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thyme-in-a-bubble · 9 months

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the bouquet

lilac, chapter six

a/n: those kind of wet dreams are the best for real... like a fucking spell has been put on you, damn....

summary: “they should really put a warning up on those, plucking flowers is a dangerous thing.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, renovating an inn, no work gloves this time purely for the slutty need of hands, patching up a porch, wet dream, masturbation, townies thirsting over frank, pov shift (the end is from frank's), going to a bar, alcohol consumption, lots of pining

word count: 2253

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“H-holy shit,” you blew out a shaky breath as you blinked open your heavy lids to stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom.

Haven stirred from a dream but moments before, the imagery your mind had coaxed you with had been so intense that you still felt half asleep when you woke.

Half asleep and dripping wet.

Subconsciously, your hand had crept down below your pyjama pants before you’d even opened your eyes, determined to finish the job your fantasy had started.

Tangled in the sheets, it felt like you were still dreaming, the powerful and alluring imagery possessing your mind making it impossible not to tremble in want and near the edge faster than you’d thought imaginable.

But as your body laid there reeling in the afterglow, buzzing pearl sensitive beneath your fingertips, that’s when you truly woke and realised what, or whom, your carnal vision had been about. Who’s touch had felt so real, lips so sweet and words so honeyed…

Squinting up at the blossoming lilac flowers, the sun shined directly into your eyes as you raised yourself up onto your tip toes to see if you could reach them. The lower ones already plucked and secure in your left fist, your fingertips barely skimmed the deep green leaves on the gnarly branches you were attempting to grasp.

With an airy huff, you looked around the garden and quickly spotted a weathered fold-up chair that could no doubt grant you the necessary centimetres.

While dragging it over to the right spot underneath the blooming shrub, you feared that the old seat would be too wobbly for you to be able to balance on, though when you tried, it turned out to sink enough down into the grass to make the boost be just stable enough to hold you.

After snapping a few of the flowers off the branches, you came across one that was much fuller and more striking than the others already in your grasp, though when you tried to give it a firm tug, the unexpected stubbornness of the twig caused you to let out a curse for why you hadn’t brought out a pair of scissors with you.

“Come on,” you mumbled through your gritted teeth as you yanked at it, eventually leaning back to utilise some of your body weight, though when you did, when your spine reached a curved enough angle, that’s when the damn flower decided to snap off, sending you tumbling down to your doom.

Though as you let out a shrill yelp, you never managed to hit the ground, as you instead fell into a quick pair of arms.

“Wow, I’ve got you,” the deep voice alone caused your face to go flush.

“Uh,” you blinked up into the eyes of the one and only man whom your brain had decided to have a filthy dream about just last night, “h-hi!”

“Are you okay?” his strong grip on your form caused the vivid fantasy to come rushing back with a vengeance.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering hazily, “I’m good, I’m great,” your chest heaved as you then haphazardly raised up the bouquet in your grasp, “you know, just getting some flowers for the tables and stuff…”

“Yeah, I can see that,” an amused cock to his brow swiftly appeared, “I’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he said clearly, in a tone as if you’d hit your head.

Nodding fuzzily, “okay,” your hands, still tightly wound around the pastel blossoms, rested in support on either side of his broad shoulders long after he’d planted you back down on the ground.

“You good?” his head dipped to search your features, fiery touch still lingering on your waist a moment longer before it faded away.

“Yep,” you averted your gaze, awkwardly gesturing up towards the grand shrub, “they should really put a warning up on those, plucking flowers is a dangerous thing,” finally peeling your palms away from his radiating warmth, “but, uh, thank you for catching me.”

Tongue sweeping out in an effort to snuff out his beguiled smile, he gazed down at you and uttered, “any time.”

“So, um,” you cleared your throat, recalling why he was actually here today, “do you have t-the wood?”

“Yeah, it’s in the truck,” he gestured back over his shoulder towards the façade of the inn where the dirt road ended, widening out into a small patch before the veranda of the building flourished, his loaded vehicle indeed being vaguely visible from back here, “but we don’t have to work on the porch today if you don’t feel up for it.”

“No, no, I’m ready,” you hastily shook your head, shifting all of the florets into one hand, “there have been giant holes in that thing for as long as I can remember, so I am more than ready to bid them adieu.”

“Great, then I’ll just go get it while you finish this up.”

“Oh, I’m actually done, I was just supposed to get them for my dad,” you then heard yourself adding, “also, I can’t in good conscience make you carry that stuff all alone,” nearly poking him with the bouquet as you implored, “I mean, you’re already helping me out so much around here, it just wouldn’t be fair,” raising up a pleading finger, your feet then began to back up, slowly carrying you towards the backdoor, “just give me one second, let me run in with this real quick and then I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he offered you even a hint of confirmation, your stride took off, rushing indoors, chest heaving as you eventually caught yourself on the kitchen counter, though not from your speedy pace.

Settling the flowers down, your fingers grasped the edge of the cool tabletop, nearly doubling over as you sucked in calming breaths in an attempt to rid your body of the tingling sensations the lingering dream triggered.

When you eventually swung the doors back open, a purposeful shake of your clammy palms on either side of your frame was the last attempt you made to cool down.

Shoving the passenger side door shut, paint-chipped toolbox acquired and firm in his hand, you walked towards Pete as he unlatched the bed of the truck where lengthy planks of wood lay stacked.

“Hey,” you hesitantly called out as you neared him, his head rotating at the sound of your voice, “I just wanna apologise again for what happened that day at your cabin…”

“Christ, not this again,” he set the toolbox down with a heavy clank, “Y/n, you can’t keep doing this.”

“But-”

“No,” he nearly chuckled, “you literally did nothing wrong! One was an accident,” he counted on his fingers, “we’ve already established that, and the other? Sweetheart, that’s not something you should apologise for.”

Brows knit tightly together, you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, “but I cried, like really cried, and dumped all of that shit on you…”

“You didn’t dump anything, you shared,” he countered, “hey, look at me,” dipping his head down to catch your tense vision, he then continued softly, “I know that it was uncomfortable for you, but that doesn’t mean it was wrong,” his wide palm reassuringly found the top of your shoulder, “it’s not wrong to talk about something that’s hard, that’s the kind of shit that helps you move on from it,” searching you edgy expression a moment, his warm touch then faltered in favour of the pile of lumber, sliding one of the long stacks out as he urged light-heartedly, “now shut up and grab the other end of this,” gliding it out far enough for you to grasp the other end.

After curving halfway around the porch, you halted, “hold up,” fingers screaming out from the way the weight dug into your soft palms, “stop, one second,” you tried to prop your knee up under the many planks, “I just need to hold onto it a little differently.”

Glancing back at you, “okay,” he muttered before the lumber gingerly swung away from you, careful not to collide with you as he unexpectedly hauled the long and hefty bundle up in a more secure hold on his broad shoulder, “I can also just carry these the rest of the way, if you want,” the nonchalant offer coming out as if the timber didn’t weight a thing at all.

“Uh…” your breath became a thing of the past as your eyes fixated on the way his burly muscles bulged under his rolled-up sleeves.

“I think maybe if you go back and just grab one or two on your own it won’t be such a pain on your hands. I mean, no offence, I’m just–”

“No, that sounds great, you just–, uh,” your fumbling words cut off his suggestion as your feet already began to drag you back towards his truck, “I’ll go get some–, uhm, yeah…”

Dark hair gently falling down and tickling his brow, Pete’s eyes were fast on the plank under his broad palm as he fastened in two screws, securing the board and gradually patching up the gaping hole on the deck.

Kneeling as well, your clutch on the other end of the slat didn’t do much in the way of holding it in place. Your whole body felt like jelly as you caught sight of the way the veins on the back of his hand popped out from the stain of pressing down on the buzzing drill, forcing the screw to embed itself into the wood.

Lips slightly parted, you swore you felt your cunt clench around nothing as you fought the urge to let out an embarrassing whimper.

Pete’s head barely raised as his index finger slacked its force on the bulky button, unceremoniously passing the power tool to you as he had done a dozen times by now so that you could take care of the task in the other end, “here,” though when you didn’t move to snatch it out of his grasp, his features perked up, “Y/n?” letting out a short whistle in order to snap you out of your trance.

“Yeah?” your pulse thumped between your thighs, “oh, thanks,” giving your head a swift shake before you seized the gimlet and huffed out a big exhale, hoping you weren’t blushing as hard as it felt like you were.

As you clutched the drill, screwing in a few bolts on your side of the porch, a voice from the garden caught your ears.

“You know, my second husband was a carpenter,” you spotted Donna right on the other side of the railing, wafting a bright floral fan mere inches from her amble bosom as if she was some saucy Victorian woman in heat, “I’ve always loved a man who’s good with his hands…”

Her obvious innuendo made you bite down on your grin in order to not burst out a laugh.

Sucking in a controlled and mildly impatient breath, Pete averted his gaze and uttered formally, “hello ma'am.”

“It’s awfully chilly these nights, don’t you think?” the rotund woman continued to brashly bat her eyelashes at him, “perhaps you could personally come fill up my stack of firewood? Help warm me up a bit?”

“Ma'am, I already informed you before,” he kept his tone polite yet detached, “I don’t do deliveries, I just drop firewood off at the market, but perhaps someone there could help bring some to you.”

Pushing the doors open to the unacquainted roadside bar Frank found himself at, he had no idea how long he’d been driving for, simply that the sky had turned black long after he reached uncharted land in his desperate attempt at clearing his foggy mind.

“Evening,” the proprietor greeted him as he slumped down at the bar, “what can I get you?”

“Just a beer,” Frank answered distantly, his head elsewhere as it had unfortunately become acquainted with ever since nothing short of an angel had walked into his life.

“You’ve got it,” the bartender swiftly reached down into one of the compact coolers hiding back there and conjured an emerald flask, popping the lid off with an opener at his belt just before he slid it across the counter towards him, “here you are.”

Offering a courteous nod, “thanks,” Frank then began to drown his sorrows.

The establishment was mostly empty, only he and one other customer on the other side of the bar acted as its sole patrons.

“Hey,” the other man soon barked, “can I get a refill over here?” he lifted up his stout glass and tapped a ringed finger against the side, “and from the top shelf this time, I don’t want any more of this cheap hillbilly shit you try and call whiskey.”

When the bartender obliged, unable to hide how visibly peeved the rude customer made him feel, Frank’s eye line followed the proprietor’s movements as he served up the drink, still lazily fixated as he handed it off into the boorish man’s inked hand. Swiftly downing it as he rose from his tall stool, Frank’s tired vision momentarily got a chance to rest on the reptilian tattoo that decorated the back of the stranger's right hand. His sharp suit rose up ever so slightly to reveal that the striking design curled even higher on his tan skin than what was visible, before he promptly slammed it back down, along with crumbled compensation, and left, the sound of a garish engine soon acting as his last and final farewell.

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princessbrunette · 6 months

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protective stepbro!jj when a guy hurts/makes reader cry 🥵

ALL SQUARE ♡

CW: mentions of JJ’s dad abusing him briefly at start, violence, step-cest, angry JJ !!

JJ was pretty shitty with his feelings. God, he’d die before having an ‘open conversation’ with someone about ‘boundaries’ or writing in a diary like that mandatory counsellor who visit him after his dad had left some gnarly knuckle stains on his face for the trillionth time had suggested. No, it wasn’t his style. You keep moving, keep talking, keep runnin’ and nothing can catch up with you. Nothing can hurt you.

You were so different.

It was almost painful, how sensitive you were. Your lip quivered at those TV commercials where they’d show the abused puppies in cages waiting for adoption, JJ often having to beat you to your phone before you donated a handful of the money you didn’t have. Your eyes would drop to your lap in humiliation when his asshole father would make some kind of offhand impertinent comment about the bunnies on your pyjamas or the fact your fresh nail polish on your toes was making the living room stink of chemicals. No longer abusive, but still an insensitive asshole. JJ didn’t know how your mother subsisted, but then again she wasn’t like you— soft and saccharine, she was tough. She kept his father in his place, he needed that.

Your common sensitivity was why his heart only leapt halfway out the confines of his ribcage when he found you. He’d come home around 4ish, having stayed over at John B’s, something he used to be able to do for weeks on end but now couldn’t bare to leave you lonely in the house for longer than 2 days. He remembers now, your work uniform, when he sees the back of you first— white polo top hugging you, skirt bunching a little from your feet being curled beneath you on the futon, gold clasped necklace kissing the peach fuzz at the back of your neck. He smiles before he notices the way your shoulders are slumped dejectedly and you sniffle wetly into your knuckles.

He doesn’t greet you in his usual silly way, this time traipsing around the futon in the living room with his brow pinched until he was met front on with the confirmation that you were crying.

“What happened?” He sighs. Undoubtably, you’d watched a Tiktok of ‘Cats who didn’t get picked at the adoption centre today’ or accidentally smashed one of your pink plates you insisted you ate off.

“I hate this job, J.” You bleat, lips turned down and gloopy eyes flickering to him a few times. He sits at your side, hand hovering over you for a moment before deciding on your shoulder what he hoped was comfortingly. Okay, that answer was pretty valid. You’d recently picked up a job at the golf course, Kook central. He hated the idea of you shuffling skittishly around after those belligerent assholes, having them peak up the pleats of your skirt when you bend to fetch a ball or to snap their fingers at you when you don’t retrieve their champagne fast enough. But, you’d needed a job and he respected you for trying. He fought with everything to hold in the “I told you that place was bad news.” until he couldn’t, and said it anyway.

“I know.” You mewl pathetically, wiping your glossy nostrils on the back of your hand leaving a snail trail of snot down it.

“Talk to me, c’mon.” He shuffles a little closer, eager to hear the details, to find out who / what had made his sweet little step-sister so downcast. His brain flashes to what he might think would be the usual culprits. From what he’d seen however, Topper was oddly respectful to the help, Rafe didn’t care enough to bully them and Kelce just did whatever Rafe did, so maybe not.

“Y’know that property salesman guy, the — the one who’s got his picture plastered on all those benches outside the town square. I kept gettin’ in his way and,” You hiccup harshly, taking a moment to swallow it down as you collect yourself. JJ stares at your profile attentively, eyes wide and jogging his knee. He wish you’d hurry up and get to the point. “He kept yelling at me. Callin’ me names, like stupid and useless.” Your eyes finally meet JJ’s, flickering around for a moment hesitantly. He has a fresh cut on his jaw and through his eyebrow, his blonde hair sticking out his backwards cap curls at his temples, his eyes are a little tired and bloodshot but still wide and beautiful. Oh, you hated to see him mad. You push your sleeve higher up your arm, and look equally shocked to see the fresh bruise had darkened, the shape of yucky thick fingers curled around it. “He yanked me really hard n’I lost my footing and fell.” Your face crumples again, hot tears squeezing out your eyes.

JJ goes very still, his knee frozen and he barely breathes. Not only had someone been mean to you, but they’d laid their hands on you.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.” He seethes and you’re already shaking your head desperately before he’s even finished his sentence. “Yes, yes I am— not only, okay — not only is he laying his hands on a woman, alright — he’s laying his hands on you. That behaviour needs to be straightened out, and if no one’s gonna do it well —” He was up, pacing infront of you, looking around for something, some inspiration on what he could do to this degenerate Kook.

“Jayj!” You snivel, and it sounded so sad and small that it actually stops him in his tracks. He didn’t wanna scare you, no. Not you of all people, not when you’d been treated like this. He had a temper, it was true— his father’s son, but he was trying to be there for you. Be a good big step-brother. He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face a good few times trying to wipe off the anger, for now atleast. You could see the self restraint in him, his biceps were tense and his hands were flushed with colour and veins from the strain of it all. Made your tummy go all weird.

“Alright.” He relents and sits down right next to you again, taking off his cap and tossing it aside carelessly to run his fingers through the tangled locks, snagging half way through.

“I need this job.” You speak after a moment, and he turns his head to look at you. You looked so pretty, even when you’d been crying, snot and all. He rubs his lips together, eyes casted away once more as he nods.

“I know.” He wrings his wrists, the signs of restlessness still residing in him. “Sorry I freaked... C’mere.” He turns back, windscreen wiping the inky droplets of watered down mascara from beneath your eyes, hot hands cupping your cheekbones. “People are assholes, babe.” He lets the nickname slip out and your face gets a bit warmer. “You’re so much better than them, y’hear me? You’ll be alright.” He leans in and presses a kiss to the centre of your forehead. It feels appropriate, but he’s not sure what that means anymore — the line between the two of you having been crossed in such demented ways before. God, you look up at him so sweet when he pulls away, big watery eyes that would put a baby cow to shame. “You’re tough.” He lies, because you’re not tough, you’re so far from it— but your cheeks push up anyway, easily subdued by his care and affection.

“Yeah?”

“The toughest girl around. Even I’m scared of ‘ya.” He jokes and you giggle. Mission accomplished, for now anyway. The first part of the mission. He’d sweet talked you enough to have you curled up on the couch, exhausted from your long and stressful day, some reality show he couldn’t care less about buzzing on the TV. Yeah, that’ll do— some form of promise to go and grab some icecream to bring you leaves his mouth when he jogs out the door pocketing his keys and you believe him. He’s sure he can pick some up on the way home anyway.

But he passes the convenience store and heads all the way to the golf course. One of JJ’s many rules to mischief and misconduct was that if you walked with enough purpose, no one will question whether or not you belong somewhere. Which is how he strides straight in, past all the Kooks in their crisp shirts and board shorts, a jolly atmosphere in the air as the sun starts to set. Oh happy day, JJ thinks, how nice to be this ignorant to the world around you.

He all but skids to a stop when he spots him, the man he was looking for. Mr Mattegar, top salesman to Kildares richest idiots. Overpriced houses and redecoration jobs that remove any historical significance from a property? You best believe it’s Mattegars handiwork. He lounges at the bar, reddy-orangey cocktail in hand as he laughs obnoxiously loud amongst friends. JJ hangs back a little, nose twitching in anger as he disguises himself clumsily behind a large decorative plant. He’s lucky Kooks are so self absorbed, because no one spares him a glance.

Finally, the successful salesman departs from his table, heading towards the car park. Perfect, JJ notes, makes my job a hell of a lot more easy. The car park is secluded, away from the resort, and as JJ keeps his eyes trained on the Kooks back, he plucks a golf club from a passing trolley, clutching it in his tightly wound fist. He was going to find out which obnoxious Rangerover belonged to the culprit and partake in some much deserved vandalism, but this was better. His chest feels hot with vexation.

Another one of JJ’s many mischief guidelines fell along the lines of ‘Don’t think, just do.’ He stayed true to his word when he yanked up the paisley bandana tied around his neck to cover everything but his eyes and yelled out “Hey asshole!” Once the two of them were alone.

He didn’t think when he swung with the club, the metal head cracking against the aged man’s cheekbone. He yelps, falling backwards, and JJ is still yet to think when he swings again. “S’what you get! Laying your hands on little girls just tryna do their jobs!” He should have started thinking. The more he uses his voice, spitting out the expletives as he gives him a good few kicks to the rib, the more identifiable he’d be. This was a hit and run so uh, run.

He takes off, yanking his bandana off to pant wetly by the docks, tossing the golf club and watching it sink. He wasn’t sure why he’d referred to you as a ‘little girl’. It made him feel icky, weird, perverted. He leans over the side of the wall, watching the metal club disappear into the inky water as he catches his breath. Murmuring out a ‘God damn’ before continuing on home briskly, not even forgetting to pick up your favourite Ben & Jerry’s on the way home. What was that flavour you liked again? Phish Food?

You’re conked out when he gets home, lips parted and curled infront of the TV with a blanket draped over your legs. He exhales through his nose, placing the tub of frozen dessert aside on the table along with his keys as he slowly approaches, a small but anxious smile on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, but for you there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do. He pulls the blanket over you a little higher, dropping a kiss to your temple. He’ll share the tub of icecream with you when you wake up.

#tw stepcest #stepbro!jj #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank blurb

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 7 months

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close to home | chapter seventy four

plot: the return of the whisperers sends the reader into a spiral

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,872 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: enjoy the next chapter lovelies

Josie was giggling wildly as you blew raspberries into her stomach. The four-month-old baby sitting on your lap had blossomed into one of the most giggly babies, and you couldn’t resist tickling her or making her laugh somehow.

You smiled down at your daughter’s beautiful face before you scooped her up and pressed kisses on her fuzzy little head. Her hair was as dark as her daddy’s, with eyes as blue as the ocean not fifty yards from you.

“Ya ready?” Daryl asked from behind you.

You nodded and handed him Josie and watched his delicate touch. He gently bounced her up and down and kissed her cheek, only making her giggle even more. Which made Daryl smile so wide it made your heart flutter.

“I’m glad we brought her.” You leaned against the dresser. “I’m glad we brought all the kids.”

“Me too,” Daryl agreed quietly, focusing on his daughter. “We gonna have to bring her back lots so she can see the ocean.”

You grabbed your metal bow and ran your hands along the two names Daryl transcribed. Daryl Dixon and Josie Dixon, one on each limb of the bow. So, the two of you always knew what you were fighting to get home to.

“I’m excited to finally get to use this,” You shouldered the quiver and the bow. “Even though I’ve been practicing since you got it for me, killing walkers over the fence is not the same.”

Daryl didn’t answer you, and you looked over at him. He was too engrossed with Josie, playing with her in his arms. “Earth to Dixon. We got places to be.” You teased.

“How ‘bout ya go out there and I stay here?”

You snorted and walked over to him. “How about we both stay here?”

Daryl was about to agree to that when you both heard Michonne calling for you. He sighed loudly and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Can’ ever get a damn minute.”

“Come on, old man. We got people to train. Let’s drop Josie off with the other kids and get going.”

***

You walked alongside Judith and Michonne, the bow heavy in your hands. You weren’t using it as an archery weapon today. You were using it as a sword. With the tips as blades, you needed more practice hand-to-hand with it than with an arrow. Which is what you’d been doing since arriving at Oceanside a few days ago.

So you walked with Michonne and Judith as Aaron called out formations and made calls. You glanced around at all the faces you rarely got to see. Most of them needed training to deal with walkers, and if the whisperers did return, they needed it for them, too. They needed to practice fighting in a group, in formations.

It reminded you of simpler times back at the prison.

Michonne called out for the hand-to-hand combat, and you followed her through the opening in the ranks toward the steady flow of walkers. You could feel Daryl’s eyes on you, ensuring you were okay.

The first walker you approached was gnarly. It was blotted with seawater, and its skin seemed like it was almost melting off. Seaweed was curled into openings in its body.

You grimaced as you twirled the bow in your hand before striking. With one sweep, the tip of the bow cut its head in two, and its body dropped. You spun around, ducking as another walker reached for you. With a swift kick to its back, it dropped. You grabbed your machete, tossing it in the air to catch it on a good angle, and brought it down into its skull.

When you heard Michonne yelling, you looked up to see Jerry and Ezekiel moving away from the door to the boat. Within a second, the door and the wall itself fell, and a dozen walkers poured out.

You smiled.

Formations were made as the training group launched an organized attack. You brought down walker after walker using the blade of the arrow. Each time it cut through a water-logged skull, you felt your adrenaline rush. Each twirl of your body, each pull and push. You felt more alive than you had in months, finally outside the walls of Alexandria.

You, Michonne, and Daryl took care of the outliers while the main group took on a majority of the walkers. So when they were all dead, everyone was breathing easier.

“That was actually fun,” You said as you approached Daryl.

“Ya sick sometimes, ya know that?” Daryl said to you as you washed the tips of your bow off in the waves. “Ya say the craziest shit sometimes.”

You laughed and slung the bow over your shoulder. “I’ve been locked away for months. This is the first time I’ve been out of Alexandria. Let me have my fun.”

Daryl swung his arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple. “Uh-huh, let’s just hope our daughter ain’ inherit ya psychopath genes.”

***

You were standing barefoot in the water with Josie on your hips, watching your friends pull in nets of fish. Kelly and Connie were among them, and you waited impatiently to speak to them. Something was off with Kelly, but you weren’t sure what it was. And Connie signed too quickly for you to understand. They arrived this morning, and you hadn’t had the opportunity to say hi to them.

But finally, she noticed you and the sisters walked over. Connie immediately cooed over Josie, and you were more than happy to let her hold your daughter for a while.

I’ve been working on my signing. Needed something to keep me from going crazy, you signed.

Connie gave you a surprised look. Damn, I finally see you again and you had your baby and are signing better? All I’ve done is garden.

You and Kelly shared a laugh, and she spoke as she signed. “Looks like you learned quite a bit. We heard her name is Josephine?”

“Josie for short. She’s four months old, happy, and healthy.” You said, your hands moving quickly so Connie could understand.

The three of you started talking about the mask Judith found earlier and the few search groups that went out to see if they could find anything. You all seemed worried, but you tried to reassure them that, hopefully, it was just the storm that brought it in. Still, with your luck, you doubted it.

Eventually, Daryl found you, and Kelly and Connie had to go back to work. So you soon stood smiling at Daryl while he held Josie.

“Carol don’ seem right,” Daryl said, his voice low. “Imma take her out and talk to her away from everyone. Wanna make sure she’s good. Ya gonna be okay here?”

You gave him a look and took Josie from his as he passed her on. “Yes, I think I will be perfectly fine, surrounded by all our friends. Go. Make sure she’s okay. She’s been on that boat since before the summer started.”

Daryl kissed the top of Josie’s head and then yours. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“I’ll save you a dirty diaper.”

Daryl gave you a look as he walked away, and you laughed quietly and looked at your baby. “What do ya say, sweet girl? We save daddy a dirty diaper. Mommy doesn’t need to clean anymore ever again.”

Of course, the four-month-old only tried to grab your nose as a response, but you smiled regardless. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you fed, sweet girl.”

***

“(Y/N), where do babies come from?”

You looked up from a feeding Josie to see Judith staring at you with that quizzical look she had. It reminded you of her older brother. You cleared your suddenly dry throat. “Why are you asking about that?”

“Well, you and Daryl had a baby. And Michonne had a baby with Dad. I just wanted to know.”

You bit your lip as you switched Josie around. Judith had seen you breastfeed a million times by now because she wanted to know everything about everything. Still, you kept yourself covered. “Well, when two people love each other and decide together that they want to have a baby, they have to, um, have a special type of hug.”

Judith gave you that look that told you she wasn’t buying a word.

“Look, babe,” You said, “Why don’t you ask your mom this question, okay? I think she would much rather have this conversation.”

“But I wanna-.”

“Jude,” You gave her a warning tone. “I know you’re curious, and I love that about you, but right now, I’m trying to feed Josie. Do you wanna stay and talk about something much more interesting?”

She smiled and sat down on the couch next to you. “Can you tell me a story about me? About when I was a baby?”

You hummed as Josie finished, and you could finally start burping her. You stood up to do so, gently rocking her. “A story about when you were a baby. Okay, well, let’s see… did I ever tell you about what happened after we lost the prison?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I was with your aunt Carol and an old friend named Tyreese. We managed to get you out when you were probably about Josie’s age, maybe a little older. And we were on the road with you for days, missy.” You glanced at Judith, who was smiling.

“I bet I made lots of noise.”

“You sure did,” You smiled at the memories from so long ago. Had it really been so long? “But we kept you safe. And then we found our family and brought you back to your dad and brother.”

“Is that why mom used to let you take me outside the walls? Because you’ve taken care of me for so long?”

“Probably.” You said. Technically, you knew Judith longer than Michonne did. But you didn’t need to tell Judith that. Instead, you settled with a nicer version. “I’ve been caring for you your whole life, babe.”

Judith smiled and came over to you. She tickled Josie’s foot and looked up at you. “Just like you will for Josie. And I’ll watch over her, too.”

You chuckled and cupped her cheek. “Exactly. Now go find RJ and play, okay?”

***

An hour later, most of the scouting parties were back. Daryl was still off with Carol, but you weren’t worried about the two of them. Nothing could bring down those two. You’d told Michonne about Judith’s questions, who seemed less than thrilled.

You had just settled Josie in at Oceanside’s mini daycare for all the community's children when a bang louder than an explosion came from above, and you watched with wide eyes as something burned its way into the atmosphere.

“(Y/N)!”

You quickly grabbed Josie again and went to Michonne and the kids. Before you could even try processing what had happened, Eugene was calling from Alexandria with an urgent message, so you all ushered to the radio to listen to him rattle on about forest fires and tell Michonne we needed all communities pitching in.

Oceanside was a scramble as you and Michonne barked out orders. Groups were divided up, and water was getting geared up.

You were in the middle of talking to Connie when Daryl came to you. “We gotta get Josie with the other kids. Ya gonna stay with her?”

You shook your head and looked at the dark clouds of smoke a few miles west in the sky. “No. We need every hand we can get. There are enough people staying back to watch the community and kids. Judith will look after Josie.”

Daryl nodded and took the baby from your hands. “I’ll drop her off, I heard Michonne yellin’ for ya.”

You kissed your daughter’s head briefly before telling Daryl you’d meet him with the rest of the prepping community.

It killed you to leave your daughter because you hadn’t really left her since she was born four months ago. But the fire was important. So you looked back for only a second to see Daryl getting her settled with the rest of the kids, and then you went to find Michonne.

***

It was well into nighttime when the community got to the fire, and you worked tirelessly alongside Daryl and Michonne to get the gear out. You helped Daryl get the makeshift water tank on his back, and then he helped you into yours.

When you got the fire, you felt like passing out. It had already spread decently and was climbing up several trees. You looked up at Daryl, who seemed just as worried as you. And it didn’t help that you were in Alpha’s territory.

“Daryl…” You said.

He glanced down at you, and you could see the sweat on his face already. You knew yours matched. “Let’s just stay close, okay? Don’ need to be worryin’ ‘bout ya.”

You didn’t argue because you felt the same.

So you and he worked on the south side of the fire with Cyndie and a few other women from Oceanside, spraying water and hitting it with mopes as fast as you could. It seemed like nothing you did was helping, and the smoke was making you feel sick. You only paused to get more water, and when Daryl made you put on his handkerchief to keep from inhaling too much smoke.

Everyone worked until the sun rose, and still, the fire was blazing. That was also when more walkers started showing up. Someone wheeled over the cart of weapons, and you handed Daryl his crossbow and then grabbed yours.

You’d only taken down a few when more trickled out of the woods, and you knew it would be overrun. When they got too close, Daryl grabbed an ax, and you watched him take out the closest one to you.

Then you spun the bow in your hand and stepped forward, taking out two with the blades within thirty seconds. You heard a commotion from behind you, and you glanced quickly to see the team that was supposed to be digging the trenches join you. And behind them were Alexandrians.

You sighed with relief as another walker approached you. You kicked it away from you, and it stumbled backward until it fell, and then Daryl sunk the ax into its skull.

That was right when the walkers caught fire, and you shook your head. “Daryl, we need to go. Now!” You yelled over the noise.

He glanced between you and the incoming walkers and then ran toward you, pushing you forward. When you caught up to everyone else, you grabbed another arrow and joined the firing team while Daryl worked at bringing a tree down.

It could’ve been hours before the last walker dropped, and everyone got back to work on the fire. It probably was another few hours before the fire was finally out, and you collapsed in exhaustion next to a tree. Yumiko, who you’d been working with, sat next to you and offered you her water bottle.

“Thanks,” You mumbled before taking a sip. “What a shit fucking day.”

***

After the fire, you, Daryl, and Josie went home. The both of you definitely had breathed in too much smoke, and it took a few days to breathe better. And getting Josie home was a top priority for you and him. You didn’t need to be there if more walkers were drawn out. You were confident that Oceanside and the fighters from the other communities that stayed could handle it.

Besides, your top priority was Josie. It wasn’t Oceanside. No matter how hard of a pill that was to swallow.

Even when she woke you and Daryl up at dawn for a feeding.

You were sitting at the kitchen table as you fed her and watched Daryl stumble around the kitchen tiredly. He was still in his sleeping clothes, as you were, and you stared at him when the bottom of his shirt exposed his stomach when he reached up to grab something from the top cabinet.

Then he returned to making you both something to eat, and you looked down at your daughter. She was nearly finished, and you couldn’t wait to set her down. Your back was aching. You hated breastfeeding.

“Ya want an apple with ya food?”

You glanced up at your husband and nodded. “Thanks.”

Josie finally finished, and Daryl took her to burp her so you could eat. You rested your head in an open palm as you did, nearly falling asleep in the bowl of oats. But then Daryl was sitting by your side, putting Josie in the playpen in the living room and shaking your shoulder.

“Ya okay?”

You nodded and leaned your head against his broad shoulder. “Tired.”

“Well, eat. It’ll make ya feel better.” He gave you a sliced apple.

“You’re always trying to feed me,” You complained before biting into it.

Daryl grunted but didn’t say anything as he ate. The two of you finished eating in one of the comfortable silences you loved so much, and you kept looking at your husband occasionally. He’d changed so much since his brother’s death. Not that you didn’t admire him before. This new Daryl was something else. He’d taken on such a leadership role, and he did so much for the community and for you.

In a wave of appreciation, you moved from your chair to sit on his lap. He looked at you with tired eyes, but his arms wrapped around you tightly as you leaned down to kiss him deeply. “God, I love you so much,” You mumbled against his lips.

His fingers squeezed your waist, bunching up your nightshirt, and you could feel his fingernails digging into your skin. “We should go upstairs so ya can show me just how much ya love me,” He said.

“How about I get on my knees and suck your dick right now?” You whispered before biting down on his lip.

Before he could reply, you heard the front door burst open, and you immediately jumped off his lap. Michonne walked quickly into the room with a look on her face that made your stomach drop.

“Walkers.”

***

Forty-nine hours later, blood sprayed on your face as you blood your bow blades from a walker's skull. Your head spun as you did so, nearly losing your balance. You’d been at this for two days, and waves of walkers kept coming. You’d already been outside the walls several times with the parties sent out, and you weren’t sure how long you could take it.

Daryl stood a few feet from you, his own knife embedding a walker. When it was dead on the spikes, he came over to you. He looked you up and down and sighed loudly.

This last wave was the biggest, and you sat on the curb to drink some water and eat food that someone had brought over. You hadn’t been home in a few hours, and you only went to check on the kids. You felt terrible leaving Judith in charge of Josie, but it was the safest thing to do right now.

“Daryl,” You called out weakly, and handed him your water when he came over. He took a long sip and then you made him eat something.

“Another wave, thirty minutes out.” You heard someone yell.

You wanted to cry.

Daryl sat down next to you and chewed on his fingernails. You could see how angry he was. You would be, too, if you weren’t exhausted. And the sun beating down on you didn’t help.

Your husband glanced at you and used his thumb to wipe away blood on your forehead. “Ya lookin’ real beautiful, ya know.”

You snorted and shoved your shoulder into his. “Shut up.”

You heard someone yell that a freak was approaching, and both you and Daryl ran back over to the gates. You stood beside Rosita as you watched one of those masked freaks approach the gate, and you heard someone call for Michonne.

“Fuck me,” You muttered.

***

Your hands were shaking as you left the community hall. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Like a hand was wrapped around your throat. Your body was trembling, and you felt like you were going to throw up. No. You didn’t feel like you were. You knew you would.

You’d barely made it to the grass yard behind the community before you lost whatever food and water you had in your stomach. Your body was shaking worse as you knelt on the ground.

“(Y/N).” You shut your eyes when you heard Daryl’s voice, and then you felt his hand on your back. “Take a deep breath, darlin’.”

“You can’t go,” You choked out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and looking at him. His face was blurry through your tears. “Please don’t go. Please don’t.”

“Ya know I have to,”

Your heart was beating wildly and you felt a deep pit of desperation settle in your heart. “No. No. Please don’t go. Please. I can’t have you go out there, not after what happened. Please don’t go, Daryl,” You sobbed, reaching for his hands.

“(Y/N)...”

You shook your head. “Please don’t go. Please.” You gripped his hands tight. “No. I’m your wife, and I’m telling you no. She wanted you dead for what happened. She tortured me 'cause she couldn’t kill you. I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you,” You were hysterical.

“Okay, okay…” Daryl breathed out, wrapping you in a hug. “Okay. I won’t go. I won’t go, baby girl.” His hand ran down the back of your head as you pressed your soaked cheek on his chest.

“Don’t go…” You sobbed, “Don’t go…”

***

Twenty minutes later, you were passed out from exhaustion and your panic attack. Daryl was standing above you, holding Josie in his arms. He was worried about you. He felt sick over it. He’d never seen you like that--begging him not to do something for the community. You always knew how important the safety of the community was. It was something the two of you had in common.

But things were different now. Daryl had a wife and a four-month-old daughter. You and Josie were more important than anything or anyone.

So when Michonne came to tell him it was time to leave, he backed out. She was surprised but understood and instead asked him to help Gabriel look after the community.

Instead, he sat inside the house, kept an eye on you, and cared for Josie. Gabriel would be able to handle it. He’d have to. Daryl had to look after you.

***

You woke up before Daryl thought you would, and he’d been holding a sleeping Josie when you raised your head in panic to look for him. Relief filled you.

“You didn’t go?”

“I told ya I wouldn’t,” Daryl said.

You nodded and stood up. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “Ya don’t gotta be sorry ‘bout anythin’, baby girl.”

#daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #twd #daryl twd #daryl dixon #daryl x you

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humanrindswrites · 8 months

Text

scary movie

pairing: kirk hammett x female reader

summary: kirk's girl is a hardened horror veteran, just like him, but even veterans have their limits.

warnings: fluff, mentions of gore (they’re watching horror movies)

word count: 859 words

a/n: little factoid about me is that i love really gory movies but sexual violence is where my tolerance for extremity ends. also, if you've never seen cannibal holocaust just know that it has real scenes of animals being killed just for the sake of it. it's not a movie for the faint-hearted.

“So, what did you say this movie was called again?” Kirk asked as his girlfriend set up the VCR in the living room.

“Cannibal Holocaust,” she said once the machine was turned on and ready for the tape. “It got banned in England recently and the director got arrested in Italy because they thought he actually killed the actors.”

“Sounds gnarly,” he said as he took the videotape box from her. “Everything gets banned in England these days.”

“That’s true, they’d probably ban a movie because somebody got a paper cut.”

When Kirk first saw her in the video rental store, he thought maybe she was a beginner looking for something tame to watch with friends and could maybe find something that would get her jumping into his arms like a little lamb. Instead, he found out that she was just as much an expert as he was and liked her movies gory and borderline upsetting.

It was pretty much love at first sight for him.

She had her finger on the pulse for all the wild new movies coming from Europe and which ones were getting banned in Europe for being ‘harmful to children’ or some other ridiculous shit that some old people were saying. He was more versed in the classics but finding these scandalous new videos was something that he never really had the time to do anymore.

They made popcorn in the kitchen while the trailers played at the beginning of the tape, making it back just in time for the movie to start. The screen showed a beautiful sweeping shot of the Amazon rainforest set to a lush orchestral score, as if it was a nature documentary or a romance, lulling them into false security of what was to come.

When she’d originally told him that the movie was a nasty one, Kirk thought that she was just exaggerating. He’d seen some gory movies before but they’d never been as grisly and realistic as this. The two of them watched in stunned silence as people were killed, raped, beaten, and animals were slaughtered before their very eyes.

The videotape’s quality added to the horrifying visuals before them, making the carnage so much more disturbing than it likely was; the poor turtle’s exposed innards were spread across the screen as the eerie soundtrack screeched. Kirk had never expected her to jump into his arms during a movie, but he could feel her tense up and her fingers curl into fists against his chest with every brutal blow.

But no matter how extreme the scenes became, neither one of them could take their eyes away from the screen. Blood was spilt, brains were exposed, bodies were hacked to pieces, women were raped, and people were eaten. She’d promised Kirk a gnarly time and that was exactly what they’d gotten.

I wonder who the real cannibals are, the television said before the camera swept up into the New York City skyline and the credits rolled. They were both quiet until the tape stopped and Kirk picked up the remote from next to him to turn it off.

“You feeling okay?” he asked her. She usually had something to say once the movie had finished, but this time she was stunned into silence. “Hey, it’s only a movie.”

“I didn’t think they were going to kill real animals,” she said, her voice quiet. “I knew it was going to be gruesome, but nobody told me they killed the animals.”

“Aside from that, did you like the rest of the movie?” Kirk asked as he ran his hand up and down her arm.

“I don’t know. It’s something I need to think about. But I know I don’t want to watch it again.

“It wasn’t a Frankenstein flick, that’s for sure.”

“Nobody got raped in any version of Frankenstein as far as I remember.”

“Did you not like that part either?”

“No,” she said, a little louder than she’d intended. “I hate seeing girls get raped in movies. It’s why I hated The Last House on the Left.”

“Mm, that one was intense.”

“At least all of that was fake, not like this,” she said as she sat up and went over to take the videotape out of the VCR. “No wonder it got banned.”

“Are you saying you support movie censorship?” Kirk teased and stood up to help her clear away the dishes that had accumulated on the coffee table.

“I’m not saying that,” she said and playfully slapped him on the arm. “I’m just saying that I can see why people had such a strong reaction to it.”

“Maybe next week I’ll pick the movie so that we don’t watch poor turtles die.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

Kirk took her in his arms and thought for a second, humming in her ear and tapping his fingers on her shoulders for comedic effect.

“How about I Spit on Your Grave?”

“Okay, now you’re just teasing me,” she said as she broke out of his arms and took the dishes into the kitchen.

“Hey, you’re the one who always picks the hardcore stuff, I thought you’d like it!”

#kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett fanfiction #kirk hammett fluff #kirk hammett imagine #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #metallica imagines #metallica #kirk hammett #real person fiction #rpf #x reader #reader insert #*my writing #self ship

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silentglassbreak · 4 months

Text

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

I'm so sorry it took me a little longer to update. I've got a gnarly head cold, but I'm in bed, and hoping to get the next part started after this one is posted. We’re getting to the meat of the story here now folks. There’s lots of fluffy cheesy fluff in this chapter, because it’s going to get real heavy later. Remember to let me know if you want to be tagged! 🖤

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery. ++ chapter warning for consensual choking***

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Part 7 — Concrete Jungle

The days were passing slower than molasses. I found myself working overtime nearly every day to give me something to do outside of being at home, AA, or waiting for Noah to call. Being a hermit was much easier when the only person I had to look forward to seeing was my dog.

We were so close to the end of the first leg of the tour, Noah only having two shows left before he came home for nearly three months.

I dreamt of how wonderful those three months would be. We talked about it often. He swore he was coming over the day he got home from Witchita, and we weren’t leaving my house for a solid week. As unrealistic as that was, I still looked forward to it, and scheduled vacation to have that entire week off.

I was soaking in the tub, music pumping through my earbuds when the sound of a familiar ringtone sang through my ears. I smiled and tapped my phone screen, answering the call.

“Hey babe.” I sank back down into the water, inhaling the lavender scent of the epsom salts I had added.

“Hey sweetheart, how was your day?” His voice was relaxed, calm and cool.

“Not the worst. Sam wasn’t there today, so I actually didn’t hate it.”

He chuckled. “That guy’s a real dick, huh?”

I snorted. “The worst.”

“Well, if he ever makes another pass at you, just tell him your big scary boyfriend will kick his ass.”

My eyes were closed, just relaxing at the sound of his voice. “My boyfriend?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I thought I said I didn’t want anything official?”

I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, well that was before big meathead dudes were hitting on you.”

“Mm,” I pulled my arm out of the water to readjust my towel under my head. “I’ll tell him my big scary boyfriend said so.”

“What is that noise? Are you doing dishes?”

“In the tub.”

He didn’t respond, but I heard my phone’s twinkling ringtone, indicating I was getting a FaceTime call. I snickered and ignored it.

“No way. You gotta wait to see it in person.”

I heard him groan on the other end of the line. “Not fucking fair! You’re all wet and bubbly.”

“No bubbles today.”

“So I can see through the water?!”

The jingling came again and I ignored it, laughing loudly.

“Shouldn’t you be in soundcheck?”

“That ended hours ago. I’m relaxing in my room before the show.” His voice lowered. “I’m so lonely.”

“See if Nick’s around.” I said nonchalantly.

He hissed. “Babe, I’m in a mood here, help me out.”

I giggled. “Say please.”

“You know I don’t fucking ask.” His tone was deadly now. I shivered at the sound, spreading my thighs a little.

“Fine, but no video. Last time I nearly dropped my phone in the tub.”

“Deal.”

It was silent for a beat. “You okay?” I looked over to the phone to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected.

“I’ll be better once I know you’re touching yourself.” My stomach dropped, a small moan leaving my mouth. His words were always so maddening, getting me hot so quickly.

I adjusted myself, spreading my thighs and letting my hands fall lazily over my slit, running my fingers gently over my sensitive spot.

“I am.”

“Good girl.” I pressed a little harder against my clit, rubbing slow circles around it. “Now, tell me how bad you miss my cock. How bad do you miss me baby.”

I moaned louder now, bringing my left hand up to punch my nipples. My undulations on my core increasing speed by the second.

“Ugh I miss you so much Noah.” I let my head fall back, eyes closed, picturing him in the tub with me.

“That’s right. You miss me touching you, baby?”

My voice was just breaths. “Yes.”

“You miss me eating that sweet pussy? Making you fucking scream?” His breaths were coming quicker now.

“Yes, Noah.” I answered louder, my hips buckling slightly at the thought.

“When I get home, you going to let me fucking destroy you, baby? Fuck you until you can’t even move?”

“Oh, fuck, yes...” I was so fucking close.

“I’m going to come just fucking thinking about it baby. Always thinking about you. That pretty, tight pussy. So fucking wet.” I could hear movement on the other end, I could tell he was as close as I was.

“Noah I need you so bad. Please come home. Please come home and fuck me. I need you so so bad.”

I heard him gasp hard on the other end. “Fuck!” His voice was sharp. He came.

I wasn’t far behind, letting out a small scream.

There was no words exchanged for at least five minutes while we both worked on getting our breathing under control.

After a moment, I heard him make a sound of disapproval. “I made a mess.”

This caused me to burst out laughing, him joining me only a second later.

“Fucking hell, Noah. I can’t wait to see you.”

He sighed heavy. “I know.” I could tell he was thinking, he only got completely silent when he was.

“Fuck it, come to Witchita! Catch a flight tomorrow and you can make the show. Then you can ride home with us.” I paused myself, now toweling off while the water drained from the tub.

“Excuse me?”

“You took the week off, right? I’ll book you a ticket right now.”

“Noah, you aren’t coming home until Thursday. I can’t leave Angel that long. And I can’t bring him on the bus.”

“Can Laura watch him for a few days?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Noah. I’d miss two days of group.”

He huffed, obviously defeated. “Alright. I’m sorry, it was a dumb idea.”

“No, it wasn’t. I just need more time to plan something like that.”

He had to go, ending the call quickly to shower and head back down to the venue. With a promise of calling me after, we hung up.

I called Laura that night, telling her about Noah’s promise to keep me in bed for a week.

“I’m so fucking jealous of you.” I laughed heartily.

“You’re married!”

“I know! But you’re literally dating a rockstar, Leena. I’m jealous.”

I chewed on my thumb nail.

“He called himself my boyfriend, Laura.”

“Isn’t he?”

I flopped back on my bed. “I don’t know. It feels like it.”

“Is that so bad?”

I contemplated this. “I’m scared, Laura.” My arm covered my eyes. “You know how long it’s been.”

“I know, LeeLee.” Her childhood nickname for me brought me some comfort. “But Noah isn’t him.”

“I know he isn’t.”

“So don’t hold yourself back. Have you even told Noah about him? About any of your trauma?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

I could feel hot tears brewing. “I’m scared to love him, Lo.” My childhood nickname for her.

“Babes, if you’re scared to, then I think you already do.”

Well, that’s a lot to unpack.

I sniffled hard, wiping my tears. “Ugh.” I sat up. “He also asked me to fly to Kansas tomorrow. Go to the show and ride back with them on the bus.”

“That’s cute as fuck. Are you going to? You know I’ll watch Angel.” I rolled my eyes.

“I know, but that’s insane! I would have to leave in like 12 hours.”

“…and?” I didn’t respond, which told her how I felt. “Leena, you don’t do spontaneous, fun stuff anymore. Did you already tell him no?”

“Thank you for that.” I sighed. “And yeah, told him I couldn’t miss group.”

“Abel can handle group for one week.” I stayed quiet. My mind was actually considering it. “You could surprise him!”

“What?”

“Yeah! Show up without telling him, and hold up a sign that says LH hearts NS or some shit! He’s sappy, he’d love it!”

“I can’t exactly get in without him knowing. The show is sold out.”

“Can’t you call Nick or Folio?”

With that, my brain kicked into place and the plan all formed in my head.

“Laura, I’ll drop Angel off in the morning.”

She laughed. “See, you love him!”

I hung up without another word.

I dug through my contacts and found Nick’s number. The show should have ended at least an hour ago, so I guessed they were still in the green room, shaking off the energy.

“C’mon, pick up Nick, pick up.”

“Hey!” The voice was loud, a ton of background noise. “Is everything okay? Do you need to talk to Noah!”

“No!” I yelled into the phone. “No, Nick I’m fine, but I need to talk to you privately.”

Having filled Nick in on my plan, he was on board from the moment I said the word ‘surprise’. He thought it was a great idea. He told me Noah had been homesick, and he was sure me coming would perk him right up.

I booked the earliest flight to Witchita that I could, leaving at 5AM. Laura cursed at me when she opened the door to bring Angel inside at 3AM. I dropped a quick kiss on his snout and promised to text Laura the moment I landed.

I then drove to LAX, running through the terminal to my gate, barely making it on the plane in time.

My adrenaline was on high, my backpack filled to the brim with clothes, random toiletries I may need, my wallet, and my phone charger. Everything else would just have to do without.

I understood now why Noah takes a panic day before traveling, because this was anxiety-inducing to do. I hated flying, so my heart raced the entire nearly eight hours.

Once I touched down, I grabbed an Uber to the hotel, the same one I knew they stayed at. I had four hours until the doors opened. I asked Nick for a regular GA ticket, no VIP. I needed to be the first one there so I was in the very front. He needed to see me.

Checked into my room, I slipped in a quick shower to wash the flight off of me, shivering when I got out. I stared down at my bag and realized what I had forgotten.

“Oh shit!”

I picked up my phone and dialed Nick. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, you here yet?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m in my room. Dude! I have nothing to make a sign out of!”

“Erm…what do you need?”

I ran my hands over my forehead feverishly.

“Poster board and a big sharpie?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Okay, give me 15, let me see what I can find. Text me your room number.”

He hung up and I quickly slipped my clothes on.

My phone rang, Noah’s face flashing.

“Hey you.” I even sounded suspicious, what the fuck? I’m so bad at this.

“Hey gorgeous, you alright?”

My blood ran cold. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh, just because you went to bed early last night and then said you were busy all day. I haven’t heard much from you.”

I laughed, relieved. “Oh yeah, just hung out with Laura all day. I just got home.”

“Ah, okay. I can’t talk long, I’ve got to get ready soon. But I just wanted to check in.”

“Oh, sure! I miss you.” I sat down on the bed.

“I miss you too, baby. Only a couple more days.”

I gritted my teeth. “Yup. Home stretch.”

We said our goodbyes and as I clicked ‘End’, there was a knock at the door.

Nick stood on the other side, 5-pack of poster boards and 3-pack of giant markers in his hands. He was sweating and absolutely out of breath.

“Hi…Leena…” he said in between breaths. “I ran to the corner store and got these. I hope they work.”

I took the items from him, taking note of the color of the posters.

“Neon green?” He nodded, putting his hands on his knees.

“Yeah. Trust me. He can see it way better on stage.”

I smiled brightly. “This is perfect, Nick. Thank you!”

He smiled back. “Anytime. Now look, we take a break between Death of Peace of Mind and Just Pretend where Noah talks to the crowd and gives his little monologue. It gives him time to get his voice ready for the song.”

I listened intently.

“That’s when you hold it up. He’ll have them turn on the lights so he can look at the crowd, and that’s when you hold it up.”

“But what if he sees me before then? Won’t it be obvious if I’m in the front?”

He shook his head. “Don’t let him bullshit you. When the lights are down, we can’t see shit up there.”

I was the second person in line, behind a red-headed girl who looked positively irritated. She was dressed in full Bad Omens merch, reminding me that I should have worn the shirt he gave me. Instead, I wore a black tank top, black jeans, and combat boots.

When the doors opened, I walked up to the rail in front of the stage, my sign tightly wrapped in my hands, and turned my back. I didn’t want to risk him seeing me from the back.

I pulled my phone out and shot him a quick message.

Me: Have a great show tonight, babe!

His response was quick.

Noah: Yep, last one till I’m home with you.

Noah: Call you after.

The show was so long, by the time the guys actually made it on stage, I was wiped. ERRA and Invent Animate had put on great sets, but I was here for Bad Omens.

When I heard the opening chords to Death of Peace of Mind, I felt my heart jump into my throat. I sunk low by the railing, listening to Noah’s enchanting voice sing the melody.

“You come and go in waves. Leaving me in your wake.”

I swallowed hard.

“You come and go in waves. Swallowing everything.”

The guitars and drums pounded out the last verse of the song, leaving the venue dark when the lights went out.

I began unraveling the sign, questioning my entire life. This was so corny. Is this how I really wanted to do this? Make such a strong confession to him? In a fucking sign? Like a prom-posal?!

My gut twisted. I couldn’t do this. But I had to. I came all this way. Nick nearly gave himself an asthma attack getting the supplies.

And there was my guy, sauntering around the stage, monologuing, right on schedule.

He would turn the lights up any second. It’s now or never.

I lifted the sign as high as my 5’1 frame would allow, closing my eyes to the rest of the world, internally cringing at how ridiculous this was.

“Woah, we got a sign over here!” His voice was boisterous. And he saw me, or my sign, rather, as I was hiding my face behind it.

I heard him walk toward where I stood.

“Let’s see what it says.” I peeked around the side for only a second, seeing he was bent over, squinting to read the sign.

“‘I love you Noah S’, awe, thank you, that’s so sweet.” He hadn’t walked away though. “What does that say underneath?”

He was quiet for a second. He was reading my name. ‘Leena R.’

The room fell silent, or for me it did. I heard nothing but the shuffling of the microphone being put on the stand. I lowered the sign to see what was happening just as he fixed his mic on the stage.

“Give me just a second, guys.”

The crowd screamed, and he jogged over to the area of the stage directly above where I stood. With no warning, he jumped down, causing the security guard to scramble over to him. He was unfazed, walking straight up to the railing in front of me.

His eyes were wide, a giant grin nearly breaking his cheekbones.

I was sheepishly smiling back, trying hard to maintain my composure.

“You love me?” I almost couldn’t hear him over the crowd. I just nodded wildly, moisture prickling behind my eyes.

Before anything else could happen, he reached up and hooked my neck, pulling me toward the railing and crashing his lips on mine.

All I felt was vibrations, likely from the crowd exploding. His lips tasted like mint and sweat, his gloved hand rough against the back of my neck.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to mine for a second.

“I fucking love you, Leena.”

I was still shaking, my hands tucked firmly in my jean pockets while the security guard walked me to the green room as instructed by Noah.

I could hear the concert continue, only two songs left. Noah had jumped back onstage and continued as if nothing had happened, able to breeze right past it like the professional he is.

“Okay, you can wait in here. They’ll be back here once they finish up.” I smiled at the security guard and walked past him into the room.

“Hey,” I turned to look at him. “that was a ballsy move out there. Good for you.”

I blushed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah? It felt kind of insane.”

He laughed. “It was fucking psychotic.” This wasn’t helping. “But to be honest, I never see shit like that happen. It was cool as fuck.”

He left before I could say anything else.

It wasn’t long before Folio burst through the door, obviously still hyper from the performance. Jolly and Nick followed, already chatting.

“I swear to you my rig was out of tune, dude! It kept giving me sour notes during Limits, and then Dethrone was a fucking mess.” Nick’s eyes scanned the room and found me sitting on the couch, waiting patiently. “Leena!”

I jumped up. “Hey!”

“Perfect fucking execution dude! Exactly how I pictured it.”

“Yeah? How embarrassing was it? Be honest.”

Jolly laughed, pulling his long hair back into a low ponytail. “Oh, it was adorable. I loved it.”

“It was fucking cringe, dude!” Folio’s voice called from the table that had snacks on it. He looked over, open water bottle in his hand. “It was rad as fuck!”

I relaxed my shoulders.

Noah came skipping into the room after a moment, pulling the gloves off of his hands.

“Hey!” He bound up to me, his arms coming to grab me by the hips, pulling me down to another kiss.

“I thought you couldn’t make it!”

I smirked. “I changed my mind.”

“So you didn’t spend the entire day with Laura, I gather?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I spent the day traveling.”

He had disbelief on his face. “How did you pull it off?”

“Called Nick. Booked a flight. Easy stuff.”

“I risked my life for that sign, by the way!” Nick hollered from the couch.

“Is that why you ran out of the room earlier?”

Nick just nodded in response. “I came through. Pulled the wool over your eyes.”

Noah lifted his brows at me, his expression was unreadable.

“You both are insufferable, you know that?”

I had brought my things to Noah’s room, not much need for my own. My legs were feeling heavy, so the walk off the elevator and down the hallway with him was my time to find the strength. Noah was a very…active…individual, and I assumed that he was going to be looking for some time together.

When we entered the room, he walked past me, immediately pulling his shirt off and sitting in the bed. Rather than looking at me with his usual hunger, his eyes looked exhausted when they met mine.

It occurred to me, Noah had been on tour for a couple of months. He was playing shows nearly every night while traveling, sometimes without even time to sleep in a hotel room. He needed rest.

“Noah?” He only tipped his chin up in response. “I think I know what you need.”

He raised his brow, the playful expression shadowing his face. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

“A shower.” It took him a second to process, but once he did, his shoulders relaxed forward and he huffed out an amused sigh.

“Yep, you’re right about that.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck.

I stepped over to him, putting my arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. He pressed the side of his face into my chest in a comforting gesture, wrapping his own arms around my waist.

“Then, you need some sleep. Nick said we leave at 6AM.”

I could only feel him nod. I pulled back so he could look up at me.

“Why don’t we pick up on the fun stuff when we get home? And just work on recovering for now?”

I felt his body go slack.

“Oh thank God.” I shook with laughter. “I’m so fucking tired, Leena. I didn’t want to disappoint you, though.”

“You want to know a secret?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m fucking dead, dude. I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up.”

He laughed into my chest, caging me in just a little tighter.

“Didn’t you sleep on the plane?”

“No, I uh…I’m not a great flyer.”

“Me neither, why do you think we still take a tour bus?” His voice was muffled by my shirt and he sighed heavily.

“You, mister, go get in a hot shower. Scrub off all that sweat. I will order us some food, and get a movie on.”

He groaned approvingly. “Today is the best day ever.”

He sounded small, which tugged on my heart. “I’m glad I came.”

“Me too.”

After a solid five hours of sleep, a morning shower (that may have included some touching), and a third cup of coffee, Noah and I were standing at the hotel check-in desk turning in his room key, and my completely useless one as well. We had fallen asleep not twenty-minutes into the horror movie I had put on after devouring a pizza. We fell asleep spooning, but he eventually rolled onto his back, and I woke up half-laying on him, sweat covering both of us.

Noah was always so chipper in the mornings, which was painful for me, as I was a creature of the night. Even after all of the caffeine, I was still wearing sweatpants, one of Noah's sweatshirts, no bra, flip-flops, and my sunglasses. My hair was hanging loose over my shoulders, not brushed out after the shower. I looked absolutely dreadful.

Still, he held my hand as we walked out to the bus, and helped my backpack off of me and let me on first. The bus was about what I expected, large, loungers lining both sides, a table near a somewhat kitchenette with a refrigerator and table. In the 'hallway' area were the bunks, a bathroom that was smaller than the one on the airplane, and in the very back was a couch with two large televisions, a couple of various gaming consoles, and some cabinets that Noah showed me were filled with snacks.

I had set myself up on one of the lounge couches while the rest of the guys loaded onto the bus. I was waving to each of them lazily as they stepped on, dropping things off in their respective bunks. Folio laid on the lounger across from me, immediately letting his eyes fall closed. I felt my own lids get heavy.

"Are we ready? Ron says we aren't stopping for at least six hours." Jolly called from the front of the bus. He received several yelps of approval in the back from Noah and Nick, who were putting their things away in the back cabinets. No response from the now comatose Folio, and just a thumbs up from me.

As the bus began to move, the vibrations had me lulled, pulling me closer to falling back asleep as my eyes watched the sun slowly rising from the window. An arm reached over me, pulling a shade closed and blocking the light, which was lovely.

I heard Noah's voice above me, so I angled my head to look up. "Going to take a nap, love?" The word made me turn my lips up tiredly.

"Mm, it's not even a nap. It's just going back to bed."

He laughed, shaking his head. "You want to lay in my bunk? The pillows smell like me." He winked, making me roll my eyes playfully.

"I'm too claustrophobic for those things." I sunk down into the cushions. "Besides, I'm so comfy."

He walked to the back, returning only a moment later with a large green blanket that was plush and warm, flinging it over me.

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on my lips. "Get some sleep. I'm going to go kick the shit out of Nick at Warzone."

"Fuck you, dude! I'm going to wipe the fucking floor with you." Nick's voice carried through the bus.

Noah was only gone for a moment before my eyes slipped closed and the movement from the bus had me in a nice, deep slumber.

The drive back home was long. Longer than I had exactly anticipated. It was now about 11PM, and Noah and I were snuggled on the couch in the back, watching through The Conjuring 2, under the same blanket I had napped under earlier. I was going to sleep back here tonight, and I had this pulling feeling that Noah was too.

I was laying sideways, pressed against his side and chest as he laid flat, legs crossed and spread long on the couch. He had one arm wrapped around me, and the other folded under his head.

I wasn't so much watching the movie, having seen it many times, but I was mostly studying him. My fingers traced the tattoos on his shirtless chest, taking note of freckles that were barely visible between the lines of ink.

After a while, I glanced up at him, seeing his eyes beginning to flutter closed. I reached my face up, and pressed a kiss to his jaw, catching his attention. His arm tightened around me, and he breathed heavy.

"I'm fighting for my life to stay awake here." His voice was deep and thick, sleepy.

I smiled. "Why not go to bed, babe? This couch is a little small for two of us."

"Cause you're wide awake, and I'm not going to leave you alone."

"I'm a big girl, Noah. I can put on something to watch and lay here until I get drowsy"

He just shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'll be okay."

I shrugged and began sitting up, needing to stretch. He followed suit.

His eyes watched me as I lifted my arms over my head, my crop top pulling and exposing the underside of my breasts. I saw his tongue slide over his bottom lip.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

He smirked, reaching out to press his palm into my side, making me shiver. His hands were freezing.

"Actually..." He pulled, nearly causing me to topple into his lap.

I let out a squeal, clapping a hand over my mouth. Jolly and Nick were passed out, their snores carrying through the bus. Folio was in his bunk, watching something on his tablet with headphones in. Noah had closed the door to the back of the bus when we first came back here, but I didn't want to be a nuisance, and wake everyone.

He quietly laughed, pulling my legs on either side of him, bringing my face down to his with a hand in my hair.

Our mouths connected softly, his hands coming to rest on my sides.

I pulled back slightly, my eyes glancing over at the door.

"It's locked."

I raised my brows at him, hands resting on his shoulders. "Yeah? Had ideas of how this night was going to go?"

I tried to keep my face even, but I was struggling not to crack a smile.

"I'm not as tired tonight." His voice was low, serious.

He pressed his lips to mine again, steady but not eager. We had time. We were only halfway back to LA, most everyone was asleep, and, most importantly, we were in love.

This moment together just felt different. There was a barrier that had been up, completely fallen now, leaving us bare to each other and vulnerable.

Slowly, he lifted my shirt over my head, drinking in the sight in front of him. His mouth came down on my chest, teeth leaving soft bites as he worked toward my left nipple slowly, painfully. His lips locked onto my nipple, and my head fell back. His hands pulled my hips down, only the fabrics of our sweats between us. The hard bulge ground against my core, making me moan softly.

We stayed this way for a long time, writhing together, his mouth moving from my nipples to my neck, to my mouth. I tugged on his shirt, pulling it over his head. For a second, I stood off of him, and intentionally pulled my pants down as slowly as possible, causing him to groan.

Once I had kicked them off, I reached down and grabbed onto his, only pulling them down enough to let his erection free. I then regained my spot straddling him, sliding myself over him, our mouths hot on each other. When I felt the head of his cock bump my entrance, we both froze for a second. His eyes latched onto me.

We both stared for longer than a moment, trying to decide what we do here. I wasn't on birth control. I knew I was clean. I trusted him to tell me if he wasn't. As stupid as it was, it didn't bother me. Nothing bothered me here. Nothing.

I sunk down, letting him slide into me, and I watched as his mouth fell open, eyes wide. This wasn't just us having sex on the back of a tour bus where someone could hear or see. This was more. This was something else entirely.

I felt every inch of him, all the way to the hilt, and my eyes fluttered closed, my bottom lip caught in my teeth. I was adjusting to the size, having only felt it the one time before, months ago.

"Look at me." His voice was nothing more than a breath.

I opened my eyes, staring at him, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I couldn't say if it was from the slight pain of the penetration, or the sheer emotion I had for Noah.

His hands held me in place by my sides, keeping me from moving an inch.

"I love you, Leena."

A tear spilled down my face, and I sucked in a hard breath.

"I love you, Noah. So fucking much."

I felt his fingers release me ever so gently, and I bucked my hips, causing the most delicious friction that pulled a moan out of both of us. Again, I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from giving us away, and began a slow rhythm of bouncing up and down, each thrust pushing me toward a finish line I so desperately wanted.

He leaned his head back against the cabinet, his breathing so heavy I thought his chest might burst.

"Jesus Christ, baby. Don't fucking stop." He was too loud, he would have the entire bus knowing what we were doing.

I reached my hand up to cover his mouth too, but he snatched my wrist in his hand, reaching up and grabbing the other from over my mouth. He held both wrists in one hand, and pinned them between us, not letting me free while his hips bucked, pressing him deeper and deeper each time I landed on top of him.

He leaned his head in to whisper in my ear. "Stay quiet baby, wouldn't want anyone to know."

Small squeaks escaped with nearly every thrust, my eyes beginning to roll back. I grit my teeth to keep the sound from escaping.

"That's it. Good job, baby." His eyes were half-masked when he spoke, one hand gripping my wrists in a deadly tight grasp, the other lifting my hips for leverage. "You're trying so hard to keep quiet. So good, princess."

His words were giving me a familiar tingling sensation in my belly, my climax coming closer the more he spoke.

"Look so fucking pretty when you ride my cock. Missed that tight pussy so much."

I let a small whine out and his body stilled instantly. My eyes snapped open, and he narrowed his eyes at me. The irises were black, his expression was serious.

"What did I say? You need to keep quiet."

My eyes widened, but my head nodded frantically. The lack of friction was becoming painful.

"I'm sorry."

He released my wrists, my hands falling lifelessly to my side. Both of his hands snaked up my chest, reaching my shoulders. His right hand reached up, wrapping his fingers gently around my throat and slowly adding pressure until I felt my windpipe compressing ever so slightly.

The sensation was sickeningly delicious and my legs naturally jerked in an attempt to gain sensation.

"You will do as I say, is that understood?" I nodded. He reached a hand around me and grabbed a fist full of skin from my ass, pulling me forward. His hand tightened on my throat.

"Now, ask nicely for me to fuck you."

I gasped, his hand loosening to let air through.

"Please, Noah. Please...fuck me."

His hand released my neck, coming down to grab my ass and began bucking up into me violently. I fell forward against him. His arms then wrapped around my chest as I felt the coil in my body pull tighter and tighter. I pulled back to look him in the eyes, his expression wild.

I leaned down and bit into his neck hard, causing a strangled sound to come from his throat as I felt him slow his thrusts. I used the opportunity to grind myself harder against him, the contact pushing me over the edge, my orgasm tearing out of me.

I rode down onto him hard, slowing with each thrust, until we were both panting against each other.

"Are you okay?" He breathed out after a moment, having calmed to nearly normal.

I only nodded in response.

"I've never done...that before." His voice was entirely different now, sounding nearly nervous.

"What?" I expected him to be referring to the choking. It wasn't my first time, but any other time had been pretty dissatisfying, to say the least.

"Having sex...without a condom."

I pulled back to look at him, my brows raised in disbelief.

"Really?"

He was chewing on his lip. "I trust you. I just..." He trailed off, his mind clearly racing. "I'm clean, I swear I am."

I only chuckled at this, rolling off of him and snatching my pants off of the floor. He pulled his up as well.

"I am, too. However," I slipped my shirt over my head. "I'm not on the pill, so we'll need to grab a Plan B when we get back to civilization."

His eyes widened. "I didn't even fucking think of that."

I stood up, stretching. "Luckily for you, I did."

We turned the movie off, as we had missed most of it already anyway. We sat facing each other, cross-legged on the couch, eating snacks out of our respective bags; I had Cheez-Its and he had Reese's Pieces.

"Are you from LA, originally?"

I shook my head. "No, I was born in Washington, but only lived there until I was about five. When my mom died, my Dad moved us to LA. Him and Mom lives there before I was born, and she was buried in East Los Angeles. He said it only made sense.”

"What does he do?" He popped a candy into his mouth.

"He's has a wood-working business. Builds furniture and does art pieces. He doesn't do much of the actual labor stuff anymore, at his age, but he still loves to carve. He has six stores in LA County, two in San Bernardino, and one up in Alameda."

Noah looked thoroughly impressed. "Fucking nice!"

"Yeah, he's my best friend. Best Dad ever." I smiled thinking about my Dad. I would be calling him the moment I got home to update him on my trip.

I looked up at Noah, my turn to ask questions.

"Why go to an AA group in Orange County when you live all the way in Calabasas?"

He twirled a candy in his fingers, shrugging. "Well, when I google searched AA meetings, I didn't want to risk anyone seeing me, so I didn't want to be too close by. I also didn't want to travel too far so I wouldn't have an excuse not to go. Then I narrowed it down to meeting not associated with any churches or religious groups. That's how I found yours."

"What made you decide it was time for AA?"

He was looking down into his bag, and I saw the expression on his face change. I had hit a nerve somewhere, but I wasn't sure where.

"It's like I said before, I had some downtime and figured it was time."

"I don't believe that."

His head snapped up to look at me. "What?"

"Well, maybe in general that's true, but there's usually something. One thing that leads you to AA. It's rare when you just wake up one day, realize you have a problem, and then walk into a meeting."

His eyes narrowed. "Well, that's what happened to me."

He didn't want to keep talking about this, I could tell, but something was there that he wasn't saying. I elected to let it go. I'm no longer his sponsor, maybe I'm not entitled to that information anymore.

Maybe.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic

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ofallthingsnasty · 5 months

Note

Urrrgg im such a wuss about physical pain but something about punctured wounds specifically makes me scared more than cuts or bruises. I think it’s something about the “intrusion” that a sharp object does when it stabs you that it doesn’t do when merely cutting you

Suffice to say Crocodile even threatening to give me a “piercing” will scare me into submission. Suddenly I’m throwing out my escape plans because I do not want to be hurt like that 😓 Sir you can spank me however you want but PLS don’t put that hook anywhere near my face

oh goodness anon, you're way too cute 😭💕 he would never ever hurt you because i say so.... but this also made me think...

tw. yandere, violence, a little over-the-top gore (facial), references this post

Now that you mention it - there are two ways he could harm you with his hook in that specific scenario, one more planned and one more impulsive. (To pierce your tongue, he’d need a forceps or at the very least a very steady hand or else he’s going not only cut into your tongue but the floor of your mouth as well - which could lead to severe bleeding and neurological damage, oh my. Your cheeks are a different story - he might still injure a tiny branch of the facial nerve but you’re not going to lose some motor functions.)

But to be honest - if he does this to you, it’s going to be entirely impulsive because he’d have to be exceptionally mad. Angry beyond belief or reason, so precision and thought aren’t going to be present. (Even if I really want him to get my tongue, ugh 😔) He isn’t even going to threaten it, he’ll just launch forward like a man possessed and puncture your cheek, force his hook through the fat of your face until he hits your teeth, just lashing out, just senselessly hurting you to shut you and your horrid mouth up. And god help you if you react on instinct and pull away, because that is going to net you an open cheek and a nasty scar.

Will he feel guilty just moments later, as rare as that emotion is for him? Yes. Will it stop your incessant babbling and shock you into submission? Also yes. Like you said, I can only see this happening once, maybe twice? You’d have to do something so outrageous and disrespectful and keep at it to get this rather calm man to that point - but it’s achievable and a serious escape attempt could do it. But you being feisty plays a big part in this - because if you aren’t (if you grovel and cry and beg for forgiveness, kiss his feet to soothe that anger, worship him like you’re supposed to), he won’t end up that mad. You’re still going to regret it, no doubt, but he has this pesky little soft spot for you that, if pressed, can mellow him out rather quickly. It really depends on you and your actions.

But if it happens? If the meat of your right cheek suddenly loses tension and flaps around because his hook is too big to control and you instinctively pulled back, away from the pain, the hurt? All that anger is going to evaporate in an instant. He just needs to see your stunned face, pain barely registering because of the adrenaline that is running through you, just needs to see all that exposed fat and muscle to immediately regret it. It’s a grotesque sight; yellow, pink, stark red mixing as your teeth gnash in horror and your thoughts are going a mile a minute trying to register what just happened. Of course, he wastes no time and takes you in for the best care he can find in that moment, intent on keeping both the functional and aesthetic damage to a minimum - but his hook is big and brutish and the wound leaves you with a gnarly scar, no matter how skilled the hands of your surgeon are.

When it’s all said and done, he’ll still feel that little pang of guilt from time to time when he traces the scar with his thumb - but it’s more that feeling of regret a little boy gets when he scratches up a brand new toy, that disappointment that it isn’t shiny and new anymore and not genuine remorse because he inflicted so much pain on you. He can’t feel bad about it for too long when he remembers that you see what disobedience gets you every time you look into the mirror. It might have marred your looks - but it has made you so wonderfully pliant as well, has earned him your respect.

#tbh to just flap open your cheek you'd need a lot of force but 🤫#tw.violence #tw.yandere #/crocodile #/one piece #yandere one piece

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libbytwq · 2 months

Text

wowie i did it! I drew sonic designs for if he were in each shatterverse!

Im very proud of them, they look so skrungly

Also this was a challenge for me, i just kinda made up their designs as i went along with no references and no premade color palettes

Heres the post where i first made the idea:

Anyway, closeups + character info below

(Keep in mind, these characters exist in a timeline where the prism was never shattered)

Renegade Blur, the Sonic of the New Yoke City Shatterverse

I took some design element inspo from Knucks, with the scars and the lil spine dent thingies

He is incredibly reckless and very loud and overconfident (his scars are from being reckless and stupid)

He is kinda similar to Chaos Sonic tbh

He stops at nothing to defeat his enemies, even when his body cant take another hit

He can be a lil bit overbearing, but when it counts, his heart is usually in the right place

He works with Rebel and Knucks, and sometimes they don't get along but they can trust Blur usually

Loves races and is a sore loser

He's also never met Nine, but if he were to meet Nine, he'd be able to get along with him, but would side with the Rebels and agree he can't always be trusted

Very violently aro/ace, he do his own thing and doesn't like the idea of being bogged down by another person he has to take care of

Quill, the Sonic of the Boscage Maze Shatterverse

Took some design inspo from Gnarly and Thorn, as well as the facepaint from Prim

He can be a lil nervous and underconfident, and doesnt know he can run fast (hes a lil bit klutzy - if he runs too fast he trips on something and falls over, so he doesnt run too fast typically)

He loves his friends! He hates getting abandoned

He typically hangs out with Prim, Gnarly, Hangry and Mangey above the forest, but he does hang out with Thorn occasionally below the treetops (the rest of the group has no idea)

Thorn scares him a lot. He is so afraid of her, but he sticks around cuz they do actually care about each other, but they refuse to admit it

Quill is usually the one that the group sends below the forest, cuz he is able to grab some food without immediately getting sent up by Thorn and Birdie

If Thorn ever catches him taking berries, Quill is usually able to explain himself, and Thorn usually lets him off the hook

Quill and Thorn like each other (shhhh dont tell anyone i said that, not even quill knows he likes her)

Mangey is one of his best buds! They get along so well and no one knows why

Has never heard of the idea of relationships, but he has these weird fuzzy feelings for Thorn that he cant identify, hm must be nothing

Sexuality? Whats that?

Aklesh, the Sonic of the No Place Shatterverse

This one was my fav to design. I took a lot of inspo from a lot of the No Place characters, and "Aklesh" is Sanskrit for "Swift Lord"

The shiny rings and accessories are the colors of his friends - Red for Dread, Yellow for Sails, Pink for Black Rose, and Purple for Batten

His bandana on his head is yellow to go along with how Sails's bandana is blue

He just loves vibing with his crew, he gets along well with everybody - Sails and Dread are his besties tho

He's perfectly fine with being lazy and not doing anything everyday, but when the time calls, he's more than happy to be a swashbuckling pirate

Surprisingly, he is not afraid of water

He loves his colorful shiny accessories and is a bit of a collector

The peacemaker of the group, he settles disputes and suggests that the answer isn't through violence - but if the answer is to use violence, like if another pirate ship raids them, he won't stop fighting until he is victorious

Kind of unofficially unspokenly the second in command to Dread

Raging pansexual. Kind of a slut, with how he keeps his shirt half open /j

Aklesh thinks Dread is very very neat (and they were crewmates wink wink). Dread has no clue

ok thats all i needed to say, hope ya like it

#clip studio paint pro #digital art #my art #sonic prime #sonic au #sonic oc #blur the hedgehog #quill the hedgehog #aklesh the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog

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plus-size-reader · 1 year

Text

Safe

Richie Kirsch x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2816 words

Warnings: the reader gets stabbed, fandom-typical violence, romanticizing a known serial killer

Summary: Richie “saves” the reader from Ghostface, and she doesn’t want to leave his side after that.

@armyangxls requested this forever ago, and I just got around to finishing it. I hope you enjoy it darling!

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You almost didn’t believe it.

Not that you had been attacked. You had sort of figured that at some point or another, you would end up on the chopping block due to your close proximity to Sam Carpenter, your best friend.

What you couldn’t believe was that you survived the encounter.

By some miracle, or more accurately by Richie Kirsch, you were still breathing even after coming face to face with that fucking ghost mask.

He had saved you, and even more impressively, he was made it out too. He had survived and so had you, with little more than a flesh wound to speak of.

It wasn’t bad, considering how it could have gone. Still, that didn’t make the whole being stabbed in the side hurt any less.

It hurt like a bitch.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay” Richie cooed, trying his best to be comforting in the aftermath of what you’d just gone through.

You tried your best not to scoff at that, finding it hard to be positive with a stab wound leaking all over the floor.

The only thing that kept you quiet, really, was the knowledge that he had just tried to take on a masked serial killer for no other reason than to save your life, and he didn’t deserve any attitude.

Even if he wanted to say stupid things like that.

“I can’t believe I got fucking stabbed” you groaned, resting your head back against the cabinet and letting out a huffy breath.

Richie hummed at that, only half paying attention as he took in the scene in front of him. Honestly, he couldn’t believe you got stabbed either, considering it hadn’t actually been part of the plan.

Not that he could tell you that.

It wouldn’t bring you any comfort now.

“How bad is it?” you wondered, not entirely sure if you wanted to know, but doing your best to say something, anything that would fill the empty space between you.

You were flushed, and panting but if you asked Richie, you still looked pretty…in a just-got-attacked-by-a-serial-killer kind of way.

Though, considering you didn’t ask him, he chose to keep that little fact to himself. Instead, he forced himself to grimace as he glanced down at where the blade had pierced your flesh.

There was a lot of blood, and from this angle, he couldn’t even really tell how bad the killer had gotten you.

So, after a careful glance back at your face, he decided to just tell you that. “I’m going to look at it, okay?”

With careful hands, he lifted what he could of your bloodied t-shirt to take a look at the damage Ghostface had managed to do before he showed up.

It wasn’t pretty.

The soft skin of your midsection was marred, and you were sure to have a pretty gnarly scar once they stitched you up. Thankfully though, it didn’t look too deep and he was sure you’d live.

Richie was a lot of things, but a doctor was not one of them.

All he could tell was that the bleeding wasn’t too bad, a steady trickle more than a gush, which meant that you would recover. He might not know much about surviving stab wounds, but he knew enough to know that you weren’t dying.

He would definitely know if you were dying.

“So, what’s the verdict, Doc?” you questioned, trying to laugh though it was cut short with a hiss as his fingers met the hole in your abdomen.

You weren’t sure what he was doing, but considering it was either trust Richie or bleed out on the floor, you kept your mouth shut.

“You got stabbed,” he laughed, his eyes not meeting yours as he focused on the task at hand. Using the hole in your shirt as leverage to tear the bottom part off, he started, doing his best to pack the wound with some of the cotton.

It wasn’t pretty, but all things considered, that couldn’t have been the furthest thing from your mind.

Maybe under different circumstances, you may have blushed or attempted to tug the edges of your shirt down further to cover the exposed pudge of your lower stomach but that seemed silly now.

Besides, Richie didn’t even seem phased at the appearance of your usually hidden skin, much less disturbed by it.

“Good news is, we’re already in a hospital” he teased, his eyes flicking back up to you for a second, a smirk playing on his lips as he attempted to joke with you, just to make sure you caught it.

You smiled, a small nod letting him know that you both got his joke and appreciated his attempt to make light of the situation.

Getting stabbed hadn’t been on your to-do list, but it seemed that if it had to happen, you could do a lot worse in terms of first responders than Richie.

“Aright. What do you say we get you some help, huh?” he suggested, standing from where he’d been, kneeling over your crumbled frame and offering you a hand.

It was going to hurt, standing up, but there wasn’t exactly a good way to get around it. So, you bit the inside of your cheek and pushed through the screaming of your abdomen until you were on your feet.

Richie held you there until you were ready to take a step and even then, he didn’t let go of the hold he had on you, his arm secured around your back.

This hadn’t been part of the plan, and it certainly wasn’t in his script, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

After all, everybody loved a little bit of romance with their gore, and a pretty girl on his arm could only make him more likable in the end. It was a win-win, as long as you healed up well enough to make all those public appearances with him when everything was said and done.

The doctors made quick work of the wound you were sporting.

After Tara, they knew exactly what they were dealing with and your injuries were nowhere near as severe, so they were done relatively quickly. Of course, that didn’t mean that you could go home.

You had to spend at least a couple of days under observation, just to make sure the knife hadn’t caused more serious complications, or knicked something internally that they hadn’t caught yet.

Which was just fantastic.

You had almost been butchered a few floors down, but somehow you were supposed to feel safe sleeping here all alone? Hardly.

“You awake in there?”

The sound of Richie’s voice from behind the closed door startled you from your brooding, and you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face as you thought about seeing him again.

He had saved your life, after all.

“Yeah, come on in” you called, confirming that you were, in fact, awake and more than willing to have a visitor.

Your parents weren’t going to be able to make it, and with them out of the picture, you were pretty much looking at a weekend here all by yourself. Staring at the ceiling tiles was entertaining, but somehow you thought actual conversation with another human would top it.

Richie did as you suggested, careful to close the door gently behind him. The doctors told you he waited the entire time you were in surgery, but when you woke up, he was gone.

Evidently, getting some stitches of his own.

You winced as you took notice of his bandaged forearm, “Did they do a good job getting you patched up?” you wondered, thinking back to the moment he’d burst into the room and saved you from certain death.

It felt like a dream now, but the sharp pain still radiating in your side confirmed it was real. You had almost been butchered downstairs, and had Richie not shown up, you wouldn’t have been here at all.

The sequence of events had been coming back to you more and more as you sat here, trying to put it all together in your head.

You had gotten a text from Amber asking you to meet her in Tara’s room and assuming the worst, you headed that way.

At some point in your journey, the killer had come at you from the back and knocked you from your feet, resulting in you both hitting your head and ultimately getting stabbed, when you rolled over to fend off another blow.

You didn’t even realize you’d been stabbed at first.

It wasn’t until Richie came rushing into the hospital room and drew Ghostface’s attention away from you that you noticed the blood pooling around you.

Your hand slipped in the crimson when you went to stand, and you fell back to the tile floor. That was where you were when he screamed, the killer’s blade slicing clean through the skin of his left arm.

It wasn’t a terrible injury, all things considered, but you still couldn’t believe that he’d just done that. That he’d gone out of his way to put himself between the killer and you, someone he’d only met a few days prior.

“I think so. What about you?” Richie wondered, not bothered by your faraway look as he moved to sit down beside your bed in the visitor's chair.

He had a little bit of experience with wounds like yours, but he was never putting them back together more than he was making them worse.

You nodded in reply, watching as he filled one of the paper cups on your side table with water, and offered it to you, in a gesture far more caring than you ever would have imagined from him.

Though, after today, it would seem that you had been too quick to judge him. Richie had to be a good guy, or else he wouldn’t still be here.

“Are you headed home?” you asked, trying to make small talk as you finished up with your water and handed it back to him.

You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly spending time here if they didn’t have to, and considering that he was up and around, you figured that meant he was probably on his way out.

Just checking in before he went out to Sam again.

“I have a little time, you know if you’re lonely” Richie shrugged, a little too quickly to be considered casual though you didn’t really catch it. All you heard was that you didn’t have to be alone for a little while longer.

Which, after everything that had happened today, felt like a wave of relief washing over you.

“We can watch Stab 5. It’s on Netflix, and trust me, it’s the best one” he assured, not even giving you a chance to reply before pulling out his phone and searching for title in question happily.

You may not have known how deep his love for the franchise went, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy a movie together regardless.

“You don’t think that’s a little morbid? Y’know, with Ghostface running around” you countered, immediately forcing Richie to rethink his whole plan. If you didn’t like these movies, you really weren’t going to like the rest of his movie.

Though, as soon as he met your gaze, he melted again.

You were messing with him.

Even though you were tired and recovering from a pretty nasty wound, you had this soft smirk on your face that told Richie everything he needed to know.

“Don’t be scared. I already proved I can protect you, didn’t I?” he grinned, pressing play and listening as the opening score met his ears, after scooting his chair closer to where you were laying so you could enjoy it too.

You two stayed like that for a while, not really saying much to one another, aside from the occasional muttering of facts or repeating of lines from Richie when his favorite parts would flash across the screen.

It was nice.

It had been a while since you had been able to just enjoy sharing space with another person, and you never would have guessed you’d find that with someone like Richie.

Not that you could deny it.

He was different than you thought, and for once, that seemed like it was a good thing.

You smiled, thinking back to the way you’d refused his handshake the first time he’d introduced himself. He just seemed too nice, and too put together, that kind of thing always put you on edge.

Richie caught sight of your soft expression from the corner of his eye, the movie forgotten now as the end credits rolled. He started to say something, to ask what you were thinking about or how you liked the movie, but he never got the chance.

Before he could even consider what he wanted to ask, a bell chimed through the hospital letting you both know that it was nearly 8 pm.

It was time for him to go home.

…and time for you to accept your fate.

Richie was the first to speak, breaking the silence between you as he stood from his chair, moving it back to its original position. “I guess I should get ready to go”

He spoke slowly, like it was his turn to be lost in thought, contemplating whether or not he should really leave you here all alone.

The entire time he’d been here, no one else had called or texted to check on you. It seemed like you were completely alone, and he didn’t really want to just abandon you here.

“Yeah, you should go home, get some sleep” you agreed, not even trying to hide the disappointment in your tone.

You needed to get ahold of yourself.

This was your best friend’s boyfriend, and just because he saved your life from a serial killer, packed your wound with his bare hands, and then spent the evening keeping you company didn’t mean there was anything between you.

There couldn’t be.

Again, Richie faltered, clearly not ready to go but not able to come up with a good enough reason to stay either.

It felt like there was something else to say like the right words were right there on the tip of his tongue and his brain just couldn’t access them.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then” this time, the words came out more resigned, sort of how a huffy child would react after being put in time-out.

Wordlessly, he gathered his things and headed toward the door, looking back at you only once before pulling it open, intent on taking his leave.

Fuck it.

“Hey Rich,” you called, watching as he jolted back at the sound of your voice, too much hope and expectation evident on his face. “Will you stay with me?”

Your voice was far sweeter than you’d ever heard before as you practically pleaded with him not to leave, ignoring the nagging pain in your side as you shifted toward where he was standing.

Visiting hours were over, or at least, coming to an end.

Luckily, since you didn’t really have much family to speak of and no one else had come to visit, it wasn’t like he’d have any competition for your overnight visitor's slot.

If he wanted it, that was.

The second you spoke, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. That was a pretty bold move, and no matter how much you ignored the facts, he was currently taken which added a layer of complexity.

So far, you hadn’t actually done anything wrong by Sam, but you were certainly in the grey area.

“You can if you want, I mean, I’d feel better if I wasn’t alone” you added, hoping that this wasn’t too much pressure all at once. He’d already saved your life today, so you could understand if he wasn’t exactly looking for anything else.

It wasn’t as if you could expect more than that.

Still, any resistance that may have been there washed away as soon as you offered, and Richie grinned. As if he was going to actually turn down a chance to spend more time with you.

“Yeah, I can do that” he decided, almost all at once. “We can watch 6 and 7 too, so you can tell me which one you like best”

You knew it was wrong, to want his attention as much as you did, but right now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had nearly been butchered earlier and the only thing that saved you was Richie.

So, if you wanted to keep him by your side a little longer, you doubted anyone would blame you for that.

Besides, Right now, Richie was the only person you knew for sure could be trusted and you needed to know you were safe.

Even if only for one more night.

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cannibclheart · 1 year

Note

hey there! could you write some yandere/obbsessive or whatever you feel comfortable with writing reaper (ow) x reader thank you love! - 🪐

This is so late but I’m older and not that much wiser. Let’s go! To those reading the author’s note up here, please feel free to send me more requests. Winter vacation is coming and I’m eager to write :)

cw: stalking, home invasion mention, self-gaslighting

Despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, a man's hunger does not dissipate with death.

Flesh will melt off the bone just as oil sits on top of water, but the soul, the part of a human that desires without abandon, is harder to dissolve. Reaper has spent a lifetime stitching the corroded parts of his soul back onto his rotting corpse. You see the efforts in his gnarly hands, blooded and beaten beneath his gloves; his back, scarred over from foreign objects designed only to harm; his face, twisting only resentment. His designs are wasted, it is a study in futility, and yet —

his ambition, the hunger inside of him has only grown in size. Perhaps Gabriel Reyes knew of hunger but Reaper has been consumed by it.

— The question remains, could a thing’s appetite be satiated by the mere sight of you? An answer: for a time. It does not take long for a want to become a need, and the thought of touching your face, scorching your skin with his own iron hot grasp, is too tempting of an idea to forgo.

— Reaper is a huge stalker. He knows more about you than you realize the first time you meet. Your eating habits, your laundry day, your current path to and from work — he knows it all. And what he doesn’t know, or can’t seem to glean, he’s asked Sombra to help gather (a steep price to pay, but anger pairs well with irrationality and there is seldom a moment where he feels sane when thinking about you.)

— Things go missing in your home at an alarming rate. A pair of socks is expected. A spoon not yet washed off is hardly noticeable with an increasing pile of dirty dishes. A polaroid picture of you and your friends is more careless than you could ever be. It horrifies you.

— At that point, you don’t feel safe in your home. Of course, you make complaints to the police, to your friends, to your co-workers, but nothing ever escalates from that point forward and later you’ll realize you lulled yourself back into a false sense of security. Gaslighting yourself into thinking you’re more forgetful than you are. “Maybe I really did misplace that photo. It could have fallen and I never picked it up.” You never find it, of course you don’t because you never misplaced it, but it’s easier to think about your paranoia as a figment of your own imagination than something that wants to harm you. (He doesn’t want to harm you, that’s the truth, he just can’t help himself.)

— Even before you grew anxious of an invisible doom, he would watch you sleep. Would watch you toss and turn at night, frightened by some nightmare or another. These occurrences only increased as the nights wore on and you would frequently wake up with scratch marks on your sides, on your thighs, at the hollow junction of your neck. You rationalized it was your attempt at waking yourself up from whatever was that was chasing you. You hadn’t even considered the thing you might be running away from is the thing you cling onto in moments of fear. He feels closest to you in moments like those; where you too are trying to escape the confines of your own skin, piecing yourself back into reality as though violence was only needle to do so.

— It’s not that Reaper intentionally wants to horrify you, but he can’t deny himself the admission that he likes it. He can’t stop thinking about the way your voice faintly shook when describing the details of the theft (it’s more of a home invasion actually, Reaper had stolen your shirt while you were in the bathroom. He was there, he always is.) He wonders what you might look like with tears in your eyes, if you would seethe at him in disgust or if you would pity the thing he’s become. Ether way he’s irredeemable. He can’t be saved, the rot has grown too deep.

#hc #yandere reaper #yandere gabriel reyes #overwatch #yandere x reader

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 3 months

Text

Head Full of Ghosts | Chapter 4: Bumps in the Night

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 4/? Read on AO3 Current Word Count: 16,755

Author's Note: AND WE'RE BACK! I'm so sorry for not updating this fic in a hot minute. I ran into some gnarly writer's block going into the holidays and the new year, but I'm back on track. I even wrote two one shots featuring these two which can be found on my account. Please enjoy them, and this chapter, with my apologies. Thanks for sticking with me and these crazy idiots.

Astarion sat at the small round dressing table situated just outside his tent, fingers drumming idly against the worn wood as he leaned back in his chair. In his other hand, he held an open book outstretched in front of him, red eyes skimming across the pages.

Evening had settled in over the camp, bringing with it a chill in the air as the far-off rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Candlelight flitted from a lantern he had set on the table, providing just enough light for him to feign interest in the words of his book. It was a collection of memoirs that had something to do with the dull and painfully tiresome life of an adventurer who had hunted a variety of beasts up and down the Sword Coast.

Or was it devils? Criminals, maybe?

Hells, he didn’t know. It was all terribly trite and uninteresting. The stories, if one could even call them that, were worth less than the paper they’d been printed on. At least they could burn the pages as firestarter for Gale’s cookpot.

Though…that was probably an equally ineffective use of the book. Gale was still a woefully dreadful cook, in Astarion’s opinion. Which was the only one that mattered, really.

The camp was abnormally quiet this evening, a stiff tension settling over them like a low-hanging fog that wouldn’t lift. The usual clamor and din of frivolous chatter and busymaking had been replaced by an eerie silence that was only broken by the pop and crackle of the central campfire.

Astarion could still hear Wyll’s accusatory bellowing reverberating in his mind. The vampire had burst into camp, alone except for an unconscious Eli who hung limp in his arms. He’d been calling for Shadowheart when Wyll came striding up, all pomp and lofty.

“What did you do!?” the warlock-turned-devil had demanded, reaching out as if to wrest Eli from Astarion’s arms.

Astarion had jerked her away from Wyll’s outstretched hands, snarling.

“I didn’t do anything! Get out of my way! Where is Shadowheart!”

He had tried to bully past Wyll, but the warlock grabbed his arm, working to hold him back.

“Where are Gale and Lae’zel? What in the hells happened!?” he’d berated.

Astarion wheeled on him with a vicious and manic grimace.

“Touch me again and I’ll become the monster you so desperately want me to be,” he’d spat with a low growl.

“What is going on – Nightsinger’s embrace!”

Drawn by the commotion, Shadowheart had approached and then stopped dead, eyes wide as they landed on Eli’s unconscious form. She directed Astarion towards Eli’s tent, waving off Wyll who had still been asking questions that weren’t helpful to the situation at hand.

“Lay her down on her bedroll. What happened to her?” Shadowheart asked as she and Astarion had approached the tent.

He explained about the encounter with the hunter and how Eli had charged the man just as he’d been taking aim at Astarion, resulting in a poisoned crossbow bolt to her shoulder. Despite the wound, Eli had surged forward, launching an Eldritch Blast ahead of her which took the man off his feet before he could reload for another shot.

Astarion had followed, cursing Eli for her foolhardy rush to play hero. The bolt had been meant for him, and if she got herself badly injured or worse during this debacle, he was going to be the one to have to explain everything to the rest of the freakshow menagerie back at camp. He was already on loose footing with the lot of them, the revelation of his vampirism having gone over about as poorly as he’d expected. Between the jabs, the glares and the threats, the only thing that had calmed everyone was Eli’s insistence that he was trustworthy.

Both Astarion and Eli didn’t mention the small detail of how he’d crept up on her while she lay in her bedroll, fully intending to set upon her while she slept. She had an odd definition of trustworthy…

The last thing he needed was for her to get herself wounded on his account. Which meant that was exactly what would happen, because when he got right down to it everything in his life amounted to nothing more than a shit stain in the annals of history. Nothing ever swung his way, so why not add to it getting the one person who seemed remotely okay with his existence killed?

Astarion’s jaw clenched as he stared at the open book in front of him, candlelight causing shadows to dance and flicker upon the page. He’d taken leave of Eli’s tent after laying her on the bedroll for Shadowheart to examine. The cleric had indicated she’d be able to heal the wound to Eli’s shoulder after they dosed her with an antidote.

Hesitantly relieved, Astarion had walked to his own tent, noting that both Gale and Lae’zel had returned and were currently engrossed in a conversation with Wyll as he questioned them for details about their trip to find Ethel. Ignoring the trio, Astarion had grabbed the first book he could find and set about making himself look busy in hopes they’d all just leave him alone after the events of the evening. He was agitated by the restlessness stirring in his gut, and every so often his eyes would flick to the closed flap of Eli’s tent which was situated across the camp from his own. The panic from earlier had settled into a vexed sort of impatience that sat heavy in his chest. His mind wandered to the other night, when he’d come upon Eli in the ruin and they’d sat together, talking. It had been…nice, just to sit and talk without all the tension and pressure of having to lure someone back to the mansion.

His nights in the city were always pressed by the driving need to bring some poor fool back for Cazador, less he be punished in any number of agonizing ways for his failure. The last time he’d returned to the mansion without a mark, Cazador had forced Astarion to peel the skin from the soles of his own feet and walk endlessly through the filth-infested kennels for three days. He’d trudged the same path, over and over, stepping on rocks and bone splinters and all manner of refuse and sewage. When he was finally released from Cazador’s thrall, he’d sank to his knees and howled out in wretched anguish, able to at last release the screams of pain that had been burning in his lungs for the past days as he wept silent tears and walked. Walked. Walked…

That had been only a week or so before the mind flayers captured him…

Astarion breathed in slow, not needing the air that filled his lungs but calmed by the action, all the same. He shoved the vile memories of Cazador and his enslavement down into a deep pit within himself and tried to think of other, less miserable things. The Barrel-Aged Callidyrran Eli had given him the other night, now tucked away in his tent unopened. It had been a strange thing, to be given something and told there was no expectation upon him to return the favor or provide any sort of reparation. He still wasn’t sure he trusted the gesture, but Eli had not brought the matter up since.

He wondered if she knew he couldn’t exactly drink the wine…or, well, not without adding a bit of blood, anyway. Otherwise it would just taste foul. Another side-effect of his condition. He vaguely recalled having enjoyed the drink once, and like all of his vague recollections he clung to that knowledge with a vice grip, desperate to not lose anymore of himself.

What the hell did Eli get out of all this, anyway? Giving him gifts, vouching for him to the group, letting him feed on her, literally throwing herself in front of a crossbow bolt for him. It frustrated him that he couldn’t parse her intentions.

Astarion’s eyes darted back to her tent, noting that the flap remained closed. He set his jaw, grinding his teeth in thought.

“She’ll be fine, fangs, don’t worry. Shadowheart’s got it under control.”

Astarion’s head jerked in the direction of Karlach, who was standing a few feet from his tent, arms crossed as she peered at him with a small smirk.

“And, hey, if she does end up kicking it, we’ve got weird cryptic skeleton guy who says he can bring people back from the dead, easy-peasy.” Karlach gestured over her shoulder towards Withers with a thumb. “Not sure if I’d bet my own life on the creepy bone man, but it’s an option.”

Astarion frowned at the tiefling who simply grinned back at him. His eyes dropped back to his book.

“I wasn’t worried,” he said flatly.

“Ooooooh, okay. I get it.”

Astarion quirked an eyebrow curiously at Karlach’s reply, looking up just in time to see her wink.

“Wasn’t aware not being able to read was one of those vampiric side-effects, but not to fret. I’ll teach you,” she said, barely able to suppress a laugh beneath her words as she continued to smile with a knowing look that made Astarion shift in his chair.

“What in the hells are you going on about?” he barked, both a bit indignant and confused.

Karlach uncrossed her arms, placing one on her hip and indicating his book with the other.

“You haven’t turned a single page since you sat down,” she explained. “So, you’re either the most eloquently illiterate person I’ve ever met, or your attention is elsewhere.” She jerked a thumb towards Eli’s tent and Astarion scowled at her.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he snapped the book closed and dropped it unceremoniously on the table. Taking that as an invitation to join the vampire, Karlach sauntered over and grabbed the other bistro-style chair at his table. She flipped it backwards, straddled it, and sat, crossing her arms atop the chair back and leaning forward.

Astarion watched her curiously, but said nothing as she situated herself at the table. He and Karlach had exchanged pleasantries and idle chatter since she’d joined their little traveling circus, but he didn’t really know much about her. Well, other than the whole engine-for-a-heart-so-she-could-break-people’s-spines-in-the-hells business. She seemed friendly enough, but Astarion knew all too well how easy it was to put up a sociable front.

“I’m just tired of all the accusations and suspicion,” he grumbled, pointedly not looking across the camp towards where Wyll was sewing up a patch in his leather armor. “It’s not like I’m Gale, treating our collection of expensive artifacts like his own personal candy store.”

Karlach chuckled and Astarion leaned back in his chair, expression softening just a touch as he stared at the flickering candle of the lantern.

“I haven’t done anything, I just exist. And that’s always enough to disappoint people,” he said, voice low and sharp.

Karlach hummed, considering his words for a moment before she spoke.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re with us, and I know that one is, too.” Karlach nodded her head towards Eli’s tent. “You did good today, soldier.”

Astarion eyed the tent thoughtfully, feeling a bit less dour than he had earlier. He straightened up attentively in his chair when he noticed the entry flap being pushed aside. Shadowheart emerged and, seeing both Astarion and Karlach focused in her direction, began walking towards the pair.

“She’s resting and should be recovered come morning,” she said, waving off Karlach politely as the tiefling rose and offered Shadowheart the chair she’d been using.

Astarion felt a tension he hadn’t even been aware of, ease from him as his posture relaxed.

“Told yah,” Karlach said, giving him another one of her unsettlingly knowing smirks.

“Well,” he said, shifting slightly under both of their gazes. “I’m glad.”

A look passed between Karlach and Shadowheart that Astarion couldn’t quite read. He frowned up at them, but they remained impassive.

“Come on, Shadowheart. With Eli tucked in for the night, we have free rein on the wine!” Karlach spun on her heels and started off towards the camp’s stash of supplies with Shadowheart strolling behind her.

Astarion watched them go, quietly mulling over an idea that had slowly begun to form in his head. He remained where he sat for a long while, uncertainty darkening the lines of his face, before he shook his head with a small grimace and stood.

Turning, he entered his tent, eyes casting about in the gloom for something…

_________________________________

Eli was starving.

She could think about little else as her stomach roiled, slowing churning its own acids around and around. She was past the point of uncomfortable hunger, her gut spasming angrily with a ravenous nausea.

How long had it been since she last ate? Days? A week? She wasn’t sure…

A sickly convulsion gripped her abdomen and Eli sank to her bare knees, heaving bile onto the cold and dingy stone floor. Sweat dripped from her forehead and neck as her body revolted against the lack of food. She vomited until there was nothing left, coughing and hacking as the last dry heaves calmed.

She leaned back and suddenly felt lightheaded, swaying where she knelt then toppling backwards. She felt the back of her head collide with a solid wall, the sharp pain a momentary distraction from the ache in her stomach.

Eli stayed slumped against the wall, too tired to do much else. She could smell the sour stink of her own stomach bile mixed with a dank and stale scent of rot and decay. Blinking against a darkness so deep that even her darkvision struggled to cut through, Eli tried to remember where the hell she was.

Her head was swimming, dulled by dehydration and vicious hunger. She was so confused…

Footsteps echoed from somewhere distant and a flighty panic stirred in her chest. She was afraid. Desperately afraid.

The footfalls grew louder, then slowed. She heard the abrupt ‘thunk’ of a lock and the angry screech of twisting metal as a cruel bright light tore into the darkness, pouring in through a doorway just in front of her. Eli held her hands up to shield her eyes and with a shock noticed how small they were. They were grubby, scratched and scarred. Nails chewed down and skin cracked and dry, but they were delicate, too.

The hands of a child.

A harsh voice snapped at her from the doorway and Eli tried to see who was there, but the figure was blurred; drowning in the intense light which surrounded them.

“Pitiful. I thought you little spider-blooded mongrels thrived in the dark.”

The voice was familiar. Haunting. It caused a wild sort of terror to hammer at her ribcage.

“Maybe now you’ll be more compliant.”

Fear, hot and vicious tore through her as she felt a hand grip her hair and yank her forward. Her shoulder cracked as it hit the floor, pain burning up her neck and down her arm. She tried to scream as she was dragged out of the dark room and into that blistering light, but her throat was raw and dry…

No.

No. No! NO!

Eli jolted awake, scrambling to get her bearings as her lungs burned with the soundless screams of her nightmare. Her breathing was ragged, catching in her throat as she sat up and blinked wearily, trying to chase the fog from her brain. A dull pain flared in her shoulder and she groaned, mind clearing with recollection as the day before returned to her.

Her headaches, the hunter, Astarion, the crossbow…

Eli peered down at herself, twisting slightly to try and get a decent angle in order to view the closed wound. Her armor had been removed, leaving Eli in her undershirt and a pair of camp pants. She pulled at the shirt collar, trying to see underneath and inspect her shoulder as best she could. An angry scar had bloomed where the wound had been, and she mentally made a note to thank Shadowheart for what she assumed had been the cleric’s work.

Rubbing at her eyes, the ghost of a dull headache still thrumming away at the back of her skull, Eli pulled back the ragged blanket that had been laid over her…then paused. She held the cloth up and away from herself, inspecting it curiously. She didn’t remember owning a blanket…and the scent… Sharp and citrusy, with notes of evergreen and a touch of smokiness. And beneath that…the stale scent of death, slightly rotted and stagnant. She knew that odor. It was one of the reasons she’d pegged Astarion as a vampire upon their first meeting, aside from all of the other obvious hints. He could try and mask it with rosemary and the tang of bergamot, but Eli would know the perfume of death and decay anywhere. The familiarity of it was unsettling, because try as she might, she couldn’t pinpoint why the smell of necrosis was such a balm to her.

Eli rubbed the worn fabric between her fingers, eyeing it closely. She could see careful stitchwork in various places along the edges where meticulous effort had been taken to patch fraying hemming. The texture of the blanket was timeworn and there was a distinct air of mustiness to it. It was old – very old – but comfortable. Eli felt a pang of affection as she folded the blanket and set it aside, cautious to put it somewhere where she wouldn’t accidentally step on it. She stared at it for a moment, thoughts sizzling in her head like small sparks that might set alight a larger blaze if she wasn’t careful. She frowned at herself and turned away, standing with a tired grunt and slamming those nagging and sentimental emotions inside a mental box that she meant to burry deep down within herself.

She seemed only capable of bad ideas these days. Best not to humor anymore.

Stepping out of her tent, Eli took a quick survey of camp. Everything was still, the night dark and deep. Their campfire had burned down to embers that glowed faintly in the gloom and Eli guessed the hour must be early in the darkness of morning. She walked towards the riverbank, stretching out her shoulder and rolling it back tenderly. It would be sore for a few days, she mused, but that was a far cry better than what could have happened had they not had a cleric with them.

Crouching, she cupped water between her hands and splashed her face, still trying to sort through all the thoughts whirring in her mind.

“A saucerer? Really?”

Eli flinched, surprised by the cool, easy voice. She turned her head, grinning up at Astarion who stood a few paces behind her, arms crossed as he leaned against a tree that was growing out from the bank.

“I can’t help it if your sense of humor isn’t as refined as my own,” she said, sitting back onto the sandy shoreline.

A bark of laughter escaped Astarion’s throat and Eli caught herself staring at the delicate hallow between his collarbones.

“Thank the gods for that. Puns are the lowest form of humor, darling.”

A depraved rush sped up her heart and she felt a flush bleed down her neck as the unbidden image of hands pressing down on his throat entered her mind. Astarion’s eyes narrowed at her, shining in the silvery moonlight. He smirked, no doubt noticing her piqued heartrate and the blush below her jaw.

“Happy to see me, my dear?” he purred, uncrossing his arms and stepping out onto the bank.

Eli banished the foul thought from her head as Astarion sat beside her, a brow quirked slyly.

“Happy to see anyone, considering.” She shrugged, ignoring the suggestion beneath his words. He didn’t need to know that her mind wasn’t envisioning the sorts of things he thought it was.

The Urge thrummed distantly in her brain but remained mostly unroused.

“Did you leave a blanket in my tent,” Eli asked, changing the subject before Astarion could make any more quips.

She caught the briefest flash of surprise flit across his expression, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a composed air of hautyness. Eli wondered if Astarion hadn’t meant for her to know he’d been the one to leave it.

“Well, yes,” he said, suddenly rather interested in attending to a smudge of dirt on his trousers, brushing at it. “I noticed that shabby excuse for a bedroll in your tent when I brought you back and figured between the blood loss and poison, the last thing we all needed was for the only rational person in camp – besides me, of course – to catch cold and die.”

Eli brought the back of her hand to her forehead, frowning with confusion as she held it there. Astarion gave her a sidelong look, expression guarded.

“What are you doing?” he asked with slight unease.

“Checking to see if I’m running a fever. I don’t think all the poison’s out of my system yet,” Eli said, giggling as Astarion’s frown deepened.

“You know, I am capable of being a thoughtful and decent person,” he chided with no small amount of irritation cutting through his words. “From time to time,” he added after a brief pause.

Eli just smiled back at him, amused by his fluster and bravado.

“I’m teasing,” she said, unable to keep a note of fondness out of her voice. “It was thoughtful. Thank you.”

Astarion returned his attention to the smudge, brushing away at the remaining dirt.

“Don’t go making a fuss about it. I owed you, anyway. For the wine,” he reminded her.

“You didn’t owe me anything,” Eli corrected him warmly.

She was finding it more and more difficult to tune out that bothersome feeling of affection growing behind her ribcage. But, she’d deal with it later. The company was nice in the small, calm hours of the morning. Especially when she considered the nightmares that were likely waiting for her back in the shadows of her tent.

Yeah. She’d definitely, absolutely turn those feelings off. Later.

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keep-the-wolves-close · 1 month

Text

Steady Heart

Chapter 39: Black Sky

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, angst, suicide, Malcolm Beck, injured character, character death, violence

* Word count: 6,110ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: Here we are folks! Season 2’s finale! I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! Thank you for sticking around this long, and I hope you continue to follow along with the story as we head through onto season 3!

Gonna take a little break to get season 3 and season 4 worked on some more, so bear with me!

It was still early in the morning of the second day after his son was kidnapped and his best friend landed in the hospital. Kayce had barely slept. His father was meeting with the sheriff this morning. There was nothing more they could do until Donnie cleared the way.

Kayce chewed his bottom lip as he stared off into nothing. His son was kidnapped and god knows where and his best friend was laid up in the hospital unconscious potentially never to wake up, all because he let himself be convinced to leave the ranch. He knew he should have been there. He knew it might have made a difference, but the opportunity had passed him. Now they had to defend their home and right the wrongs that had been done to them.

He could hear Stella’s voice in his head. ‘We can’t be soft defending it.’ Being soft was exactly what they weren’t going to do. If he knew her like he thought he did, she’d be practically begging to blow them and everyone involved to pieces on main street for everyone to see so that the message was received.

Kayce’s stomach clenched again at the thought of losing both his son and Stella. Monica’s soft voice came from behind him. “Have you heard anything about Stella?” Even though she was fairly certain about the relationship between her almost ex-husband and his best friend now, Monica didn’t think Stella deserved to be in the current situation she was in. Especially since it was because she tried to save their son.

Kayce wiped his hand along his clenched jaw. He hadn’t heard anything from Ryan or Colby since yesterday. The last they had told Kayce, the doctors said Stella had covered her face just barely good enough. She had some broken ribs, one hell of a concussion. There would be a gnarly scar along her face once it healed. He assumed she was still unconscious. Kayce was surprised the kick that caused the gash didn’t fracture her skull. She was lucky it wasn’t worse than that.

He absently shook his head. “Nothing new. Still unconscious I’m guessing.”

“Can we go see her?” Monica hoped Stella would wake up.

“We have to get Tate back. It — it wasn’t — supposed to be this way.”

“Your father is gonna take a while talking to the sheriff. Let’s go see her. If she’s in this predicament because she tried to protect our son, it’s the least we can do.” Monica turned to look at Kayce. “Ryan and Colby shouldn’t be alone.”

Ryan’s leg bounced continuously and he chewed on the side of his thumb. He numbly stared at his sister lying in the hospital bed. He was terrified that she wouldn’t wake up. The doctors and nurses had tried to convince him that her body was trying to heal itself. That she will wake up when she’s ready.

Aside from the bruised and swollen face, she looked peaceful. Ryan couldn’t understand any of this. He could, but the extremes threw him down into a spiral. He prayed to whatever god would listen. His mind was taken over and he was reminded of when their dad was in the hospital. He felt as helpless now as he had then. There was nothing he could do. ‘Except make sure those motherfuckers pay.’

A light knock behind him brought his and Colby’s attention to the door. It was Kayce and Monica. He breathed out loudly and his shoulders dropped. Ryan waved them into the room, standing.

Monica caught sight of Stella and gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to believe it was real. “Oh, Stella.” She whispered. “Ryan, I'm so sorry.” Monica pulled Ryan into a tight hug.

Ryan leaned into her grasp for a moment, and tried to keep himself from crying. He didn’t know what to say. At this point, he didn’t think there was anything he could say.

Kayce stopped moving the second he could see Stella lying there. His heart was in his throat and his palms went clammy. “This was a bad idea.” Colby stood and placed his hand on Kayce’s shoulder to keep him from running.

“It’s gonna be okay, man,” Colby gave Kayce’s shoulder a squeeze, “from what I can tell, it looks worse than what it actually is.”

Ryan let Monica go and said to Kayce. “Every single one of those sons of bitches are gonna pay, Kayce. For Stella and for Tate.”

Monica stepped up to Stella’s side. She prayed silently. She knew Stella could pull through. Monica knew that Stella was strong and hard-headed. Just like Kayce. However, this time around she needed some help. Kayce stood there speechless, trying to catch his breath. Monica prompted him softly, “You can come over here, you know. It won’t hurt her.”

Colby gently tapped Kayce’s arm to try and spur him into motion. A look passed between the three men. It was a glance of retribution promised, but sorrow, and understanding. Both of the most important people to the men were hanging in the balance, and there wasn’t much they could do for either of them. Kayce’s steps faltered. If he went over and touched her, it would make it real. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to handle that.

Monica was reminded of when she was in the hospital from the distressed look on Kayce’s face. She waved him over. She would at least give him some comfort, disregarding the split between them. He made it to the end of what felt like the longest walk in his life even though in reality it was only a few feet. Monica switched spots so Kayce could be closer to Stella. She placed her hand on his back, letting him know the support was there.

Kayce felt his eyes sting, and his breath got caught in his throat. He choked on his own air. He leaned down and kissed Stella’s forehead gently. He whispered to her, “we’re going to get everyone single one of the sons a bitches who did this to you. I promise you that, sugar. None of them will walk out alive.” A few tears dropped from his eyes, landing on Stella’s face. Kayce lifted his hand and gently wiped them away.

Ryan watched the scene in front of him and felt his heart crack even more. Before he could get too deep, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Need you back at the ranch. A text from Rip read.

“Kayce, they need us back. I’m going to check in with the doctor and then I’ll be right behind you.” Ryan directed. He looked to his best friend. “Colby, can you stay with her so I know she’s safe?”

“Of course, man.” Colby patted Ryan’s shoulder. “If anything changes I’ll let you know.”

Monica gave Stella one last look and prayer as all three of them rushed out of the room. Kayce couldn’t bring himself to look back.

“Ryan, you take Monica with you. There’s a stop I gotta make on the way.”

“Kayce!” Monica called out. He snapped his head in her direction. She waved him closer. “I will not face this world without our son. You make sure you kill them,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry about that, Monica. If he doesn’t, I sure as shit will.” Ryan interjected.

••

Kayce pulled up to the M/T Beck Ranch to where Donnie’s deputies stood guard. He rolled the window down and the deputy closest to him stepped forward. He leaned out the window and asked, “how many in the house?”

The deputy shrugged. “Just him. As far as we know.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I need to see the warrant.” Kayce pulled the paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and held it up to the officer.

The deputy nodded. “Alright.” His boots crunched in the gravel as he turned on his heel and sat down in his patrol car. The other deputy followed his lead. The car started and they pulled away without any further question, leaving Kayce to do as he pleased.

He pulled into the drive, just far enough that he could remain undetected, but close enough that he didn’t have to run a mile to get to the house.

He ran up to the front doors crouched, and gently opened the first set. They squealed loudly in protest and he winced at the disruption of the silence. When no one came to look, he continued through the second set of doors.

He looked in the living room and didn’t see anyone. Panning around the room, he saw a hallway to the back right. Making his way through the mouth of the hallway, he looked through each of the rooms as he passed them by, finding no one.

He continued pushing toward the back of the house. He came to a set of stairs. He looked down then first, but running water caught his attention from upstairs. He raised his pistol to aim ahead of him and traveled up the stairs. He climbed slowly and grimaced when he reached the top as the floor creaked beneath his weight. He banked on the fact the running water would drown out his extraneous noise.

Moving further down the hallway, he could see a bathroom sink at the end. The water was indeed running, and the sound of paper rustling grabbed his ears. He strode up to the doorway and spotted Malcolm’s brother Teal sitting on the toilet. He lifted his pistol with surefire accuracy and popped off three rounds in Teal’s gut before he barely registered someone was there.

Teal slumped forward and groaned in agony, holding his hand to his stomach. Kayce kneeled down onto the balls of his feet, his face flat but pleased. Teal sputtered in fear seeing Kayce’s resolute face. “Where’s my son? Where is he?”

Teal tried to catch his breath. “I don’t know,” he growled out. Kayce shot him in the calf without blinking.

Teal screamed in pain. “Stop! Stop!”

“There’s a lot of stuff I can shoot before you die.”

“The — Montana Free Militia. They’re who we used. They got him.”

“Where do they camp?”

Teal huffed and puffed. “Base of the Crazies. The Crazy — the Crazy Mountains.”

Kayce’s face hardened. “You ever been up there?”

“Yeah. Up 284. Just before Diamond City. There’s a,” Teal started to cry, “there’s a little beat up house,” Kayce made peace silently with what he was about to do after he got everything he needed from Teal. “Behind a bunch of junkers.”

Teal leaned forward and moaned. “Oh fuck. I’m shot to shit.”

Kayce remembered Stella’s words about not being soft defending the ranch and the family that stood behind it. “Don’t you know about my family?” His face scrunched in disappointment. People really had thought they’d gotten soft. “You didn’t think we’d fight back?”

Teal was crying. “No. Nobody ever fights back.”

“Until now.” Kayce raised his pistol.

“No, please. Please.” Teal begged. “Not on the toilet. I don’t wanna die on a fuckin’ toilet.”

Kayce’s face softened briefly. “I promised the mother of my son, and my girlfriend’s brother, I’d kill you. All a man has is his word.” He squeezed the trigger and the kill shot knocked Teal back against the back of the toilet.

Kayce took a different gun, and angled himself as if Teal was shooting back. He rubbed Teal’s hand all over the grip, getting his blood on it, then placed it on the ground just beneath his hand.

He stood and went back the way he came in. He pulled out his cell and called his dad.

••

Ryan was sitting on the porch with Jamie and Beth. They’d wanted as much of an update as he could give them. “She’s got some broken ribs, a concussion, wicked slash across her eye, and she’s unconscious.”

Jamie sighed loudly. “Shit. I’m sorry Ryan.” Stella wouldn’t be in this mess if she hadn’t been trying to protect his family member. She shouldn’t have been there at all. He wished he would have heard something, if she’d called for them.

“She’ll wake up, Ryan. If there’s anything I know about her, it’s that she’s spiteful. She’s not gonna let some pussy of a man who comes to kidnap a child in the cover of nightfall take her out.” Jamie and Ryan stared at Beth for a moment. The softness from her shocked both of them.

John came out of the house on the phone and made his way down to the grass determined. “Okay, good.” John took a breath. “You’re okay though, right?” He visibly relaxed at whatever answer he’d been given. “Thank god. Come home.”

The trio scrambled off the porch to catch up with the leader. Beth asked gently, “what did he say?”

John reached into his vest and pulled out a letter. “You need to make an amendment to the trust, Beth.” He leaned closer to give her the letter. “Read this. Then do what it asks.” He grabbed her shoulder. “I know who loves me.” He glanced at Ryan. “I know who’s loyal,” and then back at his daughter. “I always have.” He walked back into the house to get ready for the fight that was about to take place. Not only for his grandson, but the revenge for one of his employees.

Beth opened the letter and skimmed over it quickly.

Jamie watched Beth closely. “What does it say?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.” She headed off to do what her father asked. She needed to go see Rip.

“I’m gonna go down to the bunkhouse to get ready. We’re moving on them tonight.” Ryan departed as well leaving Jamie standing there dumbfounded.

John stalked back out of his house toward Kayce and Jamie standing in the driveway. A large SUV pulled up the drive fast, and out came Mo, Chief Rainwater’s head of security. He shut the door and made his way around and said, “I was sent here to help.”

John went into the red shed next to the house and grabbed a bullet proof vest. He turned and gave Kayce directions. “Go get Rip when he’s done with Beth.” Before Kayce could object John said, “I can’t risk you, son.”

Kayce marched up the hill that led to the new cabin Rip had been gifted. Beth had walked by him, letting him know where to find the man in question. Rip was sitting on the steps to the house. “Whattaya know Kace?”

“Stella’s torn up. Still unconscious. Tate’s with a militia. In the Crazies.” He shook his head. “We don’t have any time.”

“How can I help?”

“It’s a big ask,” he adjusted his ball cap, “can’t attack a fortified position without knowing the strength of our enemy. In Afghanistan, we’d send an armored vehicle into ambushes. Draw fire to know how many we were fightin’.” Rip nodded and Kayce rubbed the side of his face. “We don’t have any armored vehicles. I’d do it myself, but,” he stopped himself. He hated that he was even asking something like this of Rip.

“I know. I’ll draw your fire.” Rip rose off the steps with a groan. He began his march back to the barn with Kayce trailing behind him.

••

Ryan, Kayce, Mo, and Handon pulled up in the cover of darkness to the little busted up shack Teal had told Kayce about. Rip and John pulled up behind them with a horse trailer. The three men got out of the truck and put eye black on their faces to make themselves harder to see. Rip and John jumped out and started to pull their horses out of the trailer.

Kayce put on his gloves and surveyed the surrounding area with Mo standing next to him. Handon made sure his sights were good. Ryan reined in his anger and held it for when he got the chance to take the motherfuckers who hurt his sister to meet their maker. Rip walked up with his horse.

Kayce asked Mo, “you want a rifle?”

“I’m best with my pistol.”

“Pistol won’t pierce armor.”

“I won’t be aiming at their chest.” Mo looked at Kayce. He fully turned to Kayce, taking in his camouflaged face. “Got anymore of that?” Kayce handed the eye black over to him.

Mo walked over to Rip and Dude. He looked at Rip and got his approval to bless the horse for the hell they were about to go through. He traced a circle around Dude’s right eye. “So he sees danger.” He drew some more sigils on his neck. “So he is sure-footed.” He made his way to the gelding’s shoulder. “So the bullets bounce off.” He finished by drawing some on the horse’s hind quarter. “So he moves fast.”

Rip tried to lighten the mood the only way he knew how, hearing Stella’s voice in his head making a joke. “You sure you don’t wanna draw on me some?”

Mo chuckled. “Won’t work on you.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Mo walked away and Rip took a second to say whatever kind of prayer he could muster up.

John and Rip mounted their horses and trotted over to the rest of the group. John fixed his collar. “You know, of all the days to ask this of you, I’m sorry it’s today.”

“I can’t think of a better day for it, sir.” They shared a look. Rip nodded.

“I’ll be coverin’ you on your right.”

“Yessir.”

John took off to swing around on Rip’s right side. Kayce waved everyone forward. “Let’s get in place.”

Handon stopped next to him. “You think they got night vision?”

“Yeah, and thermal. You can bet on it.”

Ryan, Handon, and Mo moved forward to take cover behind some rubble that laid in front of them. They needed to be able to see where the fire was coming from and how many shooters there were.

Rip leaned back and took in the sky one more time in the moment of peace before all hell broke loose. He thought of Beth. Of Stella. “I love you.” He spurred Dude into action. He was ready to cause a ruckus.

As soon as he galloped by a small building on his right, shots started flying through the air. All of the ground men rushed behind him.

Kayce yelled out, running forward, “Livestock Police! Drop your weapons!” They dropped several men and took cover in between reloading time.

Rip pulled Dude to a stop. John cantered up to his side and hollered. “Livestock Police! Drop your weapons!” John raised his rifle and took out another one of the militia members.

Rip climbed down off his gelding, taking deadly aim and took out another. John slid out of his saddle to join him. Handon placed one of the men in cuffs.

Kayce, Ryan, and Mo came to the actual house the militia were staying in and surrounded it. Handon and Ryan took the back. Mo and Kayce took the front.

Kayce opened the front door and ducked back quickly. A few shots rang out from behind the door and while the man was reloading, Kayce and Mo took their chance to charge inside.

Each of the four took to clearing the house. Checking every room they passed by for Kayce’s son. The foursome came to a back room and there were three people left. Ryan and Handon got two of the people in cuffs. One sat in almost a meditative position.

Kayce had his rifle aimed at the man on the ground. He checked the room off to his right and went back to the man on the ground. “Where’s my son?” The man just stared blankly at Kayce. “Do you know, where my son is?”

The man scoffed. “I sure do.” He placed a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger before anyone could stop him.

“No!” Kayce screamed. “Fuck!”

Back outside, John had just finished tying up one of the militia men that was still alive and he heard footsteps through the grass behind him. He grabbed his rifle and yelled, “hey! Stop!” He followed after the man running away.

The man that was running, turned and took a few poorly aimed shots at John, but John stopped him assertively with a round of his own. The man dropped to the ground. John stormed over to him, and he rose from the ground and took another shot at the patriarch. John squeezed the trigger again, hitting the man and making him fly back onto the ground.

He groaned in pain as John stepped closer to him. When John was almost on top of him, he realized it was Malcolm. Unbeknownst to John, the group he’d brought with him stood by the fence and watched as he stepped up to Malcolm.

“You deserve a lot worse than this.”

Malcolm rolled over to grab his gun, but John aimed his rifle and shot Malcolm’s arm. “Ah god! Fucking cocksucker!” He cried.

“There ya go. Get it all out you son of a bitch.” John retrieved Malcom’s weapon. “Now tell me where my grandson is, and I’ll getcha to a hospital.” He kicked Malcolm over. “You have my word.” Malcolm laid there crying. “Go on, scream. Scream till whatever makes you want to hurt a child, my daughter, my horse trainer to hurt me leaves you.” Malcolm rolled back over onto his back. “If there’s a heaven, and I sure hope so, this is your last chance to do something that just might get you in it.”

John sat down next the injured man and Malcolm spluttered. “You know, I think a lot about the ten-or-so years I’ve got left before there’s not much left for me to but sit around and reminisce. You on the other hand, have to cram a lifetime of reminiscing into the next thirty minutes or so. Or you could lay there, and not telling me where he is will be your last thought.”

Malcolm wheezed and John looked him over. He thought of his daughter and the atrocity of what Malcolm’s hired men put her through. “Not whoever you may have loved, or your brother’s ninth birthday. None of that shit. Your entire lifetime’s gonna be reduced to my grandson’s face. It’s up to you, Malcom.” The thought of Stella, beaten and bloodied, laid up in the hospital unconscious, for trying to protect his family. Doing the job he had asked her to do. ‘Until my dying breath, sir,’ whispered through his head and he shuddered. He prayed with everything in him that it hadn’t been her last breath.

Ryan and Kayce watched on as Malcolm twitched, trying to catch his breath. Ryan looked back at Kayce. “What’s he doin’?” Kayce shook his head and they both observed the moment before them.

John looked up at the sky while Malcolm sputtered some more. “That’s Jupiter up there, the bright one.” He shifted his focus back to the ailing man on the ground next to him. “Did you know that?”

Malcolm’s chest started to rattle. “Carter Meads. That’s his name. Whitefish, Montana.” He struggled to breathe as deeply as he could. “Whitefish, Montana.”

“I’ll call for a chopper. Get you to the hospital.”

“I ain’t gonna make it to a hospital.”

“Yeah well, I gave you my word.”

“I won’t hold you to it.”

“You want company or do you wanna be alone?”

“Alone.” Malcolm ground out. “I wi— wish we’d never met.”

“Yeah,” John laughed darkly, “I bet you do.” John made his way back to his men.

••

As the sun rose over the mountains in Whitefish, Montana, Sheriff Haskell’s truck and a squad car rounded the corner on the house where Carter Meads lived with their lights on. Kayce, Ryan, and Handon covered their backs down the hill from up top.

Donnie and his team loaded up on the porch, ready to ram their way in. They busted the door open and everyone filed in. They took out a few people in the front part of the house.

Going toward the back Kayce called out for his son. “Tate!” Ryan, Handon and himself made their way up the stairs.

Donnie had already made his way upstairs and opened a door in the back and immediately turned back to stop Kayce. “Kace! I need you to step back!” Ryan pushed forward. Handon held Kayce back as best he could. Donnie asked Kayce, “give my guys a minute. You don’t wanna see him like this.”

Kayce started to grapple against everyone in his way. Ryan was their last defense. Kayce busted through him yelling, “see him like what?!”

He broke through the wall of men and into the bathroom where his son was. Tate shrieked and he got up close to him, catching his focus and letting him know he was safe.

Donnie stepped up to the door and told Kayce, “we’ve got a trauma specialist on the way.”

Kayce hugged Tate and the boy finally calmed down long enough that Kayce was able to get him outside and into the truck.

The drive home was quiet. Ryan knew that everyone who had hurt his sister and kidnapped his friend’s boy was dead. A weight lifted off his shoulders knowing that everything had to look up from here. Now he just needed his little sister to wake up.

A small voice from Kayce lap startled everyone. “Aunt Stella tried to save me and they hurt her. Is she okay?”

Ryan’s heart shattered completely. They all knew Stella’s beating had to have been because she tried to stop the men. He kept the tears at bay long enough to look at Tate, who was hiding in between his father’s arms. “Yeah, buddy. She’s okay. And she’s gonna be real glad we got you back.”

Ryan, Rip, and Lloyd walked through the hospital entrance. Everything at the ranch was taken care of for the time being. Tate was home safe. Traumatized, but safe. Stella was safe, but Ryan didn’t know when she would wake up. If she would wake up. Ryan was thankful the other two came with him. He was grateful Colby was still here. That helped him shake the heebie jeebies off.

The men came up on Stella’s room. They braved themselves and entered. There were whispered curses from Rip and Lloyd. A nurse just finished taking her vitals. She smiled at the men, trying to bring some cheer to them.

“Her vitals are super strong, gentlemen. She wants to be here. She’s just gotta wake up.” She patted Ryan on the shoulder making her way out the door.

Ryan could do nothing but stand there and watch the love everyone had for his sister. Colby came to stand with him. It was at that moment that he knew they were with the right people. He leaned a shoulder on the wall to let Rip and Lloyd have a moment with her.

Lloyd walked up to her bedside. “Little bit,” Lloyd mourned. He reached out to grab her hand. “Those evil people are taken care of. Your brother and Kayce led the charge. You can come back to us now. Please.” He pleaded.

Rip joined Lloyd at Stella’s other side. He placed his hand on the top of her head after he removed his sunglasses. “Shit, Stella-belle,” he sniffled, “this isn’t the kind of trouble you were supposed to be gettin’ yourself into.”

Ryan moved into the room and took a seat next to his sister’s bed. He glanced up at Colby, “so what have they said while we were gone?”

Colby crossed his arms. “Basically what the nurse said before she left. Her vitals have been strong this entire time. Her bloodwork came back great. Her MRI came back with some swelling in her brain, but with the head trauma that’s to be expected.” Rip and Lloyd grumbled. “They have her on meds to help keep the swelling down. Her X-rays showed a few broken ribs, but thankfully nothing was punctured. She’s just gotta wake up.”

It was somber in the room for a few minutes. Lloyd sat next to Ryan. Rip still stood guard at her bedside holding onto her hand. Colby left to get them coffee and give them time to stand vigil.

Stella’s breathing picked up. Her legs started to rutch around like she was uncomfortable. Her hand squeezed Rip’s. Rip watched her intently. A scratchy mumble of, “it’s still better than meth,” uttered from Stella who kept her eyes closed.

Ryan jumped out of his skin and the chair. Lloyd quickly made it to the door, calling for a nurse or a doctor. Anybody.

Once Kayce was sure Tate was sound asleep he quietly told Monica he was going to go check on Stella. She wanted to object, but understood. They hadn’t heard anything from the three who went to visit her in a while.

“Just make sure to come back in case he wakes up,” she spoke softly to Kayce. He agreed and made his way downstairs.

John called out from his office. “Where are you going?”

“To check on Stella.”

“Kayce?” His father called his attention.

Kayce poked his head in through the door finally. His dad looked focused out the window, but worried nonetheless. Kayce supposed there were a lot of things he had to be worried about right now. “Yeah, dad?”

“I’m coming with you.”

John left no room for discussion. He stood, striding past his son. Kayce fell in line behind his dad. He wasn’t sure how to take this kind of response from him about Stella. In the past John would have asked for a report back on her. This time however, he was coming along. John knew it his fault she was in this mess to begin with.

Coming out of Stella’s room was a group of nurses. Kayce thought the worst. He stood outside the door, scared to enter. His heart dropped into the floor. Terrified of what he would find. John waited with him, uncharacteristically patient. The doctor walked out, almost running into them.

“Oh sorry! You picked the perfect time to visit, gentlemen. Go on in.” The doctor whisked off down the hallway.

Going in, Kayce could see Rip smiling. His shoulders relaxed seeing his gruff lead wrangler in a good mood. The two made eye contact and Rip motioned at Kayce and John to the others. When they rounded the corner, Kayce’s eyes casted to Stella first. There she was, sitting propped upright. Not as swollen, but still bruised. The gouge over her right eye most likely held together with liquid stitches was red and angry.

Her brown eyes peeked at him. She smiled shyly. Almost embarrassed to be seen so vulnerable. “Hey, cowboy. John.”

Kayce rushed past everyone to get to her. He leaned down and softly hugged her neck. Placing a hand on the back of her head, he kissed her on the top of her head and breathed deeply. “Jesus. Don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear me?”

“I thought I saw a few more greys on you.”

John, Rip, Lloyd, Colby and Ryan decided now was the time to give them a minute and backed out of the room to the hallway.

“I brought you somethin’.” Kayce said. He reached into his jacket pocket.

“Oh?” Stella questioned, trying her damndest to not raise her eyebrows.

Kayce pulled his hand out, surprising her with her spare pair of glasses.

“Oh my god you’re an angel! I’m tired of squintin’ at shit.” Slowly she placed her hand out to recieve them. Once she had them on and could see him clearly, she cleared her throat. The scratchiness hadn’t left yet. “You found Tate, right?”

“Yes we did. Your brother and I made sure we made a point to every single one of them.”

Emotion bubbled up in her throat. “Kayce, I tried to stop them. I really did.”

“We know Stella. Tate told us. I couldn’t be more thankful for you. What you tried to do for him.”

“I’m so glad you found him. I didn’t know he would see them attack me and come back. He must get that from someone else I know.” She paused to look at Kayce. “When he came back for me instead of running to the house like I told him… I lost all sense of rational thought.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He looked her over, deciding to take the seat next to her. He worried about calling her that. He didn’t want her to panic all over again like a few weeks ago. “I just wish it didn’t happen this way.”

Stella gingerly touched her fingertips to the cut that started above her right eyebrow and stopped on the apple of her cheek. “Yeah me too. It probably looks gnarly, doesn’t it?”

When she didn’t panic when he called her baby, he continued. “It’s beautiful. Just like you.” They didn’t know the men had come back into the room.

Her mouth dropped open. “These meds they’ve got me on must be hittin’ me real good.” She chuckled. She went quiet. Kayce thought she might have fallen asleep, but there was a look of contemplation on her face.

“What is it Stella? Is something wrong? Do I need to get the doctor?” Kayce began standing.

“No, no, no.” Stella reached out for his hand. “I was just thinking, and it’s a horrible time to ask, but if I don’t now, I never will.” Kayce waited for her to continue and gently rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand that didn’t have the IV port. “Did you really mean what you said the other night in the lodge?”

“There were a lot of things said that night, sugar.”

Stella had hoped she wouldn’t have to say it out loud. She sighed. “You said you loved me.” She adjusted her glasses, pulling her bottom lip in briefly. “Did you really mean that?”

Around the corner, the five men were about to shit a brick house. They all looked between each other with their mouths hanging wide open. This was not where they thought this conversation was headed. It wasn’t what they thought they were going to be walking in on.

Kayce thought about it. She hadn’t mentioned anything since, so he thought it was something she didn’t want to talk about just yet.

“By god Stella, yes. I meant every damn word.” He watched her as she mulled everything over. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just been a lot.” She played with a corner of her blanket. “So when do you gotta go back? I don’t wanna keep you from your family.”

“Tate finally caught sleep. He should be solid for a little while. I do have to go back eventually.”

“But I’ll be here with you all night, Stellee.” Ryan announced as the men walked back around the corner.

“When they let me outta here, where am I going?”

“I’d like it if you would stay at the ranch for a little while longer.” Rip mentioned. “Just in case something isn’t feeling right, someone is around.”

“Can I stay somewhere other than the bunkhouse?” She inquired. She looked to her brother. “Please? For my own sanity?”

John finally spoke up. “Yes, you may. You have the pick of wherever you want. You say the word and I’ll get you a spot.”

Stella and Kayce shared a look of bewilderment. She smiled gently at John. “Thank you, sir.” She tried to straighten her face out to avoid stretching her skin. She grimaced with the movement of her skin. “I mean, John.” The bruises and the gash across her face were really killing her vibe for smiling. Even if it was for the simple fact that she was alive. She let out a sharp yawn.

John glanced at Stella and Kayce, then the rest of the men. “I think that’s our sign to head out for the night. She needs to rest. Ryan, you keep us updated, alright?” Ryan confirmed with a nod.

“Can I have a minute with Stella before we leave?” Kayce asked.

“Of course, Kace.” Ryan ushered everyone out of the room.

Kayce stood, still holding Stella’s hand. She watched him contentedly while he contemplated. He rubbed her knuckles. “Can I kiss you? I’ve never really asked.”

A small smile splayed across her face as far as she could without pain. It was probably the wrong time for this joke, but she couldn’t resist herself. “I dunno. Can you?”

“Oh you ass.” Kayce started to pull his hand away.

Stella gripped his fingers with a giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Yes, please kiss me.”

He leaned down gently to her. He was almost afraid to hurt her.

“I won’t break, Kayce.” She whispered. Their eyes met finally in a collision of brown on brown.

He leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to hers. Time seemed to stand still. He had been so worried she was gone, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything else other than getting his son back and getting payback to the sons of bitches who did this to her. He pressed slightly harder, trying to melt into her. He hadn’t realized he wanted this for a long time until the thought of her being gone crossed his mind. Even long before Monica came along. Her partially dry lips, no thanks to the dry hospital air, opened with a gasp.

He backed up slightly thinking he’d hurt her. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, come back here. Don’t apologize. It’s just hard to breathe with a stuffy swollen nose and broken ribs.” She greedily reached for him. When his lips touched hers again, her eyes closed and she leaned into him. He trailed after her, but pulled away and straightened his back.

“I should go. When we get you to the ranch, you wanna stay in the lodge with me?”

“I think I’d like that.” She would appreciate the solitude, but would still be close to her brother, her horse.

“Wait, Abigail. Is she okay? Did you guys find her?”

“Funny enough she ran up to us first panicking, before we found you. We thought it was because everyone was running around.” He gazed down at her with a sad smile. If only he would have known before he found Stella. The memory tried to come back, but he blocked it. “So yes, she’s okay. A little spooky, but she’s okay. I’ve had Jimmy lookin’ after her. When he wasn’t, Rip was.”

Stella sat back with a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god.” She didn’t know what she’d do if something ever happened to that horse. “You go. Take care of your boy. I’ll be safe with Ryan here.”

Kayce squeezed her hand and went out to the hall to trade places with Ryan. The two shared a look, knowing that this would be a conversation had at a later date.

The three extra men that visited began to walk back out to their vehicles. John stopped, causing Kayce to pause. John faced Ryan. “Ryan!” The man in question stopped his journey through the door. “This is on me.”

Ryan’s face contorted into confusion. “What do you mean, sir?”

John looked down. “I mean your sister almost gave her life to protect my family. She earned that brand fully. This trip is on me.” John swiveled on his heel, and caught up with the other men, leaving Ryan standing there about to cry if he wasn’t careful.

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