#sudden urge to draw then hit me like a freight train | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

They’re Us

Ch 5/5

Summary: When the enemy looks like your friends, how do you know who to trust? For PP Horror Week 2019 - Doppelgangers.

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: M for horror themes and some violence, not smut.

Shoutout to @acabellas for the idea for this ending!! And for listening to my screaming into the void. :)

AO3 and FFN

Stacie turns away, striding with purpose toward the front door. Beca knows she’s going to the garage, where the gas is stored with the lawnmower.

From beside her, Chloe makes a soft sound of distress. Beca looks over and is startled by how pale Chloe looks. Her eyes slide out of focus and she sways on her feet.

“Woah, hey—” Beca says, reaching out to steady her. “Chlo, deep breaths, okay, you need to—”

“Bec, what—” Chloe gasps, her eyes wide as they dart around the room. “The house, we can’t just…” she trails off, pressing her hand to her mouth.

“I know,” Beca breathes, heart twisting at the thought of losing their home. “I know. But if we do it, this ends. We’ll be safe.”

Chloe shakes her head, hand still at her mouth and eyes welling with tears.

“Chloe, we have to, okay? It’s—it’s just a house. We’ll be safe, and that’s what matters, right?”

Chloe gulps, and for a moment, Beca isn’t sure she’d even heard her.

“Chl—”

“Okay,” Chloe manages shakily, blinking hard. “Okay. We—we have to tell the others.”

“Okay,” Beca breathes back, looking around them. She can still hear Lilly fighting the three clones upstairs, and she’s not sure where anyone else is. “Let’s… kitchen?” she asks, gesturing that way.

Chloe nods and they move, having to pick their way over the sitting room floor littered with shredded chunks of couch, smashed picture frames, and strewn ornaments. Out of the corner of her eye, Beca sees Chloe bend down and pick up one of the photos from its broken frame. Chloe folds the photo, carefully sliding it into her pocket.

Beca glances away, and her stomach pangs; she catches sight of a body lying half-obscured behind the ruined couch, wearing Amy’s clothes.

“No,” she whispers numbly, moving toward the immobile form, looking for a bracelet on her wrist.

Before she can get close enough, though, she hears a, “Psst!” and looks over her shoulder automatically. Amy stands in the doorway of the kitchen, her arm lifted to show the blue yarn adorning her wrist.

“You’re okay,” Beca sighs in relief.

Amy nods sagely. “Takes more than that to take down my sexy fat ass.”

Beca glances over her shoulder at the body of Amy’s clone on the floor and winces. “What did you do to her?”

“Bashed her with a picture frame,” Amy replies as Chloe joins them. “She wasn’t going to get up after that.”

“Amy,” Chloe says quickly. “We need to find the others and tell them—Stacie is—”

“Going for the gas, yeah,” Amy grimaces. “Cynthia Rose told us. We’re in here. Um, it’s not pretty,” she adds, stepping aside and giving them room to enter the kitchen.

Beca swallows hard and locks eyes with Chloe for a second, not sure what to expect. She crosses the threshold, entering the kitchen a little cautiously.

The first thing she registers is Emily, wearing her bracelet, and being violently sick into the trash can. Ashley and Jessica sit with her, Ashley holding her hair and Jessica rubbing her back soothingly. Cynthia Rose is there, too, with a cut on her forearm that Flo works to bandage.

“You’re all okay,” Chloe breathes, her eyes scanning the room.

“Relatively,” Cynthia Rose grunts.

“Emily?” Beca asks her quietly.

Still, Emily hears her and looks up, wiping her mouth weakly on a kitchen rag. “I had to… I didn’t want to, but she was attacking me and—” she cuts off, going pale, and ducks back down to the trash can to be sick again.

Flo cringes, her face wrinkling in sympathy. “She had to kill Stacie,” she whispers.

“What?” Chloe gasps.

“Stacie’s clone,” Amy clarifies. “In here. Stacie’s clone was attacking her, and—well, Legacy didn’t have a choice.”

“I tried to help,” Cynthia Rose mutters. “That’s how I got this,” she adds, gesturing to the cut on her arm. “Stacie’s clone had a knife, but we got it away from her. Emily went for the kitchen knives while the clone went after me and… well. Emily won.”

Chloe makes a small, scared noise. “Wh—where’s the body?” she asks after a moment, her voice hushed. “The clone?”

Jessica’s lip curled. “We threw it in the pantry. Didn’t want to look at it.”

“Yeah, Emily’s a little… well, what do you expect?” Flo asks almost defensively.

Beca stares at Emily’s still-heaving back. She’s just a kid, really. It isn’t fair.

She walks over to Emily, waits for a pause in the heaving, and kneels beside her. “Emily,” she says gently, getting her attention.

Emily glances at her, a light sheen of sweat covering her face.

“Hey, dude,” Beca begins. “I’m really, really sorry. I’m so sorry you had to do that. But, listen... if you hadn’t—hadn’t stopped Stacie’s clone, Cynthia Rose might be dead. You might be, too.”

Emily’s eyes shine and her chin quivers, but she nods once.

“So, um,” Beca continues quietly, “I can’t even imagine what… look, you did what you had to do, okay? The real Stacie is okay. She’s in the garage, right now, figuring out how to save us. You did the right thing,” Beca emphasizes. She has no idea if she’s doing this right at all—this is really much more Chloe’s domain—but she needs Emily to understand.

A small, pained smile flickers on Emily’s lips. “Thanks, Beca,” she says softly, her voice hoarse. Her eyes flick to Beca’s wrist and she frowns. “Amy said you lost your bracelet?”

“Yeah, both Chloe and I did,” Beca says. “We can just make new ones.”

“Maybe not with yarn,” Jessica suggests.

“Oh, here,” Flo says impatiently, moving toward her and Chloe with the first aid kit. She quickly wraps Chloe’s arm in clean white bandages, cutting the end and taping it securely. She does the same to Beca; it feels much more secure than the bracelet. Giving an experimental tug on the bandage, Beca can tell it won’t come off easily.

“Thanks, Flo,” Chloe says, watching Beca.

“Yeah, thanks,” Beca echoes.

Flo rolls her eyes, looking pleased with herself. “Should have thought of that sooner.”

“So, okay,” Chloe says, looking around. “You guys already know the plan. We just have to corner the clones all in one spot. Um, where are—”

“Flo’s and Lilly’s are trapped in the basement, so we should bring the rest there. Don’t know where they are, though,” Cynthia Rose answers.

“Ours and Aubrey is upstairs, so maybe the rest—”

Chloe is cut off by a sudden loud shouting upstairs that startles Beca; she’d half-forgotten Lilly had been up there fighting. The shouts are immediately followed by a huge tumbling sound that seems to echo in the kitchen, a series of deep thuds that somehow draw closer before stopping. Then, silence.

Ashley frowns. “What—”

“The stairs!” Chloe gasps, grabbing Beca’s arm. “Someone fell down the stairs.”

“Shit, Lilly,” Beca swears, and without another thought, she and Chloe are moving again.

They rush out of the kitchen, chased by the sound of scraping of chairs and footsteps as the rest of the Bellas follow. Once again, they cross the ruined sitting room and reach the foot of the stairs where—

Chloe cries out and Beca stops abruptly, rooted to the floor by what she sees.

“Oh my God,” Chloe murmurs beside her, hands again covering her mouth. “Oh my God. Her neck. Bec, look at her neck.”

Beca can’t stop looking. Nausea rolls her stomach and she has to take a deep breath, steadying herself.

Her own clone lies at the foot of the stairs, clearly dead, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Broken. The clone’s eyes are open, staring blankly at all of their feet.

Beca forces her eyes away from her own face on the floor, looking up the stairs to where Lilly stands staring down at them and the body. Aubrey’s and Chloe’s clones are somewhere up there, too, possibly having retreated after Lilly shoved Beca’s clone down the stairs.

A choked sob from next to her grabs Beca’s attention; she looks over, startled to see Chloe staring down at the body of her clone, tears running down her face.

“Shit, Chlo…” Beca breathes. “Hey, it’s… she’s not—”

Amy clears her throat loudly, giving Beca a pointed look.

“Uh, come here,” Beca urges somewhat awkwardly, gently guiding Chloe by the elbow back into the sitting room. Behind her, she can hear the other Bellas whispering and shuffling, maybe moving the clone’s body, but she tunes them out.

Chloe’s shaking and pale. The faraway look in her eyes scares Beca almost more than anything else she’s experienced with the clones.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says to Chloe softly. “She’s not me. I’m okay.”

Chloe nods jerkily but doesn’t say anything.

An insane idea hits Beca. She knows she’ll probably be slapped or maybe screamed at. But it’s the only thing she can think of to reassure Chloe that it’s her.

She steps forward, her hands on Chloe’s waist, and kisses her.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then Chloe inhales sharply against the press of Beca’s lips, pulling back an inch.

Beca’s heart stutters and for a moment, she’s terrified she’d made the wrong move. Before she can apologize, though, or maybe flee the country, Chloe leans in again to close the gap she’d created between their lips.

Kissing Chloe is even better than she’d imagined. It’s all soft lips and gentle pressure, Chloe’s hands in her hair and nose bumping her cheek. It’s a soft sigh and the click of something in her chest that reminds her of empty pools and soft smiles, whisking her away from the present until all she can think is Chloe and the word finally.

Kissing Chloe is everything.

“Guys! Incoming!”

Cynthia Rose’s shout of warning makes Beca jerk back, startled. She’d managed to forget that they were essentially in the middle of a war zone, and, based on the surprise on Chloe’s face, so had she.

“Basement, now!” Stacie, reappeared from the garage, shouts over a thunderous noise that Beca realizes is coming from the stairs.

Understanding hits her like a freight train; she grabs Chloe’s hand and together they move, hurrying past the foot of the stairs and following the other Bellas to the basement. Beca makes the mistake of looking over her shoulder as they go; the remaining clones, led by Chloe’s and Aubrey’s, pound down the stairs from the second floor in chase.

The Bellas lead the way, Amy wrenching open the door to the basement. Lilly’s and Flo’s clones wait for them at the top of the steps but are bowled over backward as the Bellas all charge into the dank depths of the house. Beca and Chloe follow closely, the clones on their heels as they hurry down the basement steps, trying to lure the clones after them to get them all in one place.

It works almost too well.

As soon as Beca and Chloe hit the basement floor, the clones are upon them. She only has enough time to see Cynthia Rose’s clone attack Lilly, Lilly’s clone make a beeline for Emily, and Aubrey’s lunge at Chloe before she’s once again tackled, her assailant going for her legs.

She lands on the floor hard enough for the wind to be knocked out of her; Chloe’s clone smiles wickedly from on top of her. She’s missing a contact lens, one eye blue and the other amber, and her face is covered in scratches, souvenirs from her fight with Lilly. She looks deranged and doesn’t even pause to brag as she raises a hammer above Beca’s face.

Instinctively, Beca bucks her hips up and rolls, managing to throw the clone off balance. Beca flails, sending a fist straight to the clone’s stomach. The hammer falls to the left of Beca’s face, landing on the floor with a deafening clatter, and Beca writhes. She manages to dislodge Chloe’s clone completely and scrambles back rapidly, struggling to get to her feet.

Chloe’s clone follows, crawling after her on her hands and knees unnaturally. She’s faster than Beca is and is almost on top of her again before Beca remembers her legs. She kicks out hard, catching Chloe’s clone in the face with her boot. The clone cries out and jerks back, clutching her now-bleeding mouth.

Beca takes the opportunity to push herself up, rising to her feet, and her gaze falls on the dropped hammer. The clone’s eyes flick toward it as well.

Then they lock eyes, and everything seems to pause.

The clone moves first, throwing herself toward the hammer.

“No!” Beca shouts, lunging at the hammer. She knocks Chloe’s clone’s arm out of the way, her fingers wrapping around the hammer’s grip even as the clone’s fingernails scrabble at the back of her hand uselessly. Beca swings the hammer upward reflexively, striking the clone in the shoulder with the tool and making her fall back.

Panting, her heart racing in her chest, Beca forces herself back to her feet. She looks down at the injured clone, wincing and bloody on the floor, and knows what she has to do. Steeling herself, Beca raises the hammer, takes a step forward, and—

“Bec, don’t!” Chloe’s clone cries, raising her hands in pathetic self-defense. “Please!”

In that instant, it’s Chloe on the floor in front of her, defenseless.

Beca hesitates.

Chloe’s clone moves faster than Beca would have thought possible. She kicks out at Beca, catching her hard in the left knee. Beca’s leg goes out and she crumples but manages to hold onto the hammer. It doesn’t matter; the clone pulls a shard of glass—taken from Chloe’s broken window—from her boot and raises it.

“Bye, Bec,” Chloe’s clone smiles at her sweetly, her expression turning wicked.

There’s nothing Beca can do.

“Hey!” a voice shouts, and the real Chloe is suddenly there, the basement fire extinguisher in hand.

The clone only has time to glance at her in surprise before Chloe swings the red canister, hitting the clone directly in the head with a sickening thud. The clone drops, but Chloe isn’t done. She hits her again, and again, and again, until Beca has to reach out to stop her.

“Chloe! Chloe, stop, she’s—just stop!” she says, grabbing one of Chloe’s arms.

Chloe turns to her, fire in her eyes. For a second, Beca is terrified. Chloe isn’t violent. Not like this.

The fire slowly fades as Chloe comes back to herself, melting into something like exhaustion. She looks at the bloodied fire extinguisher in her hands in revulsion, immediately throwing it down to the floor.

“Chloe?” Beca repeats softly. “It’s—you got her. It’s done.”

She doesn’t need to look at the body of the clone on the floor behind Chloe to know it.

Chloe nods, her throat bobbing. “You’re okay?” she asks, her eyes flicking between both of Beca’s.

“Yeah,” Beca says, ignoring the screaming of her muscles. “Thanks for that.”

Chloe exhales shakily. “I don’t know if—I hit Aubrey’s clone, too, but I don’t know if she’s just knocked out.”

“That’s okay,” Beca replies quickly, looking around at the fight surrounding them and catching sight of Aubrey’s clone lying motionless on the floor. “We should—”

A loud series of pops, echoing around the walls of the basement like gunfire, interrupts her. Beca jumps, looking for the source automatically to see firecrackers exploding on the basement floor, sending shrapnel spraying into the air. Someone must have lit up what’s left of their Independence Day stock.

“GO!!” Stacie bellows above the chaos, and Beca understands. It’s their distraction.

The Bellas all fly for the stairs leading out of the basement; Ashley, Jessica, and Emily take the lead, followed closely by Flo, Lilly, Stacie, and Cynthia Rose. Amy looks back to make sure Beca and Chloe are following before running up the stairs, too.

The remaining clones—Lilly’s, Flo’s, Emily’s, and Cynthia Rose’s—chase after Beca and Chloe, but are too slow. Beca shoves Chloe ahead of her, rushing them both up the rickety wooden steps at top speed. She feels the clones behind her, hears their steps, but ahead she sees the landing, sees the others running out the front door and to safety.

A hand grabs at her ankle; Beca trips and almost falls. She shouts, and Chloe and Amy are with her instantly. They both grab Beca’s arms and tug; Beca glances over her shoulder to see Aubrey’s clone, a welt on her forehead from where Chloe had hit her. Chloe and Amy give Herculean effort, pulling her forward. Beca’s shoe comes off in Aubrey’s hand as she’s hauled to safety, pulled through the doorway to the basement and deposited on the floor.

Amy releases her and slams the basement door closed behind them, throwing her weight against it and locking it. A huge scraping noise fills the room and Beca looks over her shoulder to see Stacie, Cynthia Rose, and Emily shoving at the refrigerator, forcing it across the floor and to the basement door. Chloe moves quickly to help, and together, they get it in position. Amy moves and the heavy refrigerator takes her place, barricading the door and trapping the remaining clones in the basement.

The sour pang of gasoline fills Beca’s nose; Ashley and Jessica are already dousing the walls and floors with it, throwing the liquid over the stairs and over the bodies of the Beca’s and Amy’s clones.

“Beca,” Chloe says loudly, her face close to Beca’s. “We need to get out, now.”

“I…” Talking about burning the house had been much easier than seeing it in action. It’s happening too quickly.

“I know,” Chloe breathes, her eyes sparkling with tears. “But we have to go.”

Beca looks around one more time but is unable to see anything but the damage inflicted to the house in the fight. “Okay,” she says, taking Chloe’s hand.

Together, they rush out, joining the other Bellas waiting outside. Ashley and Jessica follow a moment later, pouring the gas behind them in a trail that stops several yards away from where the Bellas gather. They hurry to join the group, and Beca does a quick headcount; all of the Bellas are there, and all are wearing their bracelets, or, in hers and Chloe’s case, bandages.

“Lilly?” Stacie asks, and without ceremony, Lilly moves toward the trail of gas and ignites it with a lighter she seems to pull from thin air.

The flames move quickly, blooming to existence with a whoosh, fed by the trail of gas. The fire speeds toward the house, disappearing into the open front door. Within seconds, the interior of the house glows orange, heat and light spilling out. The glass in the windows shatters, and the Bellas move farther back as black smoke starts billowing out of the house.

They watch in silence as the flames spread, taking over the ground floor. Beca knows that before long, the other floors will be engulfed, taking their every possession, and putting an end to the clones. She imagines briefly that she can hear the screaming from the basement, but shuts down that thought almost as quickly as it forms.

Nothing feels real in that moment. It’s like she’s floating far above the scene, watching an unfamiliar group of girls burn an unknown house.

Beca drags a ragged breath through her lips, feeling but not registering the heat of the flames against her face.

Then Chloe’s hand finds hers, grounding her, bringing her back to her own body with a thud. Beca holds tight, not wanting to float away again. Chloe shifts beside her, and Beca looks over to see her pulling out the picture she’d saved from the wreckage. Chloe unfolds it and stares down at it.

It’s a group photo of the Bellas immediately after winning Nationals at the end of freshman year. Even as Beca stares at the photo, a droplet of water splashes on one corner as Chloe silently cries, tears running down her face.

A lump forms in Beca’s throat and her eyes sting; she has to look back at the fire.

Sirens already sound in the distance, but Beca knows it’ll be too late to save anything by the time the firetrucks arrive. Ashley and Jessica had done a good job with the gasoline.

She squeezes Chloe’s hand, just once.

Chloe exhales shakily, tracing her thumb over the back of Beca’s hand. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s over.”

#happy halloween #pitch perfect horror fic #bechloe #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #the bellas #and their clones #final chapter #they're us

21 notes · View notes

txladyj-blog · 5 years

Text

Chapter 6 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

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

Chapters 15/?

Jess wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking, but the sun had changed position in the sky considerably since it had risen shortly after she’d left the camp. Her heels burned with the first signs of blisters and her stomach growled so loud, a jolt of anxiety came with it every time it protested at the lack of food. She was sure every animal and walker within a five-mile radius could hear how hungry she was, but she pressed on anyway, knife in hand and listening for the slightest snap of a twig or gurgle of a ripped-out throat.

With every glimpse down at her T-shirt came a reminder of the two walkers she’d already encountered on her travels. Blood from their battered and diseased bodies now covered the batgirl image on the front of the shirt. That, and a ring of sweat had already made itself at home around her neckline.

At least it goes with the two maps of Africa under my arms. She thought

Contrary to what she’d expected, she managed to eliminate both of the Walkers with minimal issues. A small stumble here and there and one missed attempt at impaling an eye and before she knew it, they were both down and she stood over them with a sense of twisted pride at her new skills. Ignoring the fact that she’d screamed twice and bit her own tongue when she lunged at the second corpse, she thought it to be a success regardless. She couldn’t deny that if it hadn’t been for Daryl and his insistence on teaching her how to defend herself, she would most probably have been dead by that point.

Her stomach raged with hunger once more and she wrapped one arm around her middle, hoping the pain of starvation would subside soon and she would enter into that strange, not so uncomfortable, over-hunger that meant her energy levels would plummet but she’d at least be quieter. Her bones were beginning to ache as she glanced up at the sky through the spiked branches above, it was lower than when she last checked and the air was beginning to cool. Night was approaching and she knew she needed to start seeking out a shelter.

She wiped the back of her hand across her soaking brow, grateful for the evening air that was now licking at the perspiration covered areas of her skin. Her sneakers continued to thud against the woodlands blanketed, mossy ground as her skin stung with every single step. She wished she had band aids, or different footwear, or a bed and a bath and food and all the things she took for granted before the turn.

In her heart, she had no regrets about leaving the camp. It felt like the right thing to do at the time and even as she trudged through the thick and imposing trees, all she felt was relief. Relief at not having to deal with Sarah or Jodie anymore, Relief that she’d managed to leave behind the gnawing nervousness that being around so many people she hardly knew induced. Above all, she was relieved that she would no longer have to invest any more of her time, effort and feelings into a man that thought nothing of her.

Just as she was beginning to imagine herself falling asleep as she walked and getting eaten by another human being, the ground beneath her feet changed from twig ridden to hard asphalt. She looked up, blinking sweat from one eye and inhaled sharply at the sight before her.

The windows were still intact and the door was closed. The forecourt and gas pumps were still neatly hooked up and the entire gas station and store was seemingly untouched. For a fleeting moment, Jess thought she may be hallucinating. A kind of mirage in the desert situation. She didn’t have such luck. Or, did she? Surely, she was due some. With a lingering look up and down the street, she took a deep breath and focused on the building. It was silent and inviting.

They sell maps. And food.

She surged forwards, her feet skimming across the roads surface and emitting hardly a scuff as she raced to the door. Peering through the glass, she rapped lightly on the frame and waited. Inside was dark and still like the night and Jess could see aisle upon aisle of food and supplies. Her head told her it was too good to be true and that she shouldn’t charge in expecting a three-course meal and a map to freedom. But her heart was arguing that what she could see in front of her was to the contrary.

Irrespective of her misgivings she tried the door and huffed in irritation when she found it locked from the inside. Searching the forecourt for something to use to break the glass, she resigned herself to entering back into the woods when she came up with nothing. Picking up a rock and heading back, she hoped with everything she had that the noise would not attract any Walkers from the surrounding woods.

The glass panel in the bottom of the door shattered with ease and allowed for a narrow but useful entryway into the store. Thousands of tiny blocks of glass littered the floor as Jess climbed inside and straightened herself up. She brushed her stained and dirty clothes down and set about filling her backpack with packets and tins. As she worked, she opened bags of potato chips and lined them up on a shelf, stuffing her face with a myriad of different flavors and wondering if she’d ever been so happy to see a gas station before. She moaned with happiness as she munched along the shelves, grabbing bottles of water and a can of soda for good measure.

“Maybe I should just stay here.” She said to herself. The sound of her own voice seeming so alien after hours of not uttering a word other than two panicked shrieks when she was attacked by Walkers.

Her heart nearly stopped when a hand slapped against the counters surface from below. She spun around, locking her eyes on the gnarly, discolored fingers with missing nails that were clawing over the counter for grip.

“Oh shit.” She whispered, sliding her knife out of her belt and gripping the handle so hard her knuckles turned white. Urging herself to remain collected, coordinated and quick to react, she heaved in a deep breath and stepped into the middle of the aisle. The Walker seemed to pause when it noticed her standing before it, knife raised and a bead of sweat racing down one temple. She slowly edged forwards with a sideways stance, ready to steady herself should she fall. It was another thing Daryl had taught her on one of their training jaunts and in that moment, while she stared into the dead, rotting eyes of a reanimated corpse in such an enclosed space, she was more grateful for the knowledge than she had ever been.

It lumbered towards her, rounding the counter and reaching out with bony, blackened fingers that made her empty stomach bubble with bile and pure disgust. The smell hit her like a freight train and only grew more intense with every step the corpse made. Like a million, rotting rats in a room full of pork roasts left to fester. Her senses were overwhelmed and she blinked back a wave of nausea as she forced herself to move and eliminate the threat lumbering at her from the dim, dusty corner of the store.

Squinting at the throbbing mass of maggots that were living in one eye socket of the Walker wasn’t the best idea she’d had so far, especially when it almost cost her life when teeth were gnashed at her arm, missing the skin by a hair’s breadth. Startled, she screamed and dropped her knife, shrinking back down the aisle and backing away.

“Oh shit. Oh shit.” She gasped, panic now driving her every move.

In the blink of an eye and without even registering the movement of her own body, she found herself running around the shelving, heading for the counter and hearing her sneakers slapping against the shiny flooring. Reaching the register, she dove behind it and frantically began scrambling around on the floor for something to use as a weapon. Her fingernails dragged over the surface of the wooden shelves below and her breathing was now thundering so loudly through her chest that the snarling of the Walker was now just a distant interval in a chorus of terrified gasps.

Cold metal against her skin stopped time and she widened her eyes at her discovery. Under the counter, mounted on two hooks was the most glorious sight. She ripped the shotgun from its place and swung it around just in time for the Walker to lurch into view around the counter and stepped over her. Her finger squeezed the trigger as her back hit the floor and all at once, a deafening bang blasted through her head, straining her eardrums and leaving nothing but a whistle. Red mist fluttered in the air and brain matter splattered her clothes from the one well-aimed bullet that had saved her life and completely changed the color of her clothes and skin. The Walker’s body slumped down onto her and her face crumpled with irritation and dismay. She shoved it off to one side and sat up, drawing her knees up and hugging them. She buried her blood-soaked face in her arms as sobs choked an escape from her throat.

Minutes must have passed but she wasn’t counting, consumed only by a baffling mixture of feelings that had risen in her chest and erupted from her body in a sudden and overwhelming rush. Her shoulders juddered as she sucked in breaths and rubbed her face on the sleeves of her T-shirt. Tears soaked the fabric and before long, she felt the niggling knowledge that it was too dangerous to have a breakdown in her current location.

“What would Daryl say?” She asked herself aloud. After all, it was Daryl’s teaching and insistence that she knew about self defence that meant she wasn't dead right then and there. “He’d tell me not to be a pussy.” She concluded.

Hissing a breath through her teeth, she reached up, dragging the heavy weight of her tired body from the floor and managed to stand on her feet again. She scanned the room, now coated in a thick layer of crimson and body parts.

For the next ten minutes, she found as many bags as she could and stuffed them full of food and supplies before heading back outside and skidding on her heels when she noticed a car parked at the side of the building. She crunched over the uneven ground towards the vehicle and opened up a map she’d retrieved on the hood. It took some time to figure out exactly where she stood on the map and after three incorrect guesses, she finally figured out her location. Checking the area around the pinpoint on the map, her eyes stopped over a large expanse of fields and she held her breath.

“The faire. I need to go back to the faire.” She whispered.

She threw open the car door and searched the glove box, the sun visor, every compartment and nook and cranny she could find but could see no sign of any keys. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she wished she’d led a more rebellious lifestyle, or at least one in which she would have gained the skill of hotwiring a car. Accepting that the most she’d been blessed with was a knowledge of weapons and armor from way back when, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing a discarded jacket with a name tag pinned to it.

Clive.

The pin badge boasted the logo of the gas station store and Jess quickly put two and two together in her head. Shooting across the empty gas station as fast as her legs could carry her, she crashed back through the stores door and sprinted to the counter, narrowly avoiding slipping on the wet, bloody floor. Bundling to her knees, she quickly searched what was left of the body that tried to attack her. Reaching into its pants pocket, she cringed at the thought of having to search a dead body that had tried to eat her previously but was soon over the notion when her fingers grasped a set of keys. She ripped them from the clothing and stood up, picking out one in particular that matched the make of the car outside.

“Thank you, Clive.”

Hoping with all of her heart that the car still had enough gas in it, she ran out of the store and jabbed the key into the lock.

Three days had passed and Daryl still carried the weight of Jess’s departure upon his heart. Blaming himself for her decision, he considered that maybe if he’d had more understanding of what it was to be someone’s friend, maybe if he’d defended her when he should have done, maybe if he’d tried harder to tell her that he was grateful for her willingness to try and see past what everyone else couldn’t when they looked at him, maybe…Just maybe, she wouldn’t have left. He tracked her with such determination that he had failed to eat or sleep much in the days that she’d been gone. Carol and Carl had asked for updates away from the listening ears of the others in the camp. He wished he had more to tell them and felt like a failure every time he shook his head and signaled that no; he hadn’t found anything.

With each new, more obvious part of a trail, his heart rate quickened and he tried to prepare what he wanted to say to her if he was to find her. But, the blank page inside his mind remained crisp and white. He didn’t know how to tell her that he missed her already, that he liked her company, that she made him smile and laugh for what felt like the first time in his entire laugh. He didn’t know how to tell her how her strange quirks and hobbies actually did interest him. He also didn’t know how to tell her that he cared about her and how pretty he thought she was. Difficult communication was a bridge he would have to cross if he ever managed to find her.

The trail in front of him became so pronounced that it made him stop in his tracks. Footprints from sneakers were clearly visible in the dampened mud under the trees and stretched for as far as he could see into the trees. He tightened his grip around his crossbow, well aware by now that if he did find Jess, there was a high possibility that she had succumbed to the bite of a Walker. Daryl wasn’t a religious man, but something inside him urged him to pray to whoever might be listening that his friend had come to no harm. That he would find her wandering the woods, lost and lonely and she’d beg him to take her back to the camp.

The footprints came to a stop in front of a tree and Daryl slowly raised his vision, taking in every slight movement and around from his surroundings. He froze when he saw the note pinned to the tree in front of him. A biro pen had been worked through the top of the paper and between the bark, a pen he recognized straight away.

I got her those.

He plucked the note from the tree and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the writing with fatigued eyes.

‘Well Stinky, if you’re reading this then you’re more stubborn than I thought. I’ll let you off the hook with anyone that’s actually asked about me. I’m guessing it’s Carol and Carl that wanted you to look for me. You can tell everyone that you found me just as I was being attacked by walkers. I fed them for days. The Twisted Sisters will cackle over that, I’m sure.

In the meantime, it might be beneficial that I unburden my soul right now as I will never see you again. At least this way I won’t be hurt by your indifference or disgust when you read it.

Daryl, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that someone like myself - A fat, irritating burden like myself remotely thought that we could be friends. I saw you as someone strong, brave and smart. You are a survivor. Someone I looked up to and could be myself around. I guess I took your quiet demeanor as acceptance when I should have understood that you were barely tolerating me. I get it now. I know you just didn’t want to tell me face to face and cause another embarrassing scene. Those seem to follow me around, right? I’m hoping by telling you this, it will release me from how much I cared about you.

But until then, Love, Jess’

The air left his lungs in an involuntary rush and he slowly turned, thudding his back against the tree as he gripped the note in his hand. He bit down on his lower lip as anger tightened his muscles and jaw. The words he’d read were still at the forefront of his mind. Tolerating. A burden. Irritating. Fat. He slid down to the floor, his crossbow clattering on the ground and he rested his arms on his bent knees with the note still screwed up and gripped in his fist.

No, Jess. No.

Unable to summon the motivation to get up, he stayed there until the sun started to lower in the sky, trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d managed to make the one person he’d ever given a damn about believe that he was merely tolerating her. Every conversation they had ever had was scrutinized inside his head and he could only conclude that which he had thought all along. It was his fault. Somehow. Someway, with the help of Jodie and Sarah, he’d driven her away. Although the words on the paper were now distorted and crumpled, he read them over and over again, each time worse than the last, before he finally shoved it in his pocket and headed back to camp.

The camp’s atmosphere upon Daryl’s return was noticeably tense and if he was honest with himself, he struggled to care about any of the possible reasons. All he wanted to do was sit away from everyone and read Jess’s note, but such a simple desire was not to be. As soon as Rick and Shane saw him emerge from the trees, both of them stopped talking in their hushed tones and exchanged an awkward glance. Everyone else that was visible in the clearing wore the same expression. Daryl couldn’t be bothered with this.

“Merle! Get ya ugly ass out here! Ya get any whiskey?” He called out while skirting around the fire and stalking over to Merle’s tent.

“Um…Daryl?” Shane tried

“Merle!” Daryl shouted, ignoring his pursuer. He threw his crossbow down and swept a hand into the tent, tugging the opening to one side and finding it empty.

“Daryl, I need to talk to you.” Shane continued.

Daryl whirled around, noting the solemn look on Shane’s face and quickly checked everyone else as they gathered together. They were all staring at him as if he was a bomb about to go off.

“’Bout what?” He wanted to know.

“Merle. There was a uh-a problem in Atlanta.” Shane told him.

His bones seemed to lock at the thought of losing both his friend and a brother in as many days. Merle wasn’t always the best big brother in the world. In fact, he was downright useless and more trouble than he was worth most of the time. But blood was blood and Daryl loved him regardless. He didn’t want to ask the question, but Shane was obviously struggling with something.

“He dead?” Daryl asked.

“I’m not sure.” Came the response.

Daryl furrowed his brow and once again, looked at the others for some kind of clue as to what had gone on. Carol hugged her own torso as Sophia clung to her leg. Sarah and Jodie, for once, were silent, their eyes locked on him as they slowly stood up from their chairs outside the RV. Dale’s gaze quickly shot from Shane to Daryl, then to Glenn and to Lori as if he was waiting for one of them to intervene, but no one did until a voice rose up from behind Shane.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” Rick announced, stepping into view. “Your brother was a danger to us all. He almost got us all killed. So, I handcuffed him to a pipe on a roof. He’s still there.”

Daryl’s entire demeanor and body language morphed into that of a brawler in a single second. His eyes narrowed and the veins in his temples protruded. He began to pace about in front of Rick, kicking up dust with every turn. Dale signaled for Carol to move the children back and Sarah’s jaw dropped open like a trap door.

“Lemme process this” Daryl snapped, whirling a finger around at the side of his head. “You’re sayin’ ya handcuffed my brother to a goddamn roof…” His voice was louder with each word and Rick prepared himself for what was to be an explosion of rage that was not only fueled by his actions against Merle, but by the loss of Jess also. “…and ya LEFT HIM THERE?!”

“Yeah” Came Rick’s feeble reply.

He turned his back to everyone, took a deep breath and spun back around, launching himself at Rick and tackling him to the floor. Withdrawing his knife with effortless precision, he raised the blade and prepared to deal out as much damage as would quell his fury. But Shane had other ideas, running at him from the side, he barreled into him, knocking him free of rick and maneuvering him into a chokehold. Carol ushered Sophia into the RV and continued to watch in horror as everyone else observed the drama with keen interest. Rick wasted no time in getting to his feet and gathering Daryl’s arms behind his back, disarming him as he bucked and kicked against the weight of the two men, gasping and grunting from the pressure in his head and neck.

“Chokeholds illegal, asshole.” He managed to wheeze.

“You can file a complaint.” Shane quipped in response. “C’mon now, I can keep this up all day.”

It seemed like forever that the three men remained there with an enraged Daryl struggling in their grip. People had started to make whispered comments to each other.

“We’re going to have a nice, calm discussion on this topic. You think you can manage that?” Rick hissed at Daryl as his breathing began to slow from its rapid speed. A small nod from Rick to Shane saw Daryl released and tossed onto the dust.

“What I did was not on a whim” Rick insisted as he knelt down in front of Daryl “Your brother does not work and play well with others.”

Before Daryl could answer, screams pierced the atmosphere and people started to run at him, darting past him and every which way, so fast he couldn’t see what was happening. Rick stood up and accepted a rifle passed to him by Shane. Daryl scrabbled back on the ground, turned around and staggered to his feet in enough time to retrieve his crossbow before the first bullets started flying. As his vision cleared, he could see at least a dozen Walkers emerging from the tree line, all evenly spaced out as if they were the soldiers of some kind of miraculous and coordinated attack. In the chaos, the panicked shrieks of children rang through Daryl’s ears and he zoned in on Sophia, who was being hurried behind Carol as Rick triggered shot after shot at the approaching Walkers in front of them.

His crossbow popped as a bolt was released, hitting a walker square between the eyes just as it reached for Sophia. He hurried to his feet and raced over to her, swinging the weapon from left to right to check for any more threats. Seeing an opportunity, he swooped Sophia up into his arms and sprinted to the open door of the RV, where Dale stood, firing off shots from an ancient looking rifle.

“Carol! C’mon!” Daryl yelled behind him, willing Carol to follow him. She complied and left Rick, who by now was edging towards a truck that he could see Lori and Carl climbing into. Shouts and yells filled the area and it was difficult to distinguish between instructions, cries for help and screams of pain and death. Daryl shoved Sophia, then Carol into the small space behind Dale.

“I got this, get the engine started!” he ordered. Dale gave him a nod and disappeared inside as Daryl inched forwards, firing bolt after bolt and reloading faster than he had ever done before. His fingers were raw from the crossbows drawstring but he paid it no mind as he successfully managed to rescue three people from being bitten. Seeing some of the camps occupants flee into the trees on the other side, he decided to follow them.

Jodie was a sight to behold as he shoved through the thick bushes and found her on her knees and clinging onto a tree trunk with one hand. Her neck sported a gaping hole, flesh literally torn from the bone and blood pumping from the wound in waves. He slowly approached her, crossbow raised and ready to pick off any nearby Walkers. When she saw him, she reached a shaky hand up to him, her blood-soaked fingers sprawled out, begging for assistance.

“Please, help me.” She croaked.

He aimed the weapon at her head as tears fell down her cheeks. There was no helping her even if he wanted to. They now lived in a world where a single bite could kill, reanimate and turn a corpse into a disease of pandemic proportions. A bite that literally triggered the end of the world.

“No. Please. Daryl. No.” She begged.

“Sorry.” He grunted, squeezing the trigger. The bolt shot through her skull like it was butter, pinning her to the tree, silencing her and freezing her face into the same pleading expression she had used to beg him to spare her. Had she been aware at the time, she would have known he was in fact showing her mercy above all else. He stepped closer, tugged the arrow from her head and moved on as if it was nothing, because to him, it wasn’t. Jess and Merle were gone and he wasn’t sure if he had much else to live for.

Pushing his way out of the trees, he witnessed the trucks and RV heading off down the graveled path to the highway. Everyone was leaving with a trail of Walkers behind them. Glancing to his left, he spotted Merle’s motorcycle and was revving the bike to life before he even had time to think about it. Walkers were now emerging from everywhere around him but his fear was still minimal. Fear wasn’t something that came easily to Daryl after growing up beside it like two best friends. Fear guided him through his darkest moments, it wrapped him in its arms while he tended to his wounds and warned him not to disrespect or answer back. That was, until he reached an age where he could use his fear to fight back. It was what had got him where he was in life and now, at the end of time, he had almost disowned it altogether.

The bike roared to life and he eased the clutch out, swerving grasping, rotten hands and following the taillights of the RV.

“WAIT!”

A desperate cry came from behind him. He knew the voice and as a result, opted not to turn around. Instead, he watched Sarah run at him in his rear-view mirror with two walkers on her tail. Her feet were bare, her long, peroxide hair was being ripped from her head and her face was twisted into a terrified, doomed grimace.

“Daryl! Please! WAIT!’” she tried.

But Daryl only gave the bike more speed, approaching the RV faster and joining the rest of the group in abandoning their camp. He knew there was space on the bike for her. He knew he could slow down, hit both walkers with bolts due to his exceptional aim and save her life. But he did no such thing. He watched in the mirror as she was dragged to her knees, her arm yanked out and subjected to the vice-like grip of a Walkers teeth. Her screams seemed to melt into everything else. The sounds of engines and rubber on gravel, the sobs of people sat in the flatbeds of trucks, the gunfire still going on from somewhere, the growling, gurgling and rasping noises of the dead. She was just another noise and for a few seconds, he allowed himself a vengeful satisfaction.

You got what was coming to you.

Jess had been in the city for two days and was in the middle of clearing an apartment block to live in. A tall, secure building with small windows and a heavy front door that she struggled to open on her own. Each apartment she’d worked on so far had only contained one walker each and by the end of the first day she had cleared two floors, reinforced the doors and blocked the stairs with shopping carts, boxes and trash to prevent any unwanted visitors from the upper floors without making a hell of a racket.

Re-visiting the Renaissance faire had not only provided her with chain mail that did a good job of protecting her arms and torso while she was checking the rooms of the apartments, she had also gained a bow and arrows, three daggers and a sword that she was still unsure of using, preferring the distance and lightweight ease of the bow over anything that involved too much close combat. She just needed practice, practice at everything. Finding a closet full of Kevlar and a case of handguns and ammo in one of the apartments was even more of a win and she considered that maybe, just maybe, her luck was about to change due to someone’s one upon a lifetime gangster activity.

A camping store was her aim for day three. She watched over it for an hour from the rooftop of a building opposite and saw no obvious signs of danger on the outside. The street was quiet save for two walkers ambling along a couple of blocks away. She was confident she could get in reasonably quietly and without being seen if she managed to gain access to the roof. She pulled her plain, black bandana up over her mouth and nose and set off for the stairs that scaled the side of the building. Aside from not being the nimblest person, she also wished she was a little lighter footed, her new, heavy boots only making her approach seem even louder than it was. When she scuttled along the alley beside the camping store, she raced up to the roof and was surprised to find the door open and a trail of blood drops leading down the concrete stairs inside. She pulled a flashlight from her belt and clicked it on, following the blood but hearing nothing that would indicate the presence of any Walkers.

At the bottom, she tapped on the metal railing with the handle of one of her daggers. The noise was louder than she expected and even she startled when the clink rang through the open door to the aisles of the store. Nothing, but still, she waited.

Give it a minute. You’ve got this wrong before.

She swiped at a stray piece of hair that had worked free of her ponytail and slowly shone the flashlight into the store as she crept through the door. Hearing no movement certainly didn’t mean there wasn’t anything inside that could kill her, a lesson learned the hard way when she wandered through the Faire, expecting it to be empty. It wasn’t and she’d left completely exhausted and glad she had Clive's car to drive herself back to the city.

As she started to quietly pick at the shelves and select appropriate clothing for all sorts of weather, her boot hit something in the darkness that felt soft and more human than a fallen backpack. She pointed the light at it and gasped when it moved. It was a man, a live man. He lifted an arm across his face, shielding it from the light. At the end of his arm, was a bloody stump, dressed with thin, bleeding bandages. Jess’s body stilled with shock.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She whispered.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The man croaked.

“Merle?!”

Next Chapter

Soundtrack Inspiration

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl x oc #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixion imagine

13 notes · View notes

timeturner-jay · 5 years

Text

A Logical Solution to Relationship Problems, as Presented by Robin

Fandom: Young Justice Rated: T (for some swearing) Characters: Artemis Crock, Dick Grayson Pairings: Background Spitfire, pre-Traught if you want to read it that way.

Summary: Artemis has a fight with Wally. Robin knows just the thing to cheer her up. (Gotham Gang bonding by doing Gotham Things together. I will die on this hill.) Canon compliant.

Artemis groaned and slumped against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest and letting her phone slip out of her fingers, absently watching it land on the mattress with a light bounce.

She had the vague urge to punch something, and she eyed her pillow disdainfully; it wasn't a villain or her idiot of a boyfriend, but it would have to do.

In the end, slamming her fist into the soft material turned out to be less satisfying than she had anticipated – if anything, it only made her feel even more frustrated.

She opted for hugging it to her chest instead as she buried her face in the pillowcase and muttered half-hearted curses into it.

What a shitty night.

Wally was great. He was sweet, he was funny – and he was utterly clueless sometimes.

Artemis let out a huff and glared at her phone like the device was at fault for the fight that had sprung up between her and the speedster.

It had only been three months since that fateful New Year's Eve at the Watchtower. Her rational mind whispered that they were still figuring things out between themselves, and that misunderstandings were bound to happen. Her fist, however, said that it would very much like to punch someone's teeth in instead of worrying about technicalities.

She let her head drop back against the wall dramatically and buried her bare toes further into her comforter. God, this was so stupid. She was acting like a typical teenager in some romcom. This was almost as bad as Hello, Megan. Not that she'd ever say that to M'gann's face, but the Martian's favourite TV show contained exactly the kind of drama that Artemis didn't want in her life. Period.

Still though, her wounded pride stung.

She was itching to go out and do something, but this was Gotham. Batman didn't like other heroes in his city, and she had a reputation to uphold with her hero identity anyway. Artemis was supposed to be a Star City heroine. She couldn't just show up in Gotham City unannounced, or people would start asking questions.

Artemis was just considering the benefits of making the long trek down to the Zeta Tube when a polite knock on her window startled her so badly that she almost fell off her bed.

She was on the fifth floor.

What the fuck.

In one fluid movement, she dove forward, drew her pistol crossbow out from under her bed and trained it on the window, staring through the dirty glass pane with adrenaline-fuelled focus.

Robin grinned awkwardly and waved his free hand in a gesture of cheerful surrender.

Dropping her crossbow in a mixture of baffled surprise and bemused annoyance, Artemis got to her feet and made her way over to the window.

She pulled it open with a little more force than strictly necessary.

“What do you want?”, she asked drily.

Robin gave her a cheeky smile as he climbed all the way up and perched on her windowsill. “Aww, and I'm happy to see you too, Arty!”, he exclaimed.

He then sobered a little. “Actually, I've had a certain speedster whine to me about his relationship problems for the last four hours. He has now succeeded in eating himself into a chocolate-induced coma, so I wanted to check up on you. Wally was mostly feeling sorry for himself, but you-”, he gestured awkwardly, completely failing to underline his point in any meaningful way.

The vigilante huffed and started over. “I thought you might like someone to talk to too. I pride myself on being an impartial and very objective neutral party!”

Artemis felt oddly touched amidst her annoyance, but there was also something else that was very much bothering her.

“How the fuck do you even know where I live, Boy Wonder?”

His smile became sheepish.

“I've always known”, he admitted uncomfortably. “Detective, remember? Actually, Batman had me do surveillance on you for a few days before he offered you that spot on the Team. Sorry about that. The only thing that we knew back then was that Sportsmaster's daughter was running around the city in a costume, but we figured out pretty quickly that you were on our side.”

He coughed awkwardly.

“Bats didn't want you doing the hero-thing in Gotham, at least not unsupervised, so I suggested adding you to the Team instead. That way, you'd get some contacts in the Justice League, better equipment and better chances to help out where it counted. He thought it was a good idea, so he made the arrangements to meet you together with GA.”

Artemis just stared at him, struck dumb.

“Okay. I have no idea if I want to hit you or hug you right now”, she muttered darkly. “But Robin? That's creepy. Seriously, why must you ninja-types always pull weird shit like that?”

His grin regained some of its previous brightness, but the rest of his body language made it clear than he was definitely feeling at least somewhat embarrassed. “Yeah, I know. Sorry again. But I'm glad that I finally got to tell you. Playing dumb about the whole situation in front of you and the Team was really frustrating.”

He got up and hopped off the windowsill, landing inside her room in one annoyingly graceful movement.

“And don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me. I won't tell anyone that you're really a Gothamite, if you'd prefer your private life to stay private. Trust me, I get it.”

Artemis snorted. That, at least, she could easily believe. “No doubts there, Mr. Sunglasses-Indoors”, she teased and lightly boxed him on the shoulder.

He grinned up at her without a hint of remorse, bowing with a dramatic flourish. “I aim to please.”

As Robin straightened back up, she gave him a critical glance. “Thanks for the offer to talk, I guess”, she said, bending down to collect her crossbow off the floor. It wouldn't do to leave her weapons lying around.

She gazed at the well-worn fibreglass handle thoughtfully, trailing her finger along the loading mechanism. “But to be honest, this thing Baywatch and me were fighting about is kind of stupid. Talking about it would only make me feel even more annoyed, I think.”

She lifted her eyes, meeting Robin's gaze. “I'd rather let some steam off.”

Her growing grin was mirrored on his face.

Robin's voice was low and conspiratorial as he leaned forward, and his excited energy was contagious. “I know just the thing. Grab your gear.”

“You're insane.” The flat words were matched by Artemis' equally flat expression, but Robin only cackled. He was only further proving her point, as far as she was concerned. He always sounded absolutely bonkers when he did that.

The duo was standing on a bridge overlooking Gotham's impressive network of train tracks, and Artemis tightened her grip on the shaking railing as a freight train sped by beneath their feet, the vibrations prickling up her legs even through her combat boots.

“No, I'm serious”, she argued. “You're insane. Mad. Absolutely out of your mind!”

Robin's laugh only grew louder, and she gave him a sour glare. “Train surfing. There's no way in hell that I'm going train surfing with you. Train surfing isn't even a thing!”

“Sure it's a thing!”, Robin grinned, his voice still airy and breathless from all his stupid laughter. “Believe it or not, Batman is the one who invented it. ...Admittedly though, he probably wasn't expecting me to make a regular hobby out of it.”

Artemis let out another exaggerated groan, but quite frankly, the idea was starting to grow on her. This was absolutely stupid and idiotic. It was the most reckless thing she had ever heard of.

“What the hell”, she sighed, a slow grin growing on her face. “Let's do it.”

“I was hoping you'd say that”, Robin cackled and promptly pulled something out of one of his many hidden pockets.

It looked like two long, black strips of ...fabric? Artemis stared in puzzlement as Robin reached out to hand her one of the things.

She took it and turned it over in her hands, feeling the dense, soft material between her fingers. It felt almost like a-

“No.”

Her eyes met Robin's, and she got the vivid impression that he was winking at her from behind his mask.

“No. No way.”

He just shrugged and proceeded to tie his own blindfold around his head.

An incredulous laugh bubbled up in her chest, and Artemis doubled over, laughing more freely than she had in what felt like years. She felt light and almost dizzy with excited adrenaline.

“Train surfing! While blindfolded! You're a madman!”

Robin shot her a grin that was somehow still just as bright and dazzling, despite half his face being obscured by fabric.

The archer savoured her laughter for a few more moments as it faded away into breathless giggles, and she gripped the black fabric with renewed determination. The grin on her face was excited enough to rival Robin's own as she raised the blindfold up to her face.

“Fuck yeah. Let's go!”

The wind was whipping past her and her whole body felt alive with the intense vibrations that were racing up her legs from the shaking rooftop of the train.

It was surprisingly easy to stay upright – it wasn't her first time standing on a moving train of course, but all the other times, the Mission had been involved somehow; sometimes even to the point that they were battling on top of the speeding trailers.

She had never thought to associate the sensation with fun.

There was a sudden jolt and she stumbled, regaining her footing with a startled laugh that was echoed from where Robin was standing a few feet to her right.

The sounds of traffic approached rapidly and then faded again just as quickly. They must have just crossed one of the highway bridges, which meant they were well out of Gotham by now. She had no idea where they were even going, but she didn't care. The lack of direction suited her just fine tonight.

For a long time, it was just her, the wind and the train beneath her feet, her body intuitively feeling every curve and shift before it happened, moving to adjust for them without any conscious effort of her own.

The excitement that had been bubbling in her veins slowly faded, being replaced by a calm, warm assuredness that settled in her chest and spread through her whole body, leaving a happy tingling in its wake. A small, contented smile curled the corners of her mouth upwards.

She flung her arms wide, feeling the wind rush past her relaxed limbs. It caught her hair and sent her long ponytail streaming out behind her like a golden flag.

She felt so weightless.

It almost felt like she was flying.

The train gave another unexpected jolt, but this time, she just leaned into the wind further and greeted it with an elated cry, trusting her feet to keep her steady as she allowed herself to get lost in the feeling of utter and absolute freedom.

Her head felt clear for the first time in forever, free of all the things that had been tying her down.

There was just the moment, just this point in time.

She knew that the past would catch up to her again once this was over, and that worries for the future wouldn't be far off either, but for now, she was alive right here and now, and nothing else mattered.

Robin thought similarly, if his own delighted shout was anything to go by.

“By the way, Artemis!” His words barely even reached her, torn away by the wind the moment they left his mouth.

“At the speed we're moving, there should be a tunnel coming up very soon!”

As if to confirm his words, there was another jolt and the feeling of the train's vibrations suddenly changed.

Artemis guessed that they must have switched tracks. Damn, Robin was good.

His next shout sounded a lot more urgent. “Basically, DOWN!”

She was on her back almost as soon as the words left Robin's mouth, her hands blindly grasping for purchase on the smooth roof.

Barely a moment later, a solid wall of stale air hit her body, and suddenly, the train's noise was coming from everywhere at once, echoed back at her from within a much smaller space.

The vibrations, now shaking the whole length of her body, tickled her laughter out of her once more, and she didn't care how loud and breathless it was. Robin joined in a moment later, and their shared exhilaration filled up the darkness around them.

“Thanks for tonight”, Artemis said, and she really meant it.

She swayed slightly, her body still moving with the phantom sensations of a train that wasn't there anymore, and she shared a small smile with Robin, who was standing unfairly steadily compared to her.

They had switched trains eventually, boarding one that was heading back to Gotham, and it had taken them a while to make their way back to her decrepit apartment building.

It was probably close to sunrise now, but Artemis was far from tired. She didn't think that she'd be able to get much sleep with the remaining adrenaline that was still thrumming through her body.

Standing next to the familiar brick walls of her home now, she was almost sad that the night was ending. Still though, the calm happiness that had settled in her chest earlier wouldn't be shaken. She didn't think that she had felt this at peace in a long time.

What had she and Wally been fighting about again? It seemed so insignificant now.

She knew that her boyfriend wouldn't be getting up for a few more hours, but she would call him once he'd be getting ready for school.

She needed to apologise and set things right.

There were more important things than petty squabbles, and she certainly wouldn't allow them to get in the way of the people and things she loved.

“You know what? This was exactly what I needed.” She shot Robin a satisfied smirk, which he returned easily enough.

“Next time you go train surfing again, definitely give me a call.”

He grinned. “You got it! I knew you'd love it.”

And yeah, as much as she hated to admit it, she absolutely did. Robin definitely knew how to have a good time, she'd give him that.

“So, huh. Guess I'll be heading back upstairs now”, Artemis said, giving the dark Gotham sky a critical glance. It was as grey as it ever was, but dark enough that she could safely conclude that sunrise was still some ways off.

“Maybe we can both try to get at least a little sleep. We could probably use it.”

Robin gave her a wry nod and made an aborted motion to raise his hand in a cheeky wave, when suddenly, a bright yellow glare lit up the night sky.

Artemis blinked frantically, trying to clear her eyes as she turned them up towards the looming clouds again.

The Bat Symbol stood out in all its glory against the dark smog, and there was the distinct sound of sirens wailing in the distance.

Robin's raised hand dropped back to his side.

“Oh. Huh”, he said. “So much for sleep, I guess.”

He turned back towards Artemis, one of his trademark grins lighting up his face once again.

“Batman is out of town right now, actually. He wants me to keep an eye on things, but this seems like it might be big. Wanna come along? I don't think people will ask too many questions as long as they see you working together with me.”

Taking the invitation for what it was, Artemis answered him with one of her own smirks. “Oh yeah, I've got plenty of energy left. Just try to keep up, Boy Wonder.”

The warm, happy feeling within her chest only grew brighter as Artemis turned to disappear into the shadows of this dark, familiar city alongside her friend.

It felt like coming home.

41 notes · View notes

ambriartswrites · 3 years

Text

Draft - A father lost

Theme : World building around RP character World : Final Fantasy 14 (MMORGP), Ilsabard Character : Hrothgar, family, Clan and around.

Specific theme : A short story through how the father passed away

Back when the twins were still very young, the three siblings. Radilla, Miros and Razvigor took them out in the summer. It was their turn to babysit the youngster as it was time to vacate the house for their mothers meeting. Well actually Miros and Razvigor were babysitting Radilla too. With her only being around fourteen at the time. Their father had asked them to take the boys into the open forest, a bit lower near the creek where an open meadow was often used as a children's playing area. It therefore, was kept open by the foresters and often frequented by couples or friends. The clean water warmed up just enough in the summers to be able to bathe and play in, while providing an enclosed play field. Safe from the wind and sight. And today was no different, having brought along a large blanket. The twins had been set down on it with some wooden carved toys to play with. Miros was sitting with them, and a book on his knee as he kept an eye out. He was the more level headed brother out of all of them, peacefully happy to just pull one of his baby brothers back onto the cloth before they crawled off. Meanwhile, Radilla and Razvigor walk around and stick their fingers in every worm hole they can find. Wandering around the clearing without a care until the oldest finds a sturdy stick. “Ha! I’m the protector of this family! You will listen to me!” At 23, he still behaves and acts like a child with his siblings, at which Radilla quickly runs off to find a branch of her own. “Not with me around!” She screams in return, going for a swipe at her towering brother. And so, they fight and wrestle with noise. Razvigor letting her hit and win small parts of the fight so she would never feel too hopeless. It wasn’t fair after all, he had received training for years from their father, where she wasn’t allowed that. And like most untrained, her slashes were wild, too energetic and she almost hit herself at some points. But they had fun, and chased each other around for hours.

After a few fun filled hours, Miros closed his book and stood from the blanket he had been a guard of. The twins had fallen asleep, the gentle afternoon sun pleasantly warming the meadow still. Though shadows started to draw longer as hours ticked by and now, Razvigor and Radilla had ventured into the forest in their hubris. Their dark fur harder to discern, Miros had lost track of them in the moments of his care. He wasn’t supposed to take care of the other two as well. He made a grumped noise, careful not to wake the toddlers.

Radilla had made good way ahead, running as fast as her legs could carry her as Razvigar chased the girl down. He yelled and had discarded his branch-sword to the side while she still held onto hers. Zigzagging, and down the slopes of this forest she went. The young man couldn’t keep up, she however darted through the tree lines. So fast, with the heartbeat in her ears, she couldn’t even hear her brother. She couldn’t hear that his calling of fun, turned into a calling of freight. Not until she hit something and came to a halt in the dirt.

Razvigar was quickly upon her, pulling his sister from the ground by her arm as he pushed her back. “Run! Run!” he urged, already on her back to push her forward. The furred creature that Radilla had ran into, turned at the sudden collision, narrowly missing Razvigar with a swipe of it’s claws. Fun turned to fear and there was no time to catch their breaths as the creature quickly followed suit.

Both hrothgar were already tired from their playful bout, but they still ran like their lives depended on it. Because, it just might. Behind them, the rumble of whatever was chasing them became louder and louder. They would be outran sooner or later, Razvigar realised, trying to glimpse what was chasing them as they went but it costed him valuable seconds. He grabbed Radilla by her arm, pulling her along to the side. Not caring for the light pain noise that she made, he pulled her to run directly to the clan, and directing the danger to the place that might protect them. Not towards their more vulnerable brother with two toddlers. Radilla just ran. As fast as her legs could carry her, redirected by her brother. She just ran as fast forward as forward would go, over logs, through the trees. Until the trees just.. stopped and they were suddenly on the travelled path down the mountains. In a quick turn, the siblings heavily panting their way up to the village. For sure the guards could deal with this. Razvigar threw his hands up, shouting out as he scrambled to start running.

Behind them, the crash of something heavy launching itself up a tree before heavily landing on the ground. Sharp claws rake through the ground accompanied with a roar so deep, it made them reach for their own ears. Radilla screamed, turning to look behind onto the dark mass that assailed them. A bear, a huge black bear with muscles so large it almost struggled to keep its legs underneath it. Horns and spikes stuck out of the creature along its back and arms, leading down to claws the size of daggers. The mere sight of the enraged pits of red that were it’s eyes, made the girl freeze in place.

That moment, was all the creature needed to launch itself forward. And with Razvigar’s attention momentarily pointed to get attention, Radilla fell to its wrath. A high pitched scream alerted her brother to his mistake. He yelled her name as he lunged to take his sister in his arms. The bear crashed into the both of them, as Radilla clawed into her brother to hold on.

But they got launched to the side, with her landing on the road down. And Razvigar scrambling to get up to her. Red stained the floor, there was nothing they could do. He had nothing to protect themselves and his sister laid lifeless under his hands. A roar pulled his attention, the creature threw itself up with the harrowing howl of pain. And as it turned, a spear protruded from its torso. And Hrothgar came running down the hill, with Zhivemek at the front. Yelling and banging his shield, several men at his side. Never had Razvigar felt so relieved to his father, and quickly, pulled his sister onto her back. The joy left his face instantly.

When Radilla came by, bandages were tightly wound around her face, neck and torso, with her arm tightly wrapped in. Her throat was dry and with a single eye, she could barely make out who it was that sat by her bed. The dark furred figure reached for her hand at her stirring and began calling the others. Miros. Miros had been waiting at her side. She smiled as best she could, through the pain and the haze of having slept so long.

That smile would soon come to disappear as her mother came into the room with scarcely a hint of joy. Though she expressed relief in her care for Radilla, she asked the brothers to leave the room once having taken a seat on the bed side. Even in her haze, Radilla came to realise that her mother’s behaviour was less proud than normal. And the story of how her father had fallen to the beast was one received in sour acceptance.

Radilla and Razvigar both would blame themselves for what happened in the coming years. Though they would never bare it to their brothers, they had at least each other to seek comfort in.

#fan writing #finalfantasy14 #fiction

0 notes

steven-grandpa-rogers · 7 years

Text

7/11

summary:

you try to put the chance encounter at your local gas station out of your mind, but it plagues you until you meet the mystery man again

pairing: wade wilson x reader

word count: 2.9k

request: here

warnings: a lil’ bit of angst because i couldn’t resist, mentions of guns/violence, a few swear words here and there

You stared down at your phone, barely able to make out the words there through the tears in your eyes. You played the conversation over and over again in your head, trying to figure out where the relationship had gone wrong.

With shaking fingers, you typed out your final reply - Ok. Goodbye. I love you.

You set your phone on the coffee table and sniffled. You wiped angrily at your tearful eyes, pulling your legs up on your couch and wrapping your arms around them. You were shaking with anger and disbelief, staring blankly ahead at the wall. You didn’t want to hope for a response, for a change of heart, but you couldn’t help feeling your heart shatter that much more when your phone didn’t buzz again.

A minute passed, and then two, and then ten. Finally, you stood up and picked up your phone. With little regard for your tear-stained cheeks and horrifically messy appearance, you slid on a pair of comfy shoes and picked up your keys and wallet on the way out the door. You walked down to your car and drove to the gas station near your home, hoping to buy your favorite ice cream and relieve at least some of the pain you were feeling.

The fluorescent lights in the gas station hit you like a freight train and you grimaced, trying to ignore the stale air and old pop music playing through tinny speaker.

You made your way to the back of the store towards the freezer section and were surprised to see a man in a black hoodie and jeans standing with one of the doors open, looking through the pints of ice cream. You would have thought that the place would have been completely empty, given the ungodly hour that it was. Not wanting to stare at him, you turned to look at the shelves of chips behind you while you waited for him to find his flavor and move away from the freezer.

When you heard the door snap shut and went to take your own pint, you couldn’t help but notice the flavor in his hands as he ambled over to the shelves behind him to pick out a bag of chips; it was your favorite. And when you moved towards the freezer to take the flavor for yourself, the first thing you saw was the distinct lack of that flavor on its usual shelf.

He had taken the last one.

“Oh, you asshole!” You exclaimed, drawing his attention. He turned to face you, his brows raised. You bit your lip, suddenly embarrassed; you hadn’t meant to yell at him, it had just slipped out before you could even think to stop it.

“Excuse me?” He asked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” you stammered. “I just… I’m sorry. I’ve had a really bad night and I… that’s my favorite flavor and it’s the last pint and I… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Normally I wouldn’t even think about doing something like that… I’m sorry.” You stared at the zipper of his hoodie, unable to bring yourself to meet his eyes.

He looked down at the ice cream in his hand and then back at you. And then, in a move you wouldn’t have anticipated in a million years, he held it out to you and smiled brightly. “Wanna share it?”

You looked him up and down, unsure if you should trust him or not. After a moment, you sighed and shrugged. “Sure, what the hell?”

“Great! But you’re buying the spoons.”

You chuckled and went to get a box of plastic spoons while he paid for the ice cream. After you had paid for the spoons, you went into the parking lot and spotted him sitting on the hood of one of the cars in the parking lot.

You sat next to him and offered him a spoon before taking one for yourself. He opened the pint and set it between you, and for a while, the two of you shared it in silence.

“So,” he said eventually, “what pissed you off enough to call a stranger an asshole at -” he checked his watch “- two a.m. over a pint of ice cream?”

You sighed and ate a few more spoonfuls of ice cream before you were ready to respond. “Shit boyfriend. Shit breakup.”

He hummed in his throat and took a bite of ice cream. “Drowning our sorrows, I see?”

“You could say that,” you shrugged. “Speaking of drowning sorrows, what sorrows are you trying to drown, oh mysterious gas station man?”

He snorted at the nickname. “None. I just like ice cream.”

You nodded. Minutes ticked by in silence. “You know, you haven’t told me your name,” you ventured after a while.

He groaned. “Do we have to do names? Can’t we just be two strangers drifting in the wind? Sharing a pint of ice cream never to speak again? Star-crossed souls destined to -”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. You were surprised to find yourself smiling after such a terrible night, but this guy was charming and, frankly, hilarious. “I get it. No names. That’s fair.”

Again, you lapsed into silence. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was nice, almost comforting, the anonymity of it. Just two people, like he had said; sharing a pint of ice cream and going your separate ways. Something about it felt poetic.

“That guy sounds like a douche,” the guy spoke eventually. At some point during your musing, he had laid back on the hood of the car so he was leaned against the windshield and you had to turn around to look at him. He was staring up at the sky.

“I haven’t even told you about him,” you said, but you were smiling anyway. You took another bite of ice cream and couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart as you looked down and saw that it was almost gone. You figured once it was gone, the two of you would go your separate ways. The thought was saddening. You considered pushing it and asking for his name, or his number, or something. But you had made an agreement, and you weren’t one to break agreements.

He shrugged. “No, I know. I just have a feeling about him. I have a very keen sense for these things you know,” he grinned at you and met your eyes. “He’s obviously crazy if he ditched you, anyway. I’ve never seen such gorgeous eyes before.”

You smiled and looked away, down into the pint. Your heart dropped when you saw that there was just enough left for another bite, and then it would be empty. You held it out to him, “do you want the last bite?”

He shook his head. “Take it.”

You nodded and took the bite. Once it was gone, you stared down into the empty pint and heaved a sigh. “I should go.”

You slid off the hood of the car and turned to face him. He hadn’t moved from his reclined position, but there was something sad in the smile that he gave you. “Yeah, it’s late. Ice cream’s gone. It’s been fun, mysterious gas station woman.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has been. Goodbye, mysterious gas station man.”

With that, you raised your hand in farewell and turned to walk away. You felt his eyes on you as you went, but did your best to ignore it. No names. No numbers. Two strangers. Ice cream. That was it.

Still, you couldn’t help but glance at him one last time as you drove away. He was still on the hood of his car, head on his hands. He wasn’t looking at you anymore; he had looked towards the sky again, examining the stars. You pushed down the sudden urge to run back to him and beg for his name, beg to see him again.

You drove down the street towards your house before you could do anything stupid, trying to put him out of your mind completely.

A month passed, and then two. You went to work, ate frozen meals by yourself, and moved on from your boyfriend. But still, one thing plagued you.

Mysterious gas station man.

You tried to ignore the persisting memories of him; really, you did. But you had been completely unable to get him out of your head, and it showed. Your work friends teased you for being so distracted, but you shrugged them off and told them it was nothing. Certainly not the knight in shining armor they suspected had swept you off your feet; no, just some guy you had met at a gas station at an ungodly hour, shared a pint of ice cream with, and never even learned the name of.

You were wiping down the bar at work, ready to close up for the night, when the bell above the door rang. A man walked in, and you couldn’t help but be intimidated. You bit your lip and glanced around - the restaurant that you worked at was pretty much empty, save for the hostess, Jane, and one of the cooks, Max, who stayed behind every night to clean up the kitchen.

Jane was in the bathroom, so you cleared your throat and drew the man’s attention. “Um… sir?” You called. He looked to you and you felt your nerves growing; there was no way this guy wasn’t bad news. “We’re… um, we’re actually closed right now.”

He grinned. “Oh, I’m not here for food.”

You saw his hand move to his coat, reaching under it, and shouted for Max before you had even really processed what was happening. At the same moment that he came dashing out of the kitchen, obviously concerned at the panic in your voice, the stranger broke the handle off the door with the butt of a gun.

“Is there anyone else in this joint, sweetheart?” The guy asked, setting his eyes on you. You opened your mouth to respond, but then realized that if Jane stayed safe in the bathroom, you might have a way out of here. Praying she had her phone and would have the good sense to lock the door and call the cops, you swallowed your fear and met the man’s eyes.

“No. It’s just us.”

“Better not find out you’re lying to me,” the guy said, and then he promptly shot Max in the leg.

Max cried out and crumpled to the floor. You dropped to your knees next to him, ripping off your apron and wrapping it as tightly as you could around his leg at sort of a makeshift tourniquet. In the absolute eternity of seconds that followed, you heard the sound of a lock click; the bathroom. Jane had gotten the message.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, until you heard swift footsteps behind you and turned around just in time to be knocked out with the butt of the intruders gun.

When you came to, you were behind the bar. Your vision was foggy and you sort of felt like someone had poured lead into your brain, but you managed to clear your thinking enough to register your arms tied behind your back. Max was sitting next to you, seemingly unconscious. Your head lolled to look at him, terrified that he had died while you were out. You were relieved to see his chest rising and falling, though it was faint.

And then you registered the sounds of someone having the absolute shit beat out of them behind you. You couldn’t see anything from your position on the floor, but you prayed that it was someone coming to rescue you.

Against your will, your brain mulled over the worst possible outcome. And then, like an annoying fly that wouldn’t leave you alone, gas station man butted in. If you died, would he find out? Would he care? You would have liked to think he would be sad, but chances are he would just shrug and move on. You frowned at the thought.

Movement to your left drew your attention and you looked up to see a man in black and red spandex. You watched as he knelt down next to Max and started untying his hands. Of course, you thought sardonically; a guy in a onesie was here to free you from your own personal hell. As he turned to help you, however, he stopped. You didn’t think anything could have prepared you for the words out of his mouth next -

“Mysterious gas station woman?”

You just about choked on your own spit as he reached up and tore the mask off, revealing, indeed, the face of the stranger you had shared your ice cream with. “Holy shit,” you said, your words slurred. His eyes darkened with concern as he lunged forward to untie your wrists.

“I’m gonna help this guy,” he said, nodding to Max as he worked at the knots, “you get your friend out of the bathroom. EMTs and cops should be here any minute.”

You nodded and stood up once he had your hands freed. As you rounded the counter, you saw the guy that had attacked you lying on top of a splintered table, face bruised and bloodied. You tried not to feel vindicated, but you couldn’t help the smile on your face at the sight of him incapacitated and thoroughly beaten down. You made your way over to the bathroom and knocked. “Jane? It’s me. Can you… can you open the door?”

The door unlocked and Jane made her way out. She saw your face and gasped, her brow furrowing in apology. You realized you must have had a pretty nasty bruise from getting knocked out. “Oh, shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t help you, I heard the gunshot and I panicked and -”

“Jane, relax,” you said, reaching out to wrap your arm around her waist. “We’re all fine. Everything is fine.”

As you walked out of the restaurant and into the parking lot, the lights of cop cars and ambulances practically blinded you. Everything passed in a blur as police officers ran to meet you and helped you away from the restaurant. You watched from the back of an ambulance as gas station guy helped Max out of the building and stayed at his side until he was loaded onto a stretcher and carted away. Someone - an EMT, you thought - draped a blanket over your shoulders.

You kept a close eye on gas station guy, ready to sprint after him if he tried to leave. However, once he had given his statement to one of the police officers, you saw him scanning the scene for something.

That something was you, apparently. When made eye contact with you he came rushing to your side. “Hey,” he said as he jogged up to you. His tone was gentler than you had assumed he was even capable of. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be better once I know your name and what the hell you’re doing here,” you responded, quirking an eyebrow. He sighed.

“It’s Wade, and uh… I’m a superhero, I guess.” He smiled slightly, looking up at you through his lashes. “Surprise?”

You might have laughed had you not had such an absolutely ridiculous and exhausting day. “Well, Wade, it’s nice to meet you. Again.”

He chuckled. “Alright, pay up. If we’re not two strangers in the night anymore, I gotta know your name, too.”

“Y/N,” you replied.

“Y/N…” he repeated, almost reverent. “Listen, I have to be honest. Since we met, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, and every time I think about that night I just…” he let out a frustrated huff of air. “I regret a lot of things, Y/N, but letting you slip away that night has definitely been one of the most agonizing.”

You stared at him, lips parted in shock. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak; you didn’t know what to say, where to begin. He took your silence as rejection and looked away, suddenly sheepish.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s weird and you probably think I’m a freak now, but -”

You surged forward and grabbed him by the stupid brightly colored spandex, crashing his lips to yours. The blanket fell off of your shoulders as, after a moment of going stiff with shock, Wade melted into the kiss and wrapped an arm around your waist. The other hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently over the skin there.

You stayed that way for a few seconds before you pulled apart, both gasping for air. For a few seconds, you just looked at each other, obviously trying to process.

“As shit as this day has been,” you mused, “I think it was the universe’s way of trying to get us together.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe it was. So, um… do you wanna, like, go on a date, or… how should we do this?”

You hummed under your breath before a devilish grin formed on your features. “Wanna get ice cream?”

He grinned back, his eyes brightening with joy. “Holy shit, I think I’m in love.”

#i actually?? really like this #isn't that wild #also yes i know 7/11 isn't technically a gas station but i'm bad at titles and i thought it was kinda cute so idk #marvel #marvel one-shot #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #wade wilson #wade wilson one shot #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson fluff #wade wilson angst #marvel angst

49 notes · View notes