face that made your blood run cold. “I-Is something the matter?”

“Before we start, I’ve something to confess.” He admitted and the creases on his brow deepened. “The reason I followed ya here five years ago and agreed to do this is because I-I love ya.”

His confession reverberated off the stone walls and echoed in your ears. You sat motionless on the bed while your mind revisited all of your interactions to try to make sense of his words. It didn’t take long for you to come to the same conclusion after thinking back to the gentleness of his words that never waned, the adoration in his eyes every time they fell on your form. You also recalled the worry he’d shown for you after Shoyo’s death and the dark emotion you could now recognize as jealousy that had swirled in his orbs after returning from the King’s bedchamber. It was then that you unlocked a hidden box of emotions toward Osamu. The immense comfort you felt in just seeing him. The warmth that spread whenever he pressed kisses to your hands. The ache in your belly when his eyes would darken with what you now knew was desire. They were all emotions you had never felt towards anyone except Osamu and you finally knew why.

“I love you too,” you revealed, not just to him but to yourself as well. “I-I think I always have.”

He released a shaky breath before gently cradling your face in his rough hands. Even in the flickering candlelight, you could still make out the unadulterated love behind his gaze. It was a love that had always been there, lurking beneath loyalty and honor, but at the same time, it was also new and filled you with excitement at the prospect of experiencing an emotion you’d renounced on your wedding night.

Osamu leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours and his nose was just a hair's-width away. He released a ragged breath that fanned over your face and caused goosebumps to rise over the expanse of your skin. You breathed him in, his scent a mixture of earthy musk and leather that you wanted more of.

“C-can I kiss ya?”

His question came out in a strained husky voice that ignited a flame in the pit of your stomach, and you answered by pressing your lips against his tentatively. A moment passed before Osamu took the lead and parted your mouth with a swipe of his tongue on your lower lip. You had never known what a kiss felt like and Osamu was more than willing to teach you. He explored your mouth and groaned in approval when you reciprocated. His kiss stoked up the flames burning within your core. An overwhelming need to close the distance between you rose and your hands found purchase on the hem of his tunic before they delved underneath the coarse material and made contact with his skin.

He broke away from your mouth with a hiss. “Wait,” he panted. “N-not yet.”

Before you could ask Osamu what he meant, he knelt down and pressed a loving kiss to your ankle. A furious flush spread across your face, down your neck, and underneath your thin shift. His eyes drank in your reaction and you felt him smile against your sensitive skin before traveling up your leg, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

When he reached your inner thigh, he sucked on the flesh and you clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle a moan. He pressed a soft kiss on the spot before repeating the same process on the other leg. By the time he marked your other thigh, both of your legs were trembling and desire pooled between your legs. 

You felt him move again and panic tore through you as you bunched up your shift to see if he was doing what you thought he was—and sure enough, he was.

The protest on your lips was replaced with a heady moan when his tongue flattened over your slit and moved up until it reached a spot you were well-acquainted with. It was the spot your fingers would travel to late at night after having a little too much wine before bed. You quickly discovered that your clumsy fingers were nothing compared to Osamu’s mouth that alternated between sucking and flicking at the engorged flesh with his hot tongue.

His calloused hands trailed up your thighs and spread them apart while your hands pressed against the mattress to steady you. Just when you felt your release building, he surprised you by slowly pushing one of his digits inside of you. What had once been uncomfortable on your wedding night was now a tantalizing sensation that only increased with each finger Osamu added and dragged against your fleshy walls.

You quickly came apart on his fingers and mouth, your entire body shuddering as the waves of pleasure washed over you. Panting and flushed, you peered down to find Osamu’s mouth twisted into a grin and covered in your release. The sight was as immoral as it was entrancing. It was a sight you never wanted to forget; one you wanted to keep for yourself. At that moment, you knew exactly what you wanted and decided to take it.

You took off your shift in one swift movement and tossed it to the ground, your eyes never leaving his. As he worked on removing his own clothing, you crawled back onto your bed and watched him with hungry eyes. When he was as bare as you were, he joined you and settled between your already parted legs.

He looked big, but then again, you weren’t really sure what could be considered big, having long forgotten the only other one you knew. Tearing your gaze from it, you looked up at Osamu to find a silent question on his face. You broke into a smile at his concern and nodded your consent. Leaning one arm next to your head, he drew your lips into a passionate kiss before lining himself up and slowly pushing inside of you.

There was a mild sting but nothing compared to the pain of your wedding night. When sheathed himself completely, you wrapped your legs around him and whispered into his ear.

“I love you.”

Your words seemed to spur him on and he groaned into your ear, pulling out only to fill you up again. He made love to you in deep languid strokes that opened you up to a whole new world of sensations. Each stroke, each press, each kiss, built up another release and all you could do was drag your nails down his back and meet his thrusts with your own.

Your second release was even more potent than the first. You cried out and threw your head back onto the pillows while Osamu quickly reached his. He buried his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his groans as he filled you with his seed—a sensation you’d never experienced before—and held you even after he’d given you everything he had.

For the longest time, all you heard was the evening of your breaths and the synchronized beating of your hearts. You ran soothing circles over the scratches you’d given him while he pressed sweet kisses to your cheek, neck, and shoulder. In the aftermath of your lovemaking, it was so easy to forget titles and circumstances. You were just two lovers on that bed and there was nothing you wouldn’t give to make it a reality.

Unfortunately, your life was anything but a fairytale, and you shifted beneath Osamu who seemed to get the message.

“I should go,” he murmured but not before pressing another kiss to your lips. One that you were more than willing to reciprocate. It was not nearly as long as you wished, but you held back a whine when he ended it and climbed off your bed. You drank in the sight of him underneath the pale moonlight as he slipped on his tunic and breeches, remembering how the planes of his body had felt against your hands, legs, and torso. As he laced his boots, you looked around the room for your shift only to find it on the floor at the foot of your bed. You shifted only to feel the sticky and wet residue between your legs and froze on the spot.

“C-could you hand me my shift?” You asked, just as Osamu rose to his feet fully clothed. “I do not want to risk—”

“Of course,” he replied before you could finish. He picked up the thin garment and brought it to you while pressing a kiss on your temple. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

It was just a glance, but you saw his grey eyes flicker to your bare stomach before swallowing and leaving through the door you’d pulled him through earlier that night. Your fingers ghosted over your navel and you wondered if he wanted it just as much as you did. After slipping on your shift, you pressed your legs together and lied back down while thoughts of a child with your looks and his character filled your head until sleep overtook you.

The six months of your trial period came to an end with little to no backlash from the Council. The neutral faction led by Sakusa watched you with satisfied expressions as you made your way up to the dais while the opposing faction grumbled amongst themselves but didn’t challenge you outright. You saw Bokuto and Akaashi with smiles that didn’t meet their eyes and responded by placing a protective hand over your protruding stomach that was still quite noticeable despite your loose-fitting gown.

Your attention was drawn back to the throne before you thanks to the gentle squeeze on your left hand. Turning slightly, you saw the hint of a smile on your knight and lover’s face and let his presence soothe you in the way it always had. So with Osamu by your side and his child growing inside your womb, you sat on the throne and watched over your subjects with your hand resting on your stomach as they shouted:

“Long live the Queen!”

[vigilvntes]

Totally Not a Date (Thor Odinson x Reader)

A/N: i'm pretty sure 'totally not a date' is the first fic i ever posted on here which is kinda crazy to me. anyway this is a rewritten version because honestly the first version just needs to be wiped from existence so here you go. enjoy :)

word count: 2,100+

You sat across from Tony and Pepper in an almost uncomfortable, deafening silence. You knew from the very start that it was a bad idea, but you had promised Pepper that you would be there, and that you would have a date.

See, Pepper had informed you only three nights ago that she had made a reservation at the hot, new restaurant in the city, and that she had accidently made a reservation for four rather than two. Of course, you were suspicious, why wouldn't you be? It was not often that Pepper Potts herself made mistakes and having worked for a guy like Tony for years before the pair grew romantically, she had mastered the art of making reservations and booking tables. Not to mention she was a complete perfectionist. But you chose to shrug it off.

"So, what's the plan then? Me, you, Nat and Wanda?" You asked nonchalantly, your eyes glued to your phone. Pepper's small laugh only seconds later tore them right away. You looked up at her, narrowing your eyes, "What?"

Pepper raised her eyebrows at you, a smirk on her features, "As much as I would love to treat the girls, I reserved the table for a date night..." Your face suddenly dropped as you began to catch her drift. "So, since there's four seats I thought I'd ask you."

"But there's four seats, so me and...?"

She let lout a breathy laugh, "I was hoping you'd have that part covered for me. Be there for eight, and make sure you bring a date." Before you could respond, she had turned on her heels and left you sitting in the front room of the Avengers tower, completely shook.

You considered bailing more than once during the days leading up to the date. However, you found yourself stood outside of the restaurant at eight, awaiting your friends and your 'date' for the night. Tony and Pepper had arrived on time, and the chilly winds of New York that night had prompted the three of you to enter the restaurant and wait for your date inside. You hadn't told either of them who you would be bringing, for fear of being teased by Tony relentlessly for hours beforehand, and because he had warned you that he wasn't entirely sure he'd make it in time. Of course, you didn't mind, it was nothing more than a fake date. Nothing important. So why did you feel so down when the clock read 8:15 and no one had turned up for you?

Tony cleared his throat, breaking the silence which had engulfed the three of you. "Are we... Uh, are we ready to order?"

You were grateful for Tony and his appetite; you couldn't stand the quiet atmosphere, or the sad looks Pepper kept throwing your way. You were just about to open your mouth to let Tony know it was okay to order, but a deep, booming voice, one you didn't expect to hear tonight, stopped you in your tracks.

"My apologies for being so late. I had business to take care of in Asgard." You turned your head quickly, and your jaw dropped at the sight of the tall, blonde Asgardian prince as he pulled out the chair beside you and took a seat. He looked good, you had to admit. He wore a black dress shirt and black dress pants, and his hair had been pulled up into a bun. It was an almost effortless look, something you knew he had thrown together quickly upon his arrival to the tower, but he pulled it off regardless.

Tony was the first to reply, "No worries, big guy. We were just about to order." Tony glanced over at Pepper, a small smirk on his lips. Judging from the look of utter shock on your face, Tony could tell that Thor was most definitely not who you were expecting as your date, but he was excited to see how it would pan out.

You couldn't lie to yourself, Thor was one of the most attractive men you had ever laid your eyes on, and you would be being dishonest if you said you didn't have a little crush on him. He was always kind to you, polite. The issue was, the two of you had never held a real conversation for more than five minutes. He wasn't around as often as Steve or Tony, Thor spent most days in Asgard or any of the other nine realms attempting to fix the mess his brother had made, which left little room for any form of bonding between the two of you.

As Pepper and Tony broke out into conversation about the latest Stark- whatever. You didn't really care all that much. You leaned to the side and mumbled a harsh, "What are you doing here?" You didn't mean for it to come across so mean, but you were shocked. You had expected anyone but Thor.

He let out a loud chuckle, which caught the attention of the couple sat opposite you, as you notice them glance towards the both of you. Was anything ever subtle when it came to Thor? You had figured out incredibly quickly that the answer was no. When the two had looked away and continued their conversation, Thor finally gave you the answers you wanted. "The Captain told me that he had already informed you of his absence."

"Well, he lied." You'd surely chastise him for that later, depending on how the night went.

"He had somewhere to be. So, when I returned, he proposed that I should come here instead. How could I pass up going to dinner with a lady like yourself?" He grinned.

You felt your face flush as you just stared at him, not all too sure whether Thor meant that or whether he was just trying to make you feel more comfortable with the idea of him being there rather than Steve. You weren't sure whether it was working, you just knew his presence alone made you feel flustered.

You only realised how embarrassingly long you had been staring at Thor when the waiter interrupted. Luckily, you had time to pull yourself together, as the waiter recognised both Tony and Thor and shyly asked for a picture, to which they both obliged. He took Tony and Pepper's orders first, before turning to you. "What can I get for you and your lovely date?"

Just as you had gotten yourself together, you were broken right back down again, feeling your face flushing once again. "I- No... We're not dating. I- the reservations... They were for four people and... It's not a date - "

"Were here as friends. Third and fourth wheeling, you could say." Thor interrupted, covering for you.

The waiter, not entirely convinced, just nodded his head slowly, "Right... Got it." Before taking your orders and swiftly leaving.

Tony scoffed, "For future reference, you're so not convincing, (Y/)." He let out a chuckle when you shot him an annoyed glare.

Again, Tony and Pepper fell swiftly into conversation, and you wished it were that easy for you and Thor. After a minute's silence, you thought you'd make a little small talk. "So, how's Asgard?"

He smiled and leant back in his seat, "Asgard is... Fine. We're still trying to restore peace amongst the Nine Realms, and we've suffered some great losses."

"I'm sorry to hear that Thor. And your parents? And... him?" You assumed Thor would know who you were speaking of, considering he had waged a war against Earth only a year ago.

"Loki will spend the remainder of his days in a cell. My father couldn't see the son he raised be sentenced to death. My mother grieves for him every day." He replied, being as honest with you as he could.

"I'm sorry about that. It must be rough." All the talk of his brother and Asgard was starting to take a slight toll on the night for you, and you could see he felt the same. You desperately hoped for a change of subject.

Thor took your hand, something you didn't expect him to do, but it felt so... right? He was attractive, that much you knew. But did you really have feelings for him this whole time? Surely he wasn't just touching you, and throwing those gorgeous, heart-warming smiles at you out of kindness? Out ofdoing Steve a favour?

 "Don't be sorry. I don't mind you asking." He paused for a moment, offering you a smile whilst stroking the top of your hand with his thumb, "How's the creature at your residence?"

Furrowing your eyebrows for a second, you tried to understand what he was talking about. Until it dawned on you. You laughed, "The creature? You mean my cat, Florence?"

He nodded, "Yes, the cat....creature." 

You shook your head, letting out a chuckle, "She's fine. She's getting fatter, though. I'm a little worried about her." You paused for a few moments, before you realised that Thor had never actually met your cat. "How did you find out about Florence?"

"The Captain let me see pictures of her on his device. I reckon I'd quite enjoy her company." He grinned at you again, and you couldn't help but melt a little more. And even more when you realised he still held your hand in his.

The rest of the evening went exceptionally well. Yourself and Thor seemed to never run out of things to talk about, and he found himself regretting having not approached you sooner. The two of you got along like a house on fire as he, in all his loud, eccentric glory, told you stories of his childhood and the adventures he had across the Nine Realms with his friends, whilst you listened tentatively, completely taken in by his every word.

At one point, as he spoke of Asgard, he offered to take you there one day, claiming that his mother would 'love your company'. You were sure he was just saying that, that he didn't actually mean it, so you politely declined his offer this time.

"As you wish. But I'll get you to agree one day. I swear." You could only laugh at his determination for you to visit his home.

When you left the restaurant, you and Thor walked ahead of Pepper and Tony, still deep in conversation. You grinned at him, "We should watch a movie when we get back. I was thinking a Disney movie?"

He nodded, smiling down at you, "That would be wonderful. I like the one about the lions and the kings."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "You mean...the Lion King."

He pointed at you, "Yes! That one! How did you know?" You just laughed in response.

Behind you, as they watched the whole scene, Tony scoffed, "Look at them, pretending not to be head over heels for each other. Disgusting. It makes me feel sick."

Pepper chucked lightly in response, nudging Tony, "Shush, you."

extended ending

When you entered the tower, Thor's arm wrapped around your shoulder, you saw none other than Steve Rogers sat in the common area. You raised your eyebrows, "Steve? What are you doing here? I thought you went away on some mission?"

He shrugged, trying his best to keep a straight face and a smooth voice, "Yeah... About that. Fury called off the mission. Said another team fixed whatever issues they were having."

You didn't believe that for one second and neither did Thor, but you chose not to press the matter, honestly not caring whether Steve had set you up.

"How was your date?" He asked.

You opened your mouth, about to deny for the second time that night that it was in fact, not a date, but as you felt Thor's fingers gently brushing your shoulders, you gave in. Of course it was a date. A date that you hadn't agreed to, a date that had shocked you, but a date nonetheless. And a damn good one. "It was great, actually." You looked up at Thor, "I'll go find a movie."

He nodded, "I'll go get snacks."

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stared at him in confusion, "You're still hungry? After everything you ate at the restaurant?"

Steve nodded to himself, a small smile on his lips as he listened to your playful banter. His plan had worked, and he was damn proud of himself.

[wintervvidow]

apricity pt. two

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, blood, violence,

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 2,956

A/N: part two is here! I did unintentionally rush through this chapter because I am so excited to start the civil war segment of this story. feedback is welcomed, let me know how you are liking it! thank you for reading!

MASTERLIST

Bucky’s cheek stung after the third slap from Pierce, the flesh bright red and warm to the touch. He continued fighting his restraints as he had been for the past hour. He had just been wiped, HYDRA needed to start fresh. Sweat trickled from his hairline to his jugular as he yanked and squirmed in the chair.

Alexander lost his patience an hour ago, Bucky hadn’t stopped talking about the girl on the bridge, “She doesn’t love you! If she did, she would have come back for you. We’re trying to correct the world, and we need you to do that. You want to be useful, don’t you?”

Bucky stared ahead emotionless, ignoring Pierce’s words. She loved him. Her eyes told him so, the look on her face from the bridge continued to haunt him even after being reprogrammed. He knew her. She was good. She was home.

A hand came down against Bucky's face again, harder than the last, “You are an asset. She is what we are fighting against. The world deserves freedom and that is what HYDRA is doing. You don’t do your part and I can’t do mine.”

Bucky softly murmured, voice raw from screaming, “But I knew her.”

Alexander clenched his fist as he stood from his chair placed in front of Bucky, “Wipe him again.”

Soon the air was filled with Bucky’s screams again, torturous and raw. Brock Rumlow looked on in silence, taking in the sight before him. This, he could work with.

~

The team consisting of Florence, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Maria, and Fury were littered throughout the vacant underground room, lights dim and the air heavy with stale humidity. Steve and Sam stood while the remaining few were seated at a long conference table. Fury had documents scattered in front of him, Maria with a laptop, typing away intently.

Fury held an image of Pierce from the ’80s in his hand, “This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said peace wasn’t an achievement, it was a responsibility.” Fury threw the picture onto the table, “See, it’s stuff like this that gives me trust issues.”

Natasha speaks from her chair next to her fellow redheaded friend, a solemn expression on her face, “We have to stop the launch.” Alexander was planning on using Project Insight, which consisted of three helicarriers that patrolled the Earth to eliminate threats, deployed after the Battle of New York, only this time it was being planned to be used as a way for HYDRA to eliminate any threats to themselves. The operation was now turned against them.

Fury looked at Natasha with an eyebrow raised, “I don’t think the Council’s accepting my calls anymore.” He flipped open a briefcase, revealing three data chips.

Behind Florence, Sam spoke with arms crossed tightly over his chest, “What’s that?”

Maria flipped her laptop around, showing the team a diagram of data, “Once the helicarriers reach 3,000 feet, they’ll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized.”

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own.” Fury gestured to the case in front of him.

Maria flipped her laptop back around, “One or two won’t cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work because if even one of those ships remains operational, a whole lot of people are gonna die.” The entire team grimaced.

All eyes were on Fury as he spoke, “We have to assume everyone on those carriers is HYDRA. We have to get past them, insert these server blades. And maybe, just maybe we can salvage what’s left.”

Florence and Steve shared a look, Florence knew Steve wouldn’t let that happen, “We’re not salvaging anything. We’re not just taking down the carriers, Nick. We’re taking down S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Fury snapped back at Steve, “S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with this.”

“You gave me this mission, this is how it ends. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been compromised. You said so yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.” Steve’s face was set, his entire body taking on the posture of command.

Fury gestured around the room with his hands before setting them back on the table, “Why do you think we’re meeting in this cave? I noticed.”

Steve’s face remained cold, “How many paid the price before you did?” Florence read between the lines, she knew what he was asking and it felt like a punch to the gut.

Fury bowed his head as Florence looked away, “Look, I didn’t know about Barnes.” No one did.

Steve scoffed, “Even if you had, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too? Like Florence.”

“Hey, she did what she had to. You did not go through what she did.” Florence looked to Fury with kindness in her tired eyes, silently thanking him.

Steve interrupted the tender moment, continuing his speech, “S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, it all goes.”

“He’s right. It all has to go.” All eyes darted to Maria, a silent understanding that Steve was right. This was the beginning of the end.

Fury looks around, eyes landing on Sam, “Don’t look at me.” Sam nods his head to Steve, “I do what he does, just slower.”

Steve stood at the head of the table, staring at Fury as he leaned back in his chair, “Looks like you’re giving the orders now, Captain.”

The team was given their tasks, parting their separate ways before the mission.

Florence found Steve outside, standing on the bridge lost in thought.

Florence sided up next to him, “Hey, I know you probably hate me right now, but-”

Steve cut her off, turning to face her, “I don’t hate you. I don’t. I’m just struggling to wrap my head around the fact that he’s been alive this entire time and you haven’t told one person. Not even me.”

“Steve, I tried. After I ran, I tried to go back for him but he wouldn’t let me; told me to run and to never come back for him. So I had to go into hiding. Seventeen years Steve. It’s not like I could walk into a government building and tell them without HYDRA catching wind. Hell, I could have been walking straight back into HYDRA. You have to understand that everything I’ve done has been to protect him. Everything.” By the end of the redheads’ speech, she was choking back tears, hands trembling at her sides. She bit her lip to quell the emotions running through her.

Steve placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell over the two friends as both reminisced on the past, staring off into space.

Flashback:

Florence climbed the stairs behind Bucky and Steve to Steve’s family home. The mood was somber, Florence’s black funeral dress grazing her ankles as she stepped up the last step, standing next to Bucky.

“We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.” Bucky’s tone was soft as he spoke to the heartbroken Steve.

“I know. Kinda wanted to be alone.” Steve stared at the ground as he spoke, never making eye contact with either Florence or Bucky.

Florence cocked her head to one side, gaze softly inquisitive as she looked at the small-statured man in front of her, “How was it?”

“It was okay. She’s next to dad.” The blonde’s tone was monotonous and quiet, understandably so.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, “I was gonna ask-”

Steve cut him off as he reached his front door, hands fumbling in his pocket for the key, “I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, I just-”

“You can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids. It’ll be fun, all you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” Bucky reached down to move a brick, grabbing the key to the door and handing it to Steve, “Come on.”

Steve took the key, finally looking him in the eye, “Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

Florence looked to Bucky, silently telling him to comfort their friend. Bucky nodded, speaking again, “The thing is, you don’t have to.” Bucky’s large hand clapped Steve on the shoulder, “Cuz me and Florence? We’re with you till the end of the line, pal.”

The moment was broken up by Sam, approaching the two old friends, “He’s gonna be there you know.”

“We know.” Both Steve and Florence were painfully aware of that fact.

“Look, whoever he used to be and the guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.”

Steve looked to Sam, “I don’t know if I can do that.” Florence knew she couldn’t. Everything she has ever done, Bucky has always crossed her mind- how to help him, save him, protect him; always concerned about his well-being. And now she was forced to go against him.

“Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn’t know either of you.” Sam twisted the knife with his last sentence, Florence and Steve grimacing at one another.

Steve spoke, looking at Florence for a last time then at Sam, “He will.” The blonde looked over the bridge, “Gear up. It’s time.”

The team changed into their gear and split up to where they were appointed: Natasha infiltrating a meeting with Alexander as a congresswoman with Fury as backup and releasing all HYDRA files, Maria preparing to order the attack to bring down the helicarriers, and Steve, Sam, and Florence to board the helicarrier to replace the targeting blades.

Sam called out to Steve as he walked away, "Wearing that?"

“No. If you’re gonna fight a war, you have to wear a uniform.”

~

Florence ran through the ship deck as fast as she could, doing her best to not get shot. Her earpiece kept her up to date, Natasha had just started releasing all of the files; her and Natasha’s secrets were now public along with the rest of HYDRA’s. Steve had already made it to the helicarrier, the redhead had gotten caught up with a HYDRA agent on the ground.

Florence was late to the party, Steve, and Bucky already furiously exchanging punches. She got to the top of the carrier as fast as she could with the help of Sam, her feet moving without thought. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Sam deploy his parachute after being kicked off by Bucky, now he was grounded.

Steve and Florence were on opposite ends of the carrier, Florence quickly making her way toward the two men.

Bucky threw Steve off of the top-level, Steve landing below with a thud, shield long gone in the Potomac beneath them.

Florence stared ahead, Bucky finally noticing her arrival. Both looked at the other in silence, gauging the situation at hand. His eyes were void of all emotion, this was not Bucky. The Soldier had a mission to kill her and Steve. Florence had a mission to keep Bucky alive, no matter the cost. If he was alive that meant there was hope to save him. You can’t save a dead man.

The silence was erupted by Florence, her mouth moving before her brain could stop, "Bucky, don't do this. You don't have to do this."

Tears welled up in her eyes unwillingly, the dam threatening to burst. Even if she knew deep down that he had been alive this entire time, a sliver of her always thought he was dead. Maybe her subconscious came up with that thought to protect herself, to make herself feel better about not being able to get him out. And she did try to get him out; she tried like hell. The first five years of her seventeen-year stint of being on the run was the worst. She was constantly moving locations, barely sleeping. And when she did sleep, she dreamt of Bucky- he was always screaming at her to go, save herself, and leave him behind. That was a detail that she would never tell Steve; if they even made it out alive of this situation. Steve wouldn’t understand, he was too stuck in his ways, he would have tried to get him out anyway. He would disregard any command in order to save Bucky even if the demand came straight from Bucky’s mouth. He would never truly understand why Florence did what she did. Maybe it was better that way.

He furrows his brow, lines etching themselves between his steel-blue eyes, "You're my mission."

A single breath is taken before he swings at her, metal arm glinting in the light as she dodges his punch, sweeping under his outstretched arm. She wasn't going to fight back. She couldn't.

Bucky turns violently, eyes hard, set on her. He lunges again as her weapon clatters to the ground of the helicarrier. Now Florence was defenseless. Although it's not like she was fighting back anyway. She'd let him kill her. If that kept him alive, she'd do it. It's not like he remembers her anyway, you can't mourn a person you don't remember.

She takes three steps back, her back colliding with the wall behind her as Bucky stalks forward. His breath fans across her face as he stands in front of her. She notices a stall in his motions, practically seeing his brain malfunction. His head was fighting with his heart.

A fist flies next to her head, Bucky purposely missing as he punches the wall again. His face twisted in pain, he was fighting himself. He couldn't do this. He knew her. His body knew her, pieces of memories played through his brain as he continued to punch the wall, a ring, her hand in his, dog tags being placed around her neck, all of it hurt. Florence was frozen in place as Bucky's fists continued flying next to her, "Go! You need to go!"

He remembered her.

Just as Steve ordered Maria to fire at the carrier, Bucky shoved Florence, causing her to tumble over the edge, joining Steve at the bottom of the carrier as it went up in flames. The carrier was under fire from all sides, jostling violently, causing Bucky to fall along with her. He landed away from Florence and Steve, being pinned under the debris.

Steve got to his feet, swaying as he stumbled over to Bucky who was struggling under the weight of the metal beam. Steve wedged the beam up, freeing Bucky. The girl remained on the ground, curling into a ball from the pain of the impact of the fall.

Florence rose to her feet as Steve told Bucky that he knew them. Bucky’s metal arm reeled back, punching Steve in the face as he screamed, “No I don’t!”

“Buck, we’ve known you your whole life.” Florence’s voice trembled as he hit Steve again, effectively knocking him to the ground.

Steve stood again, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky punched Steve in the face for a final time, the force knocking him off the carrier and into the river below. Florence scrambled to stand in front of Bucky, making him really look at her. To truly see her, to see what he was doing. Her face was bleeding, soot smudged across her forehead, sweat mixing with tears and blood flowing down her face.

“I’m not gonna fight you. I love you.” Florence’s body shook with sobs as Bucky tackled her to the ground.

His frame towered over hers, his body heaving as he spoke, “You’re my mission.” His fist flew next to her head, once, twice; never actually hitting her. Florence could see the struggle in his eyes. He was a broken man without a home.

“You don’t love me. You left me!” Bucky’s fist continued flying next to Florence’s head, the plexiglass cracking. Pierce’s words looped in his mind, she didn’t love him. She left him. She abandoned him. She was his mission.

Florence took a heaving breath in, “Yes I do, I do love you. I tried to get you out, I did, you wouldn’t let me, I tried, I-” Bucky interrupted her by pressing his flesh hand against her throat and applying pressure.

He leaned down, only inches between their faces as he applied more pressure around her throat and choking her. He grit his teeth as he choked her harder, brunette hair dangling in his face. This was it. This was Florence’s last chance, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I love you, it’s okay.” If these were the last words Bucky would ever hear from her, she was okay with that. She needed him to know that it was okay. He was doing what he had been forced to do, it wasn’t him. She needed him to know that she understood.

The hand from her throat disappeared, Bucky leaning back above her, staring at her with glassy eyes. Florence struggled for breath as she watched Bucky process her words. Debris fell around them, Bucky hovering over her to protect her from the falling particles. A large engine fell next to them, shattering the glass and sending Florence falling straight into the Potomac, Bucky hanging onto the carrier from a beam as he watched his lover fall into the water below.

Bucky dragged Steve out of the water with his metal arm while the other balanced Florence against his shoulder, ignoring the burning pain of his flesh arm as her head rested on his neck. He placed the two unconscious Avengers on the riverbank, taking one last look at them before he disappeared, becoming a ghost yet again.

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[captainkappa]

Fanfic:: What the Water Gave Us

Din can tell something is wrong the minute he walks off the ship. Luke and Grogu meet him on the landing pad as always, but there’s something in the way Luke holds himself, the simple way he says “Hey.”

Din doesn’t run down the gangway, but it’s a near thing. “What’s wrong?”

In which Din and Luke deal with some of Grogu’s more recent trauma, Din gets wet, ripcords are abused, and both of them are trans.

So this was supposed to go up for dinluke week day 6... and then day 7... and now it’s now ^^; BUT I’m still really excited for it and I hope yall are too!

Title inspired by Florence + The Machine’s What the Water Gave Me

AO3 Link

-=-=-=-=-=-

Din can tell something is wrong the minute he walks off the ship. Luke and Grogu meet him on the landing pad as always, but there’s something in the way Luke holds himself, the simple way he says “Hey.”

Din doesn’t run down the gangway, but it’s a near thing. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” Luke sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, I’ll tell you later.”

“Tell me now.”

Luke doesn’t say anything as he passes Grogu to Din, letting Grogu get settled in his arms before continuing, “Grogu is fine, there was just… an incident. He fell into the lake and got… really scared.”

“Oh.” And Din immediately realizes the reason for that. When he had first gotten his quest, his focus had been on finding Grogu a teacher and he hadn’t considered the long-term effects of the events of Trask. Whenever he wakes up from dreams of water pooling up under his helmet, he considers it a good night and waits for sleep to claim him. He hadn’t considered…

But Luke is still talking.

“…so, I feel the easiest way to help him would be to teach him to swim but…” and now Luke looks embarrassed. “I can barely tread water and Grogu is so scared so… would you be able to help?”

“How?”

“I think you being there to show the water is safe would do a lot. Plus, if you knew how to actually swim, that would just seal the deal.”

“I… don’t.” And there are a lot of reasons for that. The main one being the Creed. All those years ago, Xi’an had made a quip about beskar bikinis and… yeah, the crew wrote a lot of terrible jokes. The second reason is that buying specific swimwear for him was never a priority. They had felt like a frivolous expense in the face of the Covert’s financial situation. As the covert’s bounty hunter and main source of income, he had limited all expenses on himself.

“But,” he continues before Luke’s expression can crumble further, “I want to help.”

“Okay that… that’s good. You’re not afraid of water, are you?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be good.”

“I don’t think it’ll take that much to help him. We could try tomorrow? Forecast says it’ll be hot, we could go to the lake after lessons?”

Din nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

He smiles like the sun. “Great, let me show you to your room.”

Din knows where his room is, he’s been here a couple of times, but he doesn’t comment as he follows the Jedi.

-=-

As he gets ready on the next day, for the first time in maybe ever, Din thinks about what he’s going to wear, which is a futile effort. He doesn’t exactly have… clothes, just beskar and flight suits. He leaves the armor in his room save the helmet. He’s been slowly trying out not wearing his helmet in front of people, but he only lasts maybe a half hour around people and situations he knows, so the helmet stays on.

Midway through zipping up the flight suit, he pauses, considering his compression top. Wearing it wet is never fun, but he also doesn’t need to disappear in his head when he’s trying to help Grogu. He keeps it on, figuring he’ll just endeavor to stay dry above the waist. Most of his weapons he leaves behind as well, except one blaster and a knife. Weapons are still his religion, even if he’s spending most of the day at a lake.

The sounds of Luke and Grogu leaving the Temple filter past his window. It’s a normal routine; Luke and Grogu doing their lessons, leaving Din to putter about for the day, and then they rejoin for the evening. He and Luke agreed he could come for some lessons, but Grogu should learn to control his powers independently of Din being there.

Thankfully, there was enough broken in the temple to leave Din’s hands busy. By the time he’s gotten the basement lights to stop flickering, Luke has lunch packed and Grogu in a sling at his side.

“I figured we could end lessons early to go to the lake,” he explains. Din nods, trying to take in the words and not be distracted by how Luke looks in a birikad.

It’s a longer walk than Din expected to the lake. It’s less than an hour away from the school, but between maneuvering the wild forest and the sun beating down, he’s actually looking forward to going for a dip. He guesses it wouldn’t make sense to have a large body of water near little kids.

When they arrive, Din can’t help but take a moment to admire it. The lake is a dark blue color, nearing green by the rocky shore’s edge, but the sun still makes it sparkle. Low hanging branches edge over the lake, casting shadows in the water. There are some large rocks to the far side as well as other clear pieces of shore.

They settle on a dry part of the shore, putting both picnic basket and Grogu down. The child immediately toddles towards Din, one hand gripping his flight suit, looking warily out at the water. Din leans down to scoop him up.

“It’ll be okay, ad’ika,” he says, “The water can’t hurt you.”

Luke chimes in, “Your dad’s right.”

Grogu doesn’t seem convinced yet.

With lunch set away, Luke pulls off his robes and then his tunic and oh- Din hadn’t been expecting that.

The other man looks up at him, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind? I’m baking under all those layers.”

Din stumbles through telling him it’s fine, hoping Luke doesn’t realize his gaze is at the twin incision scars on his chest, somehow drawing his eye more than the fractal scars that span the rest of his chest. It’s not a rarity to find others like Din in this wide galaxy, but it’s an unexpected familiarity, especially to find with his son’s teacher.

Luke pauses, still holding his tunic. “Are you okay? I don’t want you getting heatstroke either.”

“I-I’m fine!” he stammers out. Maker, he’s met other trans people before, why does it feel so different with Luke?

“Well, don’t feel obligated to take anything off,” Luke says, folding his robes. He pauses to look Din up and down. “Well, maybe your shoes if you plan on going in.”

Din takes the opportunity to set Grogu back down on the rocks, forcing himself to tear his gaze away. He kneels down to fumble his way through untying his laces.

“So, what is the plan?” he asks, gaze firmly on his boots.

There’s a thump of fabric. “I figured we could start by just getting the two of us in the water, show him it’s safe. Then we’ll just… play it by ear?”

Din looks up once he has his boots off and flight suit pulled up to his knees. Luke looks… nervous? That’s not the word, but there’s something in the expression that Din recognizes as Luke picks up Grogu, speaking softly to him and pointing across the way at the lake. He wants to get this right.

Grogu is still looking at the water hesitantly, big brown eyes threatening to wobble, ears pressed tight against his head. Din walks up and strokes one of them.

“Grogu,” his son picks up his head to look at him, something Din doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. “I’m going to go in the water, but I’ll be fine, okay? You can just watch.”

He tilts his head, considering him for a moment and when there’s no resistance, Din walks into the water.

He bites down on the curse threatening to escape when his bare feet touch water. It’s cold, despite the sun beating down. He looks behind to see Grogu staring at him wide eyed.

“I’m fine, ad’ika. See?” He waves his hands in what he hopes is reassuring.

He walks deeper into the lake, water halfway up to his calves before he hears Grogu’s whimpers. He turns, but his foot catches on a rock and suddenly the ground isn’t firm beneath his feet. The world goes sideways as he loses his balance and cold water is pouring through his helmet.

He scrambles up into a seated position, thankful beskar doesn’t rust. His chest feels tight with the compression top soaked though, which he files away to take care of later. He lifts the helmet just enough to spit out the water, to catch his breath. It’s only then does he hear the kid’s cries, Luke’s attempts to settle him.

“Grogu, Grogu, I’m okay, see?” But something tells him Grogu doesn’t care about his words right now. He sighs, soft enough for it not to be picked up by the voice modulator, and gets out of the water. He slogs through the water, happy that his son doesn’t seem to be reacting in any more dramatic way beside crying.

That is, until he reaches shore and the tide comes in with him. He sits none too gently besides Luke and his son. Grogu immediately holds his arms out to him.

Din takes him, only considering for a second before taking off his helmet. His son touches his face none too gently, grabbing and pinching with those tiny nails of his.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m safe, Grogu,” he says, softly.

He doesn’t rush Grogu, letting him touch his face, feel the breath escaping his lips, touch the wet flight suit. He doesn’t think about Luke being right there, able to see this moment between them, able to see his face.

Grogu settles in his arms, head tucked between his shoulder and chin. Din turns just enough to catch Luke’s eye

“Call it a day?” Din asks, not being able to calm the annoyed feeling in his heart.

Luke shrugs. “We still have lunch.”

They do, so they settle a couple feet farther from the shoreline, Luke offering his robes by way of a blanket. He hands out the food he made for them. Grogu still seems scared for a couple of minutes, but then he’s wolfed down his food and found an insect to follow in and amongst the trees. Din knows he should stop him from then trying to eat the creature, but he doesn’t have the heart. Neither, it seems, does Luke.

The two of them eat in silence, eyes on the still lake or Grogu running around. Din can’t help but berate himself for such a simple slip-up.

He sighs, no longer hungry, as the question that had been on his mind since yesterday bubbles over.

“Did Grogu show… Did you see…?” He doesn’t understand the Force enough to begin to ask the question, but Luke, whether because he’s a Jedi Master or just a good person, seems to understand.

“He… showed me what happened. He was unharmed, but I think he was just… scared.”

“I should have realized he would remember that.”

“You had – have a lot on your plate.”

“But he’s my kid.”

“And I’ve met plenty worse fathers than you,” Luke says with an easy smile that betrays the weight of his words. “But really, you were trying to get him to safety. If we’re going to play a game of what ifs, then I should have gotten to the cruiser faster.”

“You got to us just in time,” Din says, the hint of a question in his tone.

Luke shrugs, “I was too far away. If I was closer, I could have stopped him from experiencing all of that fear and anger.”

Din’s heart clenches, remembering those few days between losing Grogu and getting him back, those sleepless nights, unable to think of anything but the worst possible scenarios.

“Maybe we should stop asking these questions.”

“I agree.”

The conversation dies down after that.

With his heart marginally calmer, Din finds himself better able to appreciate the space around him. The sun’s rays feel like a physical thing against his face. Has he ever had a moment like this? Was this what he was missing when he never took off his helmet. Can he say he missed it when this is the first time that he’s experienced it?

Grogu walks back a little later, dirty with an insect leg poking out between his teeth. Din and Luke share a look before they start packing up.

When they get back to the temple, Din is suddenly made more aware of his wet compression top, clinging to his skin like a vice. He also suddenly doesn’t feel like wearing his flight suit, like a too-small second skin.

Luke seems to notice some of this, because when they get back to the temple, he scuffs his foot on the cobble and asks, “Do you need a change of clothes? We’re not exactly the same… build, but I should have something that fits.”

Din thinks about how long it would take to dry out his clothing, whether he’s even done the laundry yet.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

Luke nods, beckoning him forward to a set of rooms he hasn’t been to before. They’re no bigger than the rest of the temple’s rooms, they honestly might be smaller, but that might be the clutter of droid parts scattered around the floor with every flat surface available covered in objects of strange shapes and yellowing books. It’s not at all what Din expected, but that seems to sum up his entire experience with Luke.

He stands there as Luke pushes aside machinery to open a set of closet doors. He roots around in there before pulling out a couple of black garments.

“These will probably do fine! Just let me know if they don’t.”

Din takes them and thanks him, but he stays where he is, a battle warring in his throat. He’s hyperaware of his chest and while he knows the robes will probably flow well enough to hide, he still feels the need to say something. He knows he doesn’t owe Luke or anyone an explanation, be he wants to.

“I… Back at the lake, I wasn’t staring at you… I mean… I’m trans too.”

“Oh, okay,” his smile is bright enough to fill his chest. “Will you be fine while Grogu and I finish up his lessons?”

Din nods and his heart feels a little more at peace.

The robes are indeed too short, leaving his wrists and ankles completely exposed. He’s not used to the extra layers, how it flows behind him, but the layers help hide his chest, so he’s able to get through the rest of the day.

Any initial discomfort is worth seeing Luke’s face when he comes back in from afternoon lessons. He tries to hide it, but Din spots how he pauses in the doorway, looking straight at Din as he cleans his armor. It only lasts a second before Luke is distracted by Grogu again, so Din files it away for later and goes back to rubbing out the lake smell from his helmet.

-=-

It’s the day before he has to go, but Din feels more restless than normal. Every day since they went to the lake, it’s rained, a downpour that soaked them to the bone if they had to leave the temple for anything.

Din turns to watch Luke and Grogu out the window, meditating in the rain, twin domed force shields above their heads to stay dry. His HUD lights the two of them up in bright reds and yellows as compared to the calm blue of everything else.

He turns back to the lamp he’s been trying to fix for the past hour. He just can’t stop thinking about that day on Trask, how he hadn’t seen the obvious trap, how he’d been unable to rescue his son, how his son still remembers that.

He has to make it right.

When the two come back inside to start their lessons, Din unceremoniously takes Luke by the elbow and brings him into the kitchen. Starts thank Luke, he doesn’t question the sudden detour and just stands there, waiting for Din to put his thoughts into words.

“Can… I borrow Grogu?”

Luke gives him a look. “Of course? He still has time between lessons so, yes?”

“No, I-” Din sighs, “I need both of you… for something.”

Luke tilts his head to the side and Din explains, haltingly, not knowing if this is the right course of action, but it feels necessary. Luke just smiles.

“I think it’s a great idea, and I’d be honored to help.”

They wait until after dinner, when they’ve cleaned up. Grogu just looks at them as the tree of then sit on the couch in the common area. Din’s heart has been jackrabbiting since he and Luke agreed to this, most of his afternoon taken up by what exactly he was going to say, what would happen if it went poorly.

He takes off his helmet, setting it on a side table. Grogu looks up at the movement and is already reaching for him. He can’t help the smile as he lifts him up. He glances over to Luke, who gives him an encouraging nod.

“Grogu?”

He looks into his eyes at that and Din feels his heart break a little more.

“I… I don’t want you to feel bad for being afraid of water. It’s understandable considering… everything. Luke and I will help you be less afraid if… if you want. I should never have put you in danger like that on Trask. I will always prioritize your safety. Ni ceta. Can you forgive me?”

Grogu stares at him with those big brown eyes before reaching for his face. Luke’s ungloved hand comes up and touches his son on the back.

Luke opens his eyes and gives him a smile.

“You were already forgiven.”

Din pulls his son in for a tight hug. If tears form at the corner of his eyes as he thanks Luke for his help, Luke doesn’t say anything.

-=-

The next day was supposed to be Din’s last day, but early that morning, when he wakes up and sees the rain has stopped, he calls Bo-Katan. What he wants to say is that he can come here to collect the damn darksaber because there’s nothing more he wants to do than stay here. He doesn’t say that, but he does tell her he’s staying a few days more. He hangs up on her before she can reach a fever pitch.

At breakfast, he just tells Luke he can stay longer. Then he recommends they try going to the lake again.

The walk to the lake isn’t any more tense, but he can feel Grogu curl up tighter against his chest as trees give way to the lake. The lake is bigger than last time, much of the coast now disappeared under the water.

“Why don’t you go in this time?” Din offers.

Luke smirks at him, “Now are you afraid of water, Mando?”

On instinct, forgetting he’s at a bright lakeside and thinking he’s in the sewers of Nevarro, he punches Luke’s shoulder like he would’ve Paz’s. Luke goes careening to the side, only barely keeping himself on two feet. His expression is shocked and there’s an apology on Din’s tongue until Luke bursts out laughing.

“Maker, if you wanted me in the water that badly, you only had to ask!” Luke says, punching Din back. The flight suit lessens the blow, but Din still feels as knocked over as Luke was.

“S-Sorry,” he manages to get out.

Luke waves him off, still smiling. “If I couldn’t take a punch like that, I’d never survive being Han’s friend. You just surprised me.”

He removes his robes again and Din is thankful he thinks to avert his gaze beforehand.

Luke walks in, hissing at the chill. He only goes up to his ankles, before kneeling down, black pants growing darker by the second as water laps around him.

“See, Grogu? The water’s fine.” Luke splashes his hands gently in the water, creating little ripples.

Din looks down at Grogu, still in his arms. His head is ducked into Din’s shoulder.

Din kneels down so they’re more at eye level.

“Grogu? Look, what’s Master Luke doing?”

The child turns and watches. Luke has the same kind smile on his face the whole time. Grogu watches, ears twitching the whole time.

And then a different expression comes over Luke’s face. He shifts his position, now sitting with legs crossed, his hands held out above the water and eyes closed. Din is just about to ask what he’s doing when the water around him moves and rises.

Individual balls of water lift into the air, surrounding Luke. A couple are as big as Grogu’s head, some are as small as a pebble, a multitude of sizes. Sunlight reflects off their surface so that it looks like crystals. Then they move, gently circling around Luke.

Luke cracks open an eye before smiling. “See, Grogu? Water can be scary, but it can also be beautiful.”

Din can’t get his mouth to work, still trying to put these two images together, of a man with a bright laugh and a decent punch, and this ethereal wonder.

He manages to break his gaze and look at Grogu, who for the first time this whole visit, looks at the lake with awe instead of fear.

-=-

The next time Din is able to make it to Yavin IV, after a long quest to retake a minor city in Mandalore, he’s met with smiling faces at the end of the ramp.

“C’mon!” Luke says with no preamble. “We have something to show you!”

It’s not the first time Luke has led with that. Grogu likes showing his progress and Din is the best audience, being impressed with whatever Grogu has to show.

Instead of the Temple or the usual outside training ground, Luke heads straight for the lake. As he follows, Din can’t help but spot how there’s more of a path worn in through the grass and plants. He can even see straight to the dirt in some areas.

The lake looks the same as ever, clear water, low hanging trees, a rocky coast.

Luke doesn’t bother shucking off his robes, just walks in the water with Grogu still in his arms and kneels down. Luke lowers Grogu down into the water and Din is glad his helmet doesn’t pick up his gasp when Grogu doesn’t fuss. He just stands there, waist deep, looking up to his teacher.

“C’mon, Grogu,” Luke says, smiling, “like we practiced.”

Grogu nods before taking a deep breath and blowing out air before slowing lowering his head into the water. Small bubbles escape the water where his mouth is. It feels like Din’s heart has grown in his chest.

“Good job, Grogu!” Luke exclaims as Grogu stands up straight.

Din rips off his boots before joining the two in the water. Luke picks Grogu back up so he’s not overwhelmed by the waves Din makes. He settles in beside Luke, sides brushing as he takes a knee.

“That was really good, kid!” Din exclaims, picking up his son and holding him tight.

Grogu burbles happily. Luke catches Din’s eye and he can’t help but smile more.

-=-

Trips to the lake become a regular occurrence when Din visits. Yavin IV is temperate, so if the sky is clear and the day warm, the three head out to the edge of the lake. Grogu is happy to chase frogs near the edge, less scared of falling in now, especially with more lessons in blowing bubbles and painstaking lessons in floating.

Din has since picked up swimwear of his own, after he couldn’t get the lake smell out of one of his flight suits. It’s a tank top that still functions as a compression top and board shorts. He still brings his helmet with him, but he finds himself wearing it less and less by the lake, especially when he gets in the water.

It’s… nice. It’s one of the nicest things Din has had in a while. It’s a sanctuary from the stresses and pain of life in the galaxy, something for just the three of them, even if three sometimes becomes four when Artoo gets bored, and sometimes four becomes seven or eight when Luke’s friends make supply runs and then linger after. Even still, Din thinks of that spot as “theirs;” him, Luke, and Grogu.

The thought frightens him sometimes.

What also frightens him his how his heart rate continues to skyrocket when Luke takes off his robes to bask in the sun, this time not because of that twinge of familiarity at seeing the incision scars. His heart also can’t calm down on the day when Luke explains how he feels more attune to the Force when he feels the sun beat down on his bare skin, how it almost feels like home.

Din doesn’t know how to respond, especially when he realizes in some way, he understands, so he can only nod.

-=-

Late one day, when Din is underneath his ship, tightening up a part that got loose the last time he jumped through hyperspace, he hears the familiar pat of feet against the launchpad.

“I was out by the lake late at night,” Luke says.

Din grunts in response.

“It was really beautiful. Felt like there were thousands of lightning bugs out there.”

“I bet it was.”

“I’d like to show it to you… tonight… alone.”

That gets Din to roll out from under the Crest.

“What about Grogu?”

“The Temple has a state-of-the-art security system and Artoo can keep watch.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Tonight.”

“Yeah, once it gets dark enough.”

And suddenly anticipation fills Din’s stomach for the rest of the evening. He doesn’t know what “dark enough” means, the sun’s barely set by the time he’s done with the Crest and he can see two lighting bugs blinking by the Temple Garden. Luke waits until after dinner and after Grogu is fast asleep to walk Din out, gloved hand in gloved hand, even though they both know the way there. Neither of them makes a move to disentangle themselves.

The lake is both gorgeous and terrifying at night. There are just as many lightning bugs as Luke promised, lighting up the area. Even still, the water is as dark as space, and looks just as infinite.

Din is thankful he kept his helmet on. He’s glad Luke doesn’t comment on it. In fact, Luke doesn’t seem to mind at all.

They only go up to their knees in the dark water, looking out at the dancing light show and just talking. Their hands keep finding each other, after taking off their shoes, after releasing a lighting bug that’s landed on one of them, after righting oneself after nearly slipping.

Din tries not to think about how perfect this feels.

-=-

It’s a couple of days later that they are able to go back to the lake. It’s another washout, but none of them particularly mind. Din finds himself bumping into Luke more and more, the physical contact a welcome novelty.

Neither of them talks about the night at the lake. They don’t have to.

Once the rain stops, they wait a couple of days for the waterline to recede before going back to the lake.

And he has to assume it was because of being cooped up in the temple for a couple of days that causes Luke to ask him, “Have you used some of those tools for… non-bounty hunting purposes?”

Din tilts his head in Luke’s direction and takes longer than necessary to respond. He knows its rude to watch Luke squirm under his gaze, but after a question like that, he has to.

“What do you mean?”

“I just… see that tree branch?”

Din looks in the direction where Luke is pointing and spots a tree hanging over the lake. He nods.

“I bet you could use your ripcord and swing into the lake.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Seems fun, I assume kids who grew up around water would do that. Seems like the kind of thing.”

It does, like when he and the other foundlings would climb the pipes in Nevarro before an adult found them out.

“I don’t want to be a bad influence.”

Luke gives him a look. “Grogu has seen you fly out of the mouth of a greater krayt dragon, which I still need more details on.”

Din snorts, before considering it. All of these days by the lake means he actually is a somewhat passable swimmer. He can’t swim fast, but he can hold his breath and maneuver pretty well.

Plus, the more he thinks about it, the more it does sound like fun.

“Fine.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it.”

“I mean… don’t feel pressured.”

“Nope, I have to now.”

Luke looks at him before cracking into a smile. Din just shakes his head as he divests himself of unnecessary gear. He takes only the gauntlet that contains his ripcord, leaving his helmet and everything else safely on the coast before walking in the direction of the tree.

He climbs through the thrush, glancing over to make sure Luke is still looking at him. Why does he care that Luke’s looking at him?

He has to circle back to find the tree Luke had spotted. He steps around roots poking out through the soil and into a flat rock. The tree itself bends over him, a couple of lower branches nearly skimming the water. He jumps up and grabs into the tree, making sure it can hold his weight and won’t snap when he’s airborne.

It feels solid enough, but he pulls on a few branches before spotting what looks to be the best for the job. He lets out the ripcord, tugging on the branch before disengaging the chord from the spinning mechanism.

He glances to the shore, where Luke and Grogu are watching him. Din shakes his head, why does he feel so nervous for something like this? Then he gives it a test swing, gripping the rope and running to the edge of the stone before jumping off.

He doesn’t let go just let, more focused on making sure the branch doesn’t snap as he swings back and forth. He lands back on the rock, firm ground beneath him.

He looks at the window of clear blue surrounded by leaves and trees. Something flies through his heart like hope, like joy, and he doesn’t think anymore. He grabs the rope, runs forward, swings out and lets go.

A whoop comes unbidden from his chest and soon he’s flying, but unlike those precious moments where he had the jetpack, he can feel the wind flow around all of him. He crests in the air and the weightless feeling lingers for a moment longer before he’s being pulled back down to the lake and is suddenly plunged into cold.

He takes a moment just to let the cold settle over him before searching out the light of the sun and kicking off a rock to shoot upward toward the surface.

He breeches the surface to twinned cheers and rapid beeping. He shakes the water from his eyes, peeling curling hair out of his eyes to see Luke cheering, with Grogu clapping on top of Artoo’s head. He waves, the grin on his face threatening to break.

Maker, he wants to do that again.

But with the buzzing on insects, the gentle lapping of the water around him, and the sun beating down above him, he can’t help but roll onto his back and float, his eyes sliding shut as the sun lands on him with warm pressure.

It only feels like a few seconds have passed when a loud and clear voice rings out tough the clearing.

“Look out below!”

Din opens his eyes and sees Luke, mid arc. He’s stripped off to his basics and he is soaring, arms spread wide, whooping and hollering as he flies.

He crashes into the water mere feet from Din, the waves he creates overturning Din. He tumbles briefly in the water before he’s able to resurface, coughing out a small mouthful of water.

Luke is beside him, golden hair clinging to his forehead, chest glistening, and absolutely beaming.

“Having fun?” Din asks, voice rough from the water swallowed.

“We have to do that again.”

“Where’s Grogu?”

“On the shore, being watched by Artoo.”

Din looks and sure enough, Grogu has attached himself to one of the droid’s legs.

“Race you back?” Luke asks, already turning in the direction of the rock.

“Wait!”

Luke turns back, an eyebrow raised.

Din pushes himself to close the small distance between them. “Can I kiss you?”

Luke smiles. “Yes.”

Din could count on one hand the number of kisses he’s had, and he’s definitely never been kissed while treading water. Their legs bump against each other and Luke has to steady himself on Din’s shoulders. Both of them taste of lake water and it’s hard to get a grip on Luke’s torso, but when Din lets himself forget about how they’re probably sinking a little, and just enjoy the press of their bodies, the glide of their lips, it’s everything he didn’t know he needed.

[bittybattybunny]

Good day it’s a new au time cuz BRAIN ROT BRRRRR

Anyhow it’s a “MCU” but not kinda au

big thanks to @doodleimprovement for dealing with my word vomit over this au lol iamsosorry

Ru is a tech company CEO giant with his daughter Harriet (his business partner is his former wife who wants nothing to do with their kid) and adopted the recently orphaned Kaya Solaria after she helped stop a mugger in the alley way (well. Spider King did but her mask got hit off by a bullet and Ru saw it was just a kid and stepped in)

Working on running a company, raising his 6 year old as well as a super powered 15 year old (Kaya actually has Spiderman’s powers, King came after the fact and is tied to how she lost her dad) he ends up getting injured on a business trip after he was taken captive. Upon return he decides to try and ‘be a hero’ as a means to get his eldest to stop sneaking out (she has guilt over her dad dying so tries to be a hero to make up for it despite Ru asking her to wait until she’s 18 at least)  he figures if he can get the world (or at least their city) safer, she can rest at ease (cuz he’s a good dad and just wants her to... be a kid. not try to be more than a kid) he uses the Alias “Thorned Snatcher” (as his last name is Thatcher)

Vanessa however wants his new tech as she thinks its the key to a new weapons future and nearly kills Ru when she rips the reactor from his chest. Thankfully he had his old model still and his secretary (Eclipse) and daughters get home in time to help him. he knows if he doesn’t stop Vanessa things will be even worse for his family.

During their fight, he’s knocked down and nearly stops there to tired, but hears his daughters crying for him, specifically for the first time since he adopted her Kaya calls him “Dad”. He knows he needs to keep to his goal and if Vanessa is left free he failed a father.

He manages to get up with the Help of Eclipse who joined the fight, having stalled Vanessa hand to hand despite Vanessa’s weapon suit (sus eclipse is sus) and he’s able to fight again and put an end to her.

he gives Kaya a stipulation when they are waiting on the cops, he’ll let her fight crime, but only when he’s with her.

and thats the first part of this au eve (second bit deals with miss secretary past. A woman who is able to give Kaya a sore hand with a high five despite kaya can stop some extensive things (likepeterstoppingbucky’sfist) and went toy to toy with Vanessa with just a hub cap. Hrm. Cap. Cap. Captain...?)

I actually wrote up when Ru met Kaya. It’s a lil fast pace but I did it on purpose.

“If ya just hand ova ya wallet and yer valuables, you and yers can get out of here with a scar on your little faces.”

Arulius sighed as he heard the mugger and moved an arm to push his 6 year old behind his back. He gently gestured to his watch with a finger, to which she tapped a button on to call their bodyguard, Florence. 

“I’m afraid I really don’t have time for this. Harriet has a dance recit--” Arulius clicked his tongue when the gun was pressed up into his neck.

“I’m bein generous, man.” he pressed it further, pulling the hammer back.

“That’s not very polite! Did your dad never tell you not to stick your shooter in people’s faces?” Came a laughing voice. The mugger gasped when black webbing stuck to his back and pulled him to the ground. 

Standing perpendicular to the wall was the dark-suited figure, glowing white eyes and jagged smile laughing.

“D-Dad! Dad, it’s Spider King!” Harriet giggled as she hung onto her dad’s leg. He scowled and went to step back.

“YA FREAK!” The mugger tried to fight against the restraints, the primed gun going off in the hero’s direction.

There was a hiss as the masked figure fell off the wall with a solid thud. Arulius scooped Harriet up, only stopping when he saw the vigilante's face, the bullet having knocked her mask off.

“A… A kid?” he grimaced. Why was a CHILD attacking a mugger? Before he could open his mouth to speak there was a hissing.

“N-No King don’t! I’m fine! I’m fine!” the teenager gasped as the black claws she had tore off in slimy chunks, lunging at the mugger. She winced with the crunch as his hands were removed and she paled some, shaking.

Arulius shielded his daughter’s eyes.

“BOSS!” The red head came barreling down the alley, a bit too late when Spider King tried to grab her mask. 

“Stop.” Arulius ordered her. She looked up with frightened gold eyes. The tentacles retracting up her sleeves, “wait a moment.”

“Oh gross!” Florence shuddered as she moved to get the mugger up, the man an incoherent mess, “you do this?” she asked the teenager whose temple was bleeding.

She said nothing and gripped her arms as she tried to process. She blinked when tiny hands went to her cheeks.

“BIG SIS IS SO COOL!” Harriet giggled. Her father was talking on his phone.

“I-I’m.. No…” she looked away ashamed, “Y-You… I’m… I just… wanted to help…” she began to sniffle, “I-I didn’t mean for king to…”

“He hurt Sol. Bite back.” The snake-like creature peeked from the girl’s collar.

“I-I told you no biting h---” she placed her hands over her mouth and scurried to her feet, violently vomiting into a trash can. She panted some. Tensing when a hand rubbed her back gently.

“Yes. yes. He shot his own hands off in his confusion. Must be high.” Arulius was standing near her now as he spoke on the phone, “My guard was able to restrain him. Yes. yes I’m fine as is my daughter and the teen he was attacking. Mmhm.”

She flinched when he scowled and tilted her head up, “scratch that, looks like the teen got a bit hurt, but we’ll treat her. Yes. yes. I’ll leave my guard here.” hanging up he shifted his phone to his pocket before licking his thumb and wiping the blood away. She winced.

“O-Ow don’t! That stings!” she whined as tears pooled in her eyes.

King hissed and went to bite him but stopped when the girl sniffled. He nuzzled her cheek as Arulius let go. 

“Come on.” he pointed towards the black car that pulled around, “let’s go and then I’m calling your parents.”

She gripped her arms and stood firm, “T-Thanks for calling the police b-but you better f-forget you saw me, Mr. Thatcher.” she chuckled nervously, brushing black hair from her face.

“You know who I am?”

“O-Of course I do! Who wouldn’t?! Thatcher tech is my dream job!” she gasped, “I-I was a-at your summer program--” she covered her mouth.

He clicked his tongue, “the one for highschoolers?” he asked. She whined and moved to run but bumped into Florence who huffed.

“Give me your parent’s number.” Arulius sighed.

“I… I don’t…” she chewed her lip. She was quiet.

“Where do you live at least? I’ll drop you off.” he shook his head.

“PARK!” King chirped.

“Hush!” She fretted.

“The park? You live in the park?” Harriet asked as she stood near the teenager’s legs, “That’s not fun!”

“W-well i-I couldn’t stay at m-my apartment…” The teen frowned. She winced when she was pushed towards the car. Whining and trying to deflect she found herself sitting in the back. Harriet crawled in and grinned as Arulius sat in the passenger’s seat.

“No parents. No house. Now I get why a damn kid is running at muggers.” he rubbed his temples with a groan, “name?”

She was quiet.

“I’m not calling you ‘spider king’ name.” he asked a bit firmer.

“S-Solaria…” she mumbled, “K-Kaya Solaria…” she wiped the tears with the back of her gloves, “A-Are you going to turn me in?? I-I don’t mean any harm Mr. Thatcher! I-I promise! I-I normally do fine!!!”

“How old are you?” He opened the window and put a cigarette in his mouth and leaned out as he lit it up. “Under 18 if you were at the company summer program.”

“I… I turned 15 last month…” she admitted ashamed. 

“You’re a few years older than me!” Harriet beamed, “I’m 6!” she grinned.

“I’m more like a decade older…” Kaya chuckled nervously. She looked at the tech company CEO. he had pulled a laptop out and made another annoyed click with his tongue. She winced.

“Your father…. Gabriel Solaria?” he leaned back, “the journalist?”

She nodded.

“Damn shame. He was a decent guy. His stories were interesting.” he flicked through the news reports as Florence got in the driver’s seat.

“Done with the cops?” he asked, “stop by the courthouse.”

“Huh?” she started the engine, “courthouse.”

“P-Please! D-Don’t turn me in! I-I’ll b---”

“I need to grab some adoption papers.” he gave a smirk and looked back at the crying teen, “Since it seems Harriet's getting an older sister. But no more crime fighting.” he shifted to cross his arms and put his feet on the dash. “15… fucking 15. You know what I did at 15??”

“Built a rocket engine that was able to lift a treadmill?” she stated with a small smile.

He blinked and snickered, “okay, yes but I was also just. Going to sch--- do you go to school?”

“I-I’ve been attending school still.” she scratched her cheek, “Um… Subcon Public high…” she sank back in the seat. She jumped when Harriet sat on her and protectively put her arms around the younger girl. She shifted her seat belt around her as well when Florence pulled into traffic.

“Well you’ll have to transfer. Is that an issue?”

She shook her head, “U-Um mr. Thatcher… what… are you planning?” she asked softly.

“Adopting a lost child, and making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.” he snickered, “Any school you want to attend?”

“I… i you can’t! Y-You just met me!” she gasped in shock, “I-I’m a freak! I’m an accident! I-I have an alien!”

“Meeee” king stated proudly with a cackle.

“Yes but you know what I see? I see a scared kid who’s trying a little too hard.” he scoffed as she stared, “and we’re going to grab adoption papers, then I’m ordering pizza. Any allergies?”

“EAT EVERYTHING,” King laughed.

“Perfect then.” Arulius huffed, “and you can call me Arulius. Since I guess calling me dad off the bat would be weird.” he began to type on his laptop.

She sat there in confusion. She’d simply gone to help someone. And now her idol was adopting her. Her. a mutant spider freak with a parasitic alien.

She reached and pinched her cheek and whined.

Arulius caught this in the rear view and began to cackle loudly.

“Sorry kiddo. You’re awake.”

“B-But why are you just adopting me and not turning me into a lab or something?!” she asked fearfully.

“Dad’s nicer than he looks~!” Harriet giggled, “Can you shoot webs?”

“Mmhm.” Kaya shifted her gloves off and removed the cuff under her sleeve, “its um. An artificial webbing actually, unless King is the one shooting it. He has a gooey webbing.” 

Arulius peeked and reached a hand back. She frowned before handing the cuff to him.

He turned it over in his hands with an impressed whistle, “you construct this?”

She nodded, “I-I like engineering and I figured it’d be useful when king’s tired, i-it’s bio degradable too! But really strong!”

“That's how you swing around right?” Harriet asked with sparkling eyes, “What else can you do?!”

“Well I can walk on walls.” Kaya sighed, “I’m pretty strong too? I can lift a car if I focus. I can move fast?” she frowned, “I’ve never really… tho-- STOP THE CAR!” She gasped.

Florence slammed on the brakes as the truck at the intersection sped by.

“There’s um that. Normally I can semi tell something can happen.” Kaya frowned, “s-sorry for yelling.��

“No, by all means!” Florence laughed, “So. Spider King huh?”

“W-well it’s cuz I’m spider-esque and then King.” she pet the alien who chirped.

“What’s his deal?” Arulius asked but got silence, “alright another day then.” 

Florence parked the car as Arulius got out.

“Wait here,” he stated and Kaya just gave a nod. He threw her web shooter back and she caught it with wide eyes, “You’re grounded from crime fighting until you’re 18, but I won’t take your web shooters.”

“Ah… okay…?” she blinked as he shut the door and headed up. She leaned into the seat and just sat there. Very confused.

“Can I call you big sis? Or kai??” Harriet asked the older girl.

“Oh… um… I guess you can call me whatever….”

“Kaya’s a cute name.” Florence chuckled, “Crime fighting though. What a hobby.”

“I… I just wanted to help people…” she admitted softly, “I have these abilities so I thought I needed to…”

“Can you swing with me when we get home? We have a big tree in the yard!” Harriet giggled, “can you sign my daily bugle of you??”

“I’d rather not…” Kaya chuckled.

“Sleepy.” King huffed.

“Exhausted,” Kaya admitted as she shut her eyes. She barely registered she’d fallen asleep.

After a bit Arulius returned with the needed paperwork. He blinked and smiled as he looked in the back seat. The superhero passed out, his daughter sleeping against her.

Kaya’s arm rested around Harriet, and even King was putting his head on the girl.

“Well, not the oddest thing I’ve ever dealt with.” he spoke softly as Florence started the car once more. He flipped through the papers, “seems people had no idea she was on her own. Thought her uncle had her but turns out he lied and was just taking the financial support.” he grumbled, “there’s some messy hearings but I think I can just. Pay it off.” he looked back and gave a smile, “hey free babysitter.” he snickered.

------

He tapped his foot as he crossed his arms with a huff.

“Kaya.”

She looked away ashamed.

“What did I say?”

“No webbing in the house unless you’re watching.” she mumbled.

“And then why is the house covered in webs?” he asked with a twitch of his eyebrow.

“I-I was just playing with Hattie!” she defended. She huffed and he smirked. She seemed a bit more settled in if she was copping an attitude, “I-I’ll clean it up! I promise Mr. Thatcher!”

“Arulius. I told you, use my first name. You’re my kid now you know.” he sighed and headed inside.

She stepped aside and rubbed her neck, looking at the floor, “I-I can’t just… call you your name… that’s rude…”

“You’re my kid now, it’s weirder if you keep calling me “Mr. Thatcher” I’m not asking you to call me dad but.” he chuckled.

“THOT!” king sang loudly as the teen’s face turned red.

“I-I didn’t teach him that! I swear!”

[oh-dylan]

hi! how are you? i hope you’re okay! will you write a blurb about the dinner y/n organised with harry & dylan? i need an interaction moment between them :)

Absolutely, babe! And I'm doing okay; I hope you're well!

This turned out a lot longer than I planned, and it's the first time I have written in so long, so I'm a little rusty. I didn't want to add a lot of angst, because I wanted them to have a drama free dinner, but with some awkward moments, of course. x

This interaction would have happened on Sunday, August 1st.

Harry had River over the weekend, and was scheduled to drop her back off with famous y/n at 5 that evening, and of course famous y/n was cooking her favorite rendition of Tour of Italy, and maybe she was feeling in a particularly good mood – probably had something to do with the two glasses of red wine she had – and I can imagine her staring down at her phone as she watches over the boiling water.

4:10 PM.

She picks up her phone, scans through her recent calls, and taps his number.

“Hey, what’s going on? It’s not five yet.”

“No—no, that’s okay, you’re fine. Um, I was thinking…just thinking it might be nice if you had dinner with us tonight? I’m making my Tour of Italy—spaghetti, fettucine, ravioli…not the best Italian you’ve ever had, but we like it.” She pauses a beat, listening to River through the line babbling. “Maybe you can take this time to talk more than three words to Dylan.”

“Not sure what to even say to him.”

“That’s fair, but I’m just tired of feeling like I’m stuck between a war with you two. If you could at least try—”

“Does he want me there?”

“He can deal even if he doesn’t. You are my daughters’ father, and I want you to have dinner with us tonight. Maybe you can run River her bath and get her ready for bed?”

After the missed time, Harry doesn’t skip an opportunity to be with his girl.

“I bought zeppole’s and cannoli’s at Eagle Rock this afternoon.”

“I’ll be there at five.” There’s a hint of agitation, but she waves it off.

“Okay. Five.”

She sets her phone back down, and slowly stirs the pot of spaghetti noodles. Out of the corner of her eye, she senses Dylan hovering in the doorway, their puppy asleep in his arms.

“I invited Harry to have dinner with us tonight.” She gently sets the lid on the pot and turns around. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“As long as he doesn’t eat my cannoli’s, then we’re fine.” He smiles, walking into the room and sitting down at the island. “Did you tell him to be nice?”

“It’s you I want to be nice. I know about that phone call.” She cocks her head at him, walking over to the refrigerator. “Not saying he didn’t deserve it, but I don’t want any cat fights tonight… We just got the carpet deep cleaned.”

“What about cat fights outside in the grass?”

“I’ll turn the sprinklers on.”

It wasn’t soon after five when the doorbell rang, and Roro came running to the door along with her new friend. River came bouncing in, followed by her dad, dropping down to give her puppies a kiss on the head.

“Wowo—hello, Wowo. I missed you!” She’s dressed in her favorite pineapple dress, with a pink bow pinned in her hair. Famous y/n is first to spot her freshly skinned knee.

“Took a tumble on the way to the car.” Harry begins, River’s bag in his hand. “Handled it like a champ… Promised her a cannoli if she stopped crying.”

Dylan audibly sighs from the other room.

Before dinner started, Harry dressed River in her “pasta clothes” because famous y/n wanted nothing more than her daughter staining her best clothes because she doesn’t know how to properly contain her spaghetti passion. (River also doesn’t eat the ravioli because she’s scared of the ricotta in the middle.)

“Babe, cannoli’s and ravioli have the same middle bits. It’s the same thing—you love cannoli’s.”

She still wants nothing to do with it.

Harry and River sat on one side of the table, while famous y/n and Dylan were on the other. River spent most of the dinner in Harry’s lap eating off his plate.

Harry and Dylan didn’t talk much through the dinner; both trying to regularly keep food in their mouths as a reason to stay silent. Famous y/n knew their ruse, and wasn’t about to let them slip passed this moment to connect.

“So, Harry,” famous y/n chimed, “Any news on a trailer for Don’t Worry Darling?”

“Uh…this fall, maybe? Hopefully? Not too sure honestly.”

“I don’t know if you know this,” she turns to Dylan, “I originally had the role for Alice, before Harry even was thought of, but once Shia left and Harry stepped in, I left because I didn’t want to work with him.”

Dylan choked on his pasta, peering up to look at Harry across the table whose face was at a flatline.

“But Florence was perfect for the role, so I guess it worked out.”

“I didn’t know that, no.” Dylan looks back at famous y/n, clenching his jaw to suppress a smile.

“The media said it was because of scheduling issues, but…they’ll say whatever you pay them to!”

“I want a cannooli now!” River lifted herself up in Harry’s lap, a piece of spaghetti entangled in her hair.

Without missing a beat, Dylan glanced up, almost as if it was a force of habit. “You need to eat more of your dinner, babe. A couple more big girl bites.”

Famous y/n saw the look in Harry’s eyes; the look that said, “That’s my child. Why are you acting like her parent?” He isn’t one for confrontation by any means, but she knew when it came to his daughter, things fell a little differently.

The conversation Dylan had with Harry just some weeks ago was quick to come to a halt in her head.

“She called me ‘daddy’ last night.” There was a long pause, and a deep sigh heard on the other end. “I get that you found someone and you’re happy—I seriously get it—but you have obligations in other parts of the world too, and I really hate seeing my girlfriend feeling like she’s failing as a parent because her daughter called me ‘daddy’. But if I’m the one that’s around, and the one that’s providing, then what does that make me?”

River did as she was told, reaching over to the abandoned fork on her plate and scooping up some pasta.

“Thank you, sweets.” Famous y/n smiled, gently kicking Harry under the table. He blinked, finally looking back up at her. Very subtly she shook her head, and reached for her wine glass.

Maybe dinner wasn’t the place to have this conversation. Not in front of River, anyway.

Once the table was cleared, and dessert was had, Harry scurried upstairs to get River ready for bed, while Dylan and famous y/n hung out in the living room.

“He knows he’s not been the best dad, and it makes him guilty, so it pisses him off when he sees you taking over his spot.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have left that spot open! Like…what does he think? You’ll never date or marry someone so River will never have a step-dad?”

“I think that he thinks his actions had no repercussions, but now he sees how easily River is swayed.”

But she’s three-years-old and all she does is sway.

Once River was in bed, Harry came back downstairs to say his goodbyes.

“Thanks for having me,” he smiled at famous y/n. “Dinner was great. It was good to see you guys.”

“Let me walk you out, man.” Dylan stood up, stepping forward towards the front door. Famous y/n laid farther down on the sofa, stretching her legs out and watching as the two walked outside.

“I didn’t mean to offend by what I said at dinner…” Dylan began as they reached Harry’s car. “I know she is your daughter, and I shouldn’t overstep—I don’t mean to overstep—”

“Remember what you said on the phone? How she called you ‘daddy’ and it’s because I’m not around? I know I’ve not been great, and I kind of deserved that slap in the face. Made me realize I need to get my shit together because…I could lose her, you know? I don’t come around often and all of a sudden I’m just some guy who comes around occasionally.”

“She knows you’re her dad.”

“But it pisses me off knowing she thinks you’re her dad too.”

“You know…I don’t know what the future holds, but…if she and I get married one day, I would be legally her step-dad. I love her, and I care about her, whether or not I am right now. I just want you to know that. And at the end of the day, I know my place, and I don’t want to overstep it.”

Harry nods, reaching for the door.

“But if you aren’t around, I have no choice but to. Remember that.”

[thetravelerwrites]

Karrghed (Orc) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Orc, Florence Nightingale Effect Content Warning: Blood Mention, Serious Injury Injured Orc Words: 5310

A young woman running a ranch on her own is surprised when an injured orc stumbled out of the woods during a storm. She nurses him back to health and the two grow close. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

The ranch your mother had left you when she died could hardly be called that anymore; a single woman running it by herself with no ranch hands could barely get the chores done by nightfall. When your mother fell ill, you ended up having to sell most of the livestock, and the majority of the house’s furniture, just to keep a roof over your head. As it stood, you only had three cows, one bull, a single carthorse, and a handful of goats, sheep, and chickens left. Your great mastiff, Jude, helped wrangle the goats and sheep, and was your only helper.

You subsisted on your small garden, apple tree, and by selling cows and goats milk, the chicken’s eggs, and sheep’s wool to the locals. Otherwise, it was hand to mouth every day of the week.

For the last few hours, the animals had been restless, which could only mean one thing: a storm was on the horizon. A big one too, judging from how the animals were stamping and lowing and throwing their heads around. You decided to forgo letting them roam for the afternoon, like you would on a normal day, and put them into the small barn, one by one, including the hens.

You knew the animals would be safe; your father had built the barn as sturdy as a rock. You were more worried about your garden. Too much flooding would destroy it, and then you were out of fresh produce. It’s not like you could afford to buy more.

It began to sprinkle as you started setting up a rain shield over your crops. Whether it would hold or not was the question, but you had nothing else.

The rain was coming down a bit harder as you finished up, and you were soaked through and getting cold. Just as you turned to go into your house and stoke up the fire, movement in the treeline caught your attention. You straightened up to see a man, orcish based on his coloring, stumble out of the woods clutching his stomach.

He wore furs and armor, looking to be a warrior from one of the strongholds to the north, but you weren’t sure which. He was too far away to make out any identifying features, but you could see a dark stain cascading down from where he was holding. Before you could call out, he collapsed.

Without realizing it, you were rushing out, heedless of the potential dangers, to reach the man. He lay face down in the grass, blood leaking out from his wound.

“Oh gods,” You gasped, settling down next to him, shaking him. “You have to wake up! You’re too big for me to move on my own!”

He grunted but didn’t move.

“Shit!” You swore, making a dash for the barn, throwing a blanket over the carthorse and leading him out into the rain. You made him kneel down in the grass and managed to roll the orc twice in order to get him onto the horse. The physician was too far away, so the only thing you could do was put the orc in your house, ride like mad to the doctor, and pray that he was willing to go out in a storm to treat a patient. Even still, the least you could do is get him out of the rain.

You somehow managed to get the orc into the house, though he was basically splayed out on the floor in front of the door.

“Watch over him, Jude!” You called to the dog. The big girl boofed at you and sat right next to the orc, not moving.

Afterward, you threw a riding blanket over your carthorse and vaulted up, urging it into a gallop and starting the two miles to the nearest town, praying the orc would still be alive when you got back.

The doctor, praise be, was actually willing to ride back to your house with you after gathering a few things based on your description of the wound. He saddled up his own horse and followed you the five minutes back to the ranch house with the wind whipping your face.

Thankfully, the orc was still breathing, though it was labored, and the blood was pooling on the floor underneath him. You helped the doctor pick the orc up and put him in your bed and assisted him in removing the orc’s armor and bloodied clothes, then you went out to tend to the horses to let the doctor examine the visitor in private, taking Jude with you.

“Oh, Jude, my linens,” You bemoaned. “I do hope the poor man lives, but I’ll be shearing the sheep early this year just to replace the bedclothes. I guess I won’t be making that winter coat I was planning.”

Jude whined a little and nudged your hip as you brushed down the horses, tired from their run. You were tired, too. It was barely mid-afternoon, but the clouds from the storm made it seem as dark as night outside. It was throwing off your sense of time.

After brushing, feeding, and watering the horses, as well as making sure all the animals were well in their stalls, you dashed back inside the house. You had Jude stay with the animals rather than have wet dog smell inside your home. Jude made puppy eyes at you, but you promised she could come back in when you were able to come out and give her a proper pat down with a towel.

“How is he?” You asked the doctor, putting on the kettle for some tea.

“Well,” The doctor said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “He lost a large amount of blood, but I don’t think any of his major organs were damaged. The bleeding has stopped, mostly, and I’ve stitched up the wound. My concern is that he didn’t wake up either when I was fishing around inside him or when I was stitching him up. Either he took a head wound that I can’t seem to find, or he’s more dehydrated than I thought and there’s not enough blood flow to get him to come to alertness. You should attempt to get as much water down him as you can.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” You asked, alarmed.

“I’ve done what I can, miss,” The doctor said, shrugging on his coat. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

“That’s it?” You asked. Oh gods, you couldn’t handle a man that size. “What should I do with him?”

“Just keep him hydrated. I’ll leave you a tincture of wormwood and willow bark for if he wakes. You should also make a poultice from honey to put on the wound to prevent infection, if you have any. Good day, miss.”

The doctor put on his hat and walked out the door, setting a bottle on the table as he went, leaving you to deal with the orc.

The storm passed overnight, during which time you spent a restless few hours sleeping on the floor of your room next to the patient. Every hour or so, you got up to try and get some water down his gullet, massaging his neck to get him to swallow. You did manage to get some fluids down each time, as he swallowed reflexively, but it wasn’t as much as you liked. He was worryingly unresponsive, as the doctor said, you wondered if he was always this pale shade of green or if it was a symptom of the blood loss.

The next morning, you took down the rain shield, relieved to find your garden only slightly damaged in a way that could be fixed, took the animals out for a graze, being sure to keep them out of the field that was particularly muddy, and went to find some honey. You took Jude with you for some much needed exercise, and she happily bound over rocks and stumps.

You knew there was a wild hive just beyond the treeline and hoped you’d be able to get enough without being stung to death. An hour and five stings later, you did end up with a small honeycomb clutched in your hand. Thankfully, you weren’t allergic to them, but several stings in one place was causing a significant amount of swelling. You might need to use some of the honey poultice for yourself, if there was enough. Although, you did have some apple cider vinegar left…

You didn’t know much about medicine beyond basic first aid, but some herbalism was pretty universal. You made up the poultice with the honey and some witch hazel and a few drops of the tincture the doctor had left.

The orc was still laying straightened out on the bed, still unconscious. Last night, during the storm, you’d had only the fire in the kitchen and a single candle flickering, so it had been rather dark. Now in the full light of day, you could get your first good look at the man who had stumbled onto your ranch.

His face was relaxed and handsome, though there were scars on his lip and across his nose. His tusks were large and circled with gold bands, though the tusks themselves had several nicks in them. Additional scars criss-crossed his well-defined chest and abdomen. His stomach, where the stitched wound, was flat and muscular. His arms, too, were pretty well-formed and had scars up and down them. His hair was intricately braided and still a little wet, though there were a few wayward strands falling around his shoulders. He seemed older than his shapely build suggested, perhaps late thirties, though you hadn’t met many orcs and weren’t entirely sure.

You slathered the poultice on the wound and covered it with a bandage. You couldn’t move him to wrap it securely, so all you could do was press it down gently to keep the air off of it. You tried again to get him to drink before wrapping up your hand and going out to take care of your livestock.

The next few days were the same, and you were beginning to wonder if he would ever wake. He was in danger of starving to death, if his wound didn’t get him. But just when you were losing hope, he opened his eyes as you were trying to feed him some broth.

“Are you alive?” You asked him, setting down the tureen.

He coughed and grunted. “Doesn’t feel like it.” He stared at you with startlingly bright blue eyes. “Who are you?”

“You stumbled into my field,” You told him. “I’ve had the doctor round to look at you. Seems like he was right.”

“Doctors don’t know anything,” He said gruffly. “I need to get to my stronghold and see the medicine woman.”

“What is she, if not a doctor by another name?” You asked shrewdly. He grunted again. “In any case, you’re in no condition to be going anywhere. You’ve been here nearly a week. Another few days won’t matter.”

“A week?!” He said. “I’ve been unconscious that long? Has anyone come for me? Is my battalion outside?” He made to get up, clutching his wound. “They need to know I’m alright.”

You tried to stop him, though you had as much luck as you would have had trying to push down a mountain. “There was no one but you! You came out alone. Please, you must stay in bed or you’ll reopen your wounds!”

“I have to see for myself!” He said, standing up, not realizing he was naked. You averted your eyes as he looked down. “Where are my clothes?”

“The doctor took them off to treat you,” You said, blushing furiously. “They’re over there.”

You pointed to a bureau, where his soiled garments and armor lay. He began putting them back on gingerly.

“I need to find them! I need to find my battalion,” He said. “A commander doesn’t leave his men behind.”

“You’ll die if you go out there by yourself in this condition,” You told him sternly.

“Then I’ll die,” He said matter-of-factly. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ll return with repayment, though I don’t know when that will be.”

“Not if you’re dead,” You said in an undertone, but if he heard, he gave no sign. Instead, he strode off across the field to the woods as, showing no trace of the injury under his armor in his gait. He hadn’t even told you his name.

You watched him disappear into the trees grimly, petting Jude’s head as she whined, before wondering if you had anything in your stores that would get bloodstains out of linens.

Another day passed. You ended up burning the linens and, after mourning their loss, sheared the sheep. While you were carding the wool for spinning on your porch with Jude, she barked loudly and stood up, staring out over the field. You looked and saw the orc come back out of the woods. He wasn’t stumbling like last time, but you could see he wasn’t well, even from this distance.

You set down the wool and walked out. You’d already had a cup of water set down next to you, so you snatched that up.

“Here,” You said as he approached, holding out the cup.

His breathing was labored as he said, “Thanks.” He drained it in two large gulps and handed the cup back, his hand going to his belly.

“Did you find them?”

“A few,” He said. “They’d been buried where they lay. It’s too warm and we live too far for them to have been brought home, especially after the rain. Thankfully, it looks like most of my battalion survived and went back to the stronghold.”

“That’s good,” You said.

He nodded. “Yes. I am glad.” He listed sideways and then straightened.

You squinted at him. “Have you rested at all?”

He shook his head. “I hate to impose further, but if you have a place I might lie down.”

“Come on,” You said, leading him into the house. “I’m going to have to replace the mattress anyway. You might as well use it until I make the new one.”

“My apologies for the inconvenience,” He said as you pulled him into the bedroom and prodded him to lie down. “I’ll move on as soon as I’m able.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” You said. “You were a fool for leaving in your state yesterday. A person your age should know better.”

“Aye,” He said in a tired voice, flopping onto the bed facedown. You pushed him to make him roll over.

“You never told me your name, you know,” You told him.

“Karrghed,” He mumbled.

“Well, Karrghed, let me look at your wound, will you?” You said.

He grunted and assisted you in removing his armor, though he blessedly left his clothes on. There was fresh blood, but the stitches were holding. You sighed in aggravation.

“If you want to make it back to your stronghold alive, you need to take better care of yourself. You stay in that bed until I tell you to get up, understand?”

“If you say so,” He said, already half asleep. You sighed again and left him alone, going back out to finish carding.

You made dinner for the two of you, and after eating your portion, you took the rest on a tray into the room for him. He was still sleeping, so you shook him awake.

“Hey. I brought you dinner,” You said.

He managed a ghost of a smile. “I must be dying if a lovely woman is bringing me a meal in bed.”

You snorted. “Well, if you’re feeling well enough to flirt, I’m sure you’re nowhere close to dying. Sit up.” He did so and you put the tray on his lap. “Can you feed yourself?”

“I can manage, yes, thank you,” He said sardonically, taking the spoon in his hand and scooping up some of the stew you made.

“So… what happened?” You asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What brought you dying to my doorstep.”

He shoveled a spoonful of stew in his mouth and swallowed before answering. “A local village came to us about a large bandit attack that had killed several merchants and stolen much of their money and wares. They asked us to find the bandits and take care of them. They didn’t know how many there were, just that several businesses were hit at once. I took my battalion, fifty men strong, out to track them, five men to a team, twenty teams each. Team H came back and reported they’d found a camp that had some of the items that had been stolen, so we went to investigate. We walked into an ambush. And they weren’t bandits. They were a rival stronghold.”

“Oh gods,” You said. “There has to be some serious bad blood for them to do something like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” He said. “They claim they own the land our stronghold is built on and have been trying to push us out of our territory for almost a century. They’ve been getting more brazen lately, but I didn’t think they’d resort to murder. Strongholds are supposed to have a code of ethics. Whatever issues we have with each other, we never get innocent outsiders involved. This incident is designed to provoke a war.”

“War?” You said, frowning with concern.

“Yes,” He replied, eating as though unfazed. “As soon as I’m well enough, I need to make the trek back to the stronghold. They’ll need me for the coming battle. If this was the precursor to a full assault, I will be expected on the front lines.”

“So I’m letting you recuperate here just to die back there?” You asked sourly.

He shrugged. “That is the nature of war.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” You said, staring out the window.

He was silent, and you could feel his eyes on you. “Are you alone here?”

“Yes,” You replied.

“No family?”

“I was an only child, and my mother died recently. She had been sick for a long time.”

“Your father?”

“He died when I was a little girl,” You said flatly. “In a war. That’s about the time my mother became ill. I always believed it was heartbreak. She was never the same after his death.”

“I see,” He replied in a neutral tone.

You stood suddenly. “I need to tend to the animals. I’ll return later.”

You left the room without looking at him, and he said nothing to stop you.

Another two days passed with a rather formal atmosphere. You came in only to bring his meals, give him the tincture, and check his wounds. He didn’t attempt to flirt with you again, merely thanked you for the food and care.

You slept on the floor in the weaving room with Jude, since there were no other beds in the house. It had once been your bedroom, but you had started sleeping in the same room as your mother after she had gotten sick. You had been working on the canvas for the new mattress. You wished you had linen for the canvas, but you could never grow enough flax for a full mattress.

“Is this where you sleep?” You heard him ask from the doorway.

“Well, a large orc has taken residence in my bed, so yes,” You said groggily, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing out of it?”

“I had to take piss,” He replied, his arms folded as he looked down at you with a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me I’d put you out so much?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” You said. “Do you need your tincture?”

“No, I feel fine,” He said. “I took a look around. You run this place alone?”

“As well as I can,” You replied. “It was much larger before. I had to sell a lot of what we had to pay for my mother’s treatments.”

“That’s still a lot of work for a woman on her own,” He said, his face softening. “You’ve been doing all this and taking care of me at the same time?”

“I’m used to it,” You said as you stood, brushing off your clothes. “I did it for my mother for years.”

“Dedicated. I like that in a woman,” He said with a smile.

You frowned at him. “Don’t waste your time with flirting. You’re leaving soon, remember?”

“You could come with me,” He said, his face serious.

You considered him. “This is my home,” You replied finally. “Besides, I could never commit myself to a warring man. I won’t die like my mother did.”

“Dying as a warrior is the highest honor for an orc,” He said automatically.

“I don’t know much about honor, but it seems to me that dying a happy old man isn’t a bad way to go, either,” You retorted.

“You wouldn’t understand,” He said, turning away.

“You’re right,” You said to his back as he returned to your room. “I don’t understand.”

There was no reply.

The next morning, you and Jude went out to care for the animals, only to find that the morning chores had been done. The water troughs were full and there was hay in the feed bins. The chickens had been fed and the eggs collected. The cows and goats had been milked and the milk was in the jugs, seal and waiting to be distributed. This felt odd. You’d never woken up and had nothing to do. Bemused, you went to make breakfast.

Karrghed came out of the bedroom in just his clothes. They were freshly laundered, the bloodstain still present but cleaned as well as possible and the hole stitched. His hair was rebraided and he seemed to have washed himself.

“Thank you for doing my chores, but you shouldn’t do so much while you’re still healing,” You said, beginning to chop some vegetables for breakfast.

“It was the least I can do,” He said. “Besides, orcs heal fast.” He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and watched you bustle about the kitchen. “I think I’ll be well enough to get out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “If you’re sure.”

“I was serious yesterday,” He said. “I’ve never considered taking a wife before. As you say, being a soldier means you’re always putting your life in danger, so it never seemed sensible to get married. But… you’re captivating. Loyal, hard working, kind. Beautiful. You wouldn’t have to struggle to survive. You’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” You told him evenly. “Besides, I was serious, too. I won’t marry a soldier. And I won’t leave my home.”

There was silence for several minutes as he watched you cook. You had a feeling the conversation wasn’t over yet. You plated the food and set it on the table, and he took a seat opposite you.

As you were eating, he said: “Would you be willing to wait for me?”

“Wait?” You echoed.

“I have to go back and see this thing done with the rival stronghold,” He said, setting his fork down. “But… When it’s over… I could return here. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dying happy. Being a soldier… it fulfills a sense of duty that every orc has, it’s rewarding, sometimes it’s even fun. It’s expected of me, but I’m not sure it’s ever made me happy. Most men my age have settled down, handed the battle to the next generation, usually when they’re wounded to the point that they don’t see the appeal anymore. Perhaps it took a gut wound for me to reach that point. Maybe it was meeting you. But… I’d like to try another life. A happy one.”

“What if you decide you’re not happy?” You asked him bluntly. “What if you give up your entire life and realize you made a mistake? Where does that leave me? Right back where I was. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and then you leave.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know what you’d do, you’ve never been in this situation.”

He reached across the table and took your hand. “I know myself. No matter what, I wouldn’t abandon you. I’m a man of my word.”

“Karrghed,” You said, sliding your hand out from under his. “We don’t even know each other, and we certainly don’t love each other. We have two different lives. You can’t give up everything you know in an effort to repay a debt you think you owe because I helped you, and you won’t convince me that this offer of marriage isn’t some sort of misguided attempt to reimburse me.”

He sat in a stony silence for a minute, staring at his plate, his jaw working.

“You think I don’t love you?” He asked darkly. You stared at him for a moment before he suddenly stood, said, “Thank you for the meal,” and retreated into the bedroom. You sat stunned at the table, staring after him, feeling confused and out of sorts.

Karrghed didn’t reappear for lunch or dinner, nor did he respond when you ask if he needed anything. You spent the day sewing and stuffing the new mattress and covering, thinking hard on what Karrghed had said. The hurt in his words.

You think I don’t love you?

“Karrghed?” You called through the door that evening, just after nightfall. “I’ve finished the mattress. Will you help me move it to the bed? It’s unwieldy and I’m having a hard time moving it on my own.”

At first, you didn’t think he would respond, but just when you were about to give up, you heard his footsteps approach and the door opened. He didn’t look at you, just brushed past you and hauled up the mattress, taking it to the bedroom. You followed him inside with new linens, waiting as he swapped out the mattresses before making the bed. He took the old one out to the barn and returned before you had finished.

“You should sleep on the bed,” He said. “It’s yours anyway. I’ll sleep in the other room.”

“Nonsense,” You said, smoothing out the blanket. “You’re still healing. You should have the bed.”

“No,” He said, his voice like steel. “It’s shameful of a man to make a woman sleep on the floor.”

You took a big breath and said, “There’s room for both of us.”

His face hardened. “Don’t play with me.” He propelled himself off of the frame and stalked off to the other room.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him walk off. You didn’t know what had overtaken you, but you knew you had to set it right. If he left tomorrow angry with you, you’d regret it forever.

“I’ll wait for you, Karrghed!” You called through the door.

He stopped there in the doorway of the weaving room, his back to you, breathing hard. Slowly, he turned on his heel to look at you.

“You swear?” He said in a hushed tone. “You swear you’ll wait?”

“Yes,” You said. “Karrghed, I swear.”

The first true, genuine smile you’d ever seen split his face. It made him look ten years younger. Three long strides was all it took for him to reach you, and you pressed his lips you yours. You’d never imagined you’d react the way you did, throwing your arms around his neck and drinking in his kiss as if it were a rare wine. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, laying you down on the fresh bed.

The heat flooded your body as he placed himself between your legs, kissing your lips, cheek, neck, and shoulders, pulling down your sleeves to expose more of your skin. You tugged up his shirt and pulled it over his head, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your fingers drifted across the stitches in his stomach.

“Wait, wait,” You said. “You haven’t healed enough for this.”

He groaned, but he knew you were right. “Very well. Then I’ll leave you with a promise, then.” He sank down between your legs and touched your swollen lips with his large fingers. You gasped and your head fell back onto the covers. He kissed your inner thighs as his fingers teased you, and you writhed underneath him. Nothing had ever made you feel like this before, and you wanted more.

He leaned forward and his tongue pressed itself to your slit, and your body tensed involuntarily with pleasure. You grabbed his hair and tugged hard, pulling him closer, and he chuckled. His tongue plunged inside of you and moaned, his fingers gliding over your clit, rubbing it in circles. He definitely seemed like he knew what he was doing. He sucked and nibbled and nipped, and you were glad you had no neighbors, as you didn’t realize you could scream so loud.

“I love a woman who’s not scared to make noise,” He said as he came up for air.

“You said you could stop?” You asked breathlessly, laying on the bed like a de-boned fish.

He laughed as he pulled himself up and laid on top of you. “Much more and you’ll be asleep for a week, like I was. You need to recover.”

You mewled unhappily, but submitted to his kiss.

The two of you slept naked, wrapped up in each other, and in the morning, he dressed and readied himself to leave.

“I swore to wait,” You said sternly. “But now you have to swear to come back. Swear to me.”

“I swear, beloved,” He said, kissing you gently. “I don’t know how long it will take to put this to bed, but when it is done, I’ll return. I swear.”

Six months passed, six months of letters, gifts, and treasures sent as “bride-gifts” as it was called in clans, presents to prove to the bride that the groom was more than capable of providing for her. From just these things, it was clear to you that Karrghed was very well off, apparently having made a name for himself as a commander early in his career.

The day finally came when he would return. You watched from your porch from dawn, waiting for him. Jude knew before you did, bounding off of the porch and launching herself toward the woods. He walked with haste up the gravel trail, a horse and cart behind him, followed by a line of cattle, two horses, and a procession of orcs, at least ten in total, all with packs.

You jumped off the porch and ran to him. He left off giving Jude a good pat in time to catch you as you jumped up, kissing you soundly.

When you broke apart, you asked, “What’s all this?”

“This is my family,” He said with a grin, extending a hand. “They’re here for the wedding, and my parents wanted to come in person to thank you for saving my life. My two youngest brothers will be staying on as ranch hands.” He pointed at two young orcs, perhaps not fully grown. “It’ll be good learning for them before they join the corps.”

“But!” You said. “I’m happy to meet everyone, but there isn’t enough room in the house for all of them!”

“No worries, my love,” He said, still smiling. “As their wedding gift to us, they will be helping to build a new barn and add on to the house. There’s no telling how many children we may have. It’s good to be prepared.”

You laughed and blushed at the same time. He chuckled at you.

“I kept my promise, didn’t I?” He asked in your ear.

“You did,” You replied, hugging him around the neck. “And so did I.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[joe-mazzello-archive]

Two Lost Souls

A Eugene Sledge x Fem!Reader fic

Rating: PG

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: references to the war/violence (duh), references to ptsd, panic attack/nightmare, snafu being his crass self, so much awkward flirting, a teeny tiny bit of angst

A/N: okay story time -- one day a few months ago i rewatched the last episode of the pacific and then took a nap and proceeded to have a lovely dream about cuddling with eugene in a train booth and running my fingers through his hair sooooo here we are. i’m extremely nervous to post this as it was a labor of love and it’s almost my first full period piece. i hope you enjoy! also bonus points if you know what book the reader is reading.

moodboard by @brianmays-hair

--

The nightmares started while Eugene was still in Peleliu. Flashes of blood and corpses and metal and dirt. Screaming and explosions, the sound of bodies hitting the ground. But then he’d wake up to the same visuals, the same sounds. His reality was one long nightmare. There was no escape, no end in sight.

Now Eugene was afraid this was all a pleasant dream. No screaming, no blood. From the moment he set foot back on the mainland, he was in constant fear that he’d wake up and be back there. Especially when the nightmares felt so real. Sometimes he didn’t know what was his true reality.

It had taken a while to get the dirt out from under his fingernails, to get the stench out of his hair, but eventually he did feel clean again.

You can’t shower away the memories. Those linger much longer.

Distractions helped. He read, he smoked. He chatted with his fellow marines. He enjoyed the good food he was given, tried to find comfort in the bed he got to sleep in. He thought about Mobile and his parents and Sid and how he’d be home to them soon. He was hyper-focused on everything and anything, knowing that if he let his mind wander, it’d wander right back there.

It’s how he found himself people-watching at the bustling San Diego train station. The boys were prattling next to him about some girl Snafu had gone fishing for, but Eugene was more engrossed in the crowd around them. Sure there were tons of other marines around, but they were mixed in with parents wrangling their children, businessmen with their briefcases, lovers saying their goodbyes.

A flash of dark red caught Eugene’s eye. A woman, probably around Eugene’s age, stood alone on the platform, clad in a burgundy blazer and matching skirt with a brown trunk resting at her feet. Whereas most of the platform was hectic and frazzled, she stood firm and patient, a calmness about her. She seemed unperturbed by the world around her, lost in her own thoughts, her eyes cast downward as she let out a sigh.

She was beautiful.

Not in the way that the nurses back on the island greeted soldiers with their red-lipped smiles and white uniforms. Not in the way that the girls had primped for the Murphy High prom, practically fighting to dance with Sid while not paying Eugene any mind -- which seemed a lifetime ago now. No, this girl was beautiful in a way that Eugene couldn’t put his finger on. She was beautiful in a way that stopped him in his tracks like no girl ever had before.

The whistle of the train finally arriving at the station and a hand on his shoulder pulled Eugene out of his trance.

“Last leg, Sledge,” Burgie commented with a nod towards the train. Eugene replied with a half-smile before following the corporal, Snafu already ahead of them. Sneaking one last quick glance in the direction of where he last saw the beautiful woman, Eugene was greeted with a sea of people - no flash of burgundy in sight. With a sigh, adjusted the duffle on his shoulder and boarded the train, ready to get home.

--

You weren’t a big fan of long train rides. The rumbling of the cars, the confined spaces, the stale air, the bad food -- it was miserable. Last time you’d boarded a train, it had been under bittersweet circumstances - excitement mixed with worry. But three years had passed since you had arrived in San Diego, and after finding yourself jobless with no place to stay, your time in the port town had come to an end.

So you booked your ticket back home, with nothing but your childhood room and your disillusioned parents waiting for you. What a way to make an already miserable form of travel even more miserable.

You found your only solace was in reading. Luckily you had grabbed a newspaper from the stand at the station -- and snatched a book from your sister’s home before you left. You planned on losing yourself in words while the American countryside passed by your window. You had quite the trek ahead of you.

You sat at a table in the dining car, a bottle of barely-sipped cola accompanying the plate of lunch that had been hardly touched. You held the newspaper in one hand as you used your fork to idly push around your roasted potatoes.

“Is your meal alright, miss?” sounded the voice of a slender waiter above you. With a deep sigh, you lowered your paper and plastered a polite smile, meeting the young staff member’s stare.

“It’s just fine, thank you,” you replied, your voice cheery despite your true demeanor. The gentleman nodded before leaving you be, stepping to the next table. As you watched him leave, your eyes drifted across the aisle of the car. A lone marine sat at the table catty-corner to yours, a private first class by the looks of his uniform. His auburn hair was neatly coiffed and a striking nose divided his face. His eyes were downcast, staring out the window, an almost solemn look to him. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he was handsome - in a genteel boyish way.

But he was no boy. Many of the servicemen you had encountered in the past few years maybe were boys before they left. But being sent overseas to be met with nothing but violence and death -- those boys grew up quickly. This marine was no different. You could see it in the distant look in his eyes. He had seen terrors and lived to tell the tale.

Your thoughts were disturbed by a drawling southern accent behind you.

“Hiya,” the voice greeted. You glanced over your shoulder to find another marine trailing behind a woman. The woman turned at the greeting. “I’m Merriel Shelton. How about I take you to the back and you can show me your caboose?”

You spun back forward, eyes wide and your hand shooting up to cover your mouth, hiding your smirk. And when a resounding slap echoed behind you, a short giggle escaped your lips. The woman stomped down the aisle in a tiff, while the extremely forward marine and his buddy took their seats, joining the lonely marine you had been admiring.

You shook your head at the antics, turning your attention back to your paper. The boys’ voices across the aisle carried over to your side, but you tried to tune them out, not wanting to unintentionally eavesdrop. You urged yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your ears betrayed you. After reading the same sentence over four times, not digesting a single word, your gaze drifted back over to your marine, who had taken up buttering the biscuit that had been sitting on his plate. His posture and manner had shifted, he seemed more relaxed in the presence of his fellow soldiers. His eyes were soft and friendly, and the ghost of a smile had taken up residence on his face.

“Guess I’m gonna find out soon enough whether I’m getting married or not,” the colonel who sat across from your marine declared wistfully before turning his attention to your marine. “What about you, Sledgehammer?”

You grinned at what you assumed was a nickname. How a seemingly mild-mannered fellow like your marine could have gotten the moniker of “Sledgehammer” was beyond you. Your eyes drifted back to the man, interested in his answer. He seemed to ponder the question for a moment, a flash of uncertainty briefly crossing his face as he picked at his biscuit.

“I’m just hoping this Florence girl comes to her senses,” he finally cracked with a smirk. So he was clever, too. You found that you couldn’t help but smile through the exchange, your gaze dropping back to your lap.

“Got a job lined up in Mobile?” An Alabama boy. That was an interesting development.

“Nah,” he revealed, his apparent uncertainty no longer bothering him. “No job, no girl…no plans.”

You and the lone marine had more in common than you had originally thought.

“How long you think that’s gonna last?” the flirtatious marine from before inquired, relaxing back in his seat. But the laughter of a pair of businessmen passing by your table concealed the marine’s answer. You shot a glare towards the rowdy gentlemen’s backs. How dare they prevent you from snooping on some strangers’ conversation!

Your gaze fell back to the trio of boys, and you couldn’t help but admire the redhead’s smile. The way his eyes lit up with warmth at his friends’ jokes, the way the dimple between his brows appeared and disappeared -- he was beautiful.

You were lost in your musings when for a brief moment, your marine’s eyes suddenly locked on to yours.

His smile fell and a look you couldn’t identify -- confusion? recognition? irritation? -- flashed across the features of his handsome face before you broke the spell and looked back down at your paper. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you stared down at the black ink on the page. How embarrassing. You had been boldly staring at the man for an inappropriate amount of time -- listening to his conversation, no less -- and now you had been caught.

You couldn’t help but think about the marine’s reaction. In the fleeting moment that he held your gaze, it was almost as if he’d seen a ghost. You didn’t want him to think you were some creep or some crazy woman.

You lifted your eyes slightly, glancing across the aisle. Your marine’s cheeks were pink as he gazed back at you softly - but only for a moment before his eyes quickly fell back down to the plate in front of him.

And that became the game you played. As the train chugged through the desert - what you assumed was Arizona - you and your marine took turns stealing glances at each other. First you, then he’d notice and you’d look away. Then he’d stare and you’d catch him. Each time, a rosy color would come to his cheeks and a hint of a smile would appear. Your own shyness began to fade with each time you’d catch him, even throwing him a wink at one point.

After another hour or so, your marine’s friends elected to head back to their coach seats. You assumed your game was over, and you tried to not let yourself be too disappointed. You closed your paper, having finally read every word -- though whether you absorbed any of it was up for debate. You gathered your things, pondering your next move. Maybe you’d wander to the observation car - it tended to be quieter as the sun went down. You slung your messenger bag over your shoulder and were about to step into the aisle when you were met with the sight of your marine, alone once again, staring out the window. Just like the first time you noticed him.

You took a deep breath, channeled your sister’s boldness and took a seat at the marine’s table.

--

It was her. The mystery woman. The beautiful girl clad in burgundy from the train platform was sitting across from Eugene.

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts as he gaped at her. He had spent the last hour stealing glances at her across the aisle, unsure if she was real or simply a vision. Now there she was, close enough for Eugene to reach out and touch her, gazing at him with soft eyes and a friendly smile.

“Hi,” she spoke after a few moments, breaking the silence and Eugene’s daze.

“Hi,” Eugene practically whispered, unable to find his voice. He cleared his throat before starting again. “I do apologize for staring, miss. You know, before.”

The young woman let out a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, let’s not pretend you were the sole offender, private. I believe I was staring at you first.” Oh how wrong she was. But Eugene would keep that correction to himself.

She offered her name and her hand across the table for a shake, and Eugene almost immediately felt at ease in her presence. She certainly was not like the girls back in Mobile.

“I’m Eugene,” he offered in return, trying to ignore how soft her hand felt in his. She smirked as she let him go.

“So where does ‘Sledgehammer’ come from then?” she questioned with a quirked brow, and Eugene flushed at his nickname falling from her gentle lips.

“My last name. Sledge,” he explained. “Private First Class Eugene Bondurant Sledge, at your service, miss.” His explanation earned a bright smile from the girl, and Eugene decided right then and there that he’d do anything he could to make her smile again.

“Well, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sledge,” she said with a nod.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine, miss.”

The woman playfully narrowed her eyes at Eugene, as if she were examining him.

“Was all that true? Before?” she asked before pursing her lips.

“Was what true?”

“No job. No girl. No plans,” she recited back to him, adding a twang to her normal voice. Eugene could feel the heat in his cheeks once again. He let out a nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of his neck.

“‘Fraid so, miss,” he responded, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Hope you don’t think less of me.” The woman shook her head as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“Of course not,” she assured him. “I just don’t believe you.” She shrugged and cocked an eyebrow challengingly. Eugene was thrown off by her answer.

“You don’t believe me?” he inquired with a furrowed brow. She casually shrugged once again, as if she was making perfect sense.

“No way you can be this handsome and charming and not have a girl waiting for you back home.”

If the young woman was on a mission to make Eugene blush at all costs, she was extremely successful. Eugene shakily laughed as he stared down at his lap, unable to meet her gaze after that.

“My apologies, Mr. Sledge,” she spoke again, and Eugene let himself glance back up to see her timidly looking away this time. “That was awfully forward of me.”

Eugene was so thrown by his woman in burgundy. The prettiest dame he’d ever laid eyes on had gone out of her way to talk to him. Ask him questions. Compliment him. Yet he could see that she was just as nervous as he was. It was disarming in a way.

“No apology necessary, miss,” Eugene affirmed, offering a friendly smile when she met his gaze once again. “I’m just not used to getting attention from a gal as beautiful as you.”

A new game began. Eugene and his woman in burgundy took turns trying to make the other bashful, his confidence rising with every clever quip and retort to her own flirtations.

Eugene wouldn’t realize until much later that he hadn’t thought once about the war the entire evening.

--

“I feel like I should ask,” Eugene spoke up, rousing you from your thoughts. The two of you had relocated from the dining car to the observation car. You had been correct: it was virtually empty at this time of night, and the two of you were enjoying the peace. “Where are you off to?” You gave him a lopsided smile.

“Home,” you replied. “Tallahassee, Florida. Lived there my whole life until a few years ago.”

“Florida, huh? Why we’re practically neighbors,” Eugene commented with a grin. “So how did you end up in San Diego?”

“Few years back, my older sister married some businessman from California. Didn’t even get a chance to meet the man myself before he was drafted and shipped off to Europe.”

Eugene listened intently as you told your story. You knew he understood the horrors of war more than anyone else you’d ever spoken to.

“She demanded I come out to San Diego to stay with her,” you explained. “She’s always had terrible nerves and couldn’t bear to be alone in the house. So I took the train out, got a job at a bond office, and spent my free time keeping my sister away from the radio.” You let out a sigh and let your eyes fall to your lap before going on. “By the end, we assumed he’d be coming home safe and sound. They told us he was shot two days before the ceasefire was called.”

“To say my sister was distraught would be quite the understatement. After locking herself in her room for a week followed by five months of her ignoring my existence entirely, she told me I had until the end of the week to leave. Perfect timing really, since the bond office had terminated me that morning. No more war meant no more war bonds.” You shrugged as you recalled your story, as if it wasn’t such a fresh wound. You chanced a peek at Eugene, expecting a look of pity. But instead you were met with his warm hazel eyes, expressing nothing but understanding.

“So now here I am. Headed home. No job. No man. No plans,” you finished with a wink. Eugene smiled at your quip before turning to gaze out into the darkness.

“It seems like we both deserve to just do nothing for a while,” he suggested. Doing nothing. You quite liked the sound of that.

“Inspired idea, private.”

Eugene’s warm eyes locked on to yours once again, and you swore everything stopped and fell away. Nothing mattered except the marine in front of you, his bright smile, the lock of auburn hair that had fallen out of place. He was beautiful and clever and sweet, and though you knew he was haunted by his past, you’d never hold that against him. Gosh, you knew it was ridiculous, seeing as though you’d only met the man a few hours ago. But there was a part of you that wanted to pull him into your arms and never let go. Be there to make him laugh and make sure he knew he was safe. Listen to his stories and share yours in return. You wanted to do nothing for a while, like Eugene had said, but do that nothing with him next to you.

As you continued to gaze at the handsome man before you, you absent-mindedly tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. And you swore that for a brief moment, Eugene’s eyes fell to your mouth.

You practically lept to your feet, letting out a shaky breath before speaking.

“Well, I’m going to get some shut-eye,” you announced as you collected your things. “I suggest you do the same, private. Or at the very least you should spend some time with your friends before you have to see them off tomorrow.” Eugene, seemingly confused by the suddenness of your exit, nodded a few times before finding his voice.

“Right,” he said, “Well, goodnight.”

You cringed at what sounded like disappointment in his voice. You hadn’t meant to offend him - you just got startled is all.

You offered him a warm smile. “Goodnight, Eugene.”

You spun on your heels and headed for the doorway before you could change your mind and kiss him the way you really wanted to.

--

Eugene didn’t get much sleep that night, but that was nothing new. What changed is what kept him up. Thoughts of his burgundy girl swam through his head most of the night. He replayed every conversation they’d had, half of the time berating himself for what he said and the other half thinking about what he wished he’d said instead.

Snafu made sure to point out the bags under Eugene’s eyes that morning at breakfast.

But Eugene didn’t pay him any mind. He was too busy keeping an eye out for the woman, hoping he could flag her down to at least wish her a good morning.

By the late afternoon, there was no sign of the woman, and Eugene, Snafu, and Burgie had moved back to a booth in the coach car. Burgie was antsy, knowing they were not far out from his hometown of Jewett. He was recalling his excitement to see his little brother again when Snafu interrupted him, tapping his hand on Burgie’s chest.

“Would you look at her,” Snafu drawled out. Eugene glanced over his shoulder to where Snafu was indicating, only to be met with the sight of the very woman who had been on his mind all day, casually walking down the aisle towards him. She had traded out her burgundy ensemble for a cream colored blouse and a navy skirt. Eugene perked up, sitting up straight in hopes of getting her attention. But Snafu was faster, rising to his feet and cutting her off. She was surprised for a moment, but a look of recognition flashed across her face.

“Afternoon, miss,” Snafu greeted as the woman eyed him warily. Then her eyes flitted over to Eugene and a hint of a smile appeared. Then she looked back at Snafu.

“Something I can do for you, soldier?” she asked, arching an eyebrow and folding her arms across her chest.

“Ohh, there’s a lot you can do for me, girlie,” Snafu countered. “Hows about we head somewhere private and I’ll show you?”

Something in Eugene’s chest tightened at Snafu’s words. Sure, he had watched Snafu use line after line on any girl in his vicinity since they boarded the train. Even laughed at the man’s antics at times. But something was different about him putting the moves on his girl--or at least his friend. Acquaintance? Eugene didn’t know what the two of them were.

“Tempting,” she responded, rousing Eugene from his thoughts. “But I think I’m gonna sit and enjoy my book instead. Thank you for the offer, private.”

Snafu seemed confused -- Eugene assumed he was used to either getting the girl or getting a slap. He probably wasn’t used to getting no reaction at all. Snafu plopped back down in his seat, his brows furrowed, and Eugene chanced a look at the woman. She shot him a wink before settling in the booth directly across the aisle from the group of men and pulled out a book.

Eugene fidgeted in his seat -- his instinct was to go join her. But he respected her wishes. Maybe he’d ask her to dinner later.

--

It wasn’t long after you had settled into your booth that you watched Eugene say goodbye to his sergeant.

The mutual respect was evident, and the goodbye was definitely bittersweet. The normally chatty boys fell silent after he left, and Eugene’s far away look returned once again.

Eugene’s flirtatious friend then announced he was headed to the dining car to get a drink, and Eugene simply nodded, his gaze never leaving the window.

You waited until the audacious marine was clear out of the car before you shifted across the aisle to grab his empty seat. Eugene perked up immediately, sitting up and grinning.

“Afternoon, miss,” he greeted with a nod. “Sorry about Snafu before. I think he’s determined to pester every woman on this train before he gets off.”

“Oh, no apologies necessary,” you assured him with a chuckle. “I found it quite funny.”

Eugene’s eyes sparkled as he looked at you. Gosh, you’d almost forgotten how beautiful he was in the sunlight. Those hazel eyes you could just get lost in. You noticed the littlest bit of stubble had formed across his upper lip and around his jaw since last night.

Then you realized you were staring again and you quickly dropped your eyes to your lap out of habit.

“How’s your book?” Eugene spoke up, easing the awkwardness. You appreciated the gesture.

“It’s good so far,” you explained, patting the cover. “Not the most uplifting thing to read on the train, but I’m hoping it ends on a happy note.”

“What’s it about?”

You sighed as you stared at the book in your hands. “It’s about family hardships. Talks about poverty and alcoholism.” You paused to think for a moment before looking back up at Eugene with a smirk. “I don’t mind reading sad stories usually. But I can’t help but wish I’d stolen a happier book from my sister on my way out.”

That earned a chuckle from Eugene.

“Well, I--”

“Now now, what have we here?”

The two of you had been so focused on each other that neither of you had noticed that Eugene’s friend -- you remembered Eugene called him Snafu -- had returned, and was leaning against the side of the booth with a bottle of Coke in his hand.

“Thought you wanted to read your book?” Snafu continued, a playful tone to his voice. He cocked an eyebrow before taking a sip of his soda. You glanced over at Eugene to find him beet red in the face.

“Actually, I was just inviting Mr. Sledge here to grab some dinner with me,” you improvised, not wanting to have to lose your alone time with Eugene. “If he’d like.” His eyes lit up.

“I would be honored, miss,” Eugene replied, getting to his feet and holding a hand out for you. Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were smiling as you placed your hand into his and let him help you from the booth. Eugene looped your arm under his and began to lead you down the aisle when Snafu’s slow, southern dialect called out behind you.

“Oh, I see how it is. Well, don’t have too much fun, you two!”

--

“So what did you miss the most while you were away?”

The question surprised Eugene a little bit. It was the first time she had asked him anything that had to do with his experience in the war.

“My dog,” he replied, his eyes dropping to his half-empty plate. “Closest friend I’ve ever had. He passed while I was gone.”

She nodded in understanding, and Eugene appreciated that she didn’t offer him pity.

“Dogs really are better than humans sometimes.”

Eugene simply nodded as his gaze drifted out the window. Time passing in the pacific had been a blur, even with him keeping track of the days in his notebook. He couldn’t even remember when it was he got the letter about Deacon. Maybe it was sometime during Okinawa? It must have been. He was just so angry --

“Where do you go?” The woman’s voice interrupted Eugene’s thoughts, and he blinked rapidly as he realized he had been zoning out.

“Sorry, what?”

The woman seemed unfazed. She simply looked at him with curiosity, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“When I first saw you yesterday, you were staring out the window. Eyes glazed over, lost in thought. You’ve done it a few times actually,” she explained. “You drifted off the same way just now. So my question is, where do you go?”

Where to start? Should he sit there and detail the horrors he’d seen? How every second he spent on those islands would flash before him, his brain forcing him to relive the atrocities he’d witnessed and been a part of? And could he even begin to put into words how affected he was? Was it fair to unload his burdens on this innocent girl, who’d brought him nothing but peace since he had set foot on the train platform?

“Back there,” was all he said, hoping it would be enough. It seemingly was, as his dinner date nodded her head once again. A silence settled over the pair, and Eugene couldn’t help but kick himself. If he hadn’t gotten lost in his thoughts before, she wouldn’t have asked and they could have continued their lovely dinner.

“I’m no expert,” the woman spoke up, and Eugene’s eyes locked on to hers. “But I have a feeling it’s going to take some time for you boys to fully leave that place.” The woman leaned forward, and Eugene was struck by how warm and comforting her eyes were. “And in my humble opinion, the world shouldn’t expect you to be okay right away.”

Eugene was blown away. This woman -- this beautiful, funny, clever, smart woman, who’d never set foot on a battlefield in her life -- somehow got it. Sure she hadn’t physically seen the things that Eugene had seen, and she never would, so she couldn’t completely understand. But she respected him and what he’d been through. And not in a superficial way, like when strangers on the street would thank him for his service. But in a way that made him feel seen and heard -- without having to speak a word of the horrors out loud.

With a nod of his head, Eugene finally spoke up.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Now if only the rest of the world agreed with you.”

--

By the time Eugene and you walked back to the coach car, the sun had gone down completely. You could tell Eugene was beat, and you wondered if he even had slept the night before with how large the bags under his eyes were.

You tucked yourself back into your booth across from the boys, continuing where you left off in your sister’s novel.

The boys were relatively quiet next to you, and you realized after only a few moments that Eugene was out cold, slumbering against his duffle.

It soothed you to see him so peaceful. Your conversation over dinner had confirmed what you had expected to be true: Eugene could put on a face, but behind the facade he was extremely haunted by his time overseas.

It truly wasn’t fair. No one should be subjected to such horrors. Young boys with their futures ahead of them, shipped off to some foreign country, to either die or come back missing a piece of themselves? Tearing families apart and turning cities to rubble? It all seemed so pointless.

You were just one person. Just a simple girl from a small town, lost in your own life, unsure of where the path ahead would lead. But you had a loving heart and a warm embrace. And you’d give them both to Eugene, no questions asked. You could see yourself walking down that path with his hand in yours, figuring out how to navigate the future together. The thought of Eugene being there made it a little less terrifying. And you wanted nothing more than for Eugene to go through the rest of his life never feeling unsafe ever again.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when the train slowed to a stop. You watched as Snafu slowly got to his feet and grabbed his duffle from the bunk, swinging it over his shoulder. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking back at Eugene before stepping into the aisle. His eyes locked onto yours and he cocked his head back towards the sleeping marine.

“It’s rare to sleep well these days. Don’t want to ruin that,” he mumbled, clearly feeling like he had to explain himself to you. “I’m not one for goodbyes either.” You offered him an understanding nod and a friendly smile. Snafu returned your nod before heading down the aisle and out the door.

Sometimes you didn’t understand why men did the things they did. But you’d also never be able to understand the connection and camaraderie between servicemen. So you didn’t question Snafu’s decision to leave without waking Eugene.

Another hour or so had passed after the stop in New Orleans when you heard a whimper from across the aisle. Your eyes shot over to Eugene and your heart practically stopped. His eyes were closed tightly, his brow pinched, and he was gripping his own arms so hard his knuckles were practically white. He shook and thrashed in his seat, small cries escaping his lips that seemed to increase in volume each second.

You lept to your feet, throwing your book into your booth behind you before plopping next to Eugene and gently resting your hands on his.

“Eugene,” you whispered, trying not to wake him too harshly. He was clearly having a nightmare, and you didn’t know if trying to startle him awake was the right move. “Eugene, honey, wake up.”

He continued to shake, sweat forming on his forehead and his cries growing louder and louder. You moved your hands to his face, cupping his jaw gently and running your thumbs over his cheeks.

“Eugene!” you spoke louder and suddenly his eyes shot open and he sat up, gasping for air, but your hold on him prevented him from going too far. He blinked rapidly as his chest heaved, trying to get his bearings, but you continued to caress his face, murmuring affirmations to help him.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” you assured him. His big, hazel eyes were so sad as they stared into yours, and tears had begun to fall to his red cheeks. He let out a sob and you pulled him to your chest, cradling the back of his head as you wrapped your other arm around him. You held him close to you as he cried, your heart breaking at seeing him like this. You wished you could take every burden away from him. He didn’t deserve this. No one did.

A few nosy guests began to peek over their seats to see what was happening, frowns painted on their faces. As if this poor man’s trauma was an inconvenience to them. You glared daggers at them, and they shied away, slipping back into their seats.

You lost track of time, absentmindedly running your fingers through Eugene’s auburn locks as you held him. You began to softly hum a melody, a song that always comforted you when you were upset. Eugene’s cries began to quiet down, and his body shakes ceased.

Suddenly, he tensed in your arms before pulling away entirely. He wiped at his cheeks roughly as he sniffled, eyes locked on to his lap. You watched him carefully, unsure of what to do.

“Sorry,” he croaked out, his voice scratchy. “I, uh -- um, thank you for…” he trailed off, gesturing towards you with his hand.

“It’s okay,” you replied timidly. You knew he was embarrassed but you wanted to pull him back into your arms and assure him that he had no reason to be. But you waited, wanting him to come to you. His brow furrowed and you could practically hear his brain thinking.

“Now I guess you can see how broken I really am,” he said after a few moments and your heart ached.

“Eugene,” you practically cried. But he didn’t respond, instead turning sharply to face the dark window and letting out a shaky breath.

A tear escaped down your own cheek, your heart stinging at the rejection. But you opted to respect his space. With a sigh, you stood and shifted back over to your booth. You didn’t bother picking up your book, instead deciding to pull your own trunk and coat down from the rack and settling against them, hoping maybe you could get a little sleep.

--

Eugene didn’t bother trying to fall back asleep -- he knew wait awaited him in his dreams. Instead he focused on what he could see out of the train window. The sun eventually rose into the sky, and Eugene could finally see the greenery of Mississippi just before the train crossed the border into his home state.

He hadn’t taken a moment to look over at the woman he knew was still in the booth across from him. He couldn’t bear it. He was so ashamed of her seeing him like that. And then even more ashamed at how he’d pushed her away after she had been so kind to him. She hadn’t needed to comfort him, she had no obligation to do so. Yet she held him anyway. And Eugene had thanked her with a cold shoulder.

As the train pulled into the Mobile station, Eugene’s eyes scanned the platform. He couldn’t help but smile when he spotted Sid, leaning against his car.

Eugene slid out of the booth, grabbing his duffle and throwing it over his shoulder. A small voice sounded next to him.

“Eugene?”

The marine turned to find his woman in burgundy, eyes filled with so much worry, holding out a piece of paper.

“If you want to write. You don’t have to,” she explained, her voice uneasy. Eugene could feel his chest tighten. He hated that he had hurt her, made it so that she was so unsure around him. He gently took the piece of paper from her hand, his finger brushing hers just slightly. He was so tongue-tied, he had no idea what to say to her. So he simply offered her a soft smile and tucked the paper into his coat pocket.

As he made his way down the aisle, Eugene took a deep breath. Maybe one day he’d work up the nerve to write to her. He’d explain his actions and apologize profusely for his behavior. Hope that she’d forgive him but would understand if she didn’t.

But what was the point if he was always going to be broken?

--

You didn’t think you missed Tallahassee. But after settling back into your childhood home, visiting some of your old haunts, and reuniting with old friends, you’d begun to realize its charm.

Now that all the men were home from the war, jobs for women were scarce. You spent most of your time helping your mother around the house or taking walks downtown. Every so often you and some girlfriends would drive down to the beach, but other than that, you didn’t get up to much.

It had been a little over two months since you’d gotten home. You would have been lying if you said you hadn’t checked the mailbox religiously -- each day hoping a letter from Eugene would arrive. You knew the two of you had parted ways rather awkwardly, and you understood if a letter never arrived. But you really hoped you’d hear from him.

You opened the mailbox, only finding some random letters for your father. With a sigh, you headed back inside the house, dropping the letters on your father’s desk before heading down the hall to your room.

You collapsed on your bed with a groan, staring up at the ceiling. You needed to get Eugene off your mind. Maybe some of your friends knew some local servicemen who weren’t spoken for.

You were lost in your musings when a knock sounded at your door. Your mother called your name from the other side.

“You have a gentleman caller, dear,” she explained through the wood. “I didn’t know you knew any marines!”

You sat up with a jolt, eyes wide. Could it be?

“Be there in a minute, ma!” you called out, rushing to your vanity. You quickly checked yourself over, fixing your hair just slightly and patting down your skirt. You cursed at how your bed had wrinkled your blouse, but you didn’t have time to fix it. And if your caller was who you thought it was, you were sure he wouldn’t mind.

You practically flung open your door, pausing in the hall to take a deep breath before stepping out.

You were greeted with the sight of Private First Class Eugene Bondurant Sledge, adorned in his uniform, standing in your living room.

Eugene’s face lit up at your entrance, a huge smile plastered across his face. You grinned as you took him in -- he was even more handsome than you remembered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write,” he said, breaking the silence. “I needed some time to get settled back home. And I figured you deserved an in-person apology for my actions.”

“Eugene, you have nothing to apologize for, I promise you,” you assured him as you took a step forward. You itched to reach out to him, but you knew your mother was watching nearby. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Eugene was here, in the flesh, in your living room in Tallahassee. You could barely believe it.

“Ma’am? Do you mind if I take your daughter out for a walk around the neighborhood? I promise we’ll be back before supper,” Eugene inquired, addressing your mother, who had been lingering in the doorway of the kitchen. She grinned as she clasped her hands together.

“As long as you promise to join us for supper, Mr. Sledge.”

“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” Eugene said with a sharp nod. He turned back to you and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

With a beaming smile, you looped your arm through his and let him lead you out the front door.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, soaking up each other’s presence in the warm Floridian air. You nudged his shoulder slightly.

“I was right, you know,” you spoke up.

“About what?”

“You do have a girl.”

--

Permanent Taglist: @queenlover05 @mrhoemazzello @johndeaconshands @sadhwstudent @theblossomknows​ @stardust-galaxies​ @im-an-adult-ish​

[chilling-seavey]

i have an ABM idea:). what about one for each of the girls where they go missing or run away from home? Maybe it'll be most fitting for Clementine since she is independent.

It took me 2.5 hours straight to write this and I did so instead of writing my final projects and I do not regret a thing! Thank you for this ask! I loved this concept! Hope you don’t mind that I did it for all the girls hehe

Clementine

“It’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry you think that way.”

“Mommy, please!” Clementine begged, clinging onto Florence’s arm as she tried to fold the laundry on the dining room table. “Everyone’s got one!”

“Well, I’m not everyone’s mommy. I’m yours. And I say no.”

“Ugh!” Clementine whined, tossing her head back with a frustrated groan. “You don’t listen to me!”

“I do so.” Florence answered coolly, folding a pair of Lucy’s pyjamas from the clean laundry basket. “But you are only seven-years-old and you are not going to have a cell phone until you’re older. You have no need for one right now.”

“What if I need to call you at school?” Clementine argued.

“Use the phone in the principal’s office.”

“What do I do when everyone else in my entire class are playing games on their phones?”

“Read a book.”

“Mom!” Clementine shrieked in annoyance.

Florence’s calmness through the whole situation was driving her eldest daughter absolutely crazy. Angry tears were brimming in Clementine’s eyes as she glared at her mother. How unfair she always was.

Just then, the front door opened and Daniel came home from work, greeting his family with a call of a tired ‘hello’ from the foyer.

“Daddy!” Clementine shouted hopefully, rushing to meet him.

“He’s not going to be on your side, Clementine Ophelia.” Florence called after her.

Daniel was always on Florence’s side but Clementine was going to try her darndest. She rushed right up to her father and threw her arms around his middle in a tight hug and got right into pitching her argument.

“Daddy, I really would like a cell phone! Everyone in my whole class has one and they’re so cool and I can call you whenever I like – even when you’re at work just to tell you I love you – and I’ll be so responsible. I want one so bad. Please.”

Clementine looked up at him with those perfected baby blue puppy eyes and her sweet little pout that always got her whatever she wanted when it came to her father. But, much to her surprise, he just caressed her face with a small smile and answered with a simple, “Not until you’re older, angel.”

Clementine’s sweet face turned into one of anger and she stepped back from him quickly, accusing him with a sharp, “Mommy told you to say that!”

“Mommy and I agreed ever since you were a baby that cell phones will not be given until high school.” Daniel explained, turning his attention to his other two girls who were impatiently waiting their turn to greet him.

“Whyyy?” Clementine whined.

“Because that’s the rule and that’s final.” Daniel said gently but sternly, leaving her with a pet to her head before heading into the living room with Lucy on his hip.

“I hate it here!” Clementine shrieked, stomping down the hall to her room and slammed the door shut.

Florence sent her husband a tired thankful smile as he approached her and he greeted her with a soft kiss.

“Hope she wasn’t driving you too crazy.” Daniel chuckled lightly.

“Ever since she met me in the schoolyard at the end of the day.” Florence answered. “Talking my ear off the whole subway ride home. Thank you for having my back.”

“Of course.” Daniel tisked, leaving a lingering kiss to his wife’s cheek before moving into the living room to play with his youngest two daughters while his eldest calmed herself down in her room.

With Florence busy with the laundry and Daniel busy with the girls, Clementine had the perfect escape plan right across the hallway to the foyer and, with her backpack on and full of toys and a snack and a blanket, she slunk quietly out the front door. She was determined to get out of her parents’ terribly controlling rules.

When Florence finished the laundry, she started dinner and it wasn’t until Daniel had finished setting the table and they were ready to eat that they even noticed they were missing a child. He had gone down to Clementine’s room and knocked on the door to call her for dinner. When there was no response, he peeked inside. The room was empty. He turned to the girls’ ensuite but it was dark and empty as well.

“Clementine.” Daniel called through the apartment, slight confusion in his voice as he checked the laundry room and the powder room and Lucy’s room and the master bedroom but there was no sign of her anywhere. “Clementine!”

Florence met her panicked husband in the doorway back into the living room, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s not here.” Daniel said.

Florence’s face fell, “What?”

“She’s literally not here.” Daniel raked a hand through his hair and glanced into the foyer. “Her shoes are gone. Fuck.”

“Oh my God. Okay, I’ll turn off the stove and we’ll check the front desk to see if they saw her.” Florence said quickly and hurried back to the kitchen.

Daniel gathered Penelope and Lucy and got them in their shoes and jackets before putting on his own and grabbed his keys. Florence was right behind him, phone in hand, and a frightened expression on her face.

The man at the front desk in the apartment lobby only stated that he had seen Clementine but she had informed him that she was just going to the park. Florence called the police station as soon as they stepped outside to head towards the park. Reporting her child missing was the last thing any mother wanted to have to do and living right in the core of downtown, anything could have happened to her.

The police said they would keep on the lookout but they didn’t even get to hang up before they reached the park and Clementine was sat on the top of the play structure all by herself.

“We found her. Thank you.” Florence breathed with anxious relief into the phone.

Penelope and Lucy were sent to play in the sand while Daniel hurried to the bottom of the play structure.

“Clementine Ophelia Seavey, get down here right now.” he ordered loudly.

One thing that the girls knew well, was when their father raised his voice, he was serious.

Clementine hesitated a moment from where she sat, staring wide eyed at her father and her mother stood slightly behind him, both parents with some mix of anger and relief on their faces. The seven-year-old picked up her backpack and slowly took the stairs back down the side of the play structure to the sand and stood in front of her father with her head hung in shame.

“Look at me.” Daniel demanded sternly.

She looked up at him.

“No matter how mad or sad or upset you get, you never ever leave without telling us first. Do you understand me?”

Clementine nodded.

“There are sick people in this world and people who could take you or hurt you and your mother and I would never be able to live with ourselves if something happened to you. You really scared us.”

“Running away is not how you face your problems.” Florence added.

Clementine nodded.

“What do you need to say to us?” Daniel asked.

The seven-year-old scuffed the toe of her shoe through the sand regretfully, hands held behind her back and head bowed. She mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?”

Clementine looked up at her parents, tears brimming in her eyes, “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Running away and scaring you.”

“Thank you. Now we’re going to hug it out and then go home and eat the nice dinner Mommy made us and then you’re going to go right to your room for the rest of the night, okay?”

Clementine nodded.

“Alright.” Daniel crouched down and she shuffled over to wrap her arms around his shoulders and he held her close for a moment before she was moving over to her mother and hugging her too.

Florence pressed a quick kiss to her daughter’s cheek before standing up and taking her hand and the family of five started back towards their building. Clementine certainly was a self-directed little girl but the entire concept of scaring her parents filled her with enough shame to never do it again. Well…until she was a teenager but you can read about that in ABM2.

Penelope

Penelope was a Daddy’s girl from the very first few months of her life. For as long as she could remember through all four years of her life, she was glued to Daniel’s side. He was one of her three favourite men in the whole world.

Of course, Daniel loved his daughters perfectly equally and he never picked favourites and this was obvious as Clementine and Penelope grew up side by side and doing everything together. Their little family of four just worked.

But then Florence had another baby one June day and their whole world changed. Penelope now had a little sister…she was no longer the youngest. She didn’t know how to feel at first. Yes, the baby was cute and tiny and Penelope liked the soft texture of her new sister’s smooth skin, but she soon realized that everything was changing. And Penelope did not like change.

Florence was tired more since she had just given birth so she wasn’t up to playing as much. Daniel was extra busy between work and helping with the baby in the middle of the night so he wasn’t around as much either. 

Clementine didn’t seem to mind. At five-and-a-half years old, she was more than excited to help out with her new baby sister – after all, she had already been used to sharing her parents one time around so a second wasn’t a big change for her.

But Penelope was once Daniel’s favourite girl – at least in Penelope’s eyes – and suddenly he never wanted to play with her anymore. He was too busy trying to help out with the newborn as much as he could when he was home and it was obvious baby Lucy was growing attached to him easily.

Penelope stood in the doorway to the nursery, staring blankly at her father rocking the baby to sleep in the rocking chair across the room.

“Dada.” Penelope called sweetly.

Daniel glanced over at her and shushed her softly.

Penelope frowned, trying again louder, “Dada!”

“What is it, Nelly?” Daniel asked tiredly.

“Can you play now?”

“Not until baby sister goes to sleep.”

Penelope frowned, staring at her father tending holding the baby, and trudged off down the hall. It was always ‘not now’ or ‘I’m too tired’ or ‘baby sister bla bla bla’ and Penelope was getting sick of it. She missed the days when she had all of her father’s attention. So, since she clearly wasn’t loved anymore, she packed up a little bag in her room – filling it only with her favourite stuffed puppy and a book – and helped herself right out the front door. Her family was too busy with the baby to notice.

At barely four-years-old, Penelope had to reach up on her tiptoes to press the elevator button and when it arrived, she easily remembered what button needed to be pressed for ‘lobby’. It was the pretty one with a star on it. She was very pleased with herself that she decided to run away and the whole elevator ride down to the lobby she was not scared. Until the doors slid open and she realized just how alone she was.

Lucy had finally gone down for her nap and Daniel laid her gently in the crib, careful not to wake the one-month-old in the process. He grabbed the baby monitor and headed down to the living room to find his older girls as Florence rested in their room. Only Clementine was sat on the living room rug with her dolls.

“Where’s Penelope?” Daniel asked her as he crouched down with her.

“She left.” Clementine answered matter-of-factly.

“Left?” Daniel chuckled. “Where to?”

“Out the front door.” she answered, pointing to the foyer.

Daniel figured it was a game they were playing until he glanced over his shoulder to the foyer and saw the door left open a crack. He never moved faster in his life, scooping up Clementine and taking her to the master bedroom with her dolls. He sat her on the rug by the window and ordered her to play quietly there while Florence slept and he would be right back.

Being on the fifty-sixth floor, the elevator took forever to arrive and Daniel was nearly smacking the call button repeatedly by the time it came. By the time he reached the lobby, he was nearly having a panic attack, falling onto the front desk already out of breath.

“My-My daughter-is she-did she-“

The man only smiled at the panicked father and point behind him to the lounge. Penelope was sat on one of the leather arm chairs, looking so tiny with a juice box in one hand and a cookie in the other, and her stuffed puppy sat on her lap.

“Oh my God, thank you.” Daniel said to the man before rushing over to his daughter.

Penelope glanced up at him casually but looked away again before taking a sip from the juice box the man at the front desk gave her.

“Penelope Magnolia, what do you think you’re doing?” Daniel asked as he crouched down beside the chair.

“I ranned away.” Penelope answered quietly, kicking her legs back and forth off the side of the chair.

“You scared Daddy, bug. That wasn’t nice.” Daniel whispered, setting a hand on her back.

“You don’t love me no more.” Penelope shrugged.

“Hey. That’s not true. I love you very, very much.”

“You love baby sister more.”

“I do not.” Daniel corrected. He stood up and scooped her up so he could sit down and place her on his lap. “I love you and Clemmie and Lucy all the exact same amount.”

Penelope didn’t answer. She just took another small nibble from the cookie. Daniel pressed a kiss to her head.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t love you.”

She just took another bite of the cookie.

“Babies take a lot of work so Mommy and I are tired and busy but we don’t love you any less. I promise.”

Penelope stayed quiet. Daniel kissed her head again.

“You’re my favourite little lovebug in the whole wide world.” he whispered to her, giving her tummy a little pat.

She lifted up her juice box, the straw bonking her cheek in the process, and Daniel helped angle it towards her mouth properly so she could take a sip.

“No more running away though, okay?” Daniel leaned down close. “That scares Daddy.”

Penelope nodded.

“Good.” he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And tonight why don’t I take just you out for dinner? A little date for just you and me. How’s that sound?”

Penelope smiled sweetly and nodded again.

“Okay.” Daniel chuckled. “Let’s go tell Mommy.”

They walked towards the elevator again, Daniel holding Penelope’s hand in his and her bag and juice box in his other.

“Dada.”

“Yeah, miss bug?” Daniel glanced down at her at his side.

“I don’t want baby sister to meet Chi-Chi.”

“Why’s that?”

“He gonna like her more than me.” Penelope mumbled as she took another bite of her cookie.

The elevator doors opened just as Daniel let out a tired little sigh through his chuckle and led her inside, “Believe me, Penelope Magnolia, Chi-Chi doesn’t love and will not love anyone more than he loves you.”

Penelope stayed quiet as she munched her snack. The elevator doors closed. She opened her mouth for more juice and Daniel held the small box out in front of her so she could sip.

“But,” he continued for good measure as his daughter glanced up at him, “Daddy loves you even more than Chi-Chi does.”

Penelope only giggled.

Lucy

Lucy was never one to run away. She was far too content and fair-minded to bother and even though she was by far the most independent of her sisters, she didn’t dare leave the apartment for any reason. Her issue came with being independent on family outings, most specifically in the mall. Once she saw something that caught her eye it was suddenly her most important mission to go look at it.

It was early December meaning the malls were packed with Christmas shoppers and the Seavey’s were going from store to store for some shopping for their extended family. Lucy was holding Daniel’s hand, admiring all the Christmas decorations through the mall as they walked. At five-years-old, there was always something extra magical about the winter season.

Penelope and Clementine were helping Florence pick out something for Daniel’s parents and Daniel was distracted a few rows away flicking through a line of shirts he was sure Christian would like. He dropped Lucy’s hand so he could skim the sizes and finally pulled one off the rack.

“Flora, think Chris would like this?” Daniel called, holding up the shirt.

Florence glanced over with a smile, “I don’t know, baby, he’s your brother.”

“You’re not helpful.” Daniel tisked.

“Chi-Chi will look very nice in that, Daddy.” Penelope offered.

“You think he looks nice in everything.” Clementine teased from the other side of their mother. Penelope glared teasingly at her sister.

“What do you think, Luce?” Daniel glanced beside him where the youngest daughter had been only moments before. He spun around once or twice to look for her but she was nowhere to be seen. His panicked, “Lucy!” nearly echoed through the busy store.

Florence glanced up at her husband’s obvious panic. Daniel nearly threw the shirt back onto the shelf and started looking down each aisle.

“Lucy!”

He nearly crashed right into Florence in his haste, eyes wide with fear.

“Someone took her!” Daniel rushed out.

“Oh my gosh, baby, I’m sure no one took her. Let’s calm down and breathe for a second.” Florence said gently to her husband, setting her hands on his arms.

“Lucy Elizabeth!” Daniel shouted over her shoulder.

“Oh my God.” Penelope breathed from where the older two girls stood. “Why’s he gotta yell like that?”

“I dunno but he’s stupid.” Clementine pointed across the mall hallway to the store across the crowd, the blonde five-year-old easily recognizable to her sisters as she stood just inside the entrance and was reaching up to press the keys of the piano that was set up.

Penelope smiled and the older sisters rushed out of the store and through the crowded hallway to rescue Lucy, leaving their parents to panic alone for a moment.

Daniel’s shouts could be heard over the Christmas music playing through the mall but Lucy was in her own world, plinking away at the piano keys in the music store. Her sisters coming up on either side of her only had her grinning and she showed off a few simple messy tunes that she had learned from Daniel during their lessons.

“Daddy’s having a freak out, Lu-Lu.” Clementine said, then ten-year-old bending down to scoop up her baby sister onto her hip.

“I just wanted to play music.” Lucy pouted, reaching over her sister’s shoulder as she was carried back to her parents, Penelope following right behind them.

Daniel and Florence were talking to the store manager and one of the mall security guards when they arrived back. Daniel was nearly trembling and Florence was holding onto his arm amidst her own anxieties, both listening to what the security guard was saying.

“Found her.” Clementine said, dropping Lucy to her feet in front of their parents.

“Oh my God, Lucy!” Florence gasped, both parents crouching down to take their youngest into a tight hug.

“Where were you?” Daniel asked, petting his daughter’s hair lovingly.

“There.” Lucy giggled, pointing across the mall to the music store.

Daniel huffed and scooped her up into his arms, “I should have guessed, huh?”

“Seems your sisters know you better than us.” Florence tisked to their youngest and Lucy shared a cheeky smile with her older sisters as she rested her head against Daniel’s shoulder.

[40sbarnes]

Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Epilogue

ahhh!! i was so uncertain with this chapter and i still am.. i hope you enjoy it and get *some* closure, but dw i will continue one shots for this story until i say otherwise! and now that this chapter is posted i will open up requests for one shots <3

as always thank you for reading,, i see all your likes and they are more than appreciated 

pairings; lorenzo x reader (but theyre actually together now??)

taglist; @brownskinnedblessing​ (this ones for you) @brynthebulldozer​ @mythicalamphitrite​ @nana035​ @valravnsraven​ @hannahhistorian92​ @not-thatweird @isaac-lahey-is-bae​ @angrygardendeer​ @unstoppable-xavi​ @johnbolton @voidmalfoy​ 

The bandages on Lorenzo's neck called for your gaze, although already stained through with blood. Both of your wounds had been treated soon after everything had happened. It was all a blur to you now, all you could remember was continuing the act for everyone, doing your best not to flinch when questioned about your 'marriage' to Lorenzo. His family seemed confused, but presumably from their recent loss, were not overly pressing the matter, at least for the time being.

Now, it was just you and Lorenzo stood across from each other in silence. The space between you was obvious, far more than usual, and it felt heavy, as if you would have to wade through it to reach him. Your hand sat uncomfortably on your side, although it had been wrapped in ointments and bandages, it still ached with each breath, and as the adrenaline wore off, it grew worse with every minute.

An uncertain amount of time had passed since Lorenzo had insisted you two be left alone, and you had escaped to his room. He cleared his throat quietly, catching your eye, before he finally spoke. "I'm glad you're okay," a ghost of a smile flashed across his features for a moment, gone the next.

"You too," you blinked back any emotion that threatened to show. You honestly were glad to see him well, despite everything. Silence fell over the space again, as all the lies and things unsaid had made everything so foggy and everything you felt you once knew had become so uncertain.

"He was your friend?" Lorenzo didn't need to use his name as he threw your words back at you. The words you had spoken out of anger. The words you still meant. The words you would speak again in a moment. The spite in Lorenzo's tone did not go unnoticed by you.

"Yes." You took a breath after answering, readying your explanation, but you were not given a chance to say it out loud as Lorenzo spoke again.

"After everything?!" His voice threatened to break as he raised it, his hand flying out to his side to help gesture his exasperation. 

"Lorenzo, please, just listen for a momen-" your pleading tone was unsuccessful as he denied your request by continuing his own trail of thought, taking a step closer to you.

"After everything he did? He killed my brother!" his voice cracked, a tear rolling down his cheek as he turned his head to the side, breaking the intense eye contact you were desperate to preserve. You tried your best to hold back your own tears, but Lorenzo's own upset was quickly filling the room, drowning you in it along with him.

You moved closer to him, slowly and gently lifting your finger to his cheek, wiping away the tear as it fell, along with the next one in its path.

"He killed Giuliano! Held you captive!" he continued his rant, his eyes meeting yours again, as you continued listening. His brows furrowed, before he slapped your hand away from his face. Your mouth fell agape, but you didn't move otherwise. "At least I had believed you to be..." uncertainty set into his features as he began to question himself, "Had I been a fool?" 

"I'm sorry for Giuliano." Your voice was a stark contrast to his, steady and unwavering, "I am." Your sincerity was not overshadowed by the lack of emotion. "But to insinuate it was all a lie after everything I went through?!" You ripped back your collar, the top buttons of your shirt popping open so the fabric fell to the side, leaving the bruises Jacopo had gifted you exposed.

"Y/n, I'm..." regret fell over Lorenzo as his cool fingers grazed your neck, his watery eyes apologetic. 

You leaned away from his touch as you continued your explanation. "They knew, I don't know for how long, about us. They knew about the poison... everything. They ambushed me that night, it was all a set-up. I certainly was not there by choice. I did everything I could to leave that place, to get to you. In fact, I had almost made it once, but I heard of their plan, and stayed to listen, like a fool. And was caught." You blinked rapidly as you felt tears creep into your eyes. "And you may know this to be true, because I popped my thumb out of its socket just to escape my chains!" You held up your hand, shoving it into Lorenzo's face as proof, furious that you had to.

He took hold of it, his touch gentle as he brings your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss onto your thumb. He didn't bother surveying it, it was clear he trusted you. "I'm sorry," his breath flutters across your skin as he speaks, "does it hurt?" You take your hand out of his grasp in an attempt to not completely melt, you still had a lot to discuss. You turned away from his surprised expression and went to his desk, taking the bottle of wine sitting on it into your grasp.

His steps were soft across the wooden floor as he moved to join you, watching as you poured the drink into two cups. "I'm sorry that you're upset about Francesco," he sounded genuine, "I truly am." But not genuinely sorry for what he did. You didn't know that you could fully blame him.

You take a breath, before turning back to face him, handing him his drink. He hesitates for a moment before accepting it, and you can't hold back the chuckle that escapes your lips. "Would you like for me to drink from it first?" He shares a laugh with you at the irony, as he peers into his cup, but you reach your fingers around his, taking it from his hold, and bringing it to your lips anyways. 

"Don't you trust your wife?" A coy smile sits on your lips as you return the cup to his waiting hand, half-teasing, half-trying on the new title for size.

"Where would the fun in that be?" He smirks, but takes a sip nonetheless, invalidating his statement.

You share a genuine smile, drinking from your own cup, although it is clear you both still have much left unsaid.

Lorenzo sets his cup down on the desk, clearly preparing to clear the air. "Listen, y/n, I know you never imagined marriage for yourself, but-" 

You cut him off, "I understand Lorenzo. And I believe... I should thank you," he evidently didn't expect this response from you. "For saving me." You expand on your point. "Even if it means you are stuck with me"

A wide grin set across his cheeks. "I've been stuck with you for far before today," he teases.

"Well, officially..." you tilt your head to the side, smiling with him.

"About officialism...," he glances away for a moment, "I suppose a wedding is in order." He raises his chin as he looks back to you, leaning on the desk.

"Is that your way of proposing?" You raise your eyebrow, only meaning to tease but an air of seriousness falls over you both after your words.

"I think we are far past that," Lorenzo chuckles, "but still, you have more than deserved a proper proposal," he slides the ring off of your finger, taking your hand into his, "With the Pazzis gone the Medicis will run Florence almost unopposed, and I need you by my side now more than ever. You saved my life today as much as I saved yours. And I promise, should you agree to me, I will never treat you with anything less than the respect you deserve. You complained in Venice I never saw you as an equal," you bite back your disagreement at his choice of words, "which I admit to be true. I always saw you as far superior, it filled me with rage... and a strange sense of awe, and through everything, that fury has long since faded, although the awe remaining, now accompanied by something else, something more." Your heart was beating in your throat at his words, and at how close the two of you had moved to each other.

Your eyes flicker between each other’s, glancing to one another's lips. It is clear what you both wish, but there is a sense of uncertainty still. The last kiss of yours had been a plan, you both had imagined, to poison Francesco, who you had led to believe you cared for just as you were with Lorenzo currently. You try to read him, to see if it is truly a shared fear or it was just self-projection. 

You move towards him slowly, your noses touching as you pause before your lips meet. You gaze up towards him, to see him looking down at you, frozen, waiting for your next move. "Should I apply lip paint first?" Your lips smile against his, practically touching already.

"No," he breathes out, before you close the last bit of space, your lips finally meeting. The kiss is soft, as is his hold on your cheek as he pulls you closer. Your hands fall on his chest as all your worries and conflicts fade away for that moment. 

Eventually he pulls back, taking your hand back into his, holding the ring at the end of your finger, waiting as he realises you still had yet to answer. You nod slowly, and he slides the metal around your finger. 

"We are in need of proper rings, but for now..." he squeezes your hand with his, placing a kiss to your temple.

"I know a lovely blacksmith," you grin up at him, and he chuckles, before leaning down to connect your lips once again, as if you had done it a million times before.

Rapping on the door cuts the kiss short, both of you pulling away to rest your foreheads on one another. "Lorenzo!" The voice of a pained mother floats through the door, and he pulls away, instantly moving to answer it. 

"We have much to discuss," Lucrezia's eyes fall on her son before they flutter to where you stood behind him.

"I am aware, mother," he embraces her, "but not today." They share in a sad smile, the loss of Giuliano hanging like a weight between them.

She nods in agreement, sparing you one final glance before speaking, "Very well, then."

[walkerwords]

“The New Queen” Negan x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: https://gph.is/g/4be0J8L

REQUEST: From anonymous: “ Can you do a negan imagine where the reader was his real wife before the walkers came and after he starts getting more wives and kinda forgets the reader, she leaves in the middle of the night. Then maybe a year later negan finds out about another community and tries to take their stuff but he and the saviors get captured and they find out that the reader is the leader?” YUP.

Word Count: 3324

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “What The Water Gave Me” by Florence + The Machine

Note: Thank you for the prompt, just a short little stand alone one shot.

-----

This was the fourth night in a row that you slept alone. 

Your hand found the empty space next to you, your nails clawing at the cool fabric. Negan was out once again, most likely with one of them. You knew the other wives were all a part of his tactic to keep his control over the Sanctuary. Just as his brazen actions were on the day you and your husband had stormed the factory and taken control in the first place.

You ignored the bloody bodies that littered the floor of the old building as he walked among his new followers. Occasionally he would look back at you with that damn smile of his and regardless of the things he did, it never failed to make you melt. 

However, that was when you were considered his equal, his queen, the only woman for him. 

Now, you didn’t know where you stood. Half the time you didn’t see Negan. Your husband was always with Simon or Dwight or Arat planning something horrible or looking for more communities to torture. You had overheard Dwight talking to someone about a new place.

Crouched in a dark corner you listened as Dwight recounted what had happened. They had killed all the men, even the boys. Your stomach twisted in on itself. Negan couldn’t have known about that, right? He had rules. Then again, everyone was Negan and his Saviors never did anything without his knowledge. Disgust turned to anger and it was then that you realized that something had to change if you were going to continue to be by Negan’s side. 

As night turned to morning, the door to your bedroom finally opened. You stood by the window watching the Sanctuary wake up for the day, your back turned to him. “Long night?” you asked, keeping your eyes on the rising sun. Negan sighed, collapsing into a chair by the bed. 

“You know me, doll, always workin’,” he said, leaning back. You turned to him and your stomach recoiled at the sight of his mussed shirt and tousled hair. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. “You’re doing it again,” Negan said. 

“Doing what?” you asked, exasperated. 

“Looking at me like I killed your childhood pet,” he said, rubbing a hand over his cheeks. 

“I’m just tired, Negan,” you said. “Haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“You gotta get out more, (Y/N),” he said, “Get some sun on your back again. Can’t have you going all distant on me, can I?” Negan got up and approached you, his fingers going under your chin to lift your face to his. He leaned in kissed your lips, but you felt nothing. When he pulled back you could smell perfume and you instantly recognized it as Frankie’s. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said. Negan grinned at you and then turned to strip off his shirt and grab a new one. You watched as he went around your bedroom getting ready for the day. When he went to pick up that damn bat of his, you turned away again. 

“Might be another long night, doll,” Negan said, “Don’t wait up!” he called over his shoulder as he sauntered out of the room. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered to yourself, “I won’t.”

-------

That night you didn’t sleep. 

You grabbed enough supplies to get you through at least a week out in the world as well as a couple of weapons you knew Negan kept hidden in the room. As you put everything in your backpack, you glanced down at your left hand. The diamond ring sat proudly on your finger just as it had since he had asked you to be his wife before the world turned to shit. 

You twisted it off and placed it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. You then took out the knife he had gifted you on your first night at the Sanctuary. You stabbed the blade into the wood next to the ring. You couldn’t do it anymore. It was all too much. The blood, the women, the kneeling… he was no longer Negan. At least not the Negan you fell in love with. 

Grabbing your bag, you snuck out of the room. You couldn’t help but laugh at the lack of security outside of your bedroom. You figured he probably had his men watching over the new wives now. The thought only made you move faster through the corridors of the factory. 

You, of course, knew all the checkpoints throughout the place as you were the one to help establish them, especially the watch points. You had been a professor before everything had happened and your concentration was the history of warfare in past civilizations. You figured that was one of the only reasons Negan still kept you around. 

Sneaking through the dark halls, you finally made it outside. The snipers on the North side were screwing around as usual so when you passed through their sights, no alarm was sounded. The wall of the Dead and their groans pierced through the night. Tossing your jacket over the top of the fence, you got over the barbed wire and hit the ground, the moans around you hiding the sound of your boots. You moved through the decaying bodies, taking out a few as you headed for the road at the edge of the Sanctuary. 

Slipping over the final fence, you turned to look at the building that had once been your home but turned into your tomb. You were already imagining Negan’s reaction of finding you gone and your ring and knife on the table. You liked to think that maybe he would look for you or even cry in your absence, but knowing the new man he had become, he would probably just go and comfort himself with one of his new whores. He might even get a new one to replace you. 

Taking one last look, you headed North in hopes of finding a new beginning and prayed you’d never see your husband again. 

-----

2 YEARS LATER

A knock at the door to your office had you looking up from the weapon you were sharpening.

“Come in,” you called. The door pushed open and your second-in-command, Ari, stood in the threshold. “What is it? You have that look on your face.” 

“What look?” she asked. 

“The look that says shit is about to hit the fan,” you offered. Ari chuckled. 

“Got some news, boss. Looks like some kind of caravan is moving along the Southern border,” Ari told you. 

“Hostile?” you asked.

“Possibly. They have some pretty big armored trucks and Danny already took out two scouts.”

“Dead?” Ari nodded. 

“They had weapons, wouldn’t say who they were,” Ari said, “He didn’t want to take any chances.”

“No, that’s good,” you said, “I don’t want to take any chances either. Not after what happened with the Rangers.” Ari nodded in agreement. When the group who called themselves the Rangers had attacked the Parthenon, the community you now controlled, you swore that nobody would be coming into your land unless you gave the green light. 

“Orders?” Ari asked. You looked down at the blade on the table before you, the matching one was already slung over your shoulder. 

“If they come to the gates,” You look at Ari with a small devious smile, “take them.”

The caravan indeed arrived at the gates of the Parthenon not long after their scouts were killed. Ari radioed to you and you met them at the front. Your people passed you, nodding respectfully at the woman they called “Athena”. You didn’t like the nickname, but you never corrected them except when it came to your inner circle. It also gave you the illusion of anonymity when it came to your enemies. 

After escaping the Sanctuary, you had walked for days. When the water had run dry and you were close to starving, you had found the Parthenon. You named it that due to the old greek columns that stood at the front of the old plaza. Survivors were already there, fighting to stay alive. They had offered you food and a place to sleep. It was there that you met Ari, Danny, and a few others. They had already begun to fortify the area with fences, but you challenged them to think bigger and so you got to work. 

Two years later and the Parthenon was fortified, armed, and a flourishing community that elected you as the leader. Nobody went hungry, nobody was forced to stay or go, and nobody kneeled. The original Parthenon in Greece was the temple of Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war strategy. You figured it was a sign, as did Ari, which is where your flamboyant nickname arose. 

At this moment, however, it came in handy. Ari stood at the watch post above the steel gates that sat between the largest columns. The roar of the trucks stopped before your front door and Ari, trained her gun down on the caravan. “You have one chance at turning around assholes!” Ari yelled down to the anonymous people at your gates. 

“Oh come on! We’re here to make friends, Darlin’!” The world rocked beneath your feet at the voice. It had been two years, but you would never forget his voice. Not his, not ever. You grabbed your walkie immediately. 

“Take them now, Ari! Right now!” you yelled. Ari wasted no time in giving the signal. Your people, the warriors you had trained, came out of their hiding spots both inside the walls and outside. Shouts of surprise echoed across the group. Gunshots went off and curses were thrown, but soon, everything settled. Ari looked to you as you approached the front gates. 

“More blood will be spilled if you try anything in the presence of Athena,” Danny warned who was on the opposite side of Ari. 

“Who the fuck is Athena?” Your teeth gritted as he spoke again, fueling your rage and the sadness that pooled in your chest. You looked to Maxon and Conrad who were the sentries at the gate. 

“Open it,” you ordered. They nodded and took a handle each. Ari and Danny dropped down from their posts and flanked either side of you as the gates were pulled open. Before you were around twenty men and women. Each one had two of yours behind them, guns pressed to their heads as they kneeled before you. A man to the left was the first to recognize you. 

“Holy hell,” he said and you turned to look at him with a small smile. 

“Hello Simon,” you greeted the Savior. Arat was next to him who looked at you in complete shock. You then turned to the man of the hour. Negan kneeled before you as you approached him. He stared at you as if he was seeing a ghost. In front of him lay that damn bat and you could see that it had a lot more bloodstains on it since the last time you had seen the wretched thing.

Stopping in front of him, you leaned down and picked up Lucille. He didn’t say a thing as you held her. You turned the bat over in your hands before swinging it up onto your shoulder and smiling at him for the first time. “(Y/N)?” he gasped. 

“Hi, honey.” 

-----

It took five of your men to bring Negan into the holding cell. 

Once he snapped out of his daze, he became angry again. He struggled against your enforcers as you led them into the jail. It was a small building on the edge of the community that you rarely used anymore. It was usually only used as a Drunk Tank for when Danny went on a run and brought back some whiskey or when you caught him with his moonshine business. The latter wasn’t all that bad as you still had a few jars stashed under your bed. 

Your men hauled Negan into the cell and held him down while Danny attached the chains, securing him. Ari approached you as you stood in the corner of the small cage, watching him. “His men and women are being held in the stables, we have their weapons.”

“Check the trucks, take everything,” you ordered. Ari furrowed her brow. You weren’t plunderers, but these were no normal hostiles. “Trust me.” Ari nodded and then ordered everyone out to start raiding the Savior trucks. As soon as the cell door banged behind you, you stepped from the shadows.

You slowly circled Negan like a shark after prey. Lucille was still on your shoulder, the bat named for his first wife, the one he left for you. “I forgot how heavy she was,” you said as you came around to face him again. You swung Lucille around, testing out a few strikes. “You always made it look so easy.”

“(Y/N)...” he began. 

“No!” you shouted, slamming Lucille against the bars behind you. “You don’t talk, you listen.” He glared at you, fighting his restraints. “You never stopped, did you? You’re still scaring people into submission and killing them when they defy you. All because you want their shit,” you said, stepping closer to him. “And to think I thought you would change in the years after I left. Tell me, Negan, how are your whores?” 

“I thought you were dead,” he said and you stepped back, placing Lucille on the ground, leaning on the end of it. 

“No, but I have a feeling I would be if I stayed in that place,” you said. “When did you notice I was gone? The next day? Or was it one of your sheep that discovered my absence?”

“You mean how we slaughtered people so you could play king to a bunch of idiots that feared you? No, Negan, we didn’t do anything. I just followed you like a scared little girl, but I think we both know I couldn’t do that forever.”

“I found the ring in the morning,” he told you. “Why did you leave after everything we went through?”

“So you left because you were scared?” he asked. You laughed, shaking your head. 

“No, I left because I was sick of being just another one of your toys. You changed Negan and not for the better. You started this whole...empire and left me in the dust. Did you ever think about what would happen when you started taking other women to bed? Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised, I was the one who you screwed while still married to Lucille.” The mention of his ex-wife made his eyes flare in anger. “We both know that no matter how much I loved you, you were not a good man.”

“So you became Athena,” he sneered. You shrugged and started to pace again, Lucille dragging behind you. 

“I didn’t pick the nickname, but yeah, I guess I did. You did tell me I needed to get out more,” you joked. Looking back over at him, there seemed to be something on his mind besides this impromptu reunion. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Negan?” you asked. 

“Why would you care?” he asked. You shrugged. 

“Call me curious.” he thought about it for a moment before leaning back, the chains on his legs rattling. 

“Dwighty boy snuck out with his wife and sister-in-law,” Negan said. You let out a laugh. 

“Ah, so the little bird finally left the nest?” You sighed, “I can’t say I’m surprised, he hated you. I’m surprised he didn’t do it sooner.”

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, his voice rising. 

“You did!” You hollered, throwing the bat down and crossing over to him, getting in his face. “You became a monster, Negan! The man I loved, the man I married, the one I promised to always stand by became something out of a nightmare. You left me behind when you took the Sanctuary and you never looked back. I was lucky if I got five minutes with you on a good day and that was only if your wives weren’t in the mood for your bullshit. You wanna know why I left? It’s because you left me first!” You pushed him back, taking a few steps back. 

“So this is all my fault? You were too unhappy and instead of coming to me, you take off in the middle of the night and I have to spend my resources and time looking for you!”

“Like you actually cared! You had the rest of them! You had your fucking kingdom and I was sick of waiting for the guillotine to come down on my head because you were bored of me, Negan!”

“Is that was you honestly think of me?” he asked, shocked. “(Y/N), I left Lucille for you! I made sure you survived when the world went to shit! I took the Sanctuary for you!”

“I never asked you to!” you screamed. “I never asked you to become a killer, a looter, a king! I just wanted you, Negan! I thought we would be taking on this world together just as we did with everything else. But I guess you had different plans and apparently I wasn’t a part of them.” 

“Goddammit, you are still so fucking clueless!” he yelled. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Oh, please enlighten me then,” you challenged. 

“I never cared about them, the others,” he said, “Hell, they were always just for show, to keep their families in line. Yeah, I may have given in to a few temptations here and there, but shit woman, I didn’t love them. I didn’t even like them! You are who I love! Did you ever notice that you were never under heavy watch? That nobody followed you or got in your face? That’s because I trusted you, I saw you as an equal, not just my wife.” 

“You had a shit way of showing it,” you spat back. 

“Please, (Y/N), I love you and I…” he trailed off. 

“What?”

“I got rid of them, the other women,” he said, “I let them go after you left.” You crossed your arms. 

“Why?” 

“Because what was the point? Not like I gave a shit about anyone but you. You were all I had left and then you… Jesus, how do I make it up to you?” You laughed, unable to believe what you were hearing.

“You think all this,” you gestured around you, “is some kind of reconciliation discussion? That we were going to kiss and make up? You really don’t think I haven’t been keeping up with what  you and your Saviors have been up to?” 

“So what? Are you going to kill me?” 

“No, Negan, I’m not going to kill you,” you said softly as you leaned towards him, placing your hands on his thighs. “You’re my guest and will continue to be until I decide otherwise.” Negan looked in your eyes, your breath mingling with his. 

“You can’t keep me here. What about my men?” Negan asked. You smiled. 

“Well according to them and you, they’re all Negan. They stay too,” you said, grinning wider as he sneered. “Cheer up, Doll,” you said, giving him the old nickname he used to call you, “nobody is going to die. People are a resource, remember?” 

“What happened to you?” he asked again quietly. You leaned closer, placing your lips at his ear. 

“I stopped taking shit lying down,” you whispered to him. Leaning back, you looked him over again. “You came here to place me and my people under your boot, but it looks like your my bitch now.” 

“(Y/N), please,” he rasped out.

“Face it, baby, you lost,” you said with a sweet smile. “Now,” you said, picking up Lucille and placing her back on your shoulder. “Are you going to kneel for your new Queen?”

Note: What? Ya’ll didn’t think she’d go back to him, did you?