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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 6,188 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan + flashbacks in other eras Warnings: language, fear and anxiety, mention of fear of heights Summary: Y/N and Daryl head out on the run for the requested medical supplies. Things are tense, but possibly about to get worse... This part is written in Daryl's POV!

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* * *

“I ain’t waitin’. I got a whiff of him and I gotta go before it disappears.”

“Daryl, are you sure about this?” Carol pressed him, creases from worry between her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’ve really thought this through?”

“What is there to think through? If he finds her again, he’ll kill her. And I ain’t waitin’ around for that to happen.” The archer was a blur of activity, gathering his gear and shoving it into his pack.

“I think you need to talk to her about this,” Carol insisted, relinquishing her hold on his poncho somewhat unwillingly as Daryl pulled it from her hands.

He shook his head. “Nah. Ya know she’ll want to be there and I can’t risk that…” he trailed off. “I can’t risk—can’t risk that.”

A thick silence stretched for a moment and Carol wrung her hands. “Well, what are you going to tell her?”

He paused, his hands on the clasp of his pack. “I ain’t tellin’ her anythin’. I’ll leave before its light tomorrow. By the time everyone is up, I’ll be gone.”

“What am I supposed to tell her then? When she inevitably asks?” Carol pressed him. “You want me to lie to her too?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Daryl snapped. “‘M just not—not tellin’ her everythin’. ‘M ending this so she can move on.”

Carol’s jaw tensed. “It feels like a lie.”

“Just tell her I went north. To see what I could see. Lookin’ for supplies,” he drawled, setting his pack and crossbow on the ground beside his bed. “I don’t know.”

Carol sighed heavily and shook her head as he straightened up. “I don’t think this is—”

“Look, tell her whatever ya want. Just wait until ‘m gone. This is happenin’. It’ll be done. S’gonna be over with. For good.”

She shook her head and gave him a long look before crossing his cell and gently clasping his shoulder. “Be careful. I mean it,” she said, surrendering to the fact that there would be no changing his mind. He nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment.

“I will.”

Carol gave him one last look full of anxiety and left him.

* * *

I hardly slept. Maybe caught 20 minutes here and 15 minutes there. Anxiety about the run—that’s all it was. At least, that’s what I kept tellin’ myself. Wanderin’ into a hospital was about the dumbest shit we could do. They always promised to be loaded with unexpected bullshit and floods of undead assholes. But lyin’ flat on my back in the dark, I knew deep down it had a helluva lot more to do with her than it had to do with the run. I was tryin’ to remember the last time I’d spent more than ten minutes alone with her and it left me with a feelin’ like somebody had dropped a damn lead weight onto my chest. I turned over in bed in an attempt to throw it off, but it still sat there on my lungs. I knew exactly when we’d last been alone for longer than a few minutes. Of course I fuckin’ knew. It was burned into my goddamn memory.

But it wasn’t doin’ me a lick of good to think on it so I pushed it away and waited for the clock beside me to read 5:15 before I climbed out of bed. My gear was all waitin’ ready, except for pickin’ up a gun on the way out. I half-expected to run into her in the armory, but it was dark and empty when I grabbed a handgun and some ammo. It felt like a lonely walk to Aaron’s, up the empty street, dew heavy on the grass, and my bootsteps echoing loudly off the dark rows’a houses. I never feel right in here… with the square little lawns and lights on by the front doors. It just felt fake, like somebody had built paper houses and was plannin’ to light ‘em up to burn any minute. I couldn’t feel settled. I just felt… lost. Outta place. Like I didn’t belong.

I’d gotten rid of that feelin’ once… My mind drifted back to her like it always did. It was like I didn’t have no damn control over my own mind. She’d been the one who’d made me feel like I belonged. But now? Fuck. I’m doin’ it again. Focus, dumbass.

She wasn’t waitin’ by my bike either, so I rode up to the gate. As the lookout platform came into view, I caught sight of her climbing down, followed by Gabriel. Her pack was slung on her back, a shotgun hanging at her side and her favorite pistol in a holster on her thigh. I found myself chewing the inside of my cheek. Nerves. Anxiety. This was gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I’ve got the gate,” Gabriel said, heading for the latch. She wandered over and I felt a jolt when she met my eyes. I nudged my nose up in a nod, but she just looked back at me with that same stony expression. Unreadable. It always seemed like I never saw her smile anymore. Maybe she did, just not around me. I got that blank look or a glare that I probably deserved…

“Were ya on watch?” I asked, curious why she wouldn’ta gotten rid of her shift in favor of sleep, knowing we’d be heading out on a run early.

“No,” she said simply. No extra info. Typical. Why waste more on me when one word would do? She didn’t owe me nothin’. And she knew it. I swallowed my other questions and leaned forward on my bike so she could climb on. I felt her settle in behind me and glanced over my shoulder at her. She caught my eyes for a brief moment before looking away, down toward the ground. That was typical too. It was like she just couldn’t look at me. Felt like somebody twisted a blade in my chest every time she dodged me like that. And yet I couldn’t get enough of her, even if she was purposely a giant pain in the ass most of the damn time… I still felt like she was a mirage in a desert. A mouthful of cool water in a drought. Food for a starvin’ man.

Gabriel was waiting with the gate open, so I revved the bike to life again. Her arms wrapped around my waist to hold on and for a second I thought I felt her cheek press against the back of my shoulder, but I knew I must have imagined it. My heart was racing as we pulled out. I was more anxious than I had been all night. The thoughts rushing through my head moved so fast I couldn’t even focus on any of them.

Gabriel yelled at us to be safe as we moved through, kickin’ dust up that left a glowing red cloud behind from the reflection of the taillights. The ride to the city was smooth. We made good time, luckily only passing lone walkers or small herds that were easy to avoid. Around the curves, for a brief moment, she’d hold tighter to me and lean into the turns like I’d taught her in what felt like another fuckin’ lifetime. Each corner I could feel every individual fingertip pressing into my waist or stomach. It was always followed by a sudden wash of heat like somebody had shoved me in a shower with the temperature all the way up. I couldn’t control it. Didn’t matter how hard I tried to ignore the feelin’ of being so damn close against each other…

I slowed down as we neared the hospital. Cars sat rusting in gridlocked traffic, tires long gone, frozen in time—same place they were when everythin’ shut the fuck down. I slowed my bike to roll over some debris and hit a chunk of concrete a little harder than I meant to. Her arms tightened around me reflexively at the jolt before loosening again the next second. My heart jolted at the same time. That feeling… of her clinging onto me for safety—but fuck. Let’s not make it out to be more than it is, dumbass. I turned toward my left shoulder. “Sorry,” I murmured. She didn’t say anything back, just shifted in her place behind me, puttin’ an inch more space back between us. The hospital came into view ahead, tall over everything else on the block.

She tapped my arm and I turned so I could hear her over the engine. “We should park. Sound of the bike,” she said. I knew what she was thinkin’. Any walkers or people anywhere around would hear us. I turned down a side street and parked in a loading dock bay. She climbed off about as damn fast as she could. Kicking the kickstand out and swinging my leg over, she was already walking back toward the corner of the building to look down the street.

“Hold up,” I called after her. I still had to get my gear off the back. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t give a shit and I found myself gritting my teeth. But when I rushed around the corner, I nearly collided with her. She did wait. She was leaned up against the brick, her shotgun in her hands, staring ahead at the looming building.

She straightened up as I stopped beside her and we started windin’ our way down the last couple blocks, keepin’ to the shadows of the buildings, stayin’ in cover as best we could. Even so, I couldn’t help glancin’ up at the endless windows, too many high points. All it would take is one asshole with a rifle and a scope... My hands started to sweat as I gripped my crossbow. I glanced at her, but she was as stony-faced as ever. “C’mon,” I said, quickening my stride. “I wanna get the hell off this street.”

I heard her let out a small scoff behind me. “Yeah, you’re the only one worried about being out here,” she murmured. My teeth clenched again but I did my best to ignore it. There was no point gettin’ riled up this early in the day. We still had a lot of fuckin’ work to do. We reached a set of double doors on the side of the hospital, but one glance inside showed they were well barricaded. I stood there rubbing a hand over the stubble on my face. “S’try the south door,” I drawled. To my surprise, she didn’t argue. But that side was a fuckin’ bust too. “Shit,” I spat out. There was a tall cabinet blocking the entrance.

“Good call,” she said sarcastically.

I shot her a glare. And this time when I bit my cheek, I tasted blood. “Ya got a better fuckin’ idea? Huh?” I challenged her.

She rolled her eyes, studying the door for a moment. There was a large glass pane above it that was broken out and I saw her eyes lock in on it. “Boost me up there,” she said, inclining her chin to indicate the window.

Did she want to go in alone? Well, that sure as shit wasn’t fuckin’ happenin’. “Like hell,” I growled back. She rolled her eyes again.

“Just boost me through and I’ll get the door open. I’ll let you in.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “Ya gonna move that cabinet? By yerself?” I asked skeptically. The muscle in her jaw tensed.

“I don’t have to move it far. Just enough to let you squeeze in. And you can help from the outside.”

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. I didn’t like the idea. I paced a tight circle, thinkin’, as she shifted impatiently beside me. “What if ya get in there and there are walkers? Huh? We can’t see shit down the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet. Come on. We haven’t got all fucking day and we’re sitting ducks out here. Unless you’ve come up with something better—”

I didn’t like it, but she was right. Shit. “Fine,” I interrupted. She leaned her shotgun up against the wall as I set my back against the door, fingers locked together and hands low at my bent knee. “C’mon. Gimme yer foot.”

She seemed to hesitate and I wondered if she was having second thoughts, but the next moment she stepped close in front of me and her hands came to my shoulders. “Ready?” I asked. Her face was maybe six inches from mine, her hands light. I started to feel warm again, a flush of heat across the back of my neck that started spillin’ into my chest. I could see every fleck of color in her eyes, the upturned curve of her eyelashes, that little scar on her chin... Fuck. Focus.

“Ready.” She planted her boot in my hands and I boosted her up so she could grab the window edge. The tinkling of glass dropping in was all I could hear for a moment, and then her weight disappeared from my hands. Spinning around, I watched her pull herself through onto the top of the cabinet. She stayed perched there for a moment, glancin’ behind her, scoutin’ the hallway, before she dropped to her feet lightly. She made it look easy. Graceful.

I couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting my weight. I watched her face tighten as she wedged her shoulder into the cabinet, using all her weight, and it started to move at an angle away from the door. I pushed in with my shoulder from the outside and we finally had enough space for me to slip through. I passed her shotgun through first before turnin’ sideways and slidin’ in. It was dark and completely silent except for the sound of our own breathin’. It felt stuffy inside, and I could vaguely smell somethin’ sharp like animal piss and a sickeningly sweet smell. Death. Decay. I paused to draw the string on my crossbow back, cocking it ready to fire, a bolt nestled in the flight groove.

She pulled her flashlight out from the side pocket of her pack and clicked it on, shining it partially up the hallway ahead. “Jesus…” Her boots crunched over broken glass. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her shotgun, her eyes fixed down the hall, following the moving beam of her light. “This place is a fucking wreck,” she whispered. In her distraction, her tone lacked the usual hostility or sarcasm.

“Somethin’ went down since we were last here,” I agreed. There was a lot more debris and furniture toppled over and strewn about. A lot of obstacles to a clean getaway if we had to make one. “Let’s just get this done and get the hell out.”

“What a unique idea…” she remarked over her shoulder. There it was. Damn sarcasm was back.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and movin’ past her so I was in the lead. I knew it would annoy her, but I secretly wanted to be the one in the line of fire if somethin’ was crooked. I headed for the stairwell, pullin’ my own flashlight out and shinin’ it inside before I tried the door. It looked clear. “Upper floors are more likely to have shit left. Let’s go.”

We moved in silence. I could feel her ghosting behind me the whole way, almost mimicking my movements. This was the first time the two of us had been alone on a run since… since I dun even know when. But despite it being so goddamn long, we weren’t out of step. Once we started movin’ it was like no damn time had passed. We fell right back into our old rhythm. I knew her and she knew me. We worked well together when she put aside her need to argue with everythin’ I said. It still felt like we each knew what the other was thinkin’. Not that I expected this run would magically make working together bearable again for good, or solve anything, but at least we could if we had to. I also now was realizin’ this whole thing was probably orchestrated by Rick. Did Denise really need the supplies? Sure. But did it have to be Y/N and I gettin’ ‘em? Alone? Fuck no. I dunno exactly what he was hopin’ for but I’m pretty sure he’ll be disappointed…

Moving steadily upwards, we had most of the supplies on the list, plus plenty of extra finds, but I was growing more and more uneasy as we went on. We hadn’t run into a single fucking walker yet, and to me that meant they were probably herded up in a massive hoard somewhere. It felt like a matter of time before we found them or they found us. I could sense Y/N’s tension risin’ again too. She was more fidgety, more careful about each step she took. I found myself frequently sweeping my eyes back behind us to make sure nothin’ was lurking just outta the flashlight beams. There were the usual signs of walkers nearby; smears of blood on the floor and walls, that fuckin’ smell ya could never get outta yer nose, even chunks of flesh from the rottin’ fuckers. But we still hadn’t seen one, and I was fuckin’ worried.

“Almost got everything,” Y/N whispered to me, shoving a couple more bottles into her pack. “We just need to find the CPAP machine,” she murmured, staring down at the list. “I don’t have a fucking clue what the hell that looks like.” She glanced over at me, one of her eyebrows quirked in a question and I realized she was waitin’ for some kinda response.

“What? Yer lookin’ at me? I ain’t got a goddamn clue what the hell that even is,” I said gruffly. Shit. I saw it. Just for a second, but one corner of her lips twitched up in a smile and I swear there was a spark in her eyes—like the ones I used to see in her all the time. My heart jumped and I tried my best to ignore it. She seemed to turn away, hidin’ her face right as I was puzzlin’ over it.

“Right… well, let’s try down the hall. There’s probably another supply closet at the other end,” she said, nudging her head toward the darkness ahead.

We made our way cautiously. I pushed into the lead again and was surprised when she didn’t argue. I tried every door handle but most of ‘em just led to empty or trashed patient rooms. I caught her frozen in the doorway of one that had a massive bloodstain on the floor and spatter partially up the walls. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and I wondered what she was reliving. “Hey,” I said, just over her shoulder. She seemed to pull out of it abruptly and she turned away, moving on like nothin’ had happened. I let her go ahead, mainly so I could keep an eye on her for a minute and make sure she still had her head in the game, but I didn’t need to worry. Not about that anyway. She’d always been tough. She wasn’t shaken by shit easily. I knew that. And yet I still had this drive to want to protect her, even though she didn’t need it from me. And she definitely didn’t want it from me.

“Here,” she said suddenly, slinging her gun back on her shoulder and more fully opening the door to a small supply closet. There was hardly enough room for her to stand inside, so I posted up just behind her and strained my eyes and ears for anythin’. “It’s all electronic stuff,” she whispered, entirely focused at the task at hand. Her hands floated from one device to the next, illuminated by her flashlight. She was looking for some label or model number or somethin’ to tell her what they were. She bent down and grabbed some scattered papers from among the boxes on the floor. Swearing under her breath she held one up to the flashlight. “Of course the cover and all the useful shit in the front is torn off,” she muttered. She was bending down to grab another handful when there was some sudden, deep noise on the floor above us.

My heart seemed to stall out for a moment and she straightened up and froze, her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, lips partially parted. The sound seemed to reverberate through the building. I could feel it beneath my feet. It resonated through the walls. After a moment, I was looking at her and she glanced over and met my eyes, her eyebrows a little furrowed with worry.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked in a harsh whisper. I only shook my head. She gulped and refocused, shakin’ it off, focusing back on the papers. She was flipping page after page, scanning them as fast as she could.

I started to hear some more noises above us and then eventually spilling toward the other end of the hall. My grip on my crossbow tightened. “We need to move,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She was still intensely focused on the manual in her hands. “Just gimme a minute…” she said vaguely.

I shifted, turning more toward the far end of the hallway, straining my hearing. There was more clattering above us. “We might not have another damn minute.”

“Just—hold on—”

Fuck. I stood frozen for a moment as a herd of walkers started to spill out from the stairwell at the other end of the hallway and start toward us. “We ain’t got a minute, Y/N!” I urged in a harsh whisper. She didn’t seem to hear me.

There were more walkers than I could count. They hadn’t spotted us yet but I had to move fast, so I did the only damn thing I could think of and pushed her forward into the closet, pressing in after her and shutting the door as quietly as I could. I instinctively clicked my flashlight off and hurried to grab hers and do the same, plunging the two of us into darkness in that small space.

“Daryl, what the hell?!” she snapped at me. She’d been so focused she was completely oblivious to the mass of dead wandering our way. The goddamn closet was so small I had no choice but to be pressed into her… My heart started to pound and I think it had more to do with her against me than the undead assholes outside. I was sure she’d be able to feel it and prayed she’d just think it was adrenaline or somethin’. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

I shoved my hand over her mouth, all my patience gone. Did she really think I’d shoved her in a closet for the hell of it? “For once in yer goddamn life just shut up!” I growled in a low voice. She seemed to tense against me but in the quiet the sounds of the walkers outside the door were now easily heard above our ragged breathin’ and they were growing louder every second. I still had one hand over her mouth and the other clenching my crossbow at my side. She shifted against me and pulled my hand away. I could hear and feel her breathin’ pick up pace. I planted my palm on the wall behind her, next to her head, very aware of the growin’ heat pooling between the two of us where we were pressed together. The air felt suffocatin’. I started to worry the walkers outside the door would be able to hear my breathin’ I was so nervous. I wanted to shift, move away from her like I’m sure she wanted… I wanted to change positions and get my bow up, but it was impossible.

She didn’t seem to know where to put her arms within the tight, dark space. I couldn’t blame her. I was leaned in against her, sorta over her even. I felt her hand accidentally brush my arm and my body jolted a little at the contact, like some reflex I didn’t know I had. My teeth ground together. After that she seemed to settle away from me, into the wall behind her.

We had to just stay there, fuckin’ frozen, hardly room to breathe while the hoard passed by. Every once and a while, a body would thump hard against the door and I’d feel her flinch. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck and beading up on my face, my hair sticking to it. We were so close I could feel her breath against my skin when she faced toward me. I felt the rhythm of her breathin’. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that in that tiny ass closet, the only thing I could smell was the faint scent of her shampoo. I tried hard not to notice, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t try to put some name to the smell. Lavender? Not quite. Maybe more like rose? I dunno. And despite the possible death lurking just outside, I found it hard to focus on anythin' other than the feeling of her against me.

It felt like it took hours for the hoard to pass, but it was probably only ten minutes. But after the sounds drifted away we were still left with a big fuckin’ problem. They had to go somewhere, and my best guess was that they were travelin’ down.

It was so dark in there I couldn’t even tell if my fuckin’ eyes were open or closed, and it seemed to be makin’ it hard to think… Or maybe the angle of her one hip pressed into me was—fuck. Get it together, man… I fumbled for and clicked on my flashlight, findin' the two of us both wincin' at the sudden glare, noses almost touchin'. She was lookin’ up at me, her lips softly parted, her expression only full of concern for once, that little worry line she always gets near her eyebrow.

We both stayed like for a second. I guess just struck by actually seein’ how close we were in the sudden light, until finally she tore her eyes away and turned her head.

I tried to clear my throat, worried my voice was gonna come out soundin' strained or somethin’. “Uhh… sounded like they were goin’—”

“—down. Yeah,” she finished.

My eyes traced the angle of her jawline as she kept her face turned away from me. I heard the paper manual crinkle in her hand and groped for the doorknob behind me. “Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “So, we got a problem about gettin’ out.” My hand finally landed on the doorknob and I turned it and slowly opened the door on the hall, checking both directions carefully but also feelin’ like if I didn’t put some damn space between the two of us again I was about to explode. It looked clear and I stepped out. Glancin’ back, she still seemed frozen, up against the wall, her face turned away toward her shoulder so I couldn’t really get a read on her. “Hey. What is it?” I prompted her.

“Hmm?” She seemed to snap back to herself. “N—nothing…” She went back to searching the manual in her hand, like nothin’ had fuckin’ happened. Just one goddamn time I’d like to know what the fuck is goin’ on inside her head… But I ain’t got no right to that. She’s made that pretty fuckin’ clear.

It wasn’t the right manual or the right machine. But she went through two more until she found it. “Got it,” she announced, waving the paper at me before shoving it into her already full duffel bag. She seized a small machine from the shelf and started trying to rearrange items to make it fit in her pack.

“I got room,” I said, still nervously checkin’ over my shoulder. I thought I could hear the hoard moving below us, maybe two floors down.

“It’s fine. I can make it fit,” she said, jostling more stuff in her bag.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the damn thing from her, slinging my crossbow strap over my shoulder. “Ya’d really rather split yer pack at the seams than take any fuckin’ help from me,” I murmured. I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t need one…

She stepped out of the closet and I caught her wiping her forearm across her forehead. It left a smear of dirt near her hairline. I had to pull myself back to the present. “So, how are we getting out of here?” she asked, adjusting her pack and the duffel bag strap on her shoulder.

I glanced at her, knowing she wasn’t gonna like my idea.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve obviously got something. Just get on with it.”

“Fire escape,” I said.

I watched the muscle in her jaw twitch as he jaw clenched. “Fuckin’ great…”

“Unless ya got somethin’ else—”

“You know I don’t,” she snapped back at me. She wiped a hand across her forehead again, swiping away fresh drops of sweat. “It’s—” She cut herself off. “Let’s just go,” she sighed, defeated.

I looked at her for a second more, trying to gauge just how freaked out she was, but it didn’t seem to matter. We didn’t have any other options.

“Let’s go,” she snapped again. “Before I change my mind about being able to handle this.”

“It ain’t—”

She squeezed her eyes shut and I watched her body tense. “I swear to god, Dixon, if you say ‘It ain’t that bad’ or ‘It ain’t that high’ right now, I will lose my shit and attract every fucking walker in this goddamn building. I don’t even give a fuck.” Her jaw muscle twitched.

I couldn’t help letting out a sigh that was more of a growl than anything but then I turned and headed for the window a couple doors down that I’d noticed was busted out. Leaning through, I scanned the outside of the building for a fire escape. Nothing on that side.

“It’s probably around the other side. Let’s try the end of the hall,” she suggested. Her boots stayed rooted to the floor and I glanced at her again. She caught my eyes and must have read the concern on my face.

“I’m fine. You’re the last person I need worrying about me,” she growled.

Fuck. She could be infuriating… I found my hand clenching and unclenching a few times before I followed her back out of the room.

She was right. There was a fire escape down that side. I grabbed a piece of metal off the floor and straightened up. “Ya ready?” I asked one more time. “They might hear this glass break so we gotta fuckin’ move.” I thought her hands were a bit shaky.

“Just do it,” she said. And this time, I could hear the quiver in her voice.

I smashed the window and knocked out the glass before pullin' myself through. The metal grates rattled under my boots and she looked suddenly sick as she approached the window sill. I hesitated a second before reaching a hand out to help her through.

“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t look fine, but she gripped the ledge and climbed out. “Oh, fuck. Fuck…” she muttered as her feet landed on the platform. She was keeping her eyes fixed straight out. Even just the metal grates at th prison used to freak her out, and that was one floor.

I wanted to comfort her but… I wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d help or that she wanted me to, so instead I just started down the stairs at a good pace. She followed stiffly behind me, gripping onto the railing with white knuckles and falling behind.

Every once and a while I’d glance back and she looked like she was about to be sick, but she was still following. We hit a snag as we reached the third-floor platform. A large part of it had rusted and fallen away, leaving a gaping hole we would have to edge around to reach the next set of stairs.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I heard her behind me and when I looked back her eyes were wide and round and she was clutching onto the railing like it was a lifeline.

“S’fine. I’ll cross first. Just keep over—”

“Oh, really, Daryl? I should keep over to the side? You mean I should stay away from the huge fucking hole in the goddamn floor?” It kept drawing her eyes and I’d see her rip them back up and away, reeling.

I knew that was mostly coming from the fact that she was fuckin’ terrified, but every harsh word from her still stung. “Fine. Clearly, yer good,” I spat back. “Ya don’t need me and ya don’t give a shit and yer fine. I fuckin’ got it.” So much for trying to calm her down. I edged past the hole in the metal grating and went down the next set of stairs. Finally, I just had to push down the ladder, climb down, and we’d be on solid ground again. But when I looked back up, she was still frozen where she had been, on the far side of the platform. I watched her for another minute, waiting to see if she’d move. I knew she wasn’t gonna ask for help, not from me, but she obviously needed it and tough shit, I’m the only damn person here. I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, anxious to even try again, and climbed back up. I edged past the rusted-out hole and stopped next to her. “Just gimme yer hand.” She didn’t loosen her grip on the railing, and her eyes landed on my face. “S’fine. Just for two seconds, lemme fuckin’ help ya.”

Her chest was heaving with fearful breaths and I guess the idea of tryin’ to cross along that edge alone was worse than puttin’ her hand in mine. Part of me still thought she’d take the heights over me, but she didn’t… She pried her hand off the railing and placed it into mine. I—I can’t say my heart didn’t jump when my fingers closed around it. The motorcycle. The fuckin’ closet. Now this. We’d hardly been within six feet of each other for years and now all this in one day… I felt dizzy. It ain’t like Rick could have predicted these things would happen. He sure as shit couldn’t command a hoard to force us into each other in a tiny closet… but he must have been hopin’ for somethin’ by sendin’ us out here. Was it gonna work on her? I fuckin’ doubt it.

As we stepped along the edge of the edge of the platform, she held her breath. She always seemed like nothing in this fucked up world scared her anymore, nothing phased her. Half the time it almost seemed like she didn’t give a shit if she died. But this? Heights? This still scared her on some level she couldn't reason away.

But we made it across just fine. She was gripping onto me so tightly I thought she might have bruised the bones in my damn hand. And as we climbed down the next set of stairs, long past the danger, she was still holding onto me. But just as quickly as I realized it, she slipped her hand out and stiffened next to me again, fixing her eyes away toward the railing, which she grabbed onto again desperately.

We made it down the ladder, dropping onto the concrete and making a run back to my bike, slippin' from cover to cover, packs heavy and weighing us down. I was thinking how batshit crazy it was that we’d just done a hospital run and hadn’t had to kill a single walker AND managed to get all the damn supplies... when we rounded the last corner and a string of curses left her mouth.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What the fuck?!” She knelt down next to my bike and as I looked, my stomach dropped.

“Son of a fuckin' bitch.” Both tires on my motorcycle were slashed. Ruined. Fuck.

We were stranded in the city without a runnin’ vehicle and somebody knew we were here.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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imherongraystairstrash · 3 years

Note

I know you write about relationships in TLH and TID that are rarely/seldom touched on in the books or extras, but I wanted to know if you would consider a Christopher and Thomas Lightwood fic. Maybe the first time they are both in the lab and Thomas experiences the first of the many explosions which Kit unintentionally created. You could follow it up with another scene: Thomas pointing out to Christopher what had led up to the explosion (a misidentified component or measurement).

Of course! I absolutely adore the Lightwood cousins! I put a tiny bit of all of them in this fic, but it's mostly focused of Thomas and Kit :)

Thomas and Kit:

Thomas’ sisters have been giggling for what felt like days. Not only giggling, but they kept pestering him, asking about what men fancied the most in women.

Oh, Tommy, do men like shorter hair or longer hair?

Do men prefer a woman who speaks softly or says what’s on her mind?

Thomas would always say the same thing: I don’t know.

Because, really, he didn’t. He’d never thought of women in that way, though the angel knew he’d tried. He simply couldn’t. His mind told him to like one thing, but his heart said otherwise. It was frustrating. And very confusing.

“Why can’t you just be yourselves?” Thomas said. “Who cares what the men think?”

They giggled again, which made Thomas furrow his eyebrows.

“Don’t you understand, Tom? You have to lure them in by attracting their attention, and then, once you have them wrapped around your finger—”

“Then, you can show your true colors.” Barbara finished.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Thomas said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

They both shook their heads in perfect synchronization.

“He’s too young.” Eugenia said.

“And innocent.” Barbara replied.

Thomas rolled his eyes as they giggled again, and began discussing possible bachelors.

Thomas could only tolerate two minutes before he felt suffocated and stood up, frustrated.

“Wait, we still need you.” Eugenia said.

“Where are you going, Tommy?” Barbara asked.

“Out.” He snapped, taking his coat from the hanger and tugging it on. He let the door close behind him, ignoring his urge to slam it, and quickly made his way down the steps of his house.

The cold air bit into his skin and made its way to his neck and down his back. He silently cursed his sisters for making him leave in such a rush that he forgot to take his scarf.

Thomas walked down the streets of London, letting movement cool his head.

He was tired of the world. Angry at it. The way his sisters embraced it and tried their very best to be a part of it. The way it would force him to live his life differently, with someone he could never truly love.

He wished it would disappear, leave him alone, and yet it was always there, floating over his head like a shadow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and briskly crossed the street.

Most days, Thomas missed Idris; walking barefoot through the forest and simply being outside in the clean, rich air. In Idris, if he wanted to be alone, he could. He could lay on the grass and fill his lungs with it’s wonderful scent, or climb a tree and hum melodies of his own creation. Of course, he liked the fact that in London, he could be with his friends, but there are some things even friends can’t quite help with. His friends could calm his mind the way the soft breeze that ruffled his hair or singing of birds could.

Thomas didn’t realize where he was going until he was standing in front of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

He knocked on the door, and when nobody answered, he shrugged and opened it.

He made his way through the house, poking his head in certain rooms, trying to find one of the residents. It was usually quiet today. He looked into the parlor and found Cecily with her back to him. She was swaying back and forth, her hair falling from it’s bun.

“Hello, Aunt Cecy.” Thomas said.

Cecily turned, and smiled when she saw him. Her eyes had bags under them, as she and Uncle Gabriel were very tired these days, the reason for which was soundly snoozing in Cecily’s arms. Thomas’ new baby cousin, Alexander (whom Kit had informed Thomas was very loud) apparently has lungs of steel. Cecily had said she looked like a raccoon these days, but Thomas thought she still looked as pretty as always. “Oh, hello Thomas. Have you come to see Christopher?” She asked, rearranging Alex’s blanket.

Thomas nodded, “is he here?”

“In his room. He’s been awfully quiet today.” She said, simply. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Do make sure he's not partaking in something foolish while you’re there, Thomas, would you?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Thomas said, making his way up the stairs.

He hadn’t wanted to come any closer to his baby cousin, for fear that he’d wake him, and Aunt Cecy would have to put him to sleep again.

Thomas waved at Uncle Gabriel as he passed him in the study, as he walked down the hall. Gabriel waved back half-heartedly, as if the life had been sucked out of him.

When Thomas opened the door to Christopher’s room, he found him bent over the table in his room.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stand like that.” Thomas said as a way of greeting.

His cousin looked up immediately.

“Shut the door,” he hissed.

Surprised and confused, Thomas did so, and Kit straightened.

“What ho! How wonderful that you are here, Tom. I was working on something fascinating.”

“Is it related to science in any way, because last time you tried something like it, you blew up one of Henry’s walls.”

“That was because I made a simple mistake.” Kit said, with a wave of his hand. “This time it’s different.”

Thomas wasn’t very convinced. He noted Kit’s askew cravat, his tousled hair, his glasses that sat crooked on his nose and his wide-eyed gaze and concluded that his cousin has officially lost his head.

“Why did you look like I’d committed the largest sin on the planet when I left the door open?” Thomas said, deciding to change the subject.

Kit scowled. “Alexander.”

Thomas blinked. “You’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Any small amount of noise and Alexander will cry for hours.” Christopher said, scrawling something on a paper. “At least this way I don’t have to hear the racket so much.”

“Oh,” Thomas said.

“I don’t know why Mum and Dad even wanted another baby. They’re demonic creatures.”

“I thought you liked Alex.”

“When he didn’t cry so much.” Kit said, rather darkly.

Thomas had never seen his cousin so…gothic? Not only was he strangely gothic, but he has also thrown himself into science experiments, which didn’t settle well with Thomas. It was as if he were a mad scientist and Thomas, who’d read Frankenstein, didn’t think those two words were ever a good combination.

He cast an uneasy glance at Kit, who was biting his bottom lip as he combined two solutions.

“Kit, what are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, erm, actually, I don’t know. I’m just observing what will happen if you combine— Oh, that’s not good,” Kit said.

“What’s not good?” Thomas asked, just as a large explosion answered the question for him.

“What the Hell was that?!” They heard Gabriel’s frantic voice call from the hall, just as Alexander began wailing and Cecily let out a noise that started out as frustration, then became something halfway between confusion and worry. Christopher, covered in soot, simply stared, dumbfounded, at the place where the vial had once been.

“Erm…” Thomas said, unsure of how to answer the question his uncle asked.

Not that it mattered, as Gabriel burst into the room a few seconds later. Much like his son, he blinked and just stared at the explosion site for the moment it took Cecily to come inside with a red faced Alexander in her arms. The latter was rubbing at his puffy eyes with his small fists, clearly not happy to have been woken up from his nap in such a way.

“Christopher Gideon Gabriel Lightwood, what in the name of Raziel have you done?” Cecily said, not hysterically, like most parents might ask, but more so weary, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact that there was an explosion in her residence on a Sunday morning.

Kit shrugged, still staring at the explosion site.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas said, “but are these chemicals toxic? Shouldn’t we be evacuating?”

And for the first time in Thomas’ life, he saw his Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Cecily exchange a wide-eyed expression before Cecily ordered them all out of the room and briskly led them down the hallway.

She knocked on Anna’s door as they passed it. “Cariad, make haste, we’re evacuating the house.”

“Why?” Anna asked in a bored and strangely breathless voice, as if she were dancing.

“Your brother caused an explosion. Did you really not hear it?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, that’s what that was?”

“Yes, now come outside before you start glowing in the dark from the toxic fumes.” Cecily said firmly.

Anna groaned. “Alright. Let me get dre— I mean, I’ll be right down.”

Cecily sighed and continued down the hall.

…

Thomas waited outside with the Lightwoods, Anna climbing out of her window a short while later, not bothering to straighten her simple dress as she landed. If either Gabriel and Cecily were by any means surprised by Anna’s exit, neither remarked upon it. Nor did they mind that Anna was barefoot or that her wavy hair was unbound, waving in the wind like an ebony banner.

Gabriel and Cecily were simple folk, in that sense. They didn’t waste time trying to make their children conform to society, they just let them roam free.

Well, except for now, as they were scolding Kit, Cecily forbade him from any sort of experimentation within their house. They may differ from parents in many ways, but they were still parents, regardless.

Anna slumped down beside Thomas, watching the house.

“Another day, another dollar in the Lightwood residence.” Anna said mournfully.

Thomas just stared blankly ahead.

“One of these days, Tom, I’m going to get my own flat.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you can have my room here.” Anna said.

Thomas snorted. “Your room is pink. Very pink.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

When Kit was done being scolded, he came over to them. Anna patted the grass next to where she was sitting and Kit plopped down beside her.

“How angry are they?” Anna asked.

Kit just frowned.

“At least they’re not disappointed.” Anna said, ruffling his hair.

Kit just pressed his lips together, identical to the way his sister had done shortly before. Anna and Kit looked very alike, despite their coloring. They always denied it, of course, just as Thomas always denies it when others say that he looks like his sisters.

“Well, you two are a dull bunch.” Anna said, getting up. “If neither of you are going to talk, I might as well leave.”

They watched her go to her father, most likely making a joke as she walked and despite everything that happened, Gabriel chuckled.

Kit scooted closer to Thomas, who put a hand on his cousin’s back.

“Maybe next time, you should study the chemicals better.” Thomas said, “see how they react to other chemicals. I don’t think spontaneity is something scientists encourage.”

Kit looked up.

“And maybe don’t do it in your room?” Thomas said.

Christopher nodded.

Thomas looked straight ahead, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

“Do you really hate Alex?” Thomas asked after a while.

“Not really.” Kit said. “He is just vexing sometimes.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “I feel the same about Genia and Babs sometimes, if that makes you feel better.”

“I still like Alex, though.”

Thomas hummed. “Yes, I still love my sisters too.”

Thomas leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He may not be in Idris, but at least he still had his family. He may be different and the rest of the world might shun him, but at least his parents would still love him.

At least he was alive, and though sometimes it wasn’t always perfect, life was still good.

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#thomas lightwood #kit lightwood #christopher lightwood #tsc fanfic #tlhfanfic #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #alexander lightwood #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #tlh

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wordsnwhiskey · 3 years

Text

As It Should Be | Chapter 5: Breaking In The Newbies

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: After a rough and emotional night, Frankie makes a decision on Jack’s offer. Before they can get to that though, the morning debrief with Champ brings back a familiar face and Jack has you and Frankie teach the junior agents a lesson during combat training.

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, guns, swearing, discussions about safewords.

A/N: Alright, a lot of stuff needed to happen here and we’re going to have a little action and see Frankie show off a bit. It was important to me that the discussion of safe words and Jack checking again for consent happened in a chapter separate from the actual smut. For me, it further emphasizes that Jack doesn’t want Frankie to feel pressured to accept or do anything he doesn’t want to because it’s “in the moment”. Consent is sexy, friends.

I have to give my love and thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the beta reads, the fantastic constructive criticism and encouragement!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 4: Company | AO3 | Art

The morning sun stirred Frankie. Even with his eyes still closed, he could tell the room was alight, but the warmth that surrounded him had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the body next to him. He opened his eyes and realized he was definitely not in Whiskey’s guest bedroom. Instead, he was very much curled into Whiskey’s lightly rising chest. Frankie blushed, very unused to being the little spoon, and moreover, not used to someone’s morning wood poking at him. Whiskey was gently roused from sleep by Frankie’s small movements. He lifted his arm from around Frankie’s waist and stretched.

“G’morning Flyboy. You were having nightmares, so I brought you in here.

“Oh, sorry for waking you up and… thank you.” Frankie felt guilt sting at his throat.

Whiskey grunted and rolled out of bed to go shower.

“Nothing to worry about, partner. I’m no stranger to those kinds of nightmares.”

Frankie was grateful Whiskey understood and made no effort to pry. With a grunt of his own, Frankie got up from the bed and made his way to the kitchen, intent on trying to get coffee going while Whiskey showered.

Whiskey finished his shower and stepped out to dry off, then wrapped his towel around his waist. He was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of coffee, Frankie’s initiative quirking the corners of his mouth into a small smile. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as Frankie poured their coffee, handing Whiskey’s to him black. Jack hummed his approval, a sound which he noted made Frankie preen a bit.

“Good boy.” Jack gestured to the coffee with a small wink as the air seemed to be pushed from Frankie’s lungs. “Now, as much as I enjoy the view of you in just my shorts, let's get you into something you can wear at the office.”

Frankie was rooted to the spot, Jack’s “good boy” ringing in his ears and sending a wave of warmth throughout his entire body. Jack didn’t comment, just let his smirk speak for itself as he took his coffee back to his room and opened the doors to his closet. His fingers tabbed at a few of the hanging suits as he looked back to see that Frankie had finally uprooted himself and joined him.

“We’re similar in build, so you ought to be able to pull off one of my suits…”

Frankie winced.

“Right, well then, let’s go with something a touch more casual.

Jack grabbed a pair of jeans, a blue button down, white t-shirt, belt, and socks, handing each article of clothing over to Frankie as he moved around his closet.

“There, that should do you. Comfortable, but still presentable for Statesman.”

Jack gave him a smile only to notice Frankie shifting his weight.

“Thanks,” came Frankie’s reply as he turned to get dressed. He didn’t mind going without boxers, but the sudden realization that he needed more clothes of his own hit Frankie as he dressed in the clothes Jack had given him.

“Hey Jack?”

Whiskey hummed in acknowledgement as he finished getting dressed himself: jeans, suspenders, white button down shirt, and a navy wool blazer.

“I was thinking about your offer last night, and… I’d like that.”

Whiskey turned to look at Frankie, giving him a once over, distantly thinking about how good Frankie looked in his clothes, and a mischievous smile lit up Whiskey’s face.

“I’m looking forward to it, Flyboy. We’ll discuss things a bit more at the end of the day in my office. It’s about as close to neutral territory as we’re gonna get for that conversation. For today though, I want you to be a good boy and stick to me like a shadow. We’re meeting with Champ first thing. Then, we’re gonna have some fun.”

Frankie nodded, rocking back on his heels for a moment, then fell in step with Whiskey as they headed out, both of them grabbing their respective hats as they went. The ride in Whiskey’s Bronco was quiet, and soon enough they were riding the elevator up to their floor in the Statesman tower.

You were seated at the conference table facing the double doors with Pope to your right.

“You sleep alright, Pope? Hope Ginger didn’t keep you too late.”

“She’s something, that’s for sure, Hawk, but she did let me go, eventually.”

He gave you a good natured laugh that slowly lost its shine.

“You hear from Fish, Hawk? Ginger told me where she put him up and I went to check on him last night, but he never answered.”

Worry bloomed in your chest, not that it had really gone away after seeing Frankie leave yesterday. You figured if he wanted or needed to talk, he would have reached out to you. Honestly, you had hoped he would have checked in with Pope at some point since he probably felt more comfortable with him. Just then, the conference double doors opened, giving way as Jack strode in, greeting you with a smile and tilt of his head. Relief eased the tension in your chest and shoulders when Frankie followed closely behind Jack. Your eyes darted over to Whiskey, fixing him with a questioning gaze as you realized the clothes Frankie was wearing belonged to Jack.

“Fish!” Pope practically jumped out of his chair, rushing over to Frankie with a duffle bag in tow. “I was worried about you, hermano. I went to the hotel, but you didn’t answer.”

To Frankie’s credit, his face didn’t betray much, but both you and Pope knew that Frankie didn’t have any other clothes aside from what he had left with.

“Uh, yeah, must’ve just missed you.”

You could tell Pope was filing the information away for later. Your eyes wandered to Jack’s again and you raised an eyebrow. At least you now had an idea why he had cancelled on you last night.

“Here, Fish. I figured you’d want your go bag.”

“Gracias, hermano.”

They clasped arms, then took their seats. Frankie grabbed the orange tinted glasses he had left the day before and put them on, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose. His gaze fell to yours and he gave you a small smile, but before you could say anything, Champ’s holo image flickered to life.

“Catfish! You’re looking mighty fine! Much better than yesterday.”

“Yes sir, thanks.”

Champ nodded. He’d been worried about how the man would fare, especially considering the news yesterday.

“Right, down to the business at hand. It does appear that a new cartel is making their play at center stage, picking up where Poppy left off. They’re not following Poppy’s business model, though. From what we understand, the group is headed by four individuals: Isabella Gómez, Duke Hernández, Steven Weisel and Emily Weisel. They’ve taken to calling themselves La Linda Rosa, likely after the Red Agent flowers. Up until now, they’ve been your run of the mill cartel, but it’s our belief that the Weisels have been instrumental in their production and processing of Agent Red. Recently, the Weisels purchased land in Colombia, and from our drone coverage, they may have set up processing plants there. We don’t know why the sudden shift to Agent Red, though. The plants themselves go for $500k per plant, and they take time to mature. We don’t think the Weisels are responsible for acquiring the plants, so that leaves either Isabella or Duke.”

Frankie’s attention drifted from Champ to the pictures on the screen and swore.

“Fuck. Pope, you know who that is, right? I thought they were in Australia?”

Pope did a double take, recognizing his old informant’s brother. The Statesman stared at the two men, waiting for them to elaborate. Frankie sighed and settled into his seat a bit more, knee bouncing anxiously.

“Four years ago, Pope came to me and the rest of our old team to take out Gabriel Martín Lorea and make out with the money he had stockpiled. Pope’s CI, Yovanna, and her brother, Duke, both worked for Lorea. In exchange for helping us, Pope got the brother out of jail and we dropped them off in Peru with papers to Australia and $3M. Looks like Duke wasn’t satisfied with life in Australia.”

Ginger frowned and pulled up Duke’s known associates, Yovanna’s picture following the others on screen.

“Yovanna appears to still be living in Australia, but it’s possible Duke grabbed the money and ran.”

Frankie closed his eyes, lifting his cap and carding his fingers through his hair before placing the hat back on his head and sighing.

“What’s the plan? Sounds like the plants and processing facilities need to be taken out, and then there’s the compound, too.”

Pope nodded, then sighed as well. This was bringing back memories for the both of them.

“We’ll also need to be wary of the local agencies. They’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, especially if it’s anything like how it was with Lorea.”

Champ nodded and tilted his head to Ginger.

“We’re doing our own recon and then we’ll break out teams. Pope, Catfish, we’d like you to at least help with intel, and given your experience in taking down Lorea, if you’re up for it, I’d like you both on the compound assault team.”

You saw Pope and Frankie share a look, Frankie’s jaw clenched and then he nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, not to worry boys, Statesman has the best resources, stateside or otherwise. For now, I’m sure we can keep you plenty busy. Whiskey, don’t forget, today is your day for combat training with the new recruits. Bourbon, Cranberry needs you to test equipment in the lab later today.”

“Pope, could you actually stick around again for a bit? I’ve got some more intel I want to run through with you.” Ginger chimed in, and you were surprised he didn’t grimace at the idea of being locked in a room for hours again.

With that, the meeting was over, Champ’s holo image disappeared and they took their glasses off. Jack stood up and Frankie was quick to follow him, much to your intrigue. You stood up as well. You were eager to watch Jack have his way with the new agents. It was always fun. Whiskey seemed to know you would be following and beckoned for you to enter his office first, followed by Frankie, and Jack closed the door behind him.

“Go ahead and set your bag down wherever you’d like, Flyboy.”

Frankie dropped his bag in a corner then promptly started to rifle through it, pulling his shoes out and quickly swapping his dress shoes for them. He let out a sigh of relief as he rolled up on the balls of his feet and rocked back on his heels. He hated dress shoes.

You took a short minute to admire Frankie in the blue button down while he rolled up his sleeves. Jack’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you into him.

“Missed you, darlin’.”

Smiling, you took his face in your hands and tugged him down for a kiss.

“Missed you too, Jack.”

You murmured against his lips, and you resolved not to ask about last night. Whatever happened, Frankie must have reached out to Jack, not you or Santi, and you’d leave it at that. Jack hummed contentedly for a moment before he pulled back and winked at you.

“Are you coming to watch us break in the newbies, darlin’? I was thinking you and Flyboy could do the first demo.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but there was a playfulness in them as well.

“Us?” You questioned Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“First demo?” Came Frankie’s question as he whirled around to face you and Whiskey.

Jack’s smile broadened and he started out of his office and towards the elevator, expecting you and Frankie to follow.

“What are we demoing, Whiskey?”Frankie asked, more pointedly this time.

“Well, our newbies are scheduled to learn about disarms and what happens when the enemy goes for their gun. I thought it’d be good to have them start out seeing Bourbon disarm you.”

Frankie huffed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall. You smiled as you leaned against the wall opposite Frankie.

“It’ll be just like old times, Fish.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“Why have me do the demo though? I’m not a Statesman agent.”

Before you could respond to reassure Frankie, Jack chimed in, eyeing him with nothing short of gleeful mischief. Jack enjoyed breaking the new agents in almost a little too much sometimes, but it was good for them, and he was good at it.

“No, you’re not, you’re ex-Delta Force, Frankie. These agents have had plenty of training, but they don’t have your experience, Flyboy. They’re gonna learn the difference today.”

Jack shared a similar philosophy with you when it came to combat training and sparring. You had been a terror in hand-to-hand, still were, you were proud to say. You knew there was often a size disadvantage, but you had learned to use your opponent’s momentum against them, and more importantly, you didn’t follow convention. In sparring matches, most people fought like they were sparring, which was fine for beginning, but there was a big difference between practicing and being in an actual fight. You never advocated for an all out brawl, but you refused to follow the typical learned pattern that people naturally gravitated towards. Tom had been predictable and a sore loser. Will was predictable but sweet. Benny, well, there was a reason he was semi-pro, which left Santi and Frankie. Santiago was fun, and you had lost your fair share of matches to both him and Benny. Frankie had a spark in his eyes when he sparred, but no matter how hard you had tried to get him to let go, he refused. It had nothing to do with anything silly like you being a woman, more to do with the fact that Frankie never seemed to just let himself go in that way. You had only seen him let go a bit twice, both times in the field and well worn down by the day.

The elevator dinging startled you out of your reverie, and you followed right behind Jack towards the training room. Frankie assumed they would be entering a gym of sorts, but he was sorely mistaken, and he realized the ‘floor’ they were on must have been composed of several. The ‘room’ was really more of a training complex housed in the unassuming tower. To the right, a group of 20 people stood, waiting. He gave them a cursory glance, and then his eyes were pulled to the range. He’d definitely have to visit to let off some stress. He followed as you and Whiskey led the way to the group of agents and hung back slightly as the group stood to attention.

“Well, look at this promising group of newbies, Bourbon. D’you think they’re up for today’s lesson?”

You let the smirk on your lips turn into a full crooked smile, you had more than a small idea as to what Jack was going to do. Looking over your shoulder, you caught Frankie’s eye and nodded for him to join you.

“I don’t know, Whiskey, simple concept, but we’ll see what their execution is like. My money is on our guy.”

The agents before you bristled, full of young pride that was well-earned. Whiskey’s hand clasped over Frankie’s shoulder as he introduced him to the new agents.

“Y’all are in for a treat. Our friend, Catfish, here, has generously volunteered to help train you on close quarters combat and disarms. Bourbon will demo the defense first. Catfish,” Whiskey took a pistol from the long table off to the side and handed it to Frankie. “Your objective is simple: shoot a blank at Bourbon.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his eyes sought yours to make sure you were comfortable. An answering smile was good enough for him, and he checked the pistol, confirming there were no live rounds, before looking back up at you. The two of you easily slid into a ready position, and Jack gestured for the new agents to give you some room.

“Halcón, when you go for the takedown, ten cuidado con mi espalda. Ya no soy joven.” [be careful with my back. I’m not young anymore.]

It only mildly annoyed you that he already knew you were going to go for the takedown, after priding yourself on your spontaneity earlier, but you pushed that out of your mind as you both stood a few steps apart. There would be a split second when Frankie pulled his pistol and took a readying step. That would be where you would have an opening and make your move. A tense handful of seconds that seemed to stretch on filled the air. Jack watched the new agents, the tension between you and Frankie seemed to embed itself in the junior agents’ lungs as they all waited with bated breath.

Nothing telegraphed Frankie’s quick movements as he drew his pistol, but on instinct, your body was moving. He saw your left hand fly out to redirect his momentum and push his gun hand away, quickly shifting to plant his weight, keeping you from landing the takedown this early. The training you and Frankie had received taught you to be efficient and end things quickly. That was easier said when you had spent years training together. The junior agents seemed to still be holding their breath while you traded blows. Your moment of opportunity came, and you took it. Frankie seemed to understand what was happening but his balance was off. You stepped into him, your hip bumping his as your hand came to grip over the top of his pistol. The next thing everyone knew, you were both on the ground, the gun skittering harmlessly away, and Frankie’s arm in an arm bar. He grunted and quickly tapped at your leg to surrender, and you let him go. The class was quiet until Whiskey broke the silence as you helped Frankie to his feet.

“I hope you lot were paying attention to Catfish here, he did a great job demonstrating what to do when facing a difficult opponent like Bourbon. For this exercise, the rest of you will attempt to take a shot at Catfish and he will disarm you by whatever means he deems necessary.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, knowing Whiskey was being intentional with his wording.The laugh died quickly, however, at the words of one of the junior agents.

“How was that a good example? He lost, he was disarmed. We should be practicing against someone better, who would last longer.”

At your side, you saw Frankie stand up straighter, his feet moving shoulder width apart as his hands clasped behind his back and he fixed the younger agent with a steely gaze. Even as his breathing remained calm, it was obvious the words had gotten to him. Whiskey’s good natured grin turned into a smug smirk.

“Davis,” Whiskey began, calling the man out by his last name and emphasizing he hadn’t earned a Statesman moniker. “Since you’re so eager, by all means, approach Catfish when you’re ready and show us how your Statesman training fares.”

Frankie kept his gaze leveled at the cocky junior agent, noticing in his periphery that you had moved away to give them plenty of room. Davis moved to be a few steps in front of him. Frankie continued to hold the stare as he questioned Whiskey.

“Are you sure about this, Whiskey?”

Whiskey nodded, Frankie’s gaze flickering over to him for the briefest of seconds, then he brought his hands to a loose ready position at his sides. Davis drew his pistol, but Frankie grabbed the barrel with his left hand, stepped forward and hooked his right foot behind Davis’ lead leg and pushed on the agent’s chest with his right hand. Davis went down, but found himself suspended by Frankie’s hold on his shirt. The class was filled with littered gasps and snickers. The ‘fight’ was over before it had really begun. Frankie helped right the agent and stepped aside to let him retrieve his firearm.

“Attaboy, Catfish! Davis, looks like you’ve got some work to do. Here’s another lesson, agents: Statesman agents aren’t your only competition out there. We’ve got some fancy gear and trainin’ here, but there’s a world of intelligence agents and mercs out there. Catfish served with Bourbon, and that should tell you all you need to know.” He paused a moment to let the information sink in as Davis returned to the line to lick his wounds. Then Whiskey called the next agent.

Frankie breathed in, then out through his nose, and got ready. As they went, the junior agents in waiting began to pick up on a few of his techniques, and he had to adjust, but time spent practicing and training at Benny’s gym had prepared him well for this.

You watched as Jack’s eyes danced while he followed Frankie’s movements. The circumstances earlier had prevented him from truly appreciating how efficient and capable the quiet man was. The last of the junior agents had made their attempt and consequently failed. Frankie’s breath was coming more unevenly now, and rightly so. What he had gone through would be exhausting for anyone.

“Well done, everyone, a round of applause to Catfish for taking the time to demonstrate y’all have a lot to learn before getting approved for field work. Now go on and line up at the range and get warmed up. We’ll be running sims next.”

The junior agents dispersed to the range towards the back of the room. Frankie let out a breath and rolled his shoulders to let out some of the tension he had been carrying, then started heading for the range, eager to let off some more steam.

“Where do you think you’re going, partner?”

Frankie frowned, his eyes darting between you and Whiskey in confusion.

“I thought we were going to go shoot?”

Jack smiled then winked at Frankie.

“They’re warming up, you still have one more person to disarm, Flyboy.”

Frankie’s fingers twitched, and you could see that the exercise earlier had worn at his usual restraint.

“No lasso.”

Whiskey handed you his lasso, then unloaded his revolvers and passed you the ammo. He holstered his revolvers again and stepped into position in front of Frankie. You watched as a new kind of energy seemed to crackle between them, and some of the junior agents seemed to sense it, stopping to watch as well.

Whiskey was fast, but training at the boxing gym had helped Frankie with his speed. As Whiskey drew his revolver, Frankie sprung forward. He didn’t bother to grab the gun. Instead, he brought his fist down on the barrel, sending it skittering away. Whiskey’s fist connected with Frankie’s side, and you heard, rather than saw, Frankie’s reservations fall away with a snarl. He took hold of the inside of Jack’s blazer, grabbing the grip of the other revolver holstered there and made to pull it out and take the ‘shot’. Jack’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Frankie to go on the offensive, but he found he was impressed. He liked a challenge. Before Frankie could draw the revolver from the holster, Jack grabbed his wrists and wrenched them down, then back up quickly to break Frankie’s hold, and then Jack threw them both to the ground. Both men recovered quickly, but in the chaos, the revolver had fallen to the ground and Frankie scrambled for it. Just as his fingertips touched cold metal, Whiskey’s whip flicked the revolver further away, and they closed the distance to grapple with each other again.

Your match with Frankie had been a well practiced dance, and this was too, in its own right. However, where yours had been fluid, Whiskey and Frankie were bordering on feral. For a moment, it appeared that Frankie had gotten the upper hand. Whiskey staggered backwards, about to fall, but as he went, he flicked his whip, the corded length wrapping around Frankie’s throat. He tugged, sending them both to the ground. Frankie grunted and struggled against the snare he was in. Whiskey wasted no time in scrambling up and pinning Frankie, his knee to the pilot’s back. Frankie continued to struggle until Whiskey leaned down so that only the other man could hear.

“Easy now, Tiger, save your strength for tonight. You did good.”

Frankie relaxed under Jack’s weight and nodded. Whiskey got off of him with a grunt and unwound the corded length of the whip from Frankie’s neck, then pressed a button on the handle to recall it. He helped Frankie up and dusted him off a bit.

A few of the junior agents were still watching in awe. It was rare to see a senior agent like you or Whiskey truly need to put some effort in, and to see it twice in one day was something else entirely. You walked over to the two men and put your hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“You did great, Fish, nice to see you let loose for once.”

He scoffed good naturedly and swooped to pick his hat up from off the ground.

“You guys had quite the audience while you were at it, too.” Your smile was barely contained as you raised an eyebrow at Jack.

This time it was Whiskey’s turn to scoff.

“Well, I hope they’ve been practicing. They’ll be running the sim after Frankie does.”

Whiskey patted Frankie on his shoulder then gestured for him to follow. He led him to an enclosed area that occupied the majority of the left side of the training complex. A small structure that looked like a house sat inside the enclosure, and you knew it was furnished to match whatever simulation scenario had been determined. Whiskey stopped at a table just outside of the enclosure and gestured to the rifle, combat knife, folder, and headset.

“Alright, Flyboy, I know you’ve done this sort of exercise before. Your brief is on the table there. Good luck.”

You and Whiskey walked a bit further along the enclosure to two screens. One cycled through a variety of camera angles while the other would connect to the headset once Frankie turned it on.

“You’re really having Frankie run the simulation?”

Whiskey nodded, “I didn’t have him help with the demo just to teach those newbies a lesson, darlin’. He’s been through hell, and I figured getting him to work through some of that in sparring and the sim would help. That, and, well… you can’t blame me for bein’ curious, Bourbon. Last time I got to see what he could do, we were a bit busy trying not to get shot.”

You can’t help but to chuckle and shake your head, your attention going back to Frankie as he geared up.

“Frankie turns into a different person on missions sometimes, used to scare the hell out of people on base who saw it. No one ever suspected it because he was always the quiet one, but he’s just as competitive as the rest of the guys on the team. He was just always scary good at keeping a level head and focusing on the mission. You’ll see.”

Frankie put on the kit provided for him then flipped through the brief before lowering the headset and advancing. The brief had been fairly simple: infiltrate the compound, rescue the target, and escort the target to the exfil location. They even provided a decent description of the target. The virtual course populated guards patrolling the 3 entrances. He opted for the path of least resistance with only 2 guards posted.

From the screen, you and Jack could see Frankie take a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing even as he crept towards the two guards. You knew it was because he was willing himself to let go, to let his instincts and muscle memory take over. He was lightning fast as his knife came out and he landed brutal and precise fatal blows to the targets on the screen. In a normal situation, he would hide the bodies but the miracle of technology meant he didn’t have to. It was beautiful in a devastating way to watch Frankie move with such confidence, stealth, and precision. He peered around a hallway, noting the sudden influx of guards and catching a glimpse of red at the end of the hall. The brief had indicated the target would be in red, and it made sense that there would be more guards to ensure the target didn’t run off. He counted five hostiles in the hallway.

Five guards, five bullets.

Once he had downed the hostiles, Frankie stepped through the hallway, catching a glimpse of the target and swore at how cliché the scenario was. The brief had just said the target had last been seen wearing red.

“¡Me están jodiendo! ¿En serio? ¿Una mujer en un vestido rojo?” [They’re fucking with me. Really? A woman in a red dress?]

You could both hear Frankie through the mic link in his headset, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It quickly died as you and Whiskey tensed. The woman in red was a decoy, one that statistically caught the majority of users by surprise.

“Ma’am, are you-” She moved just barely and he saw the glint of where a gun was holstered. Frankie didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he fired a shot to her chest and grumbled to himself before moving on. Normally, it wouldn’t have taken him that long to figure it out.

Whiskey whistled, thoroughly impressed. It wasn’t long after that Frankie found the real target and reached the ‘exfil location’.

“Damn, sweetheart, you sure picked a good one.”

He winked at you, and you grinned back as Frankie pulled off the headset and his kit, then walked over to you.

“Alright, agents! Catfish successfully completed the sim in 15 minutes, that’s your time to beat!”

A chorus of groans echoed in the training room. Whiskey ignored them and clapped Frankie on his shoulder.

“You did good, Flyboy, really set the bar high. Most people get caught up by the decoy.”

Frankie’s chest puffed out a little at the praise, but he was soon shaking his head. Before he could deflect the compliment, Whiskey squeezed his shoulder.

“Feeling hungry, Flyboy? Figured the three of us could grab a quick lunch before Cran steals Bourbon here away from us.”

“Yeah, I’m starving. Didn’t expect you to keep me busy like that.”

Vermouth entered the training room, and you waved him down.

“Hey, Vermouth! Watch the junior agents for us. Whiskey’s just got them running the sim. We’re going to go grab lunch!”

Without waiting for Vermouth’s answer, you grabbed Whiskey and Frankie’s hands, dragging them out of the training room and to the elevator.

“There’s a deli not far from the office we can walk to, and it’s late enough that we should miss the rush.”

Walking arm in arm with both of your boys, you could think of very few things better than right now. You didn’t care that you were in the middle of downtown New York. All that mattered was Whiskey on your right, and Frankie on your left.

Frankie did his best to relax and not let his anxiety and internal struggles get the best of him. Whiskey’s words echoed in his mind: “When it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it.” That was a lot easier said than done, but he was working on it.

You were right, the timing made it so that you had missed the lunch rush. You all ordered your food, Whiskey stepping in to pay with a look that silenced both you and Frankie, then you all went to sit down.

Whiskey practically sprawled in his chair, his legs encroaching your space under the table and Frankie’s space next to him. Frankie sat somewhat stiffly but the more he ate, the more he seemed to relax. You nudge his foot with yours playfully to grab his attention.

“How’s your back? Mr. Ya-no-soy-joven.”

The three of you laughed, and Frankie shook his head with a wide grin on his face.

“I’m not! Gotta leave that shit for the young guys who think they’re invincible.”

“Young guys like Davis?” You shot back, smug on Frankie’s behalf.

“Cocky kid had it coming.”

There was no anger in Frankie’s eyes, only the slightest lilt of mirth in his voice as his gaze met yours, then Whiskey’s. Whiskey leaned forward and barked a laugh while patting Frankie on the back.

“He sure did. The lot of them were in need of a reality check. That’s why Champ specifically likes to have me or Bourbon take at least one pass at our junior agents. After all those hours spent training, they tend to forget that there are much bigger fish out there.”

Conversation flowed easily between them for the rest of their lunch. It reminded Frankie of the prior morning, when they were enjoying breakfast and everything just felt right. It felt as if all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and this time, this time, it didn’t feel fleeting.

Walking to the office was much more comfortable than the walk to the deli had been. You noticed that Frankie was far less stiff under your touch on his arm, even leaning into you occasionally. You parted ways in the elevator. You were heading to the lab to play guinea pig for Cranberry, and your boys were headed upstairs to Whiskey’s office. Frankie seemed hesitant to let you go, and you did your best not to spook him, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Given everything that had happened, things needed to be almost wholly in Frankie’s court, at least until he was more comfortable around you. You had certainly noticed, however, how easily Frankie and Whiskey seemed to allow each other into their respective spaces. The elevator doors closed behind you as you strode down the hall. You were glad that they were comfortable together, though. It had definitely been a concern of yours, considering their respective pasts, but you also thought that there was the potential for them to relate and understand each other better than most.

The rest of the day passed by slowly, and as directed, Frankie remained Jack’s shadow. Jack did his best to keep from laughing when 5pm rolled around and Frankie began to subconsciously bounce his knee. He was scrolling on his phone, lower lip pulled between his teeth and brow furrowed as he tried to focus on whatever was on the screen.

You knocked on Jack’s open office door, raising an eyebrow when you saw Frankie startle at the sound. He wasn’t usually this jumpy. Jack’s gaze met yours, and you could see the amusement and mischief that bubbled in his eyes.

“Hey there, darlin’, you getting ready to head out for the night?”

“Just about, wanted to come see my boys before I do.”

Frankie’s knee stopped bouncing at your words, his phone falling into his lap as he looked up at you. You motion for him to scoot over a bit as you sit down on the couch next to him and rest your chin on your hand.

“We’re still on for dinner tomorrow, right?”

You posed the question to the room in general, even though the three of you knew that it was really directed towards Frankie.

“Uh yeah, I’m-I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow,” Frankie says after clearing his throat and gives you both a shy smile. Leaning over, you take his large hand in your own and give it a squeeze.

“Great!” Standing up from the couch, you smooth your clothes, give Frankie a kiss on his cheek, and then kiss Jack. “I’ll find us a place, and we’ll figure it out more tomorrow. Night, Frankie. Night, Jack.”

A minute later, you’re gone, and suddenly there’s nothing keeping Frankie’s mind off of the time, which is painfully close to 6pm, when Jack said he’d be done with work. The moment the clock turned that final, eternal minute, Frankie sat up straight, attentive, and alert as his eyes watched Whiskey.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching, then relocated next to Frankie on the couch.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything tonight, Flyboy. If you feel like you’re not up for it, we’ll just grab dinner and head home.”

Frankie shook his head and took a steadying breath.

“No, I want this. I-I could really use it, Jack.”

Whiskey nodded, eyes wandering over Frankie as he adjusted on the couch.

“Alright, I use the green, yellow, red system. You need me to stop for whatever reason, call red, and that’s it, no questions, no hard feelings or fuss. I’ll get you cleaned up and help you come down. Sound good?”

Frankie nodded, his tongue suddenly thick and his mouth dry in anticipation. Jack tutted.

“I need you to use your words, Flyboy.”

Frankie swallowed, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I understand, s-sounds good.”

“Good. Now…” Jack pulled a small pad of stationary paper and a pen from the side table. “I want you to write out what you’re ok with and any hard or soft limits you have.”

Frankie nodded, then took the pen and paper and began writing.

[click for better quality]

A blush took hold of Frankie as he handed it back.

“It’s what I can come up with off the top of my head, for tonight at least. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up though.”

Jack’s eyes were dark as he perused the list, looking up from the paper to Frankie, he stood up with a smile.

“C’mon Flyboy… we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

If you want to be added to my taglist just head on over here. If your blog is crossed out, it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Justice

Written for the first prompt of @greenfiredragonfly 's Angstember event: "They Told Me You Were Dead."

(Will reblog when it's posted to AO3)

Warning: Definitely angst, made myself cry a little.

“They told me you were dead.”

Aziraphale took another hesitant step forward, but still Crowley didn’t even look at him.

“I didn’t believe it at first. How could I? I’d seen you just the night before at the bandstand. You were so alive. So angry. Did I ever tell you how breathtaking you are when you’re angry?”

If anything, the scrawny figure huddled in on himself and turned farther away.

“You wanted me to run away with you. To the stars. I sad no. I—I never wanted anything more in my life, but… I said no.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “The next morning, I told Gabriel everything.”

The Archangel had clapped him on the shoulder. Thanked him for coming clean. Promised that things would start looking up soon.

He opened his eyes again and for a moment Crowley was nothing but a pale blur, a mix of shadows and moonlight.

“I wasn’t going to fight.” One step forward, the scuff of his foot echoing off stone walls. “You know me. I hate violence, hate killing, hate—”

The next step sent a pebble skittering across the floor. Crowley flinched, pressing his hands to matted hair. Aziraphale froze, crouching a little more than an arm’s length away.

“Then I got the message. One of Michael’s spies had… had seen you in Hell. Being taken to…” He swallowed, pressing his fist to his mouth. “They brought back what was left of your glasses.”

At the word, Crowley shifted, not quite turning towards him. Shafts of moonlight danced across protruding ribs, highlighting deep festering wounds.

“I fought after that. Harder than I’ve ever fought before. Oh, Crowley. You should have seen… demons falling before my blade, like… like wheat before a…” He paused to let the echo of the screams die down again. Just enough to hear himself think.

“I expected it would make me… sad. Torn up by what I did. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it? Gazing into the abyss and all that? But there was none of that, no regret, only…” In his mind’s eye, another Lord of Hell dropped, a smoking ruin on the concrete floor. “Justice.”

Crowley shifted, folding himself into a new position. Aziraphale had often joked that he had liquid legs, no hip bones, but he could see them now, sharp and pointed, pale skin stretched over them like a drum.

“In the end I had… Beelzebub… Dagon… Princes and Kings of Hell. They demanded a trial before their execution. I asked if they gave you the same.” For the first time, Aziraphale smiled. “That’s when I learned the truth.”

Outside the window, the clouds parted, revealing a floor covered with glittering holy sigils.

“I needed a new plan after that. I’ve never been good at clever plans, not like you. But it turns out Archangels fall to a holy blade as easily as demon lords.”

Not just Archangels. Every time Aziraphale looked at his hands, he found blood caked into the nail beds. They would never be clean again.

But justice, at last, had been served.

“They didn’t know what to do with me, after things settled down. Didn’t know if I was a hero or a monster, if I should be rewarded or punished. But I only wanted one thing, and that… that made it simple.”

As the moon grew shrouded once more, Aziraphale crept forward, reaching out, barely brushing a lock of hair, red just visible below all the dirt. Crowley flinched again, but he also turned, golden eyes sightlessly searching.

“Angel?”

“Yes!” Choking back a sob, he threw his arms wide. “Yes, it’s me.”

The gaunt, trembling figure unfolded, reaching out fingers that were little more than twisted sticks, carefully tracing the angel’s cheek.

“A… Aziraphale?”

“Yes.” Hardly more than a breath.

Crowley collapsed again, a slow-motion folding of gangling limbs, this time coming to rest against the angel’s chest.

“You… you came?”

“I did.” Aziraphale gently wrapped Crowley in his arms. Rocking him, holding him close. Stroking his hair. Kissing his cheek and marveling to find that anything in Creation could still be so soft, so warm. “I came for you.”

Behind them, the cell door shut, plunging them into darkness again.

“And oh, my dear fellow.” He hardly even heard the lock click into place, so entranced was he by the perfect being in his arms. “I’ll never leave you again.”

#good omens prime #good omens fanfic #good omens angst #hurt crowley #bamf aziraphale #angstember2021 #prompt challenge #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #angst #whump #hurt comfort #but like really big on the hurt #my writing

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expectingtofly · 4 years

Text

Sign Here

AU-Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Dean is a UPS Driver, Cas and Dean are idiots, Gabe is trying to help

4k (oops this fic got long)

also posted on ao3

written for Day 2 of @starrynightdeancas 2k Followers Celebration <3 <3

Castiel knelt on the grass to pull up some stubborn weeds in the garden lining the front of his newly-bought house. The previous inhabitants had left behind a tangled mess of rose bushes and weeds, and after a week of unpacking boxes, he was happy to finally have time to spend outside. One of the perks of moving from an apartment to a small bungalow—finally space for a garden. Although, he was sure the inside of his house would soon become just as packed with plants as his apartment had been.

Engrossed as he was in weeding and planning what flowers he would plant to expand the garden, he didn’t hear someone approach until a shadow fell over the dirt.

Startling, he looked up to see a man standing on the walkway next to him. “What—oh.” By the man’s clothes—brown collared shirt and shorts—and the package he was holding, Castiel realized he was a UPS delivery driver. “Hello.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the driver said, fighting back a smile.

Castiel stood, brushing dirt off his hands. “It’s alright.”

The man held out a package. “I was gonna deliver this to your front door, unless you want to take it now.”

“Yes, thank you.” Taking it, Castiel looked down at the label, trying to remember what he had ordered. Something for his kitchen, probably.

“Did you just move in?” the UPS driver asked. His eyes were very green, a spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Freckles everywhere, Castiel realized, seeing the way they lightly spotted his bare arms. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Realizing he was staring, Castiel reddened, glanced down at the package in his hands. “Uh, yes, I did. Last week.”

“Welcome to Bloomfield, then.” He nodded at the rose bushes. “Nice garden you got here.”

“You don’t have to lie, it’s a mess.” The driver laughed and Castiel smiled a little. “It’s not much now. Hopefully I’ll be able to fix it up soon.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, see how things develop.” The man took a step back and gestured to the UPS truck on the street. “I’ve got other packages to deliver. Nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Castiel said, watching him leave. Kneeling down to continue yanking out the prickly weeds, he smiled. It was nice to meet someone friendly; he hadn’t gotten to meet many people yet with the chaos of moving in. Of course, he thought, glancing back at the UPS truck as it rumbled down the street, it didn’t hurt that the driver was extremely attractive as well.

***

The next week, Castiel was hanging up art prints in his living room when he heard the doorbell ring. Assuming it was for a package he’d ordered, he took his time getting to the door, straightening the print on the wall before weaving through the cardboard boxes he still hadn’t unpacked.

When he opened the front door, however, he was surprised to see the green-eyed UPS driver standing on his porch holding the package.

The man’s face brightened. “Hi. Got a delivery for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, opening the door wider. “I didn’t realize you were waiting. I thought you delivery drivers just dropped off the package and disappeared.”

The UPS driver laughed. Such a nice laugh, Castiel thought. “Right, yeah, that’s what we normally do. But, uh, we have a new policy. Have to get a signature for packages.” He handed over a clipboard and pen, pointing to the line at the bottom of the page. "Just sign here."

“Oh. Alright.” Castiel took the clipboard and signed his name. When he handed it back, he saw the man glance at the signature. “Castiel,” he supplied.

“Cool name. I’m Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean.” Having been occupied all week with moving in and subsequently starved for conversation, he added, “You’re one of the first people I’ve met so far. The other being a cashier at that grocery store down the street.”

“Still getting settled in?”

“Yes. It’s taking much longer than I anticipated. I hate unpacking. It never seems to end.”

“Yeah, moving’s a bitch. You liking the place so far, though?”

Castiel nodded. “I do. Much improved from the apartment where I was living before.”

“God, I bet. I share an apartment with my brother—don’t get me wrong, I like living with him, but our landlord’s an asshole.” He gestured to the right. “Garden’s looking great.”

“Thank you. I just bought petunias, but I haven’t had a chance to plant them.” He pointed at the small brown box Dean was still holding. “That should be new gardening gloves in there.”

“Oh, right, your package.” Dean’s face looked a little red as he handed the box over. “Um, well, I should be on my way. See ya.” He stepped off the porch with a wave and Castiel waved back before going inside.

As he unpacked his belongings, he realized filling a house was harder than he’d thought. There were so many household items he was missing. Perhaps a trip to the store would be faster, but ordering online was easier—or so he told himself as he opened his laptop.

I’m only trying to save myself time, he reasoned, though inwardly he might have been hoping Dean would deliver the package.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he found himself growing more impatient over the next few days. Then, one afternoon as he organized his silverware drawer, he heard the doorbell ring. He practically ran to the front door, then paused and steadied himself before opening it, waiting a few seconds so it wouldn’t seem like he’d rushed over.

It might not even be Dean, he chastised himself as he unlocked the door.

Dean smiled at him when he swung the door wide.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, trying to sound casual and hide his smile.

“Hi.” He looked to be about Castiel’s age. What were the chances that someone this attractive was single? “Got another package. A heavy one this time.”

Pushing away those thoughts, Castiel took it from him and placed it inside on the floor. “Thank you. Don’t I have to sign something?”

“Uh, shit, yeah.” Dean handed over the clipboard and pen, and as Castiel signed, he nodded at the package. “Something else for the garden?”

Castiel shook his head, handing back the clipboard. “A mixer. I thought maybe I could try my hand at baking. My mom sent me a few of her recipes.”

Dean’s eyes brightened. “You ever want inspiration, there’s a diner, other side of town, a few blocks from where I live, that makes the best pie. Makes them fresh every morning.”

“I’ll have to go sometime.” He stopped short of saying that maybe he’d see Dean there, not wanting to sound too excited at the prospect.

Maybe I should order more things for the kitchen, he thought, shutting the door after saying goodbye to Dean. Or a new bath mat, and curtains, maybe. The boxes he had yet to unpack scolded him by their presence, but he ignored them. If receiving new items meant talking to a friendly face, who could blame him?

***

“You sure get a lot of packages,” Dean remarked the next week when Castiel opened the door.

Castiel reddened. “Turns out it’s hard to fill a whole house.”

“I’m not complaining, you’re the one giving me a job to do.” Dean handed over the package. “What’s it this week?”

“A watering can.”

“You really like to garden, don’t you?” Dean gestured to the flowers and plants lining the front of the house. “I mean, you’ve added a lot since moving in.”

“Yes, well, I find it’s a wonderful way to wind down after work.”

Dean nodded. “I get that. Any spare time I have, I work on my car.”

Castiel glanced at the UPS truck, because he hadn’t really considered Dean driving anything else. His heart beat a little faster at the thought of running into Dean somewhere else, at the diner, at the grocery store. He wondered how Dean dressed when he wasn’t in his uniform, what else he did in his free time.

Dean followed his gaze to the street and gestured to the UPS truck. “This thing, it’s crap. No AC, no radio. What do you drive?” He glanced at Castiel’s driveway. “That a Lincoln Continental? 78? 77?”

Castiel caught the derisive tone in his voice. “78. And I like it,” he added defensively.

Dean smiled, raising his hands. “Eye of the beholder, I guess. You ever need work done on it, let me know, I can help.” His eyes widened a little at his own words. “I mean, you don’t need to, I just meant, if you want. I’m good at that stuff.”

“Thank you, Dean. I appreciate the offer.” Inwardly, he cursed his car for being so reliable. Maybe the engine light would turn on and he could take him up on his offer. Or maybe Dean was only being friendly and didn’t really mean it.

When Dean headed back to his truck and Castiel shut the door, he realized Dean hadn’t asked him to sign anything. Maybe he’d only forgotten.

***

“Gotten acquainted with the locals?” Gabriel asked a few nights later when he called to see how Castiel was settling in.

“I talked with one of my neighbors yesterday. Arla. She’s eighty-two and owns three cats.” Leaning against the kitchen counter, Castiel glanced at the mixer. “And, uh, I did meet someone else. Someone my age, not a neighbor. Dean.”

“Met someone? Like went on a date with—”

“No, he works for the UPS, he’s been delivering my packages.” He was interrupted by Gabriel laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“So instead of going out and meeting real people, you’re making friends with the delivery guy.”

“Dean is real,” Castiel protested. “He’s very kind and friendly. And helpful. He’s told me about places to check out in town and complimented my garden—”

“Damn, Cas, sounds like you really like this guy.”

“No, he’s just a nice person,” Castiel insisted. By Gabriel’s laughter, he knew he wasn’t being believable. “Alright, fine. I enjoy talking to him.” He wasn’t going to tell Gabriel that seeing Dean was becoming his favorite part of the week.

“He single?”

“Um. Yes.” He may or may not have asked Arla if she knew Dean, and may or may not have learned that she couldn’t believe “a charming young man like him is still single.” Oh, and that if she were a younger woman, she would be ordering packages left and right to flirt with him when he delivered. Castiel did not appreciate that last part, even if Arla had no idea how close to the truth she’d struck. I’m not flirting, he argued inwardly.

“Well, are you going to make a move or not?” When Castiel didn’t respond right away, Gabriel added, “Right, I forgot who I’m talking to.”

“I might,” Castiel protested. “But we only just met. And I don’t even know if he likes me. He’s only doing his job.”

“May as well ask him out, see what he says.”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t want to rush into anything. I only just moved here.”

“Well, you snooze, you lose, Cas. Don’t miss out on something just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!”

I’m not scared, he repeated to himself when he said goodbye and hung up the phone. He was being reasonable. But maybe Gabriel was right. Dean had to be somewhat interested—delivery guys didn’t just stick around to talk after delivering a package. Maybe he’d test the waters, try to see if Dean was truly interested or just being friendly.

***

A few days later, he was watering his petunias when Dean got out of his truck with another package.

“Hey, Cas!” he called.

“Hello, Dean.” Setting down his water can, he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Thank you,” he said, taking the narrow box from Dean. Before he lost his courage, he spoke up, “I, um, made a pie this morning.” Whether he’d made it specifically to offer to Dean was something he’d never admit to anyone, much less himself. “I was wondering if you wanted a slice? You can tell me if it’s good or not.”

Dean broke into a grin. “Shit, Cas, really? Yeah, thanks.”

“Wait here, I’ll grab it.”

When he returned to the doorway with a paper plate covered in foil, he caught Dean looking inside his house.

“It’s still a mess in here,” Castiel said, handing the plate over. “I’ve been kinda busy with work.”

“No, yeah, totally, no judgement.” He peeled back the foil and inhaled. “Fuck, I’m starving. This looks amazing.” Picking up the slice, he took a bite. “Mmm,” he said, rolling his eyes back.

“Good?” Castiel asked, amused.

“So good,” Dean said, his voice muffled. He swallowed. “You’re a natural.”

“Thank you. I have more, if you’d like it.”

“Don’t tempt me. Yes.”

Grinning, Castiel went back inside and packaged up two more slices, brought them to Dean.

“You’re an angel,” Dean said. “Seriously.” He juggled the plates in his hands. “So, where do you work?”

Castiel leaned on the doorway. “I work here. I’m an editor. I do freelance work.”

“Dude, that’s cool. Nice that you get to work from home.” Looking down at his watch, he swore quietly. “Sorry, I need to keep moving. I’ve got a lot of deliveries today.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, disappointed, straightening. “Alright. Sorry for keeping you so long.”

“No problem, this was a nice break.” He stepped off the walkway. “Thanks for the pie.”

“You’re welcome.” Ask him for his number. Ask him if he would like to go out. But he kept quiet and watched Dean cross the yard back to his truck.

***

That night, Castiel ordered a set of bookends shaped like trees. He checked his email the next few days, tracking the package. On the day it was to be delivered, he had to run errands and got stuck in traffic. When he pulled into his driveway, he saw a package sitting on the front porch. Shit. He’d missed Dean.

Grabbing his bag of groceries, he walked over and picked up the package with his free hand. Then he noticed a note taped to the top.

Sorry I missed you, it read. The pie was incredible.

Castiel smiled.

***

Sunlight streamed through his living room windows as Castiel organized his books on his bookshelves. He was just pushing his new bookends into place when the doorbell rang. Frowning, he went to the front door and looked out through the window. Dean?

“Hello, Dean,” he said, opening the door. “I wasn’t expecting a package today.”

“Oh, really?” Dean looked like he was fighting back a smile as he turned around the cardboard box in his hands. Bold black letters were written across the front: SAY HI TO DEAN FOR ME.

Castiel’s eyes widened and he snatched the box out of Dean’s hands. “What? I don’t know how—” He scanned the box for the label. Gabriel, he realized. “It’s my brother,” he explained. “I was telling him about you, he must’ve sent me this to embarrass me, I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s smile won out. “No, it’s fine, that’s kinda hilarious.” He shifted his stance, the wooden porch boards creaking. “You, uh, you told him about me?”

Castiel’s head snapped up from glaring at Gabe’s name on the return label. “Um, yes,” he faltered. “Well, I was just telling him that I met someone, and it’s been nice to, uh, uh, have a friend.”

Friend? He hardly knew Dean, for fuck’s sake. For all he knew, he was just a random person Dean spoke to occasionally on his route, no more important than Arla or any of the other people he delivered to.

But Dean smiled. “Yeah, uh, me too. I mean, I like meeting people on my route, just makes the day a lot better when I get to stop and talk.” He reddened a little and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at his boots.

“I hope I don’t keep you from your other deliveries,” Castiel said.

Dean waved his hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I get the other ones done fast so I can spend more time here.” He cut himself off and reddened even further, as if realizing what he was admitting.

So, Dean was deliberately trying to see him, talk to him. Castiel felt his face heat up as well. “I’m sure delivering packages all day can be very boring,” he offered.

Dean nodded quickly. “Yeah, ya know, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Besides, I’m just trying to make sure this neighborhood’s newest resident is doing okay.” He grinned. “Think of me as the welcome committee.”

“Well, I appreciate it. Really.”

Dean nodded again, and they stood there awkwardly for a few long moments. Castiel glanced back down at the box, Gabe’s words ringing in his head. Ask him out, see what he says.

“I’ll get on my way,” Dean said, stepping back. He smiled a little. “Tell your brother I said hi.”

“I will.” Maybe he should just blurt it out. Dean had said he enjoyed stopping by here. But maybe he only meant that in a friendly way. Castiel had called him a friend, after all. He chickened out. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“You too.” Dean walked away and Castiel glared down at the box.

“Not helpful,” he told it.

***

“Gabe, I hate you.”

“What? I was just trying to spark conversation between you two—”

“I hate you. I can hold a conversation well enough myself, thank you very much. You only made things awkward.” He paused before adding, “Dean says hi, by the way.”

Gabriel cheered and Castiel pulled his phone away from his ear. “So it worked? You asked him out?”

“Um...” Castiel pulled at a rip on his gardening jeans. “No.”

“Cassie!” Gabriel whined. “I did all that work for nothing? What’s the holdup? Ask him out.”

Castiel groaned. “I will. Eventually. But, I mean, can he even say yes? He’s on the job—”

“Cas, he’s already taking time out of his workday to talk to you. Pretty sure he’ll say yes, even if he’s working. Stop making excuses.”

“Fine. I’ll ask him.” He only said it to get Gabriel off his back, but his palms grew sweaty even thinking about it.

“You better. Keep me updated.”

“Only if you never pull a prank like that again.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

***

Seated at his desk, Castiel frowned at an awkwardly worded sentence that refused to form itself into any coherency. Was the past tense of lie lay or laid? Why couldn’t he ever remember?

The doorbell ringing drew his attention and, grateful for the break, he saved the document he was editing and got up. Going to the front door, he wondered if he had any left-over pie to give Dean and drag out their time together in the doorway.

Opening the door, he began to say hello, then paused. A UPS delivery man was walking away to his truck, a package at Castiel’s feet on his front porch.

“Wait!” Castiel called, stepping outside. The man turned—not Dean. Someone he’d never seen before. “Who the hell are you?”

The man looked startled. “I, uh, I’m a delivery—”

“No, sorry.” Castiel flushed. “Where’s Dean?”

“Dean?” The man frowned. “I don’t know who that is. We all got new routes a few days ago. He must be on another route now.”

Castiel’s heart sank. “Oh.” Another route? He looked down at the package. “Don’t I have to sign something?”

“No, you’re all good. We don’t require signatures.” The man continued to his truck and Castiel picked up the package. A lattice pastry roller to make more intricate pie crusts. He’d thought Dean might appreciate the effort.

Shutting the door, he stood in the foyer for a moment. So, Dean was gone. Why hadn’t he ever asked for Dean’s number? He’d had plenty of opportunities.

It’s a small town, he reasoned. I’ll see him again, I have to. He knew Dean lived on the other side of town, maybe if he drove around there, kept an eye out—

Alright, stop, he told himself. He was starting to sound crazy. He dropped the package off on the kitchen table. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

***

The next day, Castiel was seated at his desk, sending an email to a client, when the doorbell rang.

His pulse sped up, and instinctively he rose from his chair. Then he remembered that Dean didn’t deliver to his house anymore. Sighing, he sat back down.

He’d been trying not to think of it, but every other item in his house—the mixer, the bookends, the pastry roller—only reminded him of Dean and brought down his mood.

Why didn’t I take Gabe’s advice? he bemoaned inwardly. That was a thought he never thought he’d have, but it looked like Gabe had been right. He’d lost his chance.

Staring at his computer screen, he tried to focus on his work, but the distraction had ruined his focus. At least I’ll save money, he reasoned ruefully, now that he had no excuse for making random purchases.

The doorbell rang again and he lifted his head, frowning. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember ordering anything. Maybe it was Arla, coming over to say hello.

Rising, he went to the front door and tried to remember the name of that diner Dean had told him about. Maybe he’d stake out there on a weekend, see if Dean showed up. Or was that creepy?

Definitely creepy, he decided with a sigh, opening the door. Then he froze.

“Dean?”

Standing on his front porch—this time in jeans and a black t-shirt, holding a potted fern—was Dean. He smiled hesitantly, almost nervously. “Hi, Cas.”

“What are you doing here?” Castiel looked at the street, but of course the familiar UPS truck wasn’t there. In its place was a sleek, black car.

“My route changed and I, uh, never got to say bye. So I thought I’d just come over. Sorry if that’s weird—”

“No, I’m happy to see you. Just surprised. I thought I’d never…”

Dean grinned. “Scared you’d lost me forever?”

Castiel smiled. “Yeah, a bit,” he admitted.

“I, um, I brought you this.” He held out the plant, laughed nervously. “I felt weird coming over without anything to deliver.”

“Thank you. It’s lovely.” Taking the plant, he stroked the leaves. “I know exactly where to put it.” His heart pounded as he realized now was his chance. He had to take it.

He started to ask for Dean’s number, but Dean started talking too, and they both stopped, laughing. “You first,” Castiel said.

“Um, well.” Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was thinking, would you maybe want to hang out somewhere other than your doorway? I can show you around town.” He gestured to his car. “Take you for a spin in Baby.”

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “I would love that.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve been… I’ve been meaning to ask you out, or ask for your number. I just never worked up the courage.”

Dean grinned. “Am I really that intimidating?”

Castiel laughed. “No. Not at all. You’re quite the opposite.” He gestured inside. “Would you, uh, would you like to come inside?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Castiel started to open the door wider, then paused. “I have a question. You never did need my signature, did you? For the packages?”

Dean frowned, then realization seemed to hit him and his face reddened. “Yeah, uh. No. But I figured it was a surefire way to get your name and talk to you.”

“Is that a trick you use often?”

“Nope, you were the first.” He grinned, eyes suddenly teasing. "Did you really need everything you were ordering, or were all the packages just an excuse to see me?"

Now was Castiel's time to blush. "I did need what I ordered!" he protested. "Well, some things. But mainly... I just wanted to talk to you."

“Well, it worked.”

“Yes.” He stepped back for Dean to come inside his home and smiled at him. “And I’m very glad it did."

Tag List:

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#dailydestieldelights #congrats sophie on 2k!#thanks for organizing this lil challenge #ive had this wip for ages now #and im happy i finally got the push to finish it #AU #cas and dean need to use their words #meet cute #fluff #cas likes to garden #gabe is an annoying brother #expectingtofly writes

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justapoet · 3 years

Note

Hi mary! Can I request for tarlos: 37 "How weird is it that I just realized I want to marry you?" thank you in advance! xx

Sara!! Thank you so much for sending this ask! I really hope you like it :)

Prompt list: "How weird is it that I just realized I want to marry you?"

Send me a prompt!

2.2k | read it on Ao3

let's have conversations in the dark

Time seems to stand still whenever you need it to rush, and TK had learned it from a young age. The clocks seem to play a trick and decide not to move the way they're supposed to, just to prove whoever was staring that, even if time is merely a human concept, it still holds power over their existence.

It's something he had learned to deal with, only because he really needed to. Since he was a kid, his father would end up in a hospital, and he would be in the waiting room, staring at the clocks and hoping for the moment he would look back and see that it wasn't too bad to wait in there.

Time would pretend not to exist while TK would ask anyone above their heads to bring his father back home.

And, yet as a kid, TK would stare at the clocks and count the seconds until the time he knew both his mother and father would leave work. He would sit by the kitchen counter with his dinner and stare at the pointers, his leg bouncing and his heart racing, expecting the minute they would walk in through the door and look at his new "super-awesome" dinosaur pajama.

Time would go too fast until they would say it was time for him to sleep, and the nights would go too slow just for him to see that none of them were home by the morning.

Growing up, TK would try to fool the clocks, pretending he was having fun when he needed time to go faster and lying about how boring things were whenever he wanted the minutes to freeze for a few hours. It was silly, he could see, but also endearing ― according to Enzo.

He would slowly learn how to deal with it, though, not playing tricks on time anymore ― he would take a deep breath and just accept things as they were, hoping that the waiting would turn out to have a happy ending. TK would go out for a walk, watch a movie or a random show, or start some new book he had left on his shelf for far too long.

He would make peace with time until the moment he began to wish that time didn't even exist at all.

It was funny when he looked back to see how much things changed in a couple of years. The nights he would wish that never came so he could stay awake a bit more would become his only refugee and shelter from his parents' fights or absence, and the hours he spent crying would be just known for him and the walls. The sunny days he loved so deeply would become torture, people asking why he didn't go out or acted like a typical teenager, enjoying life and the young years.

And when he couldn't even remember how the days passed by, TK would wish the clocks to stop moving. Just for a bit ― just so he could rest. Just so he didn't have to cry for one more night.

It was weird just how that time wasn't a long time ago. And even more when, sometimes, those thoughts would take up TK's mind, hours, and seconds.

He was getting better, though, in both time and misery management. Sure, the clocks still stopped whenever he needed or desperately wanted it to go faster and rush whenever he wanted more time, but he was getting better at dealing with his agony and deception.

Especially when, after a shift from hell, even if it was only a twelve-hour one, TK got to get home to Carlos.

It was a Friday, and the both of them had the weekend off. Although they had planned to take a trip to Marble Falls, less than an hour from Austin, so they could relax and have some time to enjoy each other's company, Carlos getting sick had terminated that they wouldn't get too far out of the house.

Carlos got pretty upset over it, apologizing and saying that he didn't mean to ruin their plans ― and TK had only hugged Carlos close to his chest, trying to take the groundless guilt out of the man's mind. He dismissed every apology, saying that the only thing that mattered was that Carlos would get better so they could plan their trip again.

It had happened on a Wednesday, and TK had taken Thursday off after they had to take a ride to the ER within the late hours of the night ― or early ones in the day, for that matter. Carlos was running out of air and vomiting everything he didn't have in his stomach, and his fever was high enough for TK to cry when waiting for the doctor ― and, when she came, he couldn't get himself to pay attention as he should have.

His boyfriend was whimpering, crying, and asking for them to go home, and TK wasn't strong as he needed to be at that moment. The clocks wouldn't tick by, and Carlos would ask how long they've been there every five minutes, and TK would only wish it was nothing, and he only needed some fluids and regular medication.

TK knew it wasn't too serious ― he was experienced enough to know that ― but seeing Carlos in pain was a hell-sent experience. He would get withdrawn and make himself look small, silently begging for it to stop and searching for any contact TK could offer. TK would offer him a smile, some comfort words, and would caress his sweaty, messy curls just to get a shadow-ish grin in response.

It was worthy, though.

When Carlos got discharged, a few hours after he was admitted, TK messaged Grace so she could talk to Tommy and Judd ― who would tell the rest of the team ―, and Andrea and Gabriel, letting them know that he was okay. Both Grace and Carlos' mother had offered to make them some soup, and TK knew better than decline any offer, sending a thumbs up and a heart.

Against his will, he had gone to work Friday morning, his heart getting lighter when Grace knocked on their door minutes before he had to go. Carlos was still sleeping, curled upon himself, and TK pressed a kiss to his forehead before hugging Grace tight and leaving to the fire station.

And no matter how much he trusted Grace or how deeply he loved his job, he had spent the whole shift staring at some clock whenever he could. He wanted to go home, ask how Carlos was doing, and then let the other man curl himself against his side to feel some sense of protection ― he just wanted to see his boyfriend again and make sure he was there.

So, TK had taken a shower at the station before accepting Judd's ride to get Grace and check on Carlos, thanking God when he waited in the car, and Grace was already by the door. He loved them both, he really did ― but he didn't want to be cordial at the moment.

TK walked up the stairs silently, thanking God that their room was further in the hallway than it was in the condo they'd lost to the fire. His bag and shoes were left by the locked door, and he had thrown his hoodie somewhere in the living room.

He stepped lightly inside their bedroom, smiling fondly at the sight of Carlos lying on his back with one of his arms thrown over his face and the other in the vacant space that belongs to TK. His chest was rising and falling more smoothly than it was on the two previous days, and the paramedic couldn't help but sigh in relief at that.

Not wanting to wake his boyfriend up, TK made his way to their bathroom to take his clothes off, except for his boxers, and brush his teeth, stretching his back and letting the day settle behind him. Knowing he wouldn't fall asleep so easily ― worrying was inevitable ― TK walked to the bookshelf they had in their bedroom, taking one of the books he had bought and had yet to read it.

Then, he took his steps to their bed, where Carlos had already moved his arm from, and sat with his back pressed against the headboard, taking one of the blankets and covering his legs. He smiled at the man beside him before making himself comfortable and opening the first pages of the book, sighing in relief to be home.

TK didn't make it to the third page when Carlos groaned and turned his body, stretching his arm and loosening it to fall over the paramedic's lap and the book he was reading. TK blinked in surprise, turning to Carlos and then chuckling softly, his heart swelling with how much he loved that moment.

"Miss'd 'ou," Carlos grumbled, getting closer to TK and making him slip down a little so his boyfriend could hug his waist, at least. The paramedic closed the book, then, putting it over the bedside table, and turned lowered his eyes again, watching Carlos' sleepy face.

"I missed you, too, babe," TK said. "How are you feeling?"

It took Carlos a bit to process the question, his fogged brain still too deep in unconsciousness. When he did, he snuggled even closer, his head almost placed over TK's stomach and his arm not hugging him but still thrown over his frame.

"I'm good," Carlos said. "I missed..." he stopped, almost drifting to sleep again. TK thought he would, but then he took another breath, leaning closer to TK's fingers on his hair. "You," the man completed, and TK smiled fondly.

"Me too, love," TK said. "Are you comfortable like this?"

"Uh-hu," Carlos answered and then frowned. TK watched, his fingers scratching his boyfriend's nape. "Are you― I am not― the door," the man grumbled, and TK noticed he wasn't in their room anymore but somewhere in his sleep-fogged mind.

"What?" TK asked anyway. Carlos groaned, and TK thought he would pull away, but he seemed to think twice and froze in place.

"Did you get the... the rings?" Carlos mumbled, and TK frowned with a smile.

"The rings, sweetheart?" he asked, moving down a bit each second to be lying down like Carlos. His neck would be thankful in the following morning.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed, and TK was more than sure that he didn't know what he was agreeing to.

"Which ones?" TK asked again, watching as Carlos' lips parted so he could breathe better between each sentence.

"The... Uh," Carlos mumbled, now against TK's chest. "Saturn," he completed, and TK held back a chuckle that could wake him up. Instead, he passed his arm around Carlos, hugging him close, and took another of the blankets to cover his boyfriend.

"Saturn? I don't think I have them, love," TK said, an inch of supposed sadness in his voice. When he thought Carlos had fallen asleep once more, his boyfriend snuggled even closer.

"'ts okay," Carlos said. "Love you," he mumbled, and TK's breath got caught in his throat as if it was the first time he had heard Carlos say that he loved him.

He looked down at the man cuddled around him, and his mind settled with the peace he hadn't felt in forever. Time, well-known for its games and tricks, seemed to realize just how wide, gigantic, and precious that moment was, stopping in its tracks and lingering in the air just like those promises TK never dared to break apart.

Suddenly, there was silence and a quiet realization of the loudest of TK's feelings ― suddenly, there was just who they were, in all their greatness and insignificance, and it was enough.

It was enough, and it was real. Unlike the concepts of life, death, time, it was real, tangible, there, and theirs. Unlike the unknown presence of an unexistent villain, the clocks seemed to realize that there was something there that no one could ever put in words. Unlike all the demons, and the waiting rooms, and the sleepless nights and the feeling they hold, there was peace.

And there was a certainty TK could never see coming.

So, he smiled because there was nothing else to summarize what he was feeling.

"How weird is it that I just realized I want to marry you?" he whispered to the silence, Carlos' breaths slow and steady, indicating how he was already deep in his sleep. TK sighed, staring at the man he loved as if he was the most precious thing to be something on Earth, and lifted his head to press a kiss to the messy, brown curls.

He stretched his other arm, then, and took Carlos' hand in his, watching as, unconsciously, his boyfriend's fingers tangled around his own, a sigh escaping from his parted lips.

"I love you," TK confessed, his voice echoing in the room. "And I'll get the rings, too. Soon," he said again, his heart thundering in his chest with how sweet and sure the words sounded out of his lips. Carlos didn't move, and TK closed his eyes so he could join his lover in his sleep. "Promise."

And time didn't dare to rush their beating hearts, lulling them to sleep in peaceful silence and a glowing ticking of frozen clocks.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #prompt fic #my fic #prompts #my writing #my fics

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concernedbrownbread · 3 years

Text

Garbage Boy

For @adrienaugust Day 5: Cheese

In which Adrien and Plagg work at a Fromagerie, like they dreamed of in Wishmaker. But it's been years since Hawkmoth's defeat, and they're just trying to get by.

Words: 1123

Warning: I know nothing of cheese. Also, heavily inspired by Ratatoullie. Don't worry, this is fluff, the angst is in the background.

Read here or under the cut

---

“You know,” Plagg drawled, “When I said I wanted to work at a Fromagerie, this isn’t what I meant, garbage boy.”

“I’m just cleaning, not collecting garbage.” Adrien sighed, leaning against the mop, “And I know Plagg. But we can’t exactly buy a Fromagerie with no money to our name.”

“What a statement, huh.”

Adrien hummed in agreement. Three years after Hawkmoth’s defeat - after his reveal as Gabriel Agreste - and Adrien had used up pretty much any money that he’d managed to salvage after the company went bankrupt. His Dad tried to help, of course, but after Gabriel, the Gorilla had a hard time finding work too.

So, here was Adrien Agreste, once a model, now a full-time garbage boy. He wasn’t even Chat Noir part time anymore.

Technically, Plagg wasn’t even supposed to be here. But - well, they may have just made a run for it, after everything, and he certainly wasn’t looking back anymore than Plagg was. He felt guilty sometimes, about turning his back on Ladybug after the whole Hawkmoth ordeal, but she asked him to give up the one thing he had left - Plagg. So it really was just running from there.

“You’re moping.”

“Mopping,” Adrien corrected, gesturing to his mop.

“Har, har. But I can hear you think, kit.”

“Sorry.”

Plagg gave him a stern look, “Don’t be. What were you even thinking of?”

“The past,” he hesitated, “And the present. This isn’t what I imagined for us.”

They looked around the room, filled with cheese they couldn’t touch, finishing up the last bit of cleaning before opening hour. It was the biggest, best Fromagerie in Paris, and he’d only really gotten in thanks to Chloe pulling strings.

“Whatever kit. I like it. Smelling cheese all day!”

“I can’t even afford you camembert anymore,” Adrien pointed out.

Plagg shrugged, “Cheese is cheese. American isn’t so bad!”

To prove his point, he pulled out a square slice of yellow from Adrien’s pocket, pulling off the plastic and folding it into his mouth.

“See? It’s fine.”

With great amusement, Adrien watched Plagg gag.

“Still getting used to the … non-cheese aspects of it.”

Adrien was about to promise Plagg some camembert using his first paycheck - for old time’s sake - when the door burst open.

“You!” Alfredo, the store owner, said, “Who’re you?”

“Um … I clean?”

“Fine, whatever, listen,” Alfredo grabbed Adrien by the shoulders, ignoring his flinch, “Do you know cheese?”

“I - I guess?”

“Can you sell them?”

“Yes?”

“The other girl isn’t coming in today - what’s her name?” Alfredo clicked his finger, “Charlotte - “

“Colette - “

“Her. I need you to fill in. Very important people are coming in today.”

Adrien stammered, “S - sir, I don’t think - “

The bell on the door dinged, signifying customers. Alfredo’s eyes widened, “No time, no time. Just - just get out there.”

He grabbed Adrien’s mop, put him in an apron and pushed him out into the front. He froze, like a cat caught in car lights.

“Hm,” the man hummed, “You are?”

“Uh - Adrien? Adrien Agreste.”

The man’s beady eyes widened momentarily, face twitching into something incomprehensible before it settled back into an impassive stare.

“Gabriel Agreste’s son, working in a Fromagerie. Why I never.”

“You never … what?”

“Hm,” the man gave him a onceover, “My name is Antoine. I’m a food critic and it has come to my attention that the credibility of this shop is years out of date. So. I’m here to inquire about your cheese.”

A food what now?

Adrien didn’t know the first thing about cheese, except for the fact that Plagg liked it. What was he supposed to -

“Follow my lead,” Plagg hissed from beside Adrien’s ear.

After Hawkmoth, Adrien had grown out his hair to try and feel closer to Chat Noir. It only served to make people throw more slurs at him on the street, but for once - well, he was glad. He was never cutting it again.

“Well,” Adrien said, repeating Plagg’s words, “If you’d come right this way.”

Adrien was going to cry. Or maybe laugh. Or maybe -

“Garbage boy!”

“I’m a cleaner actually - “

Alfredo waved his hand dismissively, “I must say, I’m impressed!” he leaned in, “Was any of what you said true?”

“Most of it,” Plagg whispered, which Adrien repeated.

Alfredo laughed, “You’re off cleaning duty, garbage boy. From now on, you can work the front. Heavens know Catherine needs to know the meaning of hard work - “

“Charlotte - nevermind.”

Adrien watched Alfredo walk away, utterly bemused.

“This was a weird day.”

“We’re going places, kit!” Plagg said, laughing, “Did you see that guy’s face when we talked about the bryndza’s brine?”

“I didn’t see him react.”

“Oh humans, so blind. He was clearly peeing his pants.”

Adrien nodded in agreement, “Yes. Clearly.”

“This is perfect. Like in that movie with the cooking! You’re Linguini!”

“And you’re Remy the rat.”

“I’m no rat, Adrien, I’m insulted!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Adrien grinned, “Then I refuse to be Linguini.”

Plagg laughed, and Adrien didn’t remember the last time he had seen the Kwami laugh, “This is going to be better than Ratatouille.”

Life wasn’t easy for them anymore. Hawkmoth’s capture for them spelt a boy falling out of public grace, ridiculed and left without his inheritance. The Agreste wealth, the Gabriel fortune, everything he had had been forced out of his hand, through guilt and stupid decisions of his own. His friends had been help, but Natalie went back home sick and frail, and the only adult he had truly been able to rely on was the Gorilla - Gregory.

High school was a chore, but his grades in physics landed him in university. Until he dropped out, and made a long series of stupid decisions, before ending up in therapy and being forced to do something with his life.

Some days, he thought about that night. The night Ladybug was finally ready to reveal herself, after months of pushing him aside. The night when Ladybug looked like the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders, when Adrien’s world had just crashed down.

The night when Ladybug, sweet Ladybug, kind Ladybug, had hugged him tight, “I’ll love you, whoever you are. It’s time to give up our Miraculous'”

And the night Adrien pushed her away, and ran, because he wasn’t losing Plagg, come hell or high water.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” Adrien would ask Plagg sometimes.

And the kwami could put his paw on Adrien’s cheek, “For every choice you make in which we stay together, is the right one.”

Adrien watched Plagg float in and out of shadows, still talking about his cheese, and felt the world come into clarity.

Plagg had been right. He had made the right choice.

---

Author's Note: This one was SO much fun to write, I'm tempted to write a whole story of Adrien and Plagg just outrunning Ladybug, trying to go from paycheck to paycheck, and learning to deal with the trauma that is Gabriel. They are such an awesome duo.

Also, I apologise for knowing literally nothing about cheese and fromageries.

#Post wishmaker #post hawkmoth reveal #adrien and plagg #adrien deserves better #plagg is the best #post canon #adrien agreste #plagg #adrienaugust #adrienaugreste #in which plagg and adrien own a fromagerie and I like misspell too many french things probably #oh and I know nothing about cheese #fluff #friendship #adrien and plagg are BFFs #mention of dad Gorilla but not important #unless I make this into a whole thing which is so tempting #I haven't slept in days #can you tell I can tell I'm running on sugar okay bye

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kittinoir · 3 years

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Phantoms Ch. 15

Read on Ao3

Adrien had thought he’d feel angry. He’d thought that all-consuming rage would devour him whole and he’d never find his way out of it. He’d thought he would come apart from the force of it all.

But sitting there now, his father in a prison jumpsuit on the other side of the plexiglass, all he felt was numb. That rage had been snuffed out, and a desert had been left in its wake, devoid of any signs of life.

He’d lost his father a long time ago. The only thing that had changed was where Gabriel slept.

“How is she, Adrien?” Gabriel demanded. His hand was pressed against the glass, as though he might press through it and shake the answers out of his son. “Tell me she still lives.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss my mother with you,” Adrien said. His voice was so cold it might have frosted the pane between them.

The truth, however, was yes - Emilie Agreste lived, if you could call breathing with the help of a ventilator in a private suite at Pitié-Salpêtrière living. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t wake. But she lived.

Adrien wasn’t about to tell his father any of it though. Maybe it was petty, maybe he wanted to punish Gabriel just a little bit more, but he didn’t care. His father had no right to any of them. Not anymore.

“Then what did you come for?” Gabriel asked as he leaned back in his chair. “To finally have your say?”

As if he were worth the breath it would take.

That’s what Adrien keep telling himself, anyway. It’s what Marinette would have said, but it was harder to keep the tirade back than he’d thought it’d be.

“Who was using the peacock Miraculous?”

Gabriel just stared at him - and then laughed.

“That’s why you came here?” he asked, leaning on his side of the table.

“I have no other reason to be here,” Adrien said.

But Gabriel just chuckled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adrien hid his frustration. He’d known it was a waste of time. At least, he thought he’d known that. But he was still here, wasn’t he? He didn’t know why he expected honesty. As far as he could tell, Gabriel hadn’t been honest with him a day in his life.

It didn’t matter. He’d said the last thing he needed to to the man who had raised him. He was ready to end this chapter.

“How could you?”

The words were out of Adrien’s mouth before he even really made the decision to say them. They hung in the dead air between them. Then Gabriel’s mouth became a hard line.

“There is nothing on this earth I wouldn’t have done to save her,” Gabriel said. “Nothing.”

Adrien shook his head. “She wouldn’t have wanted this.

“That’s irrelevant,” Gabriel said. And that told Adrien everything he needed to know.

“Good bye.” Adrien hung up the phone. He saw his father say something else, lean back into the window, but Adrien stood and turned his back on him.

“Thank you,” he said to the guards as he left. They nodded as he passed, their faces expressionless. If they’d overheard his conversation, they hadn’t cared. No doubt prison officials were already pouring over the recordings, but nothing had been said that would hold any weight. True, there hadn’t been a single akuma attack since Gabriel had been arrested, but circumstantial evidence wouldn’t be enough.

It would be a trial like no other, that was for sure. Would French law even apply where magic was involved? No one had died. No permanent damage had been done, at least to the average Parisian.

It was a headache Adrien wasn’t ready to deal with. At least not yet.

He flipped the hood of his sweater up and slipped on some sunglasses as he was led out the backdoor of the prison. Paparazzi had staked out the building, waiting for either him or Gabriel to be spotted - or one of Paris’s many heroes. At least his father’s fortune was good for covert comings and goings. It helped that he’d ditched the car. True, a sweater and sunglasses were hardly the disguise Chat Noir would be, but it was enough.

Adrien paused halfway down the block from the prison as he came level with a billboard across the street. He was used to seeing his face everywhere he went, but this….

“The Girl Who Saved Paris”

The headline blared in bold, black lettering. Someone had gotten a hold of Marinette’s school picture and edited it side by side with one of Ladybug’s press shots. It was a great photo. They both were. He hated it.

They still weren’t sure how the leak had happened, though Adrien was sure he knew who was responsible. One last act of misery wrought by his father, one final shot at revenge - if he was to be unmasked, she would be, too. Now the entire world knew who Ladybug was.

“Are you sure I can’t cataclysm him?”

Plagg popped into the shadow of Adrien’s hood and hovered by his cheek.

“If you cataclysm him, then he won’t be held accountable,” Adrien explained for the thousandth time. “And the people of Paris deserve that. We deserve that.”

“At least let me do the billboards then,” Plagg whined, glaring at the one across the street as Adrien began walking again.

“No use,” Adrien muttered. He’d tried. Three more had sprung up overnight, as if punishing him for even trying. Someone was certainly determined. “Claws out!”

And then he was running, first down the streets, then across the rooftops as he angled for the only place he felt normal anymore.

The Dupain-Cheng bakery was busier than ever thanks to the billboards. He couldn’t blame the people that hoarded the doors, desperate for a glimpse of the girl who had saved them all. He knew that, but still, some part of him seethed. Hadn’t she given them enough?

He circled the block and approached her roof from the back, pausing to detransform behind a chimney, as if there would be anything less scandalous than the son of Ladybug’s arch enemy slipping into her room.

But no one saw him creep across the roof, and after a moment, Adrien dropped through the skylight onto the end of Marinette’s bed.

Despite being a model, despite years of fencing, there was just no getting around it: he wasn’t as graceful without the Miraculous. The jostle he created with his landing was enough to wake her up.

“Adrien?” she mumbled sleepily, squinting at him in the gloomy darkness of her room.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he settled against the pillows she’d placed at the end of the bed for him. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’d rather be awake than asleep if you’re here,” she said. She pushed herself up, and Adrien almost might have bought a speedy recovery, if he didn’t know her well enough to notice how she braced herself for the charade first. “Is everything ok?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” he said. “Who had the peacock.”

Marinette sighed, her shoulders drooping. “It was worth a shot.”

She’d been the only one to think so, but Adrien suspected she was also the only one who knew how much he’d needed to face his father one last time. Confirming Gabriel’s accomplice would have only been an added bonus. The question itself truly was irrelevant; Adrien could guess at the answer. Why else would Nathalie have been named his guardian in the event anything happened to his father?

“How are you doing?” Adrien asked.

Marinette shrugged, doing a halfway decent impression of her usual bright smile. “Every day is an improvement.”

But Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds suspiciously like a half-truth.”

“It’s a whole truth,” she insisted, but a tremor rolled through her body. “It’s not exactly a great day.”

Another understatement.

The truth was, Marinette was incredibly lucky. It was as though her Miraculous had infused her life, blessing her with little charmed moments. That was the only way to explain how she’d survived the cave in at Hawk Moth’s lair. Some doctors would chalk it up to the volume of her dress protecting her from any real damage. Other would call it a fluke. One doctor said if the tables hadn’t been in the room, the piece that fell would have crushed her spine completely.

She’d been bleeding so much when he and Ryuuko had pulled her from the rubble that Adrien had thought for sure she hadn’t made it. It wasn’t until later, when he was patrolling on his own to take the edge off, that he realized he’d never reached for her earrings in that horrible moment. He’d never even thought to use the wish.

Seconds after they’d freed her, Marinette’s chest rose in a shallow breath. She’d coughed, choking on cement dust. An exhausted Plagg had swirled up into Adrien’s face.

“Only Chat Noir is going to get her to a hospital in time,” the kwami said.

“But you’re - ”

“Do it,” Plagg demanded. Adrien hadn’t wasted any more time.

He’d never run so fast in his life. It wasn’t until he’d cataclysmed his way through a billboard that was in his way that he realized the paw pad on his ring wasn’t counting down anymore. He hadn’t known it at the time, but it was the last time Marinette would be afforded anonymity. He’d thought he’d have to convince the hospital staff to let Chat Noir visit her the next day, had come up with a plethora of lines to persuade them - only to have them part in hushed tones when he arrived, saying <em>of course</em> they’d let him see his partner.

He’d panicked as he’d approached her room. How was he going to tell her? How had it even happened?

But as he’d pushed open the door, Chat Noir had seen Marinette sitting up, alert, her face grim. She didn’t move as he entered the room, and it was then that he noticed she was staring at the tv in her room. It was the only story on any channel.

“Does it ever get easier?” she’d wondered as he’d stopped beside her bed. “Having your personal life on display?”

He’d thought for a moment. “No. But it helps having good people by you.”

And that was that. He’d learned that despite the blood, she’d only really suffered one major injury: a deep gash across her back that ran from her right shoulder to her left hip. The doctors had done everything they could, and spared no expense once they discovered who they were working on, but a scar was inevitable.

“Is there anything I can do?” Adrien asked now. Marinette fidgeted, and for a moment he thought she might say no, but then she blushed a deep scarlet.

“The bandages need to be changed,” she said. “But I don’t want you to have - ”

“I’ll do it,” Adrien said. “It’s the least I can do.”

Marinette dropped her gaze to the comforter, weariness heavy on her shoulders. “For the ‘girl who saved Paris’?”

“For the girl I love.”

Adrien held her gaze as her head shot back up. It was an offer, nothing more. She’d rejected him several times before. He could take it again, if that was what she wanted. If she needed some time.

But he couldn’t help but feel that, as the world fell apart around them in so many ways, this was the one thing that was finally coming together.

Marinette released a shaky breath. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

Adrien smiled softly. “I’m happy to practice. But first, bandages.”

“I’m going to need some help,” Marinette admitted as she regarded the loft stairs. “We tried staying down stairs, but some of the more ambitious fans managed to sneak up through the bakery. No one’s made it up here yet.”

“Partly due to Jagged’s security team I’d guess,” Adrien said as he carefully maneuvered to the stairs. He’d spotted them doing their best attempt at crows control on the way in. “It was nice of him to loan them out to you.”

“I think he would have done it even if I wasn’t Ladybug,” Marinette said with a small smile.

“I think you’re right,” Adrien agreed. Jagged Stone might have been eccentric, but he had a heart of gold Adrien rarely saw in other celebrities. “Ready?” Marinette’s smile vanished as she regarded the descent. “I’ll be quick,” he promised.

She inhaled sharply as she leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck. She squeezed as he slipped one arm under her knees and gingerly placed his other hand on her back. He could feel the raised scar through her shirt. He took a quick peek, then relaxed a little; she hadn’t bled through the bandages.

“Where to?” Adrien asked.

“There’s a stool by the sink,” Marinette said. Pain laced her voice.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

“Love you, too,” she said.

And then she buried her face his shoulder with a muffled scream as he carried her down from the bed, across the room, and set her on the stool. She was panting when he leaned back. Her arms slipped off his shoulders to her lap as one, two tears escaped.

“I’m fine,” she said as Adrien brushed away her tears with the back of his knuckle.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but she just caught his hand with her own where he’d cupped her cheek.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she said earnestly.

“I’m glad it’s me, too,” Adrien said with a small smile as he stood. He turned to the sink as she saw to the buttons of her night shirt, waiting til the water ran warm to fill the small bowl someone had left on the rim. He collected fresh bandages, clean towels, and the antiseptic ointment someone had laid out as well.

When he turned back, he saw that Marinette had finished with her shirt and slipped it off. The fabric had pooled on the floor around her stool. He’d known about the wound. He hadn’t even considered the bruising - at least, not until that moment, when he saw it flowering out from beneath the white bandages wrapped around her torso.

“Ready?” Adrien asked as he kneeled beside her. Marinette nodded. This would be almost as bad as the moving. Maybe not quite as painful, but it would go on for much longer.

“I’m starting,” he said. He made quick work of the knot at the side, then began unwinding.

“I never did ask,” he said. “How did you end up with your Miraculous?”

Marinette shrugged, then hissed at the movement as it tugged at her wound.

“Ran into Master Fu on the way to school one morning,” she explained. “The first day of school, actually. The day you started. He was having trouble crossing the street. The light was about to change.” She snorted. “An act, obviously. That man’s never been helpless a day in his life. I rushed out to help him. Dropped all the macarons Papa made for the first day of class that day in the process. He still took one when I offered. When I came home at lunch, the Miraculous was on my desk.”

Adrien laughed softly. “That sounds familiar.” He unwound the last of the bandages and dropped them into the trash. Thankfully there was very little bleeding where the bandages had pulled away some of the scabbing. “I’m going to clean this now,” he said. She nodded sharply.

“I almost blew my identity - that first - day,” Marinette said in fits and starts as Adrien gently cleaned away old medicine and a little blood. “When Tikki popped out of the earrings. I called - for my mom and dad.”

“What happened?” Adrien asked as he worked around the wiry black sutures.

“Tikki stopped me,” she said, relaxing as he finally finished cleaning. She reached her hand back for a clean cloth, and he dunked one in the warm water before handing it to her. “I’m lucky they didn’t hear me,” she said as she cleaned her front where the bandages would go back on.

“Luck does seem to be your specialty,” Adrien agreed. But there was no denying as he looked at Marinette’s back that destruction was his. She’d only been hurt because of the damage he’d done to the room. Now she’d forever wear the scars of his weakness.

“Does this hurt?” Adrien asked as he applied some of the medication.

Marinette shook her head. “Not badly. It’s actually a little soothing. What about you?”

Adrien frowned. “Am I hurt?”

“No,” Marinette said with a short laugh. “How did you end up with your Miraculous?”

“Oh.” Pieces of the full picture crowded in on him as he thought back to the day, but he pushed them away. There would be time to make those connections later. “It’s a similar story. I was trying to get to school while evading Nathalie and my body guard. I was halfway up the stairs when I saw Master Fu fall on the side walk. I didn’t think about it, I just went to help him. That afternoon, the Miraculous was on my coffee table.”

“Is that why you were late that day?” Marinette wondered, straightening as Adrien began to wind the clean bandages around her torso.

“I’m surprised you remember.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Hard to forget. It was all Chloe would talk about.”

“That sounds about right,” Adrien said with a half smile. He finished wrapping the bandages and tied them off. “By the time I turned back around, Nathalie and my bodyguard were blocking the stairs. They took me back home. It wasn’t until that afternoon that my father reconsidered my attendance.” At the time he’d thought he’d caught his father in a rare good mood. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if Gabriel had simply wanted him out of the way while he worked. “Where can I get a clean shirt?”

“Bottom drawer on the left,” Marinette said, pointing towards her dresser. “Do you remember that thing with the gum?”

Now Adrien did laugh. It felt wrong coming out, like he’d forgotten a little bit how it was supposed to work. “I can’t believe we almost didn’t like each other.”

“Me either,” Marinette admitted. “Could you imagine? Friends as heroes, enemies as ourselves?”

“Au contraire,” Adrien said as he pulled out a clean blue night shirt from Marinette’s dresser. “I think you would have fallen for ‘Chat Noir’ a long time ago if ‘Adrien’ hadn’t managed to win you over.”

To his delight, Marinette blushed a deep pink. “You may be right,” she said, but she didn’t look away. “Such a shame we’ll never know.”

“I think I can live with that,” Adrien said, grinning. He shook out the top and helped Marinette guide her arms through the soft cotton. “Back to bed?”

But Marinette shook her head. “I finally feel a little better. I don’t want to ruin that. Would you help me to the chaise?”

“Of course,” Adrien said. He came around to stand in front of her and took both her hands, helping her to her feet. It was slow going, but he got the sense that she liked being on her feet and more or less self-sufficient, so he was happy to take his time.

But when they got to the chaise, Marinette hesitated.

“Would you stay?”

“As long as you want, Marinette,” he promised. He sat down first and let her get comfortable on her own before guiding them both back. “Is this ok?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her head on his chest. “This is…I must have imagined this a million times.”

“Yeah?” Adrien asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How does it measure up?”

“The real thing is so much better.” She pressed closer, then giggled. “It’s purr-fect.”

Adrien groaned as she laughed, but he was smiling, too. “And you say my puns are bad.”

“They are bad,” she said, “But I love them anyway.”

“You’re too kind, m’lady,” Adrien said. “Now you need to rest. I have it on good authority healing takes a lot of sleep.”

“Mmm,” she mumbled, but then Adrien was running his fingers through her hair, and she was gone in seconds. He craned his neck to see her face, and after a few minutes, even the pain that lined her face faded.

“That’s the most peaceful she’s been since she came home,” Tikki said, drifting down from the loft.

“Has it been bad?” Adrien murmured.

“She’s been worried about you,” Tikki said. “It keeps her awake.”

Adrien shook his head. “Typical Marinette. Worrying about everyone else when she should be worried about herself.”

“She loves you,” Tikki said. “She can’t help it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adrien said. “I know. I love her, too.”

Which was why, after another twenty minutes, Adrien slowly slipped out from under Marinette and laid her as gently as he could back on the chaise. The corner of her mouth turned down, but he brushed it away with a kiss.

“Leaving so soon?” Plagg asked.

“Something like that,” Adrien said, his mouth set in a grim line. “Plagg, claws out.”

Despite the bright light, Marinette didn’t even stir.

“Adrien?” Tikki said as she drifted closer. He had time to wonder how something so small could look so suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Giving her what she needs,” Chat Noir said with a glance at Marinette. “Some peace.”

“She already does,” Tikki said, following him to the hatch in the floor.

“I won’t sacrifice her to win,” he said simply. He dimly recalled her saying the same thing to him - or at least, a version of him. Hawk Moth had whipped him up into such a frenzy that he’d barely heard the words, had barely considered them, but even as he’d reached for her earrings, a part of him had recoiled. He’d wanted to give up the anger then. It hadn’t been enough.

But he could make it count now.

He straightened as he descended the stairs. Tikki chased him down to the main level where she finally hung back, falling silent. He could see the crowds of people through the window panes of the back door. Good. It was good.

He didn’t balk as he pushed open the doors. Didn’t shrink or hide his face as every head in the room swivelled towards him. For a moment, there was silence. Then the chaos began.

He didn’t linger. He pushed back Tom and Sabine. He couldn’t read their faces. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. There would be nothing but outrage and disgust there in a few moments.

For once, his heart was steady as he pushed through the doors and into the street outside the bakery, the crowd from inside close on his heels. It didn’t trip or stutter or race at the scrutiny. For the first time, he was completely sure.

“Chat Noir!” Nadja Chamuck had pushed to the front and now shoved a microphone under his nose. “Were you just visiting Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl Paris now knows has been saving them for the better part of two years? Sources say she was grievously wounded in the final battle with Hawk Moth - is that true? Will she recover?”

Beneath the mask of news anchor, he could see Nadja was genuinely worried. He remembered that Marinette wasn’t just some random high school girl; she was Nadja’s baby-sitter.

He would have to reassure her another time.

“Parisians,” he began. His voice was strong, steady. It didn’t betray any emotions - possibly because for once he felt at peace. “Hawk Moth ensured Ladybug’s identity was revealed before he was captured. It was his final act of revenge. But as Ladybug’s partner, I can not, and will not let her weather this storm alone.You know me as Chat Noir, Ladybug’s parter, the boy that’s been saving you for the past two years. Now you will know me as I am. Plagg, claws in.”

Adrien counted down his last moments of peace as his transformation dissolved, finally revealing his true face to the city he and Marinette loved so much.

’Does it ever get easier? Having your personal life on display?’

That’s what she’d asked him. He’d told her most of the truth. But the other part, the part he’d known she’d eventually discover on her own, was that you could get used to anything if you experienced it often enough.

And he’d had years of practice.

#phantoms #phantoms ch. 15 #but for real now #hiatus

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whitexwingedxdoves · 3 years

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the other side part 2 [request]

Pairing: Negan x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warnings: Language, Death Summary: A new life seemed far too good to be true when Rick promised it to you and despite your doubts that’s exactly what you got or atleast you thought. A/N: Requested by @jinxeee - I HOPE YOU LOVE IT! Im working on the last part right now and it should be out TOMORROW <3 Tags: @aubageddon91 Part One Here. | Next Chapter

It felt like you were in that box room for years. The only human interaction you would ever get was when someone passed one of those rancid sandwiches through. You never saw Negan though and at some point, you gave up hope and came to terms with the fact he just didn’t care or loved you the way you thought he did. You lost track of the days and nights a long time ago, the blood had peeled from your skin now but it seemed to stain, or it was shadows…. or your mind just playing tricks on you.

It had been a while since the door opened, no dog food sandwiches, no water. Nothing. You thought perhaps they were just going to let you die in there in the worst way possible. Your mind was left to fight the dehydration and hallucinations that came with it, the women you murdered seemed to jump out at you from each corner of the room when you’d least expect it… you were living your very own horror movie. Today you laid in the foetus position, trying to stop the ghosts from getting to you when you heard the door crack open, you wanted to look so badly but you were scared it was your brain playing some evil trick on you. You finally gained the courage to turn towards the light, wincing at the headache that attacked you almost immediately but it was a sign that this was real. Standing in the doorway was a tall slender man, a gun pointed in your direction, you held your hands up as you attempted to sit up straight. You watched as he lowered his gun and shouted for someone to help him. As you backed yourself into the corner, you watched as a much stockier man came running to his side, the skinner man made his way towards you but with caution.

“We’re gonna get you out of here” he spoke softly, holding out a hand for you to hold. “I'm Rick, Rick Grimes” a small gasp escaped your lips at the revelation of who was in front of you now. You had heard about him from the other saviours, you knew he was the leader for another community that was causing trouble for Negan but with your primary job at the sanctuary being to look after the sanctuary while the rest of the saviours were gone, you had never had to come face to face with the infamous Rick Grimes.

You took his hand as he led you out of the room, watching to see if you were hurt anywhere. When you passed the door frame, you couldn’t help but let your tears stream, finally being free from that hell. Your hand squeezing Rick’s a little as you try to compose yourself. You turned to him not daring to make any eye contact, biting down on your bottom lip. “Thank you” you whispered, not having enough energy to say it any louder. You felt someone hit your side softly, your eyes now panning to the object, the other man holding out a canteen for you which you hungrily took from him and downed the entire thing. You allowed a small moan to pass your lips as the dust in your throat regained its moisture. You heard the unnamed man telling you to take it easy but how could you, you had been without water for days, you passed him the empty canteen and wiped your bottom lip. “Thank you –“ finally now your voice was able to hit a higher octave.

“Daryl”

The men took you back to where they called home, Alexandria and it was beautiful, it was nothing like the sanctuary, it took you a few days to fully settle in – even longer to convince people that you weren’t a threat. Rick though, Rick didn’t need convincing, he’d keep you around him most of the time, teaching you new things like how to garden – that was your favourite job, He introduced you to his Daughter, Judith who seemed to take to you very well, constantly asking you to play with her whenever she saw you. He told you stories about his son Carl and the vision he had for Alexandria and you couldn’t help but tear up every time he mentioned he thought Carl would have loved you… like Judith does. The more you proved yourself the more people started to warm up to you, Michonne was the first to warm up to you, she couldn’t ignore how good you were with her daughter, nor could she ignore her daughter boasting about you at dinner every night. Daryl was a little harder to break, he recognised you as one of the saviours still but slowly he started to let his guard down around you – it was little things like bring you back your very own rabbit after a hunt or letting you watch him as he worked on his bike, it wasn’t much but you appreciated it.

You’d stay in Alexandria for the most part, taking care of the children while the rest went off to work on the fallen bridge. You avoid the cell where Negan was kept like it was the plague, never offering to take food in despite some of the residents begging you too. You were happy again, finally. Rick had shown you what it was like to be a part of a family and now you did everything you could to show your utmost respect for the Sheriff, he was like a brother you never had and you wouldn’t let Negan ruin that for you.

Today was a little different, you were asked to stay at Alexandria to watch Judith once again as the rest attempted to lure a horde of walkers away from the communities. You put Judith to bed but you couldn’t settle, you paced the living room floor awaiting Michonne or Rick to come through the door with good news but they never did. Instead you saw one of the residents knocking on the door, when you opened the door you couldn’t ignore the expression on his face, it was bad news. You looked past him to see a few familiar faces all seemingly upset, some had been crying. “What happened?” there was a crack in your voice, not really wanting an answer to your question and you didn’t get one. Instead you spotted Daryl just a little away from the crowd, deep in thought. You ran to him, hoping he could provide you with the answer. When you finally reached him, his eyes met with yours and instantly started to water, your chest started to heave thinking that the worst might have happened. Your eyes panned around the crowd taking in everyone that was there. You turned back to Daryl and swallowed the lump in your throat. “Where’s Rick?” your eyes started to tear up when he didn’t respond but you shook your head growing more impatient. “Where’s Rick!” you now screamed at the man, his tears now falling down his face as he shook his head, you had never seen Daryl like this before and that alone was enough to break you, you could feel your hands shaking uncontrollably as you attempted to make sense of the situation. “No- No…. No this is- No!” you cried, your legs finally buckling from under you, only to be caught by Daryl as you fell.

Since that day, you and Daryl became pretty much inseparable, constantly out checking new places to see if there was any sign of the man but after a couple of years had gone by you had run out of places to check. You set your sights on helping Michonne with RJ and Judith, hunting for them and watching them whenever she needed you too and much to your surprise, Daryl was right there with you. You had been sure that he would have continued to look for Rick without your help and well, he did but he was never gone for more than half a day. He swore it had nothing to do with you or the kids but you knew different, you could read him like a book now. He was your best friend, and you were his.

You walked around the gardens with Daryl checking in on everyone for the day before sending him on his way. He’d make a few jokes about how life seemed far too domesticated for his liking and you’d tease him a little, claiming he would make the perfect stay at home dad one day which would only make him push you ever so slightly. You spent most of your time there giggling away with Daryl pretty much ignoring everyone around you, you couldn’t help but feel lucky to be able to see such a soft side of the archer and you soaked up every opportunity you could. The laughter died down as Daryl spotted Negan being escorted out to the fields, trying to distract you a little so you didn’t notice. He had completely forgotten to warn you that Gabriel had decided to put Negan to work, you shot him a confused look as he stepped closer to you, blocking your view with his broad shoulders. “What are you doing?” you laughed slightly, slapping his shoulder but when he didn’t move your tone took a more serious turn. “Daryl?” The southerner sighed while rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

“They’re lettin’ that bastard work on the garden” he finally admitted, moving ever so slightly so you could see the scene unfold. You saw Negan bent down near the strawberries, pulling at weeds, you couldn’t bare the sight of him any longer and your eyes flickered away swallowing the lump in your throat you sent Daryl a faux smile, nodding your head.

“Good.” You whispered before linking your arm with his and continued to walk away. Your heart was racing after seeing him, you didn’t dare visit him while he was stuck in the cell, you were too scared. You almost forgot what he looked like after all these years but your heart couldn’t forget how easily he broke you.

As he picked away at weeds with his bare hands, Negan’s eyes started to wander around the garden, his heart seemed to stop when he laid eyes on you the way you wrapped yourself around Daryl’s arm laughing. He always imagined that the first time he’d see you after he locked you in that room, you’d be on your knee’s begging to be loved by him. He could feel the jealousy rise in his body, his face turning a slight red colour as he pulled a little too hard on one of the weeds. That night in his cell, all he could think about was you and how happy you looked with Daryl, his mind wandering to what you’d get up to with the archer when people weren’t watching which only angered him more. Despite all the anger, he was left more confused than anything as he sat on the edge of his bed, why did he only see you in this light now? Why did he care so much? Instead of dwelling, Negan tried to shut his eyes to fall asleep, hoping that the next day would treat him a little better.

It didn’t of course as he tended to the garden he was once again met with your laughter, his eyes narrowed at the sight of you touching Daryl’s arms before you both chased RJ around the garden. He had never seen you so happy before, so radiant it made him smile just for a moment until he saw Daryl touch you back, his hand rested tenderly on the small of your back. He couldn’t look away despite wanting to.

“If you’re not gonna work you can go back to your cell” Brandon spoke, pulling Negan's attention away from you.

“I wanna talk to Eugene” he grunted as he stood up from the flower bed.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making those requests” the man teased, Negan only shooting him a look before the boy nodded. “I’ll see what I can do”

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan x you #daryl dixon platonic #rick grimes platonic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction

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dcschain · 4 years

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THE DARK TOWER + T. S. ELIOT. | iii. GABRIELLE DESCHAIN (& WALTER O’DIM) + THE WASTE LAND.

She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: “Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”

#edits.#tsedit.#shadows settle on the place that you left. (gabrielle)#there's a black bird perched outside my window. (walter)#malicious glee readies its lances; watching the venom glinting. (marten)#i think this one is my favourite yet.#personals dont reblog //#mutuals can reblog //

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walkerwords · 4 years

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“The Savior Sessions” Part 27 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A traitor in Alexandria is found when they attack one of their own. The reader holds an interrogation and with a new kind of resolve, makes their move against the enemy.

Word Count: 3973

Warning: Swearing, Graphic Description of Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Who Are You, Really?” by Mikky Ekko

Note: This one is a bit of a filler, but I had to touch on this particular storyline. I really wanted to show some development here with the MC and I really like it. Much more Negan in the next part!

————

The sickness wasn’t going away and you were getting nervous.

Along with the sudden illness that seemed to infect your friends and family, Alpha’s Walkers were still making their way towards the communities. Due to this, Gabriel had assigned more watch shifts as well.

With Michonne still at Oceanside, you were taking on more duties when it came to protecting the community. Aaron was still talking to Gamma, Daryl and Carol were still on edge, and you were just so damn tired of it all.

It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay inside the walls during the day, but so far, your search was turning up nothing. You couldn’t even figure out which direction Negan was travelling it, let alone if he was even travelling at all. He could be held up two miles away and you would never know. If there was one thing you knew about your man was that he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for.

If he wanted to stay hidden he was going to do it.

You ran your thumb over the casing that hung around your neck as you thought about him. There had been moments during the war that you had watched him in your scope. While he had seen you before that fateful day in his cell, you had been watching him as well.

The first time you saw him after the clearing had been when he had strolled up to Alexandria with the caravan. You were sitting on the roof of Rick’s house, liking being up high when Spencer had opened the gate. While your rifle hadn’t been with you, you had a spare scope in the bag that was next to you.

Peering through it, you watched as Negan handed Lucille to Rick and sauntered through your home. When you had seen Daryl being led around like a dog, you had slipped around to the other side of the roof and slid down the drainpipe. As soon as your boots hit the ground, you followed the Saviors around, keeping one eye on Negan and the other on a very nervous Rick.

When Carl drew his gun in the infirmary, that was when you had headed up to the watchpoint. His men had checked you for weapons as you approached the platform but after a few well-placed glares, they let you up into your main roost.

You stayed there until the Saviors left. You had kept your back to them as they filed out, but you could feel their eyes on you, especially Negan’s. You didn’t want to speak to him or even acknowledge him, but you wanted them to see that someone was always going to be watching and protecting Alexandria.

You proved this point later in the war when you would take out Negan’s own men from your hiding places. Your job had been to instil fear and you were good at it. However, now, it seemed that Alpha was turning the tables on you and you were not happy about it.

It was well into the night when you were heading home as Scott took over your shift. Walking towards your house, you noticed a figure moving around Rosita’s. Considering nobody should have been going inside with Rosita being under the weather, you got suspicious.

Ducking into the shadows of the house, you watched as Dante slipped into the house through the back door. Your brow furrowed at this. Dante was Siddiq’s second, he didn’t need to slip inside, he was always invited.

Your instincts kicked in then. Dante was a great doctor, but something had always bothered you about him. He was apparently found wandering around and in need of help. While you and the others were always looking for new doctors, he seemed almost too willing to be helpful. Even more so than Siddiq had been when Carl had found him.

“What are you up to?” you whispered as you found the South watchpoint and climbed up the rickety ladder. Nobody used it that much besides you and Rosita. It was also freshly repaired from when the tree had come down the year before. Pulling yourself up onto the narrow platform, you pulled your handy scope from your pocket and angled it at the house.

You weren’t what you were looking for, but you needed to settle your suspicions. While you didn’t have your rifle anymore, the scope still never let you down. Scanning the house, you watched as a light turned on in the upper window. Turning towards it, you saw Siddiq standing in what you knew to be one of the storage rooms of the house and where he kept some of his medical supplies.

Siddiq was just standing at the window and as you peered at him, he seemed to be incredibly nervous. Suddenly, his eyes locked onto yours through the scope. His kind eyes widened in fear and then you jumped as two hands grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into the room.

You didn’t hesitate to slide down the ladder and pull your weapon. Bursting into the house, Rosita, who was sleeping on the couch woke up in a jolt. Coco was next to her in her small carrier. “(Y/N)?” Rosita asked.

“Stay here with Coco!” you ordered as you ran up the stairs. You didn’t know if Rosita was actually listening to you, you just had to get to Siddiq.

Taking the steps two at a time, you finally made it to the second floor. Sprinting down the hall, you shoved your shoulder into the final door and broke it down.

Dante was on the ground with Siddiq in a headlock and he was fading fast. Dante looked at you in alarm as you ran towards them and aimed a kick at his jaw.

Dante moved just before your boot could make contact, letting Siddiq go. You went to strike Dante again, but he threw himself at you, slamming you into the wall. Catching your breath, you grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed your head against his, disorienting him.

Grabbing his arm you twisted it behind his back, trying to dislocate his shoulder, but Dante swung his leg out, sending you to the ground. He straddled you, placing his hands around your throat.

Your throat burned as the pressure increased, but then Dante screamed in pain as Siddiq slashed at his leg with a scalpel. You took the opening to knee him in the groin. Rolling to your knees, you grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head into a nearby table. He went down again, but then grabbed your ankle, slamming his palm into your knee.

As pain exploded in your leg, Dante got to his feet. He went to grab you again when you remembered a move that Jesus had taught you years ago. Using his own momentum against him, you pulled him forward into your space. As he fell into you, you ducked underneath him and pushed him over your shoulders. Dante crashed into the wooden desk, splitting it in half.

Picking up your fallen blade, you moved and levelled it at his throat as blood trickled down your neck from the superficial head wound you had sustained.

“Don’t. Move,” you spat through a split lip.

“It was him,” Siddiq choked. “He...made...me watch.” It took less than a second for you to realize what Siddiq meant. Dante had been the one to hold open Siddiq’s eyes and then Enid’s as Alpha murdered your family. Dante chuckled from his spot on the ground. “He...poisoned the water, too,” Siddiq said, coughing.

“You son of a bitch,” you swore as you brought your pommel down on his temple and knocked him out.

-------

Rosita arrived soon after the commotion had settled.

Pausing in the doorway of the adjoining room, her daughter was in her arms as she peered into the room. You were tying up an unconscious Dante as she glared down at him.

“He’s out cold,” you told her and that’s when she rushed forward to Siddiq who was finally breathing a bit better. He reached for his daughter immediately and pressed a kiss to her head, holding her close. Rosita pressed her forehead against his as the two parents had a family moment with their child.

Daryl arrived a moment later. You figured that Rosita would have called for him. “Help me get him up,” you said to Daryl who grabbed the man by his shoulders as you took his legs.

“You’re bleeding,” Siddiq said from the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” you said through gritted teeth as you carried Dante from the room and back down the stairs.

“(Y/N),” Daryl said, “how did you know?”

“I had a bad feelin’ and I followed it,” you said as Daryl kicked open the door. “He’s a fucking Whisperer, D.” Daryl looked down at the man in his arms with disgust. “He helped murder Tara, Henry, and the others. Alpha did this, she sent a wolf into Alexandria.”

“She ain’t gonna get away with this,” he said. You agreed which is why you were more than happy to throw Dante’s traitorous ass into the cell. However, first, you needed to clean it out.

Negan’s things, the things you had given to him were still on his bunk and in the corner. You quickly packed everything into a blanket and dragged it from the cell. Then, Daryl shoved Dante into the cell and locked the door.

Needing a moment, you hauled everything in your arms back to your house. You stumbled a bit from the headache that was forming behind your eyes, but you pushed on. Pushing open your front door, you dragged yourself towards the bedroom on the ground floor.

As soon as you made it to the guest room, you fell to the floor as the lightheadedness took its toll. Reaching around the back of your head, you were glad to see that the bleeding had stopped, but it was still tender.

You didn’t know how long you sat on the floor. It could have been minutes or hours before footsteps came down the hall. Looking up from the stained carpet, you saw Siddiq walking towards you. “You need to be resting,” you said, wiping at the dried blood on your neck.

“And you need to get that wound looked at,” he said hoarsely.

“You were just attacked, Siddiq,” you reminded him.

“And you just saved my life so shut up and let me help you,” he said as he helped you to your feet. You both leaned on each other as you made your way into the kitchen. You made him sit down first so you could grab the first aid kit a bowl of water that you poured from an uncontaminated canteen. He obliged but then got to work as soon as his tools were in front of him.

“How did you know it was Dante?” you asked as Siddiq used a wet cloth to wipe the blood off your skin.

“He did this...clicking thing with his tongue in the barn. I heard him doing it earlier tonight,” Siddiq explained softly. “I put the rest together.”

“I should have realized something was wrong,” you said. “That’s my job.”

“Nobody has been in the right mind for a while, (Y/N)” he reminded you.

“I’ve been too distracted,” you said, that guilt coming back, but now it was accompanied by pure anger.

“You have to stop blaming yourself for everything,” he whispered as he grabbed a needle and thread. “This is going to sting.”

“I’m used to it,” you said, tightening your hands into fists.

“You seem to be used to a lot,” he said.

“I’m not going to let him get away with any of this,” you promised. “Dante is going to tell me exactly what I want to know, no matter what I have to do to get it out of him.”

Siddiq snipped the final thread on the small wound and wiped it once more before bracing his hands on your shoulders. He leaned his head on your back and you could feel a slight tremor as he let himself feel his fear again.

Reaching back, you gripped his arms and let yourself cry with him. Everyone had a breaking point and for so long you and Siddiq had been pretending that you were okay. Neither of you could do that anymore. Turning around, you grabbed him into your arms and he held you back, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered and at that moment all you could do was nod and grip your friend tighter. In the back of your mind, Carl’s face was a shining light as you saved the one he had sacrificed to save and that only made you cry harder.

--------

It was the next morning when Daryl came to find you.

Dante had been under watch all night in the cell. Eventually coming too, Gabriel had made sure he was still breathing before letting him rot alone in the concrete box.

Now, it was time for answers.

“I need you to talk to him,” Daryl said as he leaned in the doorway of your bedroom. You were tying up your boots as he spoke.

“I figured as much,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “I am way ahead of you, Daryl.”

“I was ready to start breakin’ bones, but Gabriel doesn’t think it would be helpful,” he explained.

“Not with someone like him,” you said. “Alpha’s broken him in ways that we’ll never understand. No kind of pain is gonna make him talk.” Getting to your feet, you grabbed your blade and hooked it on your belt.

“Which is why I need that brain of yours,” he said. Thinking back to when you and he had been interrogating Lydia, you smirked.

“You want my psychological warfare, huh?” you asked, sitting into your hip. Daryl nodded.

“You up for it?” he asked.

“If it gets me to his leaders, I’ll do anything,” you said, passing by him in the doorway.

As you walked towards the cell, you noticed Carol sitting on the stoop of Michonne’s house. She looked livid and you understood why. You also figured she was trying to keep her distance so she didn’t end up slaughtering the monster in the cell below.

Dismissing the guards out front, you headed into the jail and a sense of deja vu cascaded over you. This was not how you wanted any of this to go. The jail cell had become less negative over the past year, but now a true enemy sat behind the bars and it only fueled your rage.

“I need to do this alone,” you said to Daryl who was waiting in the doorway.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” you responded. He nodded and then left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“You got a mean kick,” Dante said as soon as it was quiet.

“Too bad your head wasn’t harder,” you said, stopping in front of the bars as you crossed your arms. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat from ear to ear.”

“I don’t have one,” Dante said. “I don’t care what happens to me, you people have already lost everything.”

“I don’t agree,” you said simply. “You and your...people, don’t know the first thing about me and mine.”

“You have won many battles and many fights,” Dante said. “You think you’re some sort of gods, right?” Shaking your head, you sneered at him.

“If divinity was real, there is no place for it in this hell hole of a world. Stop trying to flatter me and tell me where Alpha is.”

“I don’t know,” Dante said as he sat up straighter on the ground. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“What deal?” you asked.

“My Alpha asked me to do a job and I didn’t question it. That’s how it works in the pack.”

“Your pack is a bunch of soulless monsters that need to be put down,” you sneered.

“What’s wrong with monsters?” Dante asked, grinning in the low light of the cell. There was still blood on his teeth and it made your stomach turn. “I thought you liked monsters? Aren’t you in love with one?”

“You don’t get to speak about him,” you ordered.

“He left you,” Dante said. “Siddiq told me all about the man called Negan. He told me who he was and why he was dangerous.” Dante moved closer to the cell door, nearly crawling on his knees. “What makes him so damn different from me? From Alpha or Beta?”

“You listen to me, you sick son of a bitch, Negan is nothing like you. He is a good man and if you don’t start telling me some fucking truth, you are going to be a dead one.”

“I just know that Alpha would love you,” Dante said and red began to shimmer around the rims of your eyes. “Tell me, (Y/N), do you thirst for blood? Do you crave to feel Beta’s life leave his body?” You were silent, but he could see it, the truth in your eyes. “Ah, you do,” he whispered.

“Don’t act as if you know me,” you said. “We are nothing alike and I will kill Beta but it will not because I’ll enjoy it, but because he deserves it.”

“And what do you deserve?” he taunted, getting to his feet. His hands wrapped around the bars, shoving his face in the space between the iron. “What are you afraid of, (Y/N)? Are you scared of me?” he asked and then something occurred to him. “No, no, that’s not it. You’re not scared of anyone, but you are scared of yourself.”

You lashed out, grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him against the bars. He went down hard and you pulled the key from your belt. You didn’t hesitate to unlock the cell door and rush inside. Dante was spitting up blood from the impact as you kicked out at him.

“You know nothing about me,” you growled at him as you pulled your sword and slammed it into his chest. Dante’s eyes went wide as your blade entered his heart, but you didn’t stop. “You will die miserably and you will never walk with your Guardians,” you spat at him. “I will find Alpha, I will find Beta, and I will kill them. Nobody will remember you and nobody will care that you’re gone.”

Pulling your sword, you let the warm blood drip on his dying body. “I’ll send Alpha your regards,” you finished as you shoved the tip of your sword through his eye, killing his brain instantly.

Everything around you felt as if it were slowing down at that moment as you withdrew your sword from the dead body. Blood was streaked down the blade and it was flecked on your clothes from the arterial spray. Looking down at Dante, you could barely feel anything as you turned away from him and left the cell.

Your body moved on autopilot as you pulled the main door open and walked out into the bright sunshine. Swinging your sword up onto your shoulder, the red blood glinted off the blade. Ignoring everyone who had come running down the road, you pushed past them as you moved into the meeting hall

Daryl watched as you moved through the streets of Alexandria and just as he saw you on the beach with your sword, the way you walked with the blade on your shoulder was all too familiar.

————

“I have an idea,” you said once the leaders convened in the meeting hall. Lydia had joined you, sitting next to you. She seemed almost concerned as she looked at you, but you soon reached out and smoothed a hand over her hair, calming her. She relaxed soon enough.

“Does this one involve killing another hostage?” Aaron argued, but you just narrowed your eyes at him.

“Aaron,” Daryl said cautiously.

“He needed to die,” you said simply. “He poisoned our water, lied to us, and tried to kill Siddiq. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't been there. He could have gone after Rosita or her child.”

“We know, (Y/N),” Daryl said, but you were shaking your head.

“I don’t think you do,” you said. “Alpha has been playing dirty since day one. It’s time for us to send a message back to her and her people.”

“What did you have in mind?” Gabriel asked. Looking at all the faces in the room, your eyes landed on Carol’s who was trying to figure out what was going on inside your head. However, you weren’t even sure if you knew yourself.

“It’s something I have to do alone,” you said. “And I’m going to need Dante’s body.”

———-

You had now grown accustomed to the smell of blood and decaying flesh.

Living in the new world, it was a constant in life, but even more so now, the scent followed you around. However, right now you welcomed it.

Moving through the dark, you dragged a makeshift sleigh behind you. On it, lay Dante’s decapitated body.

When you had told Daryl what you planned to do, he was worried about you, but you were done with the kid gloves. If Alpha wanted to play dirty, that is exactly what you were going to do.

Arriving at the Southern border, you scanned the area for any Whisperers, but so far it remained quiet. Dropping the reins on the sleigh, you took the other bag you carried and removed your other prize.

Dante’s head stared up at you with vacant eyes. You frowned at the rotting flesh as you took it and placed it on one of the pikes that made up the barrier. Blood and gore trickled down the wood, but it did the job.

Going back to the sleigh, you pulled Dante’s body off and lay it at the base of the pike, letting the body crumple to the ground. Finally, from the sleigh, you took the torches Daryl had made for you and hammered them into the hard ground.

Lighting them with a flick of a match, they lit up the boundary like a bloody beacon. Staring at the statement you made, you felt a swell of power in your gut. Looking past the boundary and towards wherever Alpha was held up, you let the fire illuminate your eyes.

“You’re not the only ones who can play with fire,” you said to the darkness before turning and walking away from the border, letting the flames speak for themselves.

——————-

When you arrived home, you didn’t speak to anyone.

Daryl was watching you from the doorway of Michonne’s home, but you ignored him. Still covered in blood, you made it to your house and into the garage. Dropping your sword on a workbench, you grabbed a cardboard tube from behind a stack of old chairs.

“What are you doing?” Lydia asked as she entered the garage. You just popped the top on the tube and pulled out three large sheets of paper. The maps of the area were something you had found in Deanna’s house before the Saviours attacked. You were very grateful for them now.

Lydia joined you as you spread the maps out on another bench. She looked down at them with a furrowed brow. You looked up at her and with determination in your eyes, you said, “We’re going to find Negan,” you said. “Then, we’re going to find your mother and her attack dog.”

Lydia was quiet for a moment before pushing up her sleeves and nodding. “Where do we start?”

TAGS: @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor

#the walking dead #walkerwords #twd #twd imagines #the walking dead imagines #negan imagine #reader insert #savior sessions #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x gn reader

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itsmeevie01 · 3 years

Text

A Moment in Time- Ch 14

MASTERPOST

OH HI THERE LOOK AT THAT IT'S ALREADY JUNE. HOW COULD THAT HAVE HAPPENED???

yes, I know. I disappeared off the face of the earth. forgive me?

important housekeeping- Orthrus is the name of Cerbrus' brother from Greek Mythology. Asclepius is a snake. and doctor dude. so I pulled on that a lil. ok, on with the chapter!

Chloé had been surprised to see the text from Marinette after her friend had gone off to meet an obscure friend earlier that day. Yet, there, blinking on her phone, was a text from her best friend there was only one word, but it was enough. There, blinking up at her was the word TONIGHT. Marinette really wanted to take Gabriel Agreste down on a school night, right before finals week.

Of course she did.

Fuck.

With one last, woeful glance at her open notes, Chloé called her transformation and flew to the Eiffel tower.

When she got there, the blonde was met with both Apate and Lady Tyche.

There, sitting at their feet, was Asclepius. The snake was leaning back, taking in the night air. His dark eyes glittered behind his mask, and the lyre at his side was almost unnoticeable in the darkness. As Princess Meli landed, Apate and Tyche sent her smiles, while Asclepius nodded. Meli gave a weak smile in response.

“Hey A, did you have to choose right before finals? I have to study!” Apate snorted at her best friend’s indignation.

“Sorry, Meli. I just…we can’t let this flaming bastard ruin our lives anymore. He tried to Akumatize me tonight, and I won’t have it.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Apate winced before turning to face her friend.

“I almost got akumatized. It didn’t go well. I am going to take down Hawkmoth one way or another. It is up to you if you want to join me. It has to be now before he can do any more damage. I for one don’t want to spend one more minute in a city where Hawkmoth rules our lives.” As the two newer heroes listened, the sound of someone landing behind them could be heard.

The group turned to find another miraculous wielder there, his long brown hair held back in a low ponytail, and the dark brown suit barely noticeable against the night sky. “ah, good Orthrus, you made it!” the teen nodded to the vigilante, before giving his fellow miraculous wielders a dramatic bow.

“omg. Really? That’s why you wanted me to dye your hair!” Princess Meli’s squeal was met with a dead-eyed stare by her best friend.

“well, why else, but to be completely unrecognizable.” The familiar voice that drawled from the dog vigilante’s mouth had the others quickly connecting the dots and laughing in recognition of Adrien Agreste, now named Orthrus, the vigilante of Loyalty. He strode over, his steps near silent on the tower beam. “now, what are we going to do about my father, Apate? Lady Tyche?” the two smiled at him, before turning back to the group.

“This is a stealth operation. As you all know, the Moth Miracle stone is one of the more flexible jewels. This means that the only identifying part about it is that it will glow when a strong emotion emerges. This means that we will be splitting up into two groups.” Here, Apate paused. Tyche was obviously well informed about what the operation was going to entail. Meli, while not in the loop, was more familiar with their plans and was obviously connecting the dots. The newest two were looking back and forth in confusion. “Meli, you and Tyche will be pulling the public's attention to yourselves. While you two pretend to fight an Akuma, courtesy of Bunnix, the rest of us will be slipping into the Agreste Mansion. Asclepius, you will be on Mayora duty. Keep her contained and be prepared to use your power, remember, it can only go back 15 minutes. Orthrus and I will try to corner Hawkmoth while he is distracted. It is imperative that Meli and Tyche keep the battle going against Bunnix until we are sure that Hawkmoth and Mayora are out of commission.” Tyche nodded.

“Meli and I will keep people distracted, but we need you to be fast, Apate. That means,” she turned to Orthrus and Asclepius, “you two need to get your plan straightened out before you enter the Agreste mansion. If there is anything that goes wrong you inform Apate immediately. Keep your com lines open. I know that you haven’t had as much practice, but Apate has been doing this for years. Rely on her and watch her back. Most importantly though, everyone goes in, everyone goes out. No one is left behind. And kick Hawkmoth’s ass.” The newer miraculous holders were listening with wider and wider eyes as Lady Tyche laid out her instructions. Apate may be the one with the (little known) reputation of being blunt and violent, but Lady Tyche was obviously used to giving instructions and being obeyed, immediately. As the weight of the situation made itself truly known to the newer section of the team, Bunnix alighted on the tower beam with a wild grin.

“ready when you are, Lady. We should be able to mess around for a few hours before things have to get serious.” Here, Bunnix turned her gaze on Apate. “if you need anything, give a shout.” Apate nodded solemnly at her friend, before turning to her team.

“We move now. once we get in position, Tyche and Bunnix will start the battle.” With one last backward glance, Apate led her team off to the lair of Hawkmoth.

“how long do you think this will take, A?”

“Ty, I wish I could give you an answer. Right now I really just want to get this done so I can sleep.”

“A, as much as I agree with that statement, please don’t rush.”

“I’ll be careful, Ty. I always am.”

“Bullshit.”

“rude.”

“but true.”

“I mean…maybe.” A pause, “ok Tyche, we’re in position in Adrien’s room. Whenever you’re ready.”

“see you on the other side, Apate.”

“Stay safe.”

“you too.”

Tim was expecting a quiet night, curled up on his bed with a book Dick had asked him to read ages ago when the screaming started. He bolted up and flung open his door. With shaking fingers, the teen CEO darted across the great room of the hotel room. As he shoved the balcony doors open, Tim’s eyes widened. There, on the street, were two heroes. They were…flying. They were actually flying? He thought Marinette had given him a basic rundown of the situation here in Paris, but as he watched the two flying girls, Tim Drake knew in his gut that tonight was going to get a lot worse before it got better for them. Edging back along the wall of the balcony, the out of costume vigilante watched with wide eyes as the heroes darted in and out of the fog that was at the center of the screaming.

Apate really hated Gabriel Agreste. As she followed Orthrus through the halls of the manor, Asclepius stayed at her back. When they arrived at the library, Orthrus guided Asclepius to the hidden window that would give him a vantage point t look down on the upcoming battle. “wait.” As Apate halted the group's movement, the two others turned to look at her. “Asclepius, once you see Mayora enter the grotto, only then do you start your entry.” He looked at her in confusion. With a small smile, Apate gestured to the window. “this is your entry point. When you find Mayora, you enter here. Keep her contained, and keep her distracted. Orthrus and I will handle the rest.” When the Snake holder had nodded, Apate smiled. “this is it, I know that you both have worked hard recently to take on these roles. That said, we proceed with the utmost caution. Keep your coms in and keep them on. I want constant communication. I know that this is the long game. We are all in. now we need to make sure that we all leave. Understood?”

“understood.”

“Copy”

“good. Now, we enter silence now. Orthrus and I are going to get in position, Asclepius be careful. Now is not the time to show our hand.”

Lady Tyche hadn’t had this much fun in years. As Bunnix sat in the middle of the column of fog rolling down Parisian streets, Lady Luck giggled slightly at Princess Meli’s look of shock. The rabbit holder had placed fog machines in the vicinity of the Grande Paris Hotel. With their careful plotting, Bunnix and Tyche had made sure that the square would be filled with synthetic fog. As it spread, the few pedestrians on Paris’ streets started to scream. The midnight air took on the feeling that only ever came when there was an Akuma attack. With a shout of glee, Bunnix continued to spin herself around on her motorbike. “are we going to attack?” Meli’s question broke Tyche out her musings. It wasn’t uncommon for the hero to stay back and observe the Akumas, and she had been taking advantage of that up till that point. With a sigh, Tyche tore her gaze away from the fog.

“I guess we have to, don’t we?” Meli giggled at her friend’s reluctance."

“only if you want this to work.” Tyche snorted at the Bee’s sarcasm.

“go ahead and ‘sneak’ over to the other end of the square. Once you get there, I’ll dive in and do a few spins with Bunnix. When I come flying out, wait a few seconds and then go into the exact center. Knowing Bun, that’s exactly where she’ll be.” Meli nodded in understanding and started to make her way across the square.

As Lady Tyche watched the other blonde slip away, she took a deep breath. They needed to stretch this out for as long as they could. Apate needed as much time as she could buy.

Apate and Orthrus were settled against a shadowed part of the wall in the grotto when Gabriel Agreste strode in. the blonde man was clutching at this shirt where he had a purple jewel pined there. “is that?” Orthrus’ question mirrored her own thoughts.

“I…I think so.” Tensing slightly, Apate settled further into her perch. Asclepius’ voice came quietly in her ear.

“Apate, you need to take the stone now. once he is Hawkmoth, Gabriel will have a sword. We don’t want to do more damage than necessary.”

“Ascle-“

“Apate you have to trust me. Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“There is no other way, this has to happen before i can take out Mayora.” Apate sucked in a sharp breath.

“how many times?”

“so far? six. It’s about to be seven if you don’t get a move on. Your window is closing.” Before Asclepius had finished his sentence, Apate has risen.

As she lept to one of the beams above the grotto, Orthrus slunk across the ground until he was behind Gabriel. As Apate started her descent towards the villain, Orthrus sprung up, and incapacitated him. in one single move, Apate, Guardian of the Miracle Box, had reclaimed the Butterfly stone of Transmission.

In her ear a moment later, Apate could hear the sounds of Mayora being taken down by Asclepius.

Lady Tyche and Princess Meli were in their fifth rotation through Bunnix’s merry fog funhouse when Apate’s voice cut through their line. “we have reclaimed both miraculous, and the police have been called. It’s finished. Hawkmoth is gone.”

The three heroes let up a cheer and set about putting the square to rights. Once Bunnix had shut off the fog machines, Lady Tyche looked around and smiled. Lifting into the air, Lady Luck threw her yoyo up and called “Miraculous!” as the Ladybugs flew through the night, things started to turn themselves back to what they had been a mere hour ago. When the square had returned to normal, the two heroes took off into the air. It was time to celebrate. Hawkmoth had been defeated at last.

Poor Tim! i wonder what the poor boy thought of THAT show? (also, i keep imagining Alix dressed in her bunnix suit speeding off into the night with that fog machine going... i bet she had a blast!)

TAGLIST

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @sassakitty @remy-289 @solangelo252 @corporeal-terrestrial @woe-is-me0 @toodaloo-kangaroo @sizzling-fairy-oil

#a moment in time fic #maribat #Timari #Sibling!jasonette #my writing #ahhhh #chaotic marinette #chaotic mari #Marinette as Black Cat

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