Hello there and welcome to my blog, my name is Gem. I am also active on ao3 under the pseudonym: DayDreamingGemini and often repost my stuff there.
Please check out my Rules Page before sending in an ask to make sure that you don't request anything that I've already done or don't feel comfortable with doing.
I will try to finish asks as quickly as possible, so please be patient. Other than that, enjoy! I look forward to seeing the new inspiration you guys give me! Also, feel free to take a gander at my fandom Masterlists so you never miss out on any of my posts!
Masterlists
Marvel
Supernatural
The Walking Dead
Stranger Things
Hannibal
COD: Modern Warfare 2
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Current WIP's
Compromise - Part 1 | Remy LeBeau (Gambit) x GN S/O [Series. Established Relationship & Insecure Reader]
Bigger Fish | Muder husbands x GN S/O [Babysitter Reader]
Peer Pressure - Part 2 | Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O [Truth or Dare, Pre-Relationship]
AN: Kinda going outside my comfort zone by writing in Leon's POV for this fic as opposed to the Reader's for once, so we'll see how this goes... Also, this fic is going to feature a strictly platonic relationship between the reader and Leon. But don't worry, I packed this bad boy with enough grumpy, single dad Leon to hopefully distract you from the lack of steamy romance. (Is it working? Lol.)
Update: I found that I really liked writing this a lot –even though it took me a few months to get RE9 Leon's characterization down–and I have a few ideas on how I'm going to expand on this concept, so I will be turning this into a series, which I'll be calling 'Guardian Angel' in the tags.
Hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 1,926
Leon was exactly four seconds away from pulling his hair out of his head in sheer frustration after being buried in paperwork for the last five days due to the absolute shit-fest that was his mission with Grace and Elpis, the last of his remaining sanity rapidly fraying with every document that landed on his desk that asked him to answer the same series of questions over and over again, just worded slightly differently each time.
It was so bad that it got to the point where, unless he wanted to fall behind on his usual responsibilities, he had to dedicate a portion of his day solely to sorting out the seemingly endless reports he had to fill out, sign off on, and send back to the proper departments for processing.
Which meant he was running his new assistant ragged. And, while being a stressed out hard-ass wasn’t the worst first impression he'd ever made, it certainly wasn't great either.
His last assistant had unfortunately quit while he’d been investigating the survivors of the Raccoon City incident –who kept dropping like flies while covered in similar bruising to his own– and Leon’s insane workload became too much for them to keep up with, leading to you being assigned to him the very same day.
You’d been thrown into the thick of it with very little warning and you handled every challenge that was presented to you with an efficiency and confidence that had even the most grizzled agent somewhat impressed, if the office rumor mill was to be believed.
And you did it all even though you wouldn’t even officially meet the agent you were assigned to until a week after you’d started working because Leon was a little preoccupied with facing down old demons in the city that had changed the trajectory of his life forever.
Leon looked up when there was a polite knock on his office door, already anticipating who it was because you were the only person who didn’t bother to wait for a verbal response before inviting yourself in, already talking even before the door was fully open.
“It’s lunchtime, Agent Kennedy. I took the liberty of getting you something because I saw that you had absolutely nada in terms of sustenance when I checked the breakroom fridge for anything labeled with your name on it.” You said as you entered the room like a whirlwind, barely pausing to take in the mess of paperwork that was precariously stacked on his desk, the empty coffee cups littering every available surface, and the occasional food wrapper scattered around.
Leon immediately felt a pang of embarrassment when your determined march slowed some upon seeing the couch that he slept on when missions ran too late to justify driving all the way to his sad apartment or paperwork took over his entire night, your keen eyes taking in the single pillow and mussed blanket that he hadn’t had the time –or motivation– to fold up and put away like he usually did and was now regretting.
Though Leon wasn’t given any time to try and tidy up before you were suddenly in front of his desk, reaching out to take the stack of files that he had in front of him into your arms before replacing it with a to-go bag filled with containers of hot food, its mouth-watering aroma a welcome distraction from the monotonous paperwork.
His stomach rumbled quietly at the prospect of getting something other than the chalky protein bars, stale chips, or those sad little sandwiches wrapped in plastic –which were almost always expired but were still sold because DSO couldn't be bothered to restock properly– that the vending machines offered and he knew from experience tasted like regret.
“Hope you’re okay with barbecue.” You declared as you grabbed the trash can that was next to his desk and began filling it with the empty cups and wrappers that were littered about, starting with a half-eaten sandwich from two days ago that he’d forgotten to eat and never got around to throwing out, with no judgment or snarky comments… like picking up someone else’s trash –something that you weren’t even obligated to do as an assistant– was no big deal.
“Leave it.” Leon barked suddenly as you tied the bag shut once it was full and went to pull it out of the bin in order to replace it with a new one, just barely resisting the urge to brain himself on the wall when his command came out far harsher than he’d intended it to and you snatched your hands away from the bag like you had been burned, turning to face him with wide eyes. “We have janitors who can do that.” He attempted to soften his voice as he spoke this time, internally wincing when it still came out gruff and tired.
“Uh… sorry, sir.” You said tentatively as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, looking more than a little nervous while clutching the paperwork you’d stolen off his desk tightly against your chest like a shield.
“Relax, kid. I guess I’ve been feeling a little… off lately, I’m not usually so…” Leon trailed off with a sigh, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair as he just vaguely gestured to himself and his disorganized office as a whole with his other hand, as if that explained anything. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. Thanks for the grub.” Leon tapped his knuckle on the desktop twice in a nervous tic –one that he couldn’t quite train himself out of no matter how hard he tried– before turning his attention down to the styrofoam containers in front of him, hoping to alleviate some of your obvious anxiety by averting his gaze, which he’d been told could be… intense.
He opened the three boxes you’d brought him and froze as he stared down at the juicy burnt ends drowning in sauce, loaded potato skins, smoked queso and the colorful salad with four different cups of dressing on the side, unable to recall when anyone –who wasn’t Sherry– had gone out of their way to get him something that didn’t come packaged in a coyote brown bag or cold out of a metal can… who had cared enough to make sure he wasn’t skipping meals and overworking himself like he tended to do when his mental health declined.
His stomach grumbled again, louder this time, as it shamelessly demanded to be fed.
“Your cholesterol won’t thank me, but I figured you could use a good, hearty meal considering your subpar eating habits.” You stated as your shoulders relaxed from their defensive position, sounding a bit more confident now as Leon impatiently ripped open the thin plastic encasing his fork and immediately skewered one of the pieces of meat on the tines before lifting it to his mouth, giving an involuntary hum of approval as he chewed.
“If killer barbecue ends up being what takes me out, I’d honestly consider that a win.” Leon mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up at his own stupid joke as he savored the flavors dancing on his tastebuds, the tangy barbecue sauce complimenting the rich, caramelized fat that melted like butter on his tongue as the tender meat practically fell apart in his mouth.
“Holy hell, that’s good. No wonder good ol' southern hospitality comes so easily to people down there. I don’t think even a zombie actively chewing through my foot could put a damper on my mood if I was eating like this everyday.” He said wistfully as he went in for a second bite the moment that he swallowed the first, pausing mid-chew when he heard you let out a startled laugh, the first one he’d heard from you since you’d started working with him.
Leon’s head snapped up from where he was all but hunched over his food like a dog resource guarding its bowl in order to look at you, his eyes rapidly cataloging the way you were holding a hand up over your face in a vain attempt to hide your obviously grinning mouth from view, your eyes wide and cheeks slightly flushed like you hadn’t meant to laugh so loudly, which he found oddly adorable.
“Right, good. I’m glad you like it. I’m just gonna, um, go… now. Stuff to do, people to see.” You said after awkwardly clearing your throat and getting your expression under control, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder and toward the door as you began to walk backward, cursing under your breath when you clumsily hip-checked one of the upholstered chairs –which was meant for visitors– that sat in front of his desk.
“You planning on taking my paperwork with you?” Leon asked as he raised one of eyebrows, setting his fork down and taking a break from inhaling his food in order to tease you, his carefully neutral tone giving away none of his internal amusement at your antics as he glanced down at the file you seemed intent on holding hostage.
“It’s the only way to ensure that you’ll actually eat.” You replied distractedly as you focused on watching your feet in order to avoid hitting anything else on your way out –like a total dork– instead of just doing the reasonable thing, which was to turn around and face the door.
Leon pressed his lips together in order to repress the urge to smile at your attempt to keep a chronic workaholic –who was drowning in all the shit he needed to do– like him from working straight through lunch, but he found that he didn’t have the heart to tell you that there was absolutely nothing stopping him from just taking a new file out of the plethora that he had yet to complete and getting started on filling it out if he wanted to.
But Leon decided not to burst your optimistic bubble and made a mental note to limit himself to simply reading over emails and drafting responses one-handed until he was done eating.
“Fair enough. Don’t lose it.” Leon huffed softly, the warmth that he let bleed into his tone as he spoke stopping you in your tracks before you reached the door. You lifted your gaze from your shoes and stared at him for a long moment –searching for… something, he wasn’t sure what– but then you gave him a small smile that lit up your face and made his chest do something funny.
“You wish, sir.” You said while shooting him a playful wink, blindly reaching behind you to grab and turn the doorknob in order to open the door wide enough for you to slip through. And with that last little quip, you were gone, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft click.
Leon shook his head in fond exasperation as he turned his attention back to his food once you were out of view, bypassing the buttermilk ranch, honey mustard, and vinaigrette without giving them a second glance in favor of grabbing the blue cheese dressing and unceremoniously dumping the entire little cup on top of his salad and mixing it in until every leaf was lightly coated and the strong, distinct flavor saturated every bite.
He began to shovel the mix of iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, boiled eggs, bacon, cucumber and purple onions into his mouth, freezing with the fork halfway to his lips when he realized that he was actually smiling for what felt like the first time in years.
summary: recently, things have gotten worse and you struggle to leave the bed. your husband, leon s. kennedy, worries about you.
song: five string serenade - mazzy star
"what's wrong honey?"
"i don't know."
"are you hungry?"
"i don't know."
"do you think you'll go to work tomorrow?"
"i don't know."
you didn't know. you couldn't label how you felt. you always thought you were good at labelling your feelings and speaking about how you felt. you thought you were articulate; you read a lot, wrote a lot, drew a lot. you could express yourself in so many different forms. so why couldn't you just tell leon what was wrong with you?
'wrong' with you.
was it even wrong to feel this way? you heard about people losing their fire, and then coming out the other side better than ever, learning something new about themselves. you were floating, not moving forward, just stagnant.
maybe you were doing depression wrong. or this was a forever feeling, and it was never going to go away. this infinite numbness that was going to continue to penetrate your mind and eat away at you.
over the years, you had coped with your depression better and better, even your husband commented on how much happier you seemed.
you heard the floorboards creak, the floorboards that leon was meant to fix ages ago, a cautious padding of feet approaching the room. the door squeaked open, leon paused, watching you from the doorway.
your depression always crept in, unnoticeable at first. you would take longer to get out of bed in the morning. your eyes would burn with exhaustion when driving home after work. your food portions became smaller. you blew through your cigarette packet quicker than usual. you would unintentionally fall asleep everywhere in the house.
everywhere.
including the bathtub.
that night redefined your marriage. you couldn't let it happen again.
but that was years ago.
and now you had fucked all your progress up because you couldn't leave your bed.
your eyes never left the wall. it was a light blue, you told leon it would light up the room, make it less dingy after he said he wanted grey - reminding you to never let this man decorate the house. if you squinted your eyes closed enough, you could see a small stain. a stain that you have no clue to what it could be, or you do - and you'd rather not think about where it came from. the grainy texture of the paint, the smooth parts and the bumpy parts, the plaster that filled what once was a dent in the wall, the faint splatters of paint near the desk area. it all reminded you of a life before the hollowness in your chest.
stop running away from your problems, you told yourself.
you liked running, physically and mentally. leon was the opposite. you admired his mindset, but you saw where it ended. the copious amounts of empty bottles in the recycling.
in the end, both of you craved what was going to destroy you.
your inability to get up embarrassed you. just move your stupid arm or move your stupid leg. sinking into your mattress of hatred and despair, you imagined your mattress growing around you like it was going to eventually engulf and absorb you.
getting up meant dealing with things. you'd have to find your underwear, and then realise you needed to do the laundry, and then you'd get hungry and would have to make dinner, but then you would realise you couldn't make dinner without groceries and then you would have to get fully dressed to go out, and how it never ended. you wished you could just do it once and for all and to be done with it.
every other adult did this, why couldn't you?
your lifeless body lay across the bed, only your hair was visible, peeking over the duvet. the drawn curtains caged you in this tumbling darkness, a cold lace draped around the room.
his mouth opened to say something, something like a stupid joke, but then clamped shut again as his throat tightened. his eyebrows furrowing and then relaxing before he made his way to the bed.
"c'mon baby. i'll run you a warm bath if you get up," leon murmured, sliding into the bed with you, his arms wrapping around you.
"i don't feel like it," you said, a distance woven into your voice.
no matter how close he held you tight, he couldn't have you fully.
there was nothing about today that made you want to move. it was already the afternoon. you wasted half the day, there was no point in starting it now. in fact, it annoyed you that your husband even suggested getting up at this time.
you hated the afternoons. pointless waiting around time. he knew that.
"these cold feet tell me otherwise," he hummed, his warm feet touching your icy ones - puncturing your self-hatred.
"i'm not ready to get up," you whispered. "i have so many things to do. you probably think i'm lazy."
your frozen hand suddenly twisted into a fist, curling around your shirt. or his shirt, you just stole it, and he stopped asking for it back.
"why would i think that?" you could feel his warm breath against your shoulder. something about this gentle warmth kept you afloat.
"because i'm a grown adult with responsibilities like everyone else. this is childish." you admitted, becoming quieter.
his arms pulled you closer to him and he rested his chin in the familiar space between your neck and your shoulder.
"it's okay to feel down," he said with a certainty. "you're the hardest worker i know."
"that's the biggest lie i've ever heard." you scoffed.
"forgot about how terribly stubborn you are." his chuckle tickled the back of your neck.
"i'm not stubborn." you snapped, reflex faster than the sadness.
"i think you are just proving my point here, hun." he laughed a little, "you're still you. still arguing with me over something silly. so i know a part of you can sit up."
"you're so corny," you huffed, bringing your arm out to push his face away. his stubble scratched your hand, and he pressed a kiss against your palm.
"works every time." he mumbled against your fingers that were pressing against his mouth.
you then slowly retreated them back under the duvet.
"i haven't felt this way in so long. i'm just... fucking everything up all over again. i'm the same person i always have been. i haven't changed." you sighed, drowning in your spiral.
he held you closer to him, as if he was trying to absorb all your mental pain. he saw you change with his own eyes. he saw the smile grow back onto your face again, he saw you begin to argue with him about silly things again, he saw you laugh at his corny jokes again.
"you know healing-"
"isn't linear yeah, yeah." you interrupted him.
"wasn't gonna say that."
you didn't respond, feeling the barbed wire tighten around your throat, like if you swallowed wrong it would tear something open.
"you think you're still the same?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and brushing your hair out of your face.
you didn't answer him. you stared at the wall instead. if you released anything right now, it was all going to come crumbling, crashing and toppling down.
"when it got bad, back then, you kept it to yourself." he paused, remembering how that ended. "but you're telling me you're struggling. that's not the same. that's better than keeping it to yourself."
his precise wording, the way he paused before saying sentences just told you everything you needed to know. he was scared all over again, worried that saying the wrong thing would trigger you further into the hole you were falling into. he couldn't let that happen.
"can you run me a bath?" you said, suddenly.
you could hear his breath hitch like he was about to say something, but he said yes, pressed a kiss onto your temple and disappeared down the hallway.
the water faucet turned on, the water splashing into the porcelain bath tub. it filled the dusty quiet of the house.
you couldn't stand his voice any longer, you hated the tenderness within it. his pathetic attempts at comforting you. before he would tease you and excitedly trot down the hallway humming away, off-key. this time, he saw straight through your deceitful ways, now he was cautious. he was walking on egg shells in his own house because of you.
you hoped, cruelly, that he would run the bath, tell you it was ready, and you would tell him you would get there in a second, and forget about it. just fall asleep again, because you never planned on bathing anyway.
what sort of cruel wife dangles progress in front of her husband like bait, letting him believe he could still reach you?
you imagined the steam fogging the mirror, him dipping his fingers in the water multiple times to ensure it wasn't too hot.
disgusted by yourself, the selfishness of it all, the greed in wasting his time, the lack of consideration for how this was affecting him. rotten, that's what you were. it was sour and spoiled your corpse of a body, spreading throughout all your veins.
you heard the soft clink of bottles being placed down and then the rustle of fabric. you pictured him folding your freshly cleaned pajamas and towels and placing your soaps on the side of the tub.
he married someone bright and determined, someone who argued with him about the colour of the walls and forced him to come to antique shops. not a body in the bed.
a burden.
not someone who wasted his time, just to see if he still cared. not someone who made her husband audition for her love.
pressing your face further into the pillow, your forehead twitched. you wished that you could suffocate your thoughts but they just kept taking root.
you were going to waste it.
the water would still, waiting for your body that was never planning on coming. after some time, it would cool and all the bubbles would dissolve. leon would drain it, pretending that this never happened as the last bubble fell down the drain.
the water shut off.
footsteps didn't come immediately. but they did, eventually.
"it's ready honey." he said softly, the door opening a little as he pushed it against his fingertips.
"i'll be there in a minute." you croaked out, your nails digging into your thigh, leaving crescent-shaped marks. disgusting.
the thin bar of warm yellow light from the hallway slipped into the room, running across the pooling duvet.
"okay." he replied, his footsteps retreating down the hallway. not angry, not disappointed. just 'okay'.
your chest tightened. you squeezed your eyes shut, just hoping that maybe, everything would just disappear. you prayed that maybe you would get sick or some catastrophic external event would happen so none of this would be your fault anymore. because it had been you.
seeing his shaking hands and his pleading cries after that night changed you. saying your name over and over again as if repetition alone could've brought you back to normalcy. even if it was an accident, it scared both of you enough. he drove himself to exhaustion making sure you were okay. you noticed his constant hovering afterwards, his sudden desire to make you food all the time, the way he would check your pulse in the middle of the night. you didn't mean to fall asleep in the bath, you weren't trying to kill yourself. but the water didn't care about intent. and intent didn't change impact.
"leon." you called out, mustering up all the energy you could. he had fought hard for you, and now you were going to fight hard for him. it didn't mean pretending you were okay, but it meant being open and honest.
too quickly, like he was hoping for this, he poked his head around the door. the light from the bathroom haloed him briefly. the mattress dipped, his weight sitting on it.
"i'm here," he said, his hand firmly holding your shoulder.
"i want to get up." you said, "i'll get in the bath you made. i don't want this to end like it did last time."
suddenly, tears spilled from your eyes, your frame heaving up and down. everything burst and crumbled. your body folded in on itself as you tried to hide yourself.
"oh, honey," his voice was low and steady as he pulled you into his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. "i've got you baby."
"i can't even get up. i can't get up and have a bath." you choked on your words, sobs breaking through. "you shouldn't have to deal with this."
"i didn't get married to you to only have you on your good days," he said, rubbing firm circles into your hip. "you getting up is not small to me."
"it's small to everyone else." you mumbled, sniffling.
"you're not married to everyone else." he whispered, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. you huffed slightly as your fingers held onto him tighter.
"you go out fighting horrors that i can't even imagine. you shouldn't have to come home to this."
he stilled, his rough fingers holding one side of your face and wiping the tears that spilled down your cheek. he gently brought your chin up to look at his eyes.
"don't do that."
"don't what-"
"don't compare." he hushed, "you think what i deal with makes this less real?"
you tried to move your face away from his grip, but tears kept leaking from your eyes.
"i'm sorry for being like this."
"what are you apologising for?" he asked, "just because i fight things that are visible, doesn't make the things you fight any less painful. i said this before and i'll say it again, you're the hardest worker i know."
you went quiet, your sobs broke into gasps, sharp little inhales that hurt your chest. leon didn't say anything, he didn't rush you, or overwhelm you or fill the silence. he only continued to trace gentle, grounding circles into your back with his thumb. your forehead rested on his collarbone, his scent was a mixture of cologne and that slight earthy smell from when he spent too long in the garden.
then your breathing gradually evened. you pulled away from his body, his hands still holding you as you blinked through the blur. you noticed the damp patch on his shirt. everything felt lighter, the heaviness of the duvet wasn't as suffocating as before. leon pressed his lips against your forehead.
"you done apologising?"
"maybe." you whispered. his lips twitched.
"i'll take maybe." he laughed a little, relief overwhelming him. you two held each other in silence for a little longer, relaxing in one another's warmth.
"i want to get up." you said, clutching onto him a little tighter.
"okay." he began, "let's sit up first-"
"if i change my mind about this-" you broke out, breaths going uneven.
"then we change our minds and i'll stay with you until you're ready again. i'm not leaving your side." his hand firm on your shoulder still, tilting his head to catch your gaze. he had that reassuring look that he always had, no matter the situation, it somehow made you think everything was going to be okay. the sort of reassurance and warmth that had you remembering when you first met him and he flashed you that boyish grin of his. the one that made you fall in love with him. your breathing evened.
"okay." you pressed your lips together, his smile now filling you with determination.
"ready?"
you nodded.
he shifted himself so he was sat on the edge of the bed, and you pushed yourself up using your elbows. leon's hand instinctively shot out to support your lower back, steadying you before you could even ask. the room swayed, your vision swimming. as your head slowly turned to him, you saw the small proud smile that was ghosting on his lips.
he stood up, but his touch never left.
"ready for standing up?"
you hummed in agreement and shifted your feet off the bed slowly, until they touched the cold of the floor. your hands clutched onto leon's damp shirt as you pushed yourself up.
you stood.
you knees felt weak and your head felt light, but you were up. you leant into leon, his firm solidness made the twist in your chest loosen.
"there she is." he said, a smile in his voice.
despite everything, you were standing.
note: if this does well, i might write a part 2 of the reader getting in the bath, or if anyone else has any other suggestions i'd love to hear them. i hope everyone is okay, just saw the sun for the first time in so long - i didn't need to go outside with a scarf or coat it was so nice. i even got ice-cream, that's how excited i am for the summer. through editing this i also noticed that i unintentionally made an undertale reference.
AN: In celebration of completing RE9: Requiem, I wrote this!
And, while I think that Leon is a pretty tragic character when you think about it and he deserves all the nice things, I found that I have to get all the thirsting out of the way before I can write anything soft for him, lol.
Anyways, I personally envision this taking place at some point after RE4 because I just really like Leon's personality in that game. Hope you like it!
Word Count: 3,424
Warnings: Explicit Language, Blood and Injury, Wound Care.
“If you got any complaints about my bedside manner you can go ahead and file them with Corporal Trash Can right there.” You said gruffly while nodding at the garbage bin –the one filled with bloodied gauze and torn wrappers from various medical supplies– that you had pulled up next to the chair that you’d practically dumped Leon into once you had dragged him inside.
You were in the middle of trying to extract a bullet from Leon’s left shoulder, the new gaping wound he'd acquired only an inch or so away from the starburst scar he’d gotten while in Raccoon City as a rookie cop, and you weren’t being nice since Leon had made the utterly idiotic decision of getting between you and a bullet like some kind of white knight.
Leon grunted as you dug around the meat of his shoulder with a pair of bullet forceps in search of the small projectile, the blond gritting his teeth harder around the ragged strip of his ridiculously tight shirt that you had been forced to cut off him in order to gain access to the injury, sweat beading on his forehead as you pushed the long metal rod deeper.
“Mmph, fucking hell!” The blond growled out between clenched teeth and you shot a glare at the blond when he spat the spit-soaked fabric out of his mouth with a harsh laugh, the weak grin he had plastered on his face twisting into a grimace after a particularly rough jab. “You ever think about switching careers? Because your bedside manner makes me think you'd make a great dentist. You've already got the sadism part down.”
“I always thought I'd make a pretty good butcher personally.” You shot back without even bothering to look away from the bloodied mess in front of you, your lips pressing into a thin line of concentration as you pulled the rod out a bit in order to readjust the angle before slowly pushing it back in.
“Jesus Christ. If you –ah– if you pull this off without killing me, I'll buy you a damn gift basket. Or a card. Take your pick.” Leon promised roughly, the blond flashing you a pained smirk when he noticed you glance at him from out of the corner of your eye. “But if you keep treating me like a goddamn pincushion, I'm telling command you're the reason I always go through my painkillers so fast.”
“You're such a baby.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing for a brief moment when the tip of the forceps scraped over something metal, before a wide grin spread across your face.
You placed a steadying hand on Leon’s thigh to keep him from flinching and fucking up all the progress you’d made as you shifted closer –all but straddling the blond's thigh– wasting no time latching onto the slippery metal with the little teeth at the end of the rod in order to carefully extract the elusive bullet.
You held it up in front of you as soon as you dragged it out, turning it this way and that in order to examine the projectile, before blowing out a near silent breath of relief once you determined that it was –thankfully– still intact so you wouldn't have to worry about any fragments, which would’ve definitely complicated matters and further hindered Leon’s recovery.
“There. Done.” You said as you unceremoniously dropped the bullet and bloodied forceps into the cracked bowl you'd found in the dilapidated kitchen of the safehouse that you and your chatty partner were currently occupying.
You moved toward the two medkits you’d ripped apart for supplies so that you could begin the tedious process of cleaning and bandaging the wound.
“Finally. I was about ready to brain myself against the wall if it meant getting a break from being carved up like a piece of meat.” Leon grumbled as he watched you grab some alcohol wipes as well as the small bottle of vodka you’d used to sterilize the bullet forceps before using it, the blond remaining tense as you collected what you’d need and turned your attention back to his shoulder.
“Hilarious.” You deadpanned as you placed a hand on Leon’s chest in order to push him back into the dining chair as you leaned closer to get a better look at the wound, ignoring the choked off sound that Leon made when he was shoved against the slat backrest.
You moved to pull away but paused when Leon’s hand darted out to grab your wrist before you could finish the movement, his face screwing up in pain as he exhaled shakily, his grasp loose enough that you could infer that he was just floundering for a way to ground himself as opposed to trying to restrain you or something. So, in a moment of weakness, you allowed his touch to linger without a word of protest, giving him a much needed moment to pull himself together.
You kept your hand pressed flat against his chest for a moment, counting his abnormally fast heart beats and his purposefully measured breathing until his body calmed, the blond releasing your wrist with a look you would describe as ‘sheepish’ if you didn’t know any better.
“You know, I don't even know why I put up with you.” Leon sighed while pouting like a petulant toddler as he slumped back into the chair, obediently relaxing his left arm as much as he was able to when you tapped your finger against his bicep twice in a wordless command.
“You mean you don’t keep me around for my sheer animal magnetism? I’m shocked.” You snorted sarcastically as you ripped open a new packet of alcohol wipes and began carefully wiping at the drying blood surrounding the bullet hole.
“Oh, right… your animal magnetism.” He replied dryly, wincing when the cool wipe brushed across a particularly sensitive area. “How could I forget?” Leon scoffed, his bright eyes watching you as you tossed the blood covered wipe into into the trash and opened a new one, slowly but efficiently mopping up the mess until the swollen, irritated skin surrounding the wound was visible
“Alright. I got good news and bad news.” You stated as you threw away the fifth and final alcohol wipe you’d opened, rubbing your hands down with some clean water from your own bottle and shaking them dry before dumping the remainder of the vodka shooter onto your hands in preparation for what you had to do next.
“Gimme the bad news first.” Leon cut in before you could finish your thought and you rolled your eyes but still ended up humoring him.
“Bad news is that you’re gonna die if we don’t slow the bleeding down, quickly. The fat layer under the skin is exposed and I don’t have any dissolvable stitches on me, so I can’t properly close it. Oh, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that it’s going to get infected.” You listed off your concerns as you dug the combat pill pack out of the emergency supplies that the safehouse was stocked with, quickly locating the bottles of Moxifloxacin and Meloxicam you were looking for and shaking out one of each into your palm.
“Great. And the good news?” Leon asked as he took the offered dull red and bright yellow pills with his good hand, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with a few long pulls from the bottled water that you also handed him.
“Good news is that your injury is located at a junctional area which, while not ideal because I can’t use a tourniquet, I can pack it with gauze before wrapping it up to make sure you won’t bleed out on me. It should hold up until we can get you to a hospital for proper treatment.” You said as you set all the supplies you’d need on the dining table, picking up the bottle containing a plain packing strip and breaking the seal before shifting closer to Leon, kicking his legs further apart so you could step between his thighs.
“Sounds fun. Come on, let's get this over with.” Leon sighed, already sounding resigned as he shifted around in his seat, the blond only settling once you braced your knee against the chair between his legs, holding carefully still as you positioned the end of the strip against the hole in his shoulder.
You glanced up from his wound in order to check if he was ready, doing a rapid double take when you caught the dazed look on his face as he stared up at you looming over him, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded.
You initially thought that shock was finally setting in –which would make sense with all the excitement– but then you shifted your weight and you were made painfully aware of just how intimate your current position was. Your eyes widened as you watched Leon’s pupils dilate in real time, the blond staring up at you like you were a piece of art to be admired, able to practically hear his thoughts enter the gutter with an audible clatter with how close you were standing.
“You know… for someone who claims to only tolerate me, you sure do have a soft spot for patching me up. You always seem to volunteer to be the one to play nurse when I’m injured.” Leon said, a hint of amusement creeping in his voice, and you rolled your eyes before abruptly beginning to push the cotton strip deep inside his bullet wound with your thumbs.
Leon grit his teeth and let out a sharp, guttural cry as he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck straining with the need to move, to get out from under your steady hands and away from the pain.
“Well, if we're going by that logic, you seem to enjoy playing patient with how often you get injured.” You shot back without pausing, your eyes flicking up from Leon’s shoulder once to glance at his face before dropping back down when you made sure that he was still conscious.
“God damn it.” He cursed, panting and groaning in a way that sounded far too suggestive, the sounds coming out of him as you methodically packed the wound more fit for the bedroom. "You could have warned me, you bastard.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” You responded as you reached the end of the roll, keeping firm pressure on the raw wound to hold everything in place as you snatched the gauze pad off the dining table, tearing the wrapper off one-handed and placing it over the injury site. “Hold this.” You commanded firmly, impatiently waiting until Leon raised his good hand and put his palm over the gauze before letting go in order to reach for the roll of bandages.
“If this is your idea of fun, I’d hate to see what you’d do on a date.” Leon grumbled, his brows furrowing as he watched you open the packaging and begin meticulously dressing his wound, the blond moving his hand out of the way without you even having to ask as you wrapped the strip across his chest and around his shoulder repeatedly before tucking the end under the edge of the bandages to keep them from unraveling.
“Is that an attempt at asking me out, Kennedy? Zero out of ten, no way you’re getting any with weak pick up lines like that.” You quipped, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when his eyebrows shot up to his forehead in surprise, his expression rapidly flicking through several different emotions before finally settling on embarrassment, his cheeks turning a bright, flustered red.
“I’m not– I wasn’t–” Leon spluttered as you stepped away and grabbed your own canteen in order to wash your hands over the bowl containing the bullet you’d pulled out of Leon –along with the forceps you’d used to do so– before mentally plotting where to begin cleaning up the mess you’d left on the table, as well as the ground surrounding the chair, while treating the blond.
“Uh-huh.” You said dismissively as you repacked the two well-stocked medkits –both the one you always brought with you when you were sent out on a mission, especially if Leon was your partner, and the spare that you’d found already in the safehouse– putting everything back into its rightful place. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.” You continued casually, shutting the kits and securing them with a click before glancing at Leon, who had stiffened in his chair.
“Projecting much? I’m not the one with a staring problem.” Leon snapped back defensively, his tone holding a surprising amount of vitriol, and you paused in the middle of turning to put your medkit back into your bag to shoot him a dirty look.
“Hypocrite.” You hissed as you pulled a spare shirt from the bag you were crouched over and aggressively threw it at his bare chest.
“Brute.” Leon immediately snapped in response as he caught it and shrugged it on, his angry movements slowing when he had to maneuver his bad arm through the corresponding hole.
“Whatever.” You sneered, shooting him one last glare before pivoting in order to follow through on shoving your medkit back into your duffel, giving yourself a much needed moment to calm the petty anger that had sparked in your chest at Leon’s rude response to your harmless teasing. Talk about an overreaction…
You glanced back at Leon once you were feeling a little less like biting his head off, only to have the irritation that you had spent the last several minutes breathing through make a swift return when you saw him poking curiously at his injured shoulder, wincing when he occasionally hit a sore spot.
You immediately stalked back over to him and smacked his hand, Leon snatching his stinging appendage away from the bandages like he was worried that you would break his fingers if he didn’t move fast enough, looking all to the world like a scolded child who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have as he placed his hands into his lap.
“Don’t do that.” You warned with a disapproving frown, eyes scanning over the wrappings to make sure that he wasn’t about to start bleeding through his bandages. “And you know what –while we're on the topic of what not to do– no removing the bandages, no getting wet, no lifting heavy objects and no strenuous activities. That includes jacking off by the way.” You lifted a finger for each rule you listed, staring Leon down to make sure he knew you were being dead serious.
The absolute last thing you needed was for him to permanently mess up his shoulder because he did something stupid.
“How charming, I’m swooning.” Leon said as he placed his hands onto his knees and pushed to his feet, his face blanching of all color and leaving him looking more like the B.O.W’s that the two of you fought on the regular once he was fully upright.
Thankfully for Leon, you were already reaching for him when he took a stumbling step forward, so you managed to steady him with a hand on his hip, wrapping your other one around his forearm before he had the opportunity to take a nasty spill.
“That’ll be the hypovolemia. Obviously.” You responded sarcastically almost on autopilot, the concern you were feeling at seeing the guy you’d personally witnessed walk off insane blows –ones he for all intents and purposes definitely shouldn’t have– struggling to just stand seeping into your voice without your say-so and taking the bite out of your words as you watched him sway in place like a drunk.
Your hands lingered on Leon even after he had regained his balance, your fingers absentmindedly flexing around his impressive bicep as your eyes ran up and down his body, eagerly taking in how the shirt hugged every dip and curve of his muscles.
Leon cleared his throat and you blinked rapidly –feeling like you were coming out of a daze– and your gaze darted away from his chest and back up to his face, your eyes widening as your cheeks heated when you saw that he was wearing his signature cocky smirk as he watched you all but feel him up.
You jerked your hands away from him like you’d been burned and quickly turned away so your back was facing him, ignoring the soft laugh that Leon breathed out at your expense in favor of sweeping the last of the discarded wrappers littering the table into the trash can.
"It's a good thing you're pretty, cause you're dumber than a box of rocks. Standing up so quickly when you've lost as much blood as you have. Moron." You grumbled to yourself in an attempt to hide how rattled you were at getting caught ogling Leon fucking Kennedy of all people, who was the most insufferable, egotistical, attractive, loyal… protective…
You quickly shook your head before your thoughts could derail completely, as if that would get rid of the little voice in the back of your head –the one that was gradually getting louder every time you worked with him– that pointed out all of Leon’s positive qualities, which far outnumbered the less favorable aspects of his personality.
“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy.” Leon said with his usual level of smugness, the grin that you just knew he was sporting audible in his voice, and you valiantly resisted the ever-growing urge to either punch him in his mouth or kiss him stupid in order to wipe that infuriating look off his unfairly handsome face.
“Go lay down, Kennedy. Get some rest.” You sighed –sweeping your gaze across the dining room to make sure you didn’t miss any wayward pieces of trash– before checking your side arm and dragging one of the three intact wooden chairs over to the front window in order to sit down. It gave you a nice view of the snowy front yard and the long, winding driveway that led up to the cabin which gave you the advantage of spotting anyone who tried to approach the safehouse before they even knew you were there.
“Fine, fine.” Leon muttered, the blond giving an exaggerated sigh as he ran his hand through his hair before turning to unsteadily make his way over to the ratty couch that was shoved into the corner of the main room and –in a move that was very uncharacteristic of him– gingerly lower himself down onto the shitty cushions. “But don’t blame me if I get bored and start bothering you again in five minutes.” Leon added after he’d carefully stretched out across the couch, taking up almost the entire length.
“Goodnight.” You said pointedly without looking away from the window, watching as the previously peaceful snowfall outside gradually picked up into a full-blown blizzard, your gaze straying from the white tundra outside when you caught sight of Leon in the reflection of the glass.
He had unholstered his own sidearm and rested his hands –gun and all– over his sternum and closed his eyes, the blond only managing to remain still for a few seconds before he was wiggling around again, the telltale shift of fabric accompanying the movement, as he attempted to get comfortable on the narrow couch.
You waited him out, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the potent combination of the drugs, pain and blood loss caught up with him and knocked him the fuck out, and you were proven right when you heard his breathing even out into sleep only a few minutes later.
Finally.
Leon was good at hiding it, but he desperately needed the rest –especially when he was in as rough shape as he was right now– and you were determined to make sure that he got it, partly because he needed to heal but mostly because you didn’t feel like listening to him whine about how he needed his beauty sleep for the next several hours if he was woken up too soon.
You watched him for a long, indulgent moment –noting how incredibly young he looked when he didn’t have his guard up– before sighing to yourself and refocusing your attention back onto the winter wonderland outside in order to take up first watch, letting the sound of Leon’s deep breaths and the faint whistle of the wind fill the peaceful silence.
“Easy, cher,” Gambit chuckled, shooting you a teasing smile as he tossed a pinch of cayenne into the pot and gave it a thorough stir. “Don't think Gambit don't see you eyein' the food like a starvin’ dog lookin' at a steak. You been eatin' right at all this week?” He asked as he grabbed another spice bottle, tapping about a teaspoon of smoked paprika into the pot before setting it aside with all the other seasonings he’d amassed.
“Had a granola bar on the jet.” You winced even as you said it, already mentally preparing yourself for the scolding you were about to get for having one measly snack in a twelve hour span while actively fighting off a vicious head cold.
You gave Gambit a meek smile when the Cajun whipped around to stare at you without blinking –pure, unfiltered disbelief coming off him in waves– once he did the mental math, counting backwards from the current time, which was around five in the evening.
“You best be jokin’…” Gambit said without inflection and you shrugged in response since anything you could say at that point would only succeed in working the other man up further, and you did want to cuddle with Gambit later which would require remaining on his good side.
“Remy–” You began, gearing up to begin handling damage control, but Gambit was quick to cut you off before you could get more than a word out.
“Non,” Gambit snapped as he held up a finger –strict as a schoolteacher now– and you obediently shut your mouth with an audible click. “You said all Gambit need to know.” He said as he stalked over to the fridge like a man on a mission and yanked it open, sending condiments rattling in their slots.
Then, in what seemed like one blink and the next, he was multitasking between stirring the bubbling pot of stew on one burner, frying up two eggs on another, cutting up an avocado into thin slices and watching the two pieces of sourdough bread he'd popped into the toaster to make sure that they didn't get too brown.
“You unbelievable sometimes, you know dat?” Gambit muttered as he pulled the bread from the toaster and put it on a plate, the Cajun slathering a healthy amount of butter onto both slices with far more aggression than necessary while you brought your shoulders up to your ears, wishing that the ground would just open up beneath you and swallow you whole.
By the time Gambit had taken your lukewarm tea from your grasp and set down the golden toast layered with sliced avocado, a sprinkle of pink Himalayan salt and perfectly runny eggs in front of you, his tone had softened again –just enough to let you know that his ire came from a place of concern– but his eyes were still fierce when they locked onto yours.
“Eat.” He said simply. “All of it.” And, because you knew better than to argue with Remy LeBeau over something like this when he was already worked up, you picked up one of the slices of toast without another word of protest and took a bite.
Your stomach let out a loud growl as you chewed, like a beast waking from its slumber, reminding you that it had been far too long since you last had a proper meal. And, while you were unable to experience the full effect of the flavors all together –since your palate was messed up due to you being sick– you still let Gambit know that you appreciated the meal by letting out little pleased hums every few bites until it was gone.
You frowned down at the crumbs on your plate, your stomach giving another demanding gurgle now that your hunger had come back in full force after getting a taste of good cooking but, before you could act on the growing urge to lick the plate, Gambit was taking it away and placing a bowl of steaming stew in front of you.
You looked up and gave Gambit a toothy smile as you took the utensil that he offered you, impatiently scooping up a spoonful before bringing it up to your lips. Though, you paused with the spoon hovering mid-air somewhere between the bowl and your face when Gambit placed a cool hand over your mouth, keeping you from finishing the motion. You made a questioning noise from behind Gambit's palm, watching him with wide, incredulous eyes as the Cajun leaned down to gently blow on the spoonful of stew.
“Nuh-uh, not so fast, cher. It’s hot.” Gambit murmured as he reached out with his other hand in order to steady the spoon so that you wouldn’t spill while keeping the other over your lips. “You wanna burn that pretty mouth? Huh? After all the trouble Gambit go through cookin’ for you?” Gambit shook his head in mock exasperation as he blew a few more soft puffs of air across the steaming stew –slow, deliberate– his breath ghosting over the spoon like he was cooling it for a child.
Then, once he deemed it safe, he pulled his palm away from your mouth and used the light grip he had around your hand to guide the spoon up to your lips with a mischievous look in those sharp red-on-black eyes.
“Open wide…” He sang with a smug smile when you didn’t immediately take the offering and you narrowed your eyes at him in silent refusal even as he swept the spoon side to side under your nose like that would make the stew more enticing… like the food was what you had a problem with. Idiot.
You held out against his insistence but, once it became apparent that Gambit wasn’t going to let up without you indulging him at least once, you parted your lips and allowed him to guide the spoon into your mouth. Though, once it passed your teeth, you bit down onto the metal to keep him from withdrawing it and snatched the utensil away from him as you bared your teeth at him in warning, hoping to discourage him from trying a second time since your pride wouldn’t allow him to feed you like some dribbling toddler.
Gambit acquiesced to you with a polite little bow before pulling out the chair next to you so he could sit with his arm propped up on the counter top, resting his chin on his palm as he watched you eat with a fond smile, the only sounds filling the kitchen being the clink of metal on ceramic and the disapproving click of Gambit’s tongue every now and then when you didn’t blow on the stew long enough for his liking before shovelling another spoonful into your mouth.
You finished the stew much slower than you did the toast Gambit had made you, savoring each spiced bite of tender meat and soft vegetable, the hearty broth soothing your agitated throat and settling heavy in your finally satiated belly, warming you from the inside.
“So good.” You mumbled as you took the last bite, placing the spoon into the empty bowl before leaning back in your seat with a satisfied sigh, patting at your full stomach that was hidden beneath several thick layers of clothing as you resisted the siren song of a falling asleep right there at the breakfast bar.
Gambit chuckled at your obvious and –admittedly– quite pitiful attempts at staying awake, his dark eyes dancing with mirth as his thumb swiped across the corner of your mouth in order to clean up a spot of thick broth at the corner of your mouth as your vision blurred with the threat of sleep, each blink feeling like a herculean task.
“Bedtime, cher.” Gambit said softly as he helped you out of his seat, practically being forced to hold you upright as he guided the two of you out of the kitchen –leaving the dishes to be dealt with later– and down the hall back to the adult dorms where your room was located when you vehemently refused to stay over at Gambit's while sick as a dog.
Gambit eventually gave up on practically dragging you down the hall when you tripped over your own feet for the third time, the Cajun letting out an exasperated sigh before he swept your legs out from under you and lifted you into his arms in a bridal carry.
You grumbled under your breath but ultimately wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your weary head on his shoulder –since you were practically half asleep as it was– too tired and dizzy to protest against him manhandling you with your usual vitriol. You dozed for a few minutes, lulled by the rhythmic beat of Gambit's heart and measured steps, only coming back to awareness when he would carefully dodge the occasional rambunctious student racing down the halls on their way to class.
You cracked your eyes open when Gambit slowed his steady pace, before stopping entirely, and you pressed closer to him –burying your face against his shoulder– with a low grumble to dissuade him from trying to put you down since you were comfortable. He gently hushed you and readjusted his grip to free one of his hands in order to open the door and push his way into your room.
You heard him kick the door shut behind him and snuggled closer with a low sound of disapproval when Gambit brought you to the bed and –after flicking on the lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in an unobtrusive golden glow– began to try and pry you off him with very little success.
“C'mon, mon cœur, no need to be difficult.” Gambit murmured as he pressed little kisses to your hair, slowly coaxing you into releasing him so he could gently lower you down onto the mattress before pulling the blankets out from under you and then off the bed entirely so that you were only left with only your top sheet.
“Remy… I'm cold.” You complained, shooting him a look of utter betrayal as he dumped your blankets into the laundry hamper, which was on the other side of the room. You blindly reached up and clumsily pulled your hood over your head and dragged the thin sheet up to your nose to try and ward off the chill in the air, weakly glaring at him when he returned to your side and began fussing over you.
“Nuh-uh, don't you look at Gambit like that, you.” Gambit murmured in a mock-scolding tone as he tucked the sheet in close to your body with firm tenderness, seemingly unsatisfied until you were all but swaddled in it, before briefly making a detour to the adjoining bathroom in order to wet a washcloth and bring it back over to you. “You think Gambit's gonna let you suffocate under ten pounds of fabric while runnin’ a fever? Non. Not happenin’.”
You narrowed your eyes at him as he placed a knee on the bed in order to lean over you and tug your hood up so he could press the damp washcloth against your forehead, batting your hand away without even looking when you shivered and reached up to try and take it off.
He brushed a hand through your damp hair –taking note of the heat still lingering on your skin, but thankfully not as fierce now– and, once he was sure that you wouldn't try and remove the cloth while he wasn't looking, he turned a scrutinizing eye to the mess that was your room.
You blinked against the exhaustion that was threatening to pull you under and watched him raise a brow at the stacks of books you had on your desk, the articles of clothing that were haphazardly strewn about the floor, the half-unzipped duffel bag spilling balled-up socks and toiletries… and the single stuffed animal peeking out from under the bed.
“...I tried to unpack.” You said defensively, frowning as embarrassment flooded you at the state of your room. You had already been in the thick of it –experiencing the peak of the symptoms that came with a head cold– when you got off the jet and, when you went to unpack your things and tidy up a bit after your absence, you only managed to get through maybe a quarter of your bag before you ultimately gave up and crawled into bed to lay down for some much needed rest.
You had ended up sleeping for several hours, which was why you didn't search out Gambit right after getting back in order to reassure your lover that you were alive and well, like you normally did.
“Gambit ain't judging you, cher.” Gambit said softly, sounding fond as he nudged the plush back into view with the toe of his boot before crouching down to grab it. “But dis fella might be. Just look at dem beady lil’ eyes.” Gambit teased with an affectionate grin, wiggling the stuffie at you before laying it on the bed next to you.
You resisted the urge to coo at him when he gave its fuzzy head a few friendly pats before drawing away in favor of checking on the washcloth, which –while still slightly wet– had warmed significantly while it had been in contact with your flushed skin.
“You’re cooler already.” Relief softened his voice and you cracked your bleary eyes open –unsure of when you'd even closed them– when, instead of leaving to the bathroom and running the cloth under the faucet to cool it off again like you had expected him to, you heard the telltale click of Gambit flicking the lamp off before the mattress dipped as he sank down onto the edge of the bed with a soft huff.
He leaned down to deftly untie his boots before swinging his legs up onto the bed and laying down next to you on top of the thin sheet, keeping about an inch of space between the two of you –since he knew that his unnaturally high body temperature wouldn’t help bring your fever down– as he lounged back with one hand behind his head and the other trailing down your arm until he reached your inner wrist.
He pressed two fingers to your pulse, humming in approval and lacing your fingers together after a minute had passed, squeezing gently before drawing your linked hands up to his mouth so he could kiss the back of yours.
You rolled over onto your side to face Gambit –moving carefully so that you wouldn’t accidentally separate your hands– and your eyes began to drift closed, the fatigue that had been dogging your every move since you’d gotten up that morning finally catching up with you now that you were relaxed, fed and comfortable. You hummed softly, already barely hanging onto consciousness as it was, when Gambit set your interlocked hands onto his chest, which vibrated as he spoke.
“One day, cher…” He murmured into the dark room, his voice low enough that you almost missed what he said, his hand lightly squeezing yours before he continued. “One day Gambit will get you to take care of yourself properly.”
You didn’t answer –couldn’t have even if you wanted to– not when you were already pretty much gone, your body lax and your mind blank as your chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. But, before you went completely under, you felt him shift around to face you, his nose brushing against yours in an adorable eskimo kiss that made you internally melt.
Then he spoke again, his smooth Cajun drawl like a lullaby, and the words followed you into your dreams.
“Till then… Gambit don’ mind doing it for both of us.”
“Time out. I’m dying.” You complained as you doubled over and put your hands on your knees, sweat dripping off your brow as you began the tedious process of slowing your breathing while trying your best not to pass out from heat exhaustion.
Logan, the utter bastard, had decided that the group would be training outside in the yard instead of in the Danger Room like they usually did, and he was definitely on your shit-list now since it was about 83 degrees outside and you felt like you were cooking under the mid-morning sun.
Though you had the sneaking suspicion that his ‘decision’ to move them outside was mostly influenced by Scott, who had already been on the newest members of the team several times this week for their recklessness, reminding them that they should treat the a simulated environment the room provided like it was real and avoid causing excessive property damage.
So you and Gambit had been sparring outside for the last hour, and while you’d normally be embarrassed about panting like an overheated dog after a bit of hand-to-hand combat, you gave yourself a pass just this once since it was obvious that Gambit wasn’t doing much better himself.
You lifted your head when you heard him click his tongue in annoyance, completely forgetting about your discomfort as you watched Gambit lift his shirt in order to wipe the sweat off his face, a heat that had nothing to do with the weather making you feel dizzy when you were treated to an up close and personal view of his toned abdomen before he dropped his damp shirt.
You mentally sighed and turned your gaze away from Gambit’s covered stomach in favor of observing the other paired off X-Men spar –all of them looking just as miserable as you felt– as Gambit turned away, the man wandering over to where you both had dropped your water bottles in the grass.
“Who said you could take a break, runt?” Logan called out and you turned to search for him among the crowd, squinting against the sun in order to glare at the man once you spotted him. He was standing near where Jubilee and Rogue were grappling, looking annoyingly put together in his white tank top and bootcut denim jeans, his large arms crossed over his chest as he judgmentally raised a brow at you.
“Fuck off.” You yelled back while flicking him off, Rouge and Jubilee’s fighting becoming sloppy and uncoordinated when they broke out in a fit of giggles as Logan’s face fell into a disapproving scowl at your mouthy response.
“You get two minutes.” Logan growled before turning his attention back to the two girls in front of him, barking at them to fix their forms and leaving you to your own devices. You sighed and pushed to your full height, turning your attention to Kitty and Kurt –who were sparring together– while stretching out the kink in your back that had developed from being hunched over for so long as you studied their individual fighting styles just in case you got paired with them later.
But then your focus was unceremoniously shattered when something cold suddenly touched the back of your neck, the jarring temperature shock causing you to squawk in protest and slap a hand over the affected area as you whirled around to face the assailant, fully expecting to see Bobby. But instead of coming face to face with a grinning Iceman, you were met with a smirking Gambit, who was holding the offending object –your water bottle– in his hand.
“Jesus Christ, Remy!” You hissed as you snatched your bottle away from him, Gambit holding his hands up in the universal sign of surrender as you unscrewed the cap and scowled at him while taking several long swallows of cool, refreshing water.
“Don' be bringin' Jesus into dis mon cher, Gambit ain't thinkin’ of anythin' holy right now.” Gambit practically purred as he moved into your personal space and leaned in to whisper intimately into your ear, the man standing so close to you that you could feel the heat pouring off him.
“You're impossible.” You rolled your eyes and shoved at Gambit's shoulder until he backed off, chugging the rest of your water bottle before finally disengaging with a gasp when you were reminded that you had to breathe.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than pull stupid pranks?” You asked once you’d caught your breath, giving Gambit –who was no more than a few inches away from you at all times– a grateful look when he took your empty bottle and carelessly tossed it back into the grass next to his.
“Not Gambit’s fault you were eyein' up another man when you got a perfectly goo’ view right here.” He replied with a teasing grin and a slight tilt of his head as he gestured at himself. You took the unspoken invitation and slowly looked him up and down, admiring his body clad in just a white muscle shirt that was practically see through, his auburn hair mussed up in a way that reminded you of how he looked after certain fun bedroom activities.
You stopped yourself shy of letting your eyes wander any lower than his waistband and reluctantly dragged your gaze back up to his face, a shiver going down your spine when you met his heated stare, his eyes dark as he watched you all but undress him with your eyes.
"You're such a dog." You murmured, keeping your voice low so as to avoid anyone overhearing –already having gotten an earful from Ororo when she had the misfortune of being assigned to the two of you during a mission earlier that week– your smile reaching shit-eating levels as you stepped into Gambit's personal space, stopping with your faces inches apart.
"You want a treat or something?" You purred as you trailed your hand down Gambit's chest, careful to keep your touch feather-light and teasing, heat pooling in your lower half when Gambit shivered and swayed into the touch like he was under a thrall.
"Oh, mon ange," Gambit said with a slow smirk, his voice low and rough as he pinned you in place with a predatory stare. "You keep teasing like dat, you, Gambit might just take his treat without askin' nice." You inhaled sharply when he caught your hand in his grasp, though he had the forethought to keep his grip loose so that his touch wasn’t demanding or rough since he knew you didn’t like being restrained.
Then, with that infuriating, charming grin, he brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles, never once breaking eye contact with you.
"Or maybe," He murmured, his soft lips brushing against your skin in a ticklish sensation as he spoke. "You'd rather Gambit earn it?"
You allowed him to linger for another few seconds before flipping your hand around in his lax grip in order to cup his cheek, Gambit’s lashes fluttering as he pressed into the contact like a touch-starved cat. You forgot all about the fact that you were surrounded by other people in a very public place as he nuzzled into your palm, all your attention tunneled in on his half-lidded gaze as you brushed your thumb across his mouth, watching with rapt attention as Gambit pressed a light kiss to the pad before parting his lips and lick across the tip of your thumb.
“What d'you say, cher?” Gambit asked with a knowing glint in his gorgeous eyes as your spit-slick thumb traced over his bottom lip. “Another round? Winner gets whatever dey want." He suggested with a smug smirk, the challenge in his voice unmistakable as he predictably tried to goad you into taking the bet.
“You wanting to gamble then, Cajun? Feel like you’ll get lucky?” You chuckled at the double entendre as you pulled your hand away, feeling equal parts aroused and amused when Gambit blindly chased the contact before coming back to himself with a slight frown, pouting at you like a petulant child at being denied.
You took several steps back in order to put space between the two of you and closed your eyes, turning your face toward the sun as you rolled your neck and shook out the tension in your shoulders, giving Gambit a moment to collect himself as you bounced from side to side on your toes, warming up your footwork in preparation to beat Gambit’s ass.
“Alright. Deal. Loser has to do whatever the winner wants –within reason– for 24 hours. You in, doll?” You suggested, offering out your hand in order to shake on it and make the bet official, and Gambit gave you a wicked grin as he prowled over to you and took your hand, giving it a firm shake in order to seal the deal.
Though, when you attempted to take your hand back, he didn’t immediately let go, and the only warning you got that he was planning something was the playful smile on his face before he used his grip on your hand to drag you closer and whisper against your ear, his warm breath fanning across your skin making you shiver.
“Oh, mon cœur, you just signed up for a world of trouble.” He said teasingly, the man lightly nipping at your earlobe before finally releasing you and sauntering back over to his starting position. "Hope you're ready to loose, cher. Because, oh, do Gambit got plans for you.” Gambit mused seductively, looking like pure sin as he slowly began circling you.
“I'm gonna enjoy knocking you down a few pegs.” You said casually –confidence dripping from every word like the outcome of the fight had already been decided before it had even begun– and you stared at Gambit like a starving dog might look at a juicy piece of meat, licking your lips as you shamelessly imagined all the ways you could make him beg.
You adjusted your stance, effortlessly shifting your weight into a fighter’s crouch as you carefully watched Gambit’s every move, looking for an opening, and it wasn’t long before your patience bore fruit. Gambit’s eyes momentarily flitted down to your mouth when your tongue peeked out and you shot forward, feigning left to throw Gambit off before darting right at the last second, landing a solid jab at Gambit’s kidney before dancing out of reach.
“Dat move was filthy, ma moitié.” Gambit grunted as he pressed a hand over his aching side, flashing you a smile that showed far too many teeth to be anything other than threatening, and you just laughed before rushing him a second time.
You brought your arms up to guard your face when Gambit swung, your forearms taking the worst of the damage before your hand shot out to grab onto the wrist of his dominant hand, twisting it up behind him in a complex maneuver. Once you had him where you wanted him, you wrapped your forearm around his throat and pulled him backward until your front was pressed flush against Gambit's warm back, your voice saccharine sweet as you pressed your lips against Gambit's ear in a mimicry of what the man had done to you earlier.
“It's almost like you want to lose.” You chuckled as you mercilessly hiked his hand up high between his shoulder blades to keep him off balance, brushing your nose up his neck when he tilted his head back with a groan, baring his throat with a strangled laugh.
"Oh cher, Gambit ain't ever gonna admit to wantin' to lose," He gasped, his lean body flexing in your grip before he rolled his hips back against yours under the guise of trying to get free, your hold on him involuntarily tightening as he arched his back. “But maybe he can be convinced.”
"Stop that, you fucking cheater." You forced out through grit teeth, releasing your hold on his arm in order to swat scoldingly at his hip, and Gambit’s eyes glinted in triumph as he took the opportunity to slip away from you. He grabbed your arm and wrenched it away from his neck while simultaneously throwing a vicious jab back at you with his elbow, catching you in the mouth.
You let him go and staggered a few feet away in order to gain some much needed distance, your face twisting up into a grimace as the distinct, coppery taste of blood flooded your mouth. You bent over, spitting a glob of red-tinted saliva onto the ground and cursing under your breath as you tentatively pressed your fingers against your throbbing cheek, your tongue gently prodding at the tear inside of your mouth in an attempt to gauge how bad it was.
“You alright, cher? You're bleedin’…” Gambit asked hesitantly, his concern and guilt at drawing blood during what was supposed to be a friendly competition practically written all over his face, but you were too angry to care. You lifted your gaze from the blood-splattered grass in order to level a remorseful Gambit with a dark look that promised pain.
You rose to your full height and stalked toward him, Gambit’s eyes widening in alarm as he took notice of the fury practically radiating off you in waves and froze like a frightened deer. Unfortunately for him, his indecision was his undoing, delaying his reaction time and allowing you to get in close enough to grab fistfuls of Gambit’s damp shirt before winding your head back and slamming your forehead into his.
Gambit stumbled backward with an animal noise of pain, the man shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the brain fog that came with getting his bell rung, but you didn’t give him any time to recover this time as you dropped into a crouch before wrapping your arms around Gambit's waist and throwing you both down to the ground in a brutal tackle.
Gambit let out a startled gasp at the rough treatment before the wind was knocked out of him, and the fight devolved into the two of you grappling like feral dogs from there, tearing up grass and chunks of dirt alike as you both fought to stay on top.
“Hold still, asshole.” You growled as you got the upper hand and rolled him over onto his stomach, straddling his lower back to keep him from bucking you off as you yanked his shirt up over his head –leaving him bare chested– so that you could wrap the fabric around his wrists in makeshift bindings, incapacitating his arms and leaving him defenseless unless he wanted to break the rules and use his powers to blow his muscle shirt to pieces.
"I won. Say it.” You snarled as you leaned down over Gambit’s back, using your body weight to further pin him down, refusing to move no matter how much Gambit squirmed and cursed.
“You're gonna have to make me.” Gambit wheezed in a frankly unsexy manner as he turned his head so he could glare daggers up at you in blatant defiance. “And dat's gonna take a hell of a lot more den pinning me down, cher.” He added stubbornly and you huffed in exasperation, pushing yourself upright so you were sitting on his lower back before scanning the yard until you found Logan, who was instructing Morph on how to properly block.
"For fucks sake, Remy. You’re such a sore loser." You sighed with an exasperated eye roll before calling out to Logan. "Logan! Call it! He's pinned so I won, yeah?" You asked eagerly, repressing the urge to grin when the man’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he took in the way you had restrained Gambit, who was busy muttering under his breath in frustration as he began struggling anew.
Then Logan’s face broke out into an amused grin at Gambit’s expense, a low, rumbling chuckle rolling across the yard as he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head at your antics, regarding you like a proud dad. “Oh yeah, he ain’t goin’ anywhere, runt,” He called out with a dismissive wave. “You won.”
You let Gambit stew in his loss for another minute before dutifully helping him untangle his hands from his grass stained shirt and pulling Gambit back to his feet, reveling in the bright, embarrassed flush dusting Gambit’s cheeks as he aggressively brushed blades of grass and dirt off his chest.
"Espèce d'enfoiré ! Garde ton arbitrage de merde et fous-le-toi là où je pense!” Gambit hissed like a pissed off cat, going limp in defeat as he turned his head to sneer at Logan, who returned the Cajun’s furious expression with a mocking smile.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, you drama queen?” You said with a faint grin –trying to cheer him up a bit– before you licked your thumb and brushed it over Gambit’s chin, wiping the thin layer of dirt coating his skin off in a silent apology for how rough you got with him in your anger, and your heart melted when some of the tension eased from Gambit’s shoulders and he leaned more heavily against you.
“Désolé.” He muttered quietly and you looked at him in confusion until he reached up to carefully cup your swollen cheek, the man frowning as he swiped a thumb over the tender skin, his eyes sad as he stared at you like he would take your pain onto himself in a heartbeat if he could despite his own injuries. You reached up and grabbed his hand, gently drawing it away from your face and interlacing your fingers together before pressing a reassuring kiss to his knuckles.
Gambit visibly softened at your easy affection, his eyes turning warm and loving as he ducked down and pressed a kiss to your temple, and suddenly the bruises and scrapes you’d gained during your intense sparring session weren’t so unbearable.
___
Translation: "You, son of a bitch! Take your shitty arbitration and shove it up your ass!"
AN: Good news, y'all! Part 2 is already finished and will be posted on Friday March 13th after the first part of Getting Lucky. See you then!
Word Count: 2,285
Part 2
You slumped over the counter as you waited for the kettle to boil, grabbing a kleenex from the travel-sized pack you had in the pocket of your hoodie when you felt a tickle in your nostrils and pressing it to your nose right as you let out an explosive sneeze.
You groaned, your nose already raw and irritated from how much you’d been blowing it, and you slowly shuffled over to the garbage can in order to throw the tissue away. You waited a moment to make sure that you weren’t in danger of sneezing again before turning your attention to the whistling kettle, wandering over to the stove in order to pour yourself a cup of tea, which would hopefully help with your sore throat.
You flicked the stove off and set the kettle down onto a different burner, grabbing the honey out of the cabinet and dutifully stirring in a spoonful and making sure that it was fully dissolved before placing the tea bag into the lightly sweetened water, giving it a lackluster stir.
“There you are, been lookin’ for you. Welcome back, cher.” Gambit’s cheerful voice rang out right as he wrapped his arms around your waist, the man wasting no time burying his nose against the back of your neck in order to breathe in the scent of your shampoo for a moment before giving a sigh of contentment and peppering little kisses across your shoulders.
You let go of your cup, letting it sit on the counter to steep, and placed your hands over Gambit’s, which were resting on your midsection as he gently rocked the two of you. His clinginess wasn’t anything new –Gambit was naturally a very tactile person after all, especially with people he liked– but his needy behavior always seemed to escalate whenever you two were separated for more than a day.
This time, it was you that had been sent out on a mission –one that ended up lasting a total of three days– which meant that it’d been four days total since you’d seen Gambit, and that was reflected in the borderline desperate way he held onto you, like you’d suddenly disappear if he let go.
“I'm okay.” You said, only to immediately wince when your voice came out noticeably hoarse, like you hadn’t used it in awhile. You tried to clear your throat, but the attempt immediately devolved into a coughing fit –your lungs crackling in a concerning manner– and you shoved Gambit away from you so that you could rush over to the sink, leaning over the edge as you hacked up some phlegm and spit it into the metal basin with a look of disgust.
“Tu te sens bien? Somethin’ wrong, mon cœur? You bein’ real quiet.” Gambit murmured against your shoulder and you braced yourself for him to implement his usual tried and true method of needling at you until you gave in and told him what was bothering you.
“Alright, fine, you caught me. I'm sick.” You admitted defeatedly once you realized that there was no hiding it anymore, your shoulders slumping as you miserably shuffled back over to where you had left your tea, pulling the bag out and throwing it away.
“Sick? Why didn' you say somethin' earlier?” Gambit repeated as he stared at you with visible concern, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and take you back into his arms, but he didn’t. Whether it was because he didn’t want to catch whatever you had or because he was upset with you, you weren’t sure. “Have you seen the doc, uh, Jean?” He continued as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter as he waited for your response.
“Um… no?” You replied slowly, a nauseating mix of guilt and defensiveness bubbling up your throat as you watched Gambit’s expression instantly morph into one of mild disappointment. “It's not like I planned on taking a dip into freezing cold water, but Logan fell in and needs must.” You snapped, frowning at the memory of watching Logan sink beneath the waves after being tackled into the water, the panic you’d felt when you realized that he was falling fast and you might not reach him in time.
Who knew that having a metal-coated skeleton made it a bit difficult to swim. If you hadn't gone in after him like you did, Logan would have most likely drowned, unable to get back to the surface by himself.
“Mon dieu, you stubborn idiot.” He muttered under his breath as he shook his head, reaching up to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers before finally letting his hand brush against your back, rubbing up and down your spine soothingly until the tension in your body –which you hadn’t even noticed– eased.
“Yeah, well, you’re not any better.” You said petulantly, though most of the righteous anger you’d felt had already dissipated since you knew rationally that Gambit was right… as he usually was when it came to your recklessness and inability to properly take care of yourself, the man having had first hand experience with your self-destructive tendencies.
You swallowed hard, your lips pressing into a thin line as you tried to ignore how talking so much agitated your raw, scratchy throat as you picked up your mug and took a slow sip of your tea, hoping to help ease the discomfort since it didn’t seem like Gambit would be willing to drop the subject anytime soon, being the overprotective boyfriend that he was.
“But we not talking ‘bout Gambit right now, cher. We talkin’ bout you.” Gambit stated and, despite his words, there was no real bite to them. If anything, he sounded more affectionate than anything else as he spoke, his hand never faltering as it continued to idly glide over your back. “You and Wolvie should’ve been more careful.” Gambit added on as an afterthought as he pulled away, making his way over to the fridge and pulling it open in order to look at the contents.
Gambit said something else as he rummaged around the shelves, but it fell on deaf ears, your focus turned inward as the wording brutally reminded you of the fact that the last time you spoke with Gambit, it was during a pretty intense argument about how you needed to be more careful. An argument that luckily just ended in you promising to not put yourself in needless danger –if not for your own sake, than for Gambit’s continued peace of mind– before you left on the mission with Storm and Wolverine.
A promise that you hadn’t hesitated to break the moment that someone’s life was on the line.
“Cher?” You heard Gambit call out to you and you blinked as you came out of the dark place your thoughts had led you to, glancing up to meet Gambit’s worried gaze. And whatever he saw in your face had his expression softening as he reached out to gently cup your cheek, brushing a calloused thumb under your eye.
“Sorry.” You mumbled quietly while sniffling miserably, your fingers twitching where they were wrapped around warm porcelain as remorse made your already congested, aching chest feel tight.
“Don' do that. You got nothin’ to apologize for.” Gambit reassured, his tone light as he set the labeled container he’d been in the middle of scrutinizing back into the fridge in order to give you his full attention, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that never failed to make you feel like prey.
“But I broke my promise? To be more careful? You must be mad at me.” You said nervously, your eyes welling up with frustrated tears as you stared down at your cooling cup of tea in order to avoid meeting Gambit's gaze, terrified of the disappointment that you might see there since you weren’t in a good enough headspace to emotionally handle Gambit being upset with you.
The air in the kitchen shifted and an involuntary shiver rolled down your spine at the tension that had abruptly filled the room, looking up to find Gambit suddenly standing right in front of you without having made a sound.
You waited for the inevitable fallout now that you’d pointed out that he had every reason to be furious with you, but he remained silent. He didn’t scold. Didn’t sigh or roll his eyes or crack a joke to deflect like he normally would have when the conversation became too heavy. Instead, he gently pried the mug from your hands in order to set it aside and then cupped both of your cheeks with warm palms until you had no choice but to hold his gaze.
“Listen here, mon amour,” He murmured, pausing for a moment to make sure that you were paying close attention before continuing. “You jumped into arctic water to save Logan’s thick skull from sinkin’ to kingdom come… after promisin’ me you’d take care? Yeah, that stings a little.” He admitted with a little laugh, a half-smile tugging at his mouth that somehow looked sad and proud all at once as he stared into your eyes, his thumbs dutifully sweeping away the occasional tear that slipped past your waterline.
“But mad? Non, cher. Never.” Gambit whispered like a confession as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours with a gentleness that felt like forgiveness. Your eyes drifted closed and you reached up to cling to his wrists, not because you wanted him to let go or because you wanted to get away, but to simply ground yourself as you matched his steady breathing. “You slipped on one promise while on the job. Shit happens, mon amour. I know dat as well as you do… don't mean it don't scare me near stupid.”
You let out a weak chuckle when he pulled away just far enough to plant a light kiss on the tip of your red nose, his own quiet huff of laughter blowing out across your face. You opened your eyes and your heart did something funny in your chest when you were met with Gambit’s boyish smile, the one that was reserved for you and only you; raw and real and nothing like the usual charming grin he used to get out of trouble.
You both took a moment to recover from the emotional moment you’d shared before Gambit pressed one last kiss to your forehead before stepping away, returning to the fridge in order to collect the container he’d been looking at earlier and bring it over to the stove before squatting down and searching one of the lower cabinets for a pot.
“Now sit down before you fall over and let me make you somethin'. Might even let you have some sweet potato ice cream if Gambit’s feelin’ generous.” Gambit said with a lopsided grin, and you took his advice and sat down at the breakfast bar, watching his long fingers reach for the various ingredients on the counter with practiced ease. “But you better not shut me out next time, hear? Ain't nothin' you go through I ain't willin' to face beside you, even if it's just a damn head cold.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” You agreed with a small smile, lifting your cup back into your hands so you could breathe in the steam before taking a long sip, watching Gambit begin puttering around the kitchen over the rim of your mug.
Though, it wasn’t long before the tea alone wasn’t enough to keep you warm, your incessant cold rearing its ugly head and making you shiver in your over-sized hoodie, suddenly freezing despite the comfortable –bordering on warm now that Gambit was cooking– temperature of the kitchen. And you silently cursed when you realized that the sudden chill that you couldn’t shake was a surefire sign of a developing fever.
You debated the merits of getting up and making the exhausting trip to the living room in order to take one of the throws from the couch to wrap up in but, before you could even get up, Gambit turned away from the stove, pausing when he noticed that you were shivering. He abandoned the pot bubbling away on the burner and crossed the room in two quick strides, hurrying over to your side in order to press the back of his hand against your forehead, checking your temperature.
“Merde, cher, you’re far too warm.” He tutted under his breath when he felt the heat radiating off you, the Cajun brushing a strand of damp hair from your temple. Then, in one smooth motion, he took off his signature trench coat and swung it around your shoulders like a cape, fussing with it like a mother hen until he was satisfied. “Dat should do for now.”
You pulled the coat tighter around yourself as Gambit returned to the stove, waiting until his back was turned to you before caving into the urge to bury your nose into the collar of his coat to inhale the scent of cologne and musk that lingered on the fabric, staying like that until a new scent began to fill the air.
You emerged from Gambit’s coat and perked up with thinly veiled interest as the delicious smell of something smoky filled the kitchen, your stomach giving a grumble of complaint as it reminded you that you had had nothing to eat but some applesauce all day due to your throat being sore. You eagerly leaned forward in your seat in order to try and get a better look at what it was that Gambit was cooking on the stove.
AN: To all the people who requested a second part, this one's for you! Sorry about the long wait and thank you so much for being patient with me! Enjoy!
Word Count: 1,994
Main Page
Warnings: PTSD, Panic attacks, Murder.
“What the fuck!? What the fuck was that!?” Mason babbled hysterically in the passenger seat, his wide eyes darting toward the rearview every few seconds –like he was paranoid that they were being followed– while the girls in back, who were practically clinging to each other, began to sob.
You remained stubbornly silent as everyone else broke down, knowing that if you opened your mouth right now, you’d begin screaming and wouldn’t stop until your voice gave out. So instead, you kept your shaking hands on the wheel and your gaze glued onto the road in front of you as you took turns way too fast, driving all of you directly to the local police station.
You numbly parked in the first available spot you saw and climbed out of the car, ignoring Jade –who was begging you to take her home– in favor of walking right in the front door. You heard the other three exit the car and join you inside as you reached the front desk, demanding to speak to the sheriff to report a murder.
Everything moved quickly after that.
The four of you were split up and you were taken to a bare room that contained nothing but a table, two chairs, and a large mirror that took up the majority of one wall. While there, you were asked all sorts of questions, but you stonewalled until you had the officer interrogating you confirm that they’d dispatched a patrol car out to the house to look for Tara.
“Alright, kid. Tell me what happened.” The officer said and you took a deep breath to ground yourself before starting at the beginning.
“It was just a stupid dare. Everyone’s heard the rumors about the house on Cherry Lane, but no one believes them…” You relayed quietly as you wrung your fingers together nervously. You openly admitted to trespassing with your friends and left no detail out as you told the officer how, what should have been nothing but quick in and out, ended in a horror show with the arrival of a teen that you didn’t recognize.
“What did he look like?” The officer asked and you dropped your gaze to the gray table top, your knee bouncing restlessly as you thought back to that terrifying moment where everything went wrong.
“He had uh, a blond mullet. It was curly. Um, tan skin, blue eyes. And I mean really blue, like they were almost glowing?” You said slowly and, when the officer didn’t immediately respond or prompt you to keep going, you hesitantly looked up. “Are you okay, sir?” You asked hesitantly, your brows furrowing when you noticed how pale the man looked. It was as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Yeah. Yes. Could you tell me what happened after you saw him?” The man stumbled over his words, his eyes darting over the mirror a few times as you continued recounting what had happened to Tara, the horrible screaming, the loud scraping of the woodchipper…
The officer vacated the room not very long after that, leaving you sitting alone with not even a clock to let you keep track of how much time had passed as you waited for him to return, or for someone to let you out, whichever came first.
An undetermined amount of time later, the door opened with a click and a severe looking woman entered, the badge pinned to her chest identifying her as the sheriff. You flinched when the door slammed shut behind her and warily watched her as she approached the table you were sitting at, the woman coming to a stop right where the officer from before had been standing while talking to you.
“Your guardian is here to pick you up, let’s go.” The woman said as she handed you a bag of your belongings, the ones that had been confiscated when you’d arrived. You stared at her blankly for a moment before shooting to your feet when she turned on her heel –your stomach rolling when she motioned for you to follow in a way that was far too reminiscent of a certain blond teen– and made her way over to the door without looking back.
“What about Tara? Did they find her? Or the other boy?” You asked as she led you down the hallway and back toward the main area. When she didn’t immediately respond, you stopped in the middle of the corridor and crossed your arms over your chest, silently refusing to move until she gave you something, anything.
The sheriff stopped a few paces away from you before turning to face you with a sigh. “There was no sign of your friend, there was no evidence of anyone else having been in the house other than yourself and your peers. So, in short, there was no sign of Tara Hall and no indication of foul play.”
“But the woodchipper–” You barely got the words out before she was interrupting you.
“That house is one story. There is no basement, I know that for a fact. And Neil never owned a woodchipper.” She stated matter of factly and, when you opened your mouth to ask some follow up questions, she cut you off with a look.
“You and your buddies had a bit too much to drink, maybe even dabbled in certain illicit substances, and your mind played tricks on you. Now get on home before I decide to stop being nice and make every single one of you pee in a cup.” She snapped, her face twisting up with a mix of anger, frustration and something you couldn’t identify before she turned away and began walking again.
You silently trailed after her, her words running circles in your mind as you stepped out into the lobby, your guardian rushing over to you the moment you walked into view. You couldn’t see any of your friends so you figured that they’d gone home already and made a mental note to text them later as your guardian ushered you out into the car and took you straight home after a short conversation with the sheriff.
You dodged all their questions on the drive by claiming you were tired, staring out the passenger window as they began scolding you, only half listening to their disappointed rant about how irresponsible you are for drinking while underage and then to go breaking and entering.
You silently accepted your punishment of getting your car taken away –which would be picked up from the station later by a family friend– as well as being grounded, with no chance of going to another party anytime soon, until further notice. You nodded in agreement when prompted to and popped the car door open the second that your guardian had parked in the driveway, immediately going straight to your bedroom after getting into the house.
You plugged your phone in and left it on the nightstand, since it was at pretty low battery, impatiently waiting until you heard your guardian rooting around downstairs in the living room before pulling your computer out of your backpack. You sat on your bed, setting your computer on your lap, and stopped to listen again –just to make doubly sure that you weren’t about to be interrupted– before opening a new browser.
You had known the second that the sheriff had initially refused to give you any information about the house on Cherry Lane –and what happened to Tara– that it would be up to you to conduct your own investigation in order to get some answers since all the adults seemed to want to sweep the entire situation under the rug to be forgotten.
You began by looking up the house’s address and, when nothing came up for that, you stopped to think for a minute before quickly typing in 1984 –the year it happened– along with Hawkins, IN… huffing in frustration when that didn’t unearth anything either.
From there you tried to cast a wider net by just searching any murders that happened in the same year before narrowing it back down with ‘Cherry Lane domestic’, but again… nada. And your attempts just devolved into simple, short searches with words like, woodchipper murder, dead teen, drunken father kills son. You even went through accident records just in case they’d buried it under a false ruling.
It was strange, the way that there was just nothing. No hint of anything sinister having happened in the small town of Hawkins… like the story was just that, a story. But you knew what you’d seen, knew that you weren’t crazy, though that didn’t change the fact that you needed undeniable proof… but you had no idea how to get it.
And then you thought of something that could lead you to what you so desperately needed. Something that could’ve easily been missed.
Your fingers flew across the keyboard in your excitement, adrenaline making your heart pound as you selected the link that came up and navigated the website, clicking through digital pages as your eyes scanned over the screen obsessively.
Then you froze, your finger hovering over the mouse when you found what you’d been looking for.
There. In the yearbook for Hawkins High in 1984 as a part of the graduating class, was a picture of him. It was the spitting image of the teen you’d seen at the house, the one who’d taken Tara, all the way down to that terrifying smile.
Your fingers went numb as you stared wide-eyed at the screen –as if the small photo would simply disappear if you blinked– and your gaze dipped down to the name typed in standard font in order to read the name there.
Billy Hargrove.
Then it hit you all at once.
He was dead. You were looking at a picture of a dead kid.
One who’d been brutally murdered.
One who had killed your friend.
You slammed the laptop shut and only once you couldn’t see that face anymore, did you notice how fast your breathing had gotten, leaving you practically hyperventilating on your bed. You swallowed hard as you squeezed your eyes shut, slowly counting down from thirty until you felt less like you were about to throw up or pass out.
You heard the stairs creak and you cursed under your breath when you recognized your guardian’s gait as they climbed the steps, most likely to check up on you. You leapt from the bed on socked feet and stuffed your laptop back into your backpack before rushing back to bed, turning out the bedside lamp and settling beneath your blankets seconds before the knob turned and the door to your room was pushed open.
You took measured breaths, keeping your eyes closed even as the silence began to wear on you. And, right as you began to think that you’d been found out, you heard the door close with a soft click and opened your eyes and rolled over onto your back in order to sit up and look around your dark bedroom.
You didn’t bother getting out of your bed or collecting your laptop, not yet anyway since you didn’t think you could stomach looking at that picture again, and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. You sent off a text to the group chat in the hopes that one of them would respond before flopping back down onto your mussed bed, resting your phone face down on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling.
Billy Hargrove.
You closed your eyes, trying in vain to stop thinking about it, but it was like that night’s events were burned into your mind. The hair-raising feeling you got when you saw him, that spine-chilling smile, Tara’s panicked screaming, it was all right there. Vivid. Like it had happened just minutes ago as opposed to hours.
You pressed your palms into your eyes until you saw black spots dotting your vision and tried not to cry.
___
Taglist: @garnishclickicon, @yesiamshe-74, and @mihawksdemoness
Notes: requested! also, i don't speak french, i apologize for any mistakes <3
Warnings: fluff, angst if you squint, sweet perfect bf remy
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Remy had tried your baking before. Countless pies with the perfect crumble, cupcakes frosted with intricate swirls of icing, brownies where you had mastered the balance between the softest middle pieces and edges with just the right amount of crunch. He considered you an expert.
That would be why he trusted you to watch over the roux he was prepping, not long, five minutes at most, while he went to the bathroom. A tremendous act of mistrust.
Your assumption was that whisking the roux would be the same as whisking any type of batter, simple, familiar...incorrect. You weren't quite sure where you went wrong, but regardless the mixture currently appeared several shades too dark, welcoming a smokey scent that wafted through the air. Panicking a bit, you tried stirring faster, only making the situation worse, tried stopping all together, only allowing smoke to cloud further. Cursing softly under your breath, you hardly had time to contemplate what to try next before your lover was rushing back into the kitchen, face illustrated with something between offense and shock.
"C'est quoi ce bordel!" Remy exclaimed, tone indignant, arms waving in emphasis as he took your place in front of the stove, hands moving quickly in hopes of remedying your little disaster.
"I'm sorry! I don't know what happened, I was stirring it and it just...burnt!" You rambled, guilt seeping in at the realization that you had preemptively ruined the gumbo that Remy had been so enthusiastic about having you try.
"How you make perfect cakes but burn dis?" he mumbled under his breath, fumbling with turning the stove off and removing the pot simultaneously.
"I'm sorry Remy, really," you apologized again, assisting your boyfriend in turning the stove's fan on to clear some of the burnt-smell from the air.
Sensing the subtle shame in your tone, Remy sighed, setting the pot atop a hot pad on the counter before turning back to you, hands running down your arms to settle at your hips.
"It okay chére, Remy just start over, yeah?" he reassured, voice turned gentle now rather than upset.
"Yeah...I won't touch it this time," you replied, a bit sheepish now. Remy nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek bone, then just below your ear.
"Best let Gambit do the cookin' from now on, mon cœur, you stick to your dessert," he whispered, the soft teasing somehow melting away any lingering guilt. You giggled, letting him kiss you silly for a few more minutes before turning you around to usher you out of the kitchen. "Va t'en, chérie, I get you when it's ready dis time."
And somehow, even after your treacherous attempts in the kitchen, heart content with your lover's reassurance, your smile remained.
AN: Hey... so... I know I've been radio silent for a while now, but I just hit a really bad bout of writers block, so I wasn't able to update anything. Fortunately (or unfortunately, idk) though I recently got back into the X-Men fandom and was suddenly struck with the overwhelming inspiration to write some x reader stuff with Gambit. So I guess this is me letting you know that I'm gonna be shamelessly dragging y'all down into my current obsession with me, lol.
Word Count: 2,530
“You came runnin’ in here in a hurry. Somethin’ wrong, cher?” A familiar voice asked from behind you as you were peeking out the small gap in the cracked door to the rec room. You startled and quickly whirled around to face Gambit, who you had somehow missed in your rush to get inside. In your defense, it was really early, so you hadn’t exactly expected the room to be occupied.
You were unfortunately too distracted and stressed to engage in your usual banter with him, so you just laughed nervously in response, your eyes restlessly darting from the partially open door leading into the hallway –where you could hear heavy footsteps getting closer, which was really not good– and Gambit repeatedly before you paused… a crazy idea forming in your mind.
It was a long shot, but you figured that it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend really quick.” You blurted out as you rushed over to where Gambit was casually leaning against the wall, grabbing onto his arm in order to none too gently pull him away from the wall so you could wrap an arm around his waist, the man’s hand settling on your hip in order to catch his balance right as the door to the rec room swung open.
You barely resisted the urge to sneer when fucking Aiden –otherwise known as the thorn in your ass– strolled through, looking as annoyingly cocky as ever. He gave a bit of pause when he saw you standing intimately close to Gambit, who he knew you had a crush on –considering the two of you used to be friends before he decided that he wanted something romantic and wouldn’t take no for an answer– but he recovered infuriatingly quickly.
“Hey there, gorgeous. I've been looking for you.” Aiden said with a smarmy smile and your stomach churned in equal parts anger and discomfort at being pinned under that look. Your hand on Gambit’s waist tightened as you silently seethed, biting back all the awful things you wanted to say, only for your mind to go blank when you felt Gambit’s thumb begin rubbing soothing circles on your hip.
You took a shaky breath –careful not to look too surprised by the contact with Aiden watching you so closely– and stubbornly repressed all the warm, fuzzy feeling you were getting from being on the receiving end of Gambit’s touch to freak out over later in favor of focusing your attention back onto dealing with Aiden.
“I already told you, I'm not interested in dating you, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped bothering me.” You snapped while baring your teeth in a threatening manner, trying to mimic the same feral energy that you’d seen Logan use to scare the shit out of enemies and misbehaving students alike in the hopes that it would get Aiden to back off.
But, like every other time you attempted to reject him, it didn't work. You could tell he wasn’t taking you seriously just based on the condescending way he laughed and shook his head, as if you were acting like a tantruming toddler.
Though, before you could begin to waste your breath trying to get the message through his thick skull, Gambit finally joined the conversation with an annoyed click of his tongue, the sound drawing both sets of eyes in the room to him.
“So sorry to disappoint, homme, but dis one's taken.” Gambit said with a faux friendly tone while giving Aiden a dangerous smile, falling into the role of loving boyfriend with an ease that made you equal parts light-headed –in a good way– and crestfallen, since it wasn’t real. “Though Gambit might be willin' to demonstrate exactly why if you keep botherin' my beau here.” Gambit pulled a card from his sleeve and held it between two fingers, Aiden's confidence visually wavering as he watched Gambit charge the card in a wordless warning to tread carefully.
“You're dating Gambit? Since when?” Aiden turned his gaze away from Gambit after the man neutralized the kinetic energy that made the card glow a bright pink to instead talk to you, his body tense like he was forcing himself to look away from a predator.
“That's none of your business.” You hissed with far too much venom than was strictly necessary, but you couldn’t help it when the audible disbelief in Aiden’s voice had the feeling of butterflies in your stomach going sour, as if Aiden found the very idea of Gambit wanting you inconceivable.
Aiden blinked at you for a moment –like he had been caught off guard by your defensiveness– before his eyes narrowed as he glanced between you and Gambit with a scrutinizing eye, your stomach dropping out when a slow, knowing grin spread across his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking all to the world like the cat that got the canary.
“I don't believe you. Gambit here isn't exactly known for being the settling down type.” Aiden shrugged, his eyes briefly flicking over to Gambit before settling back onto your scowling face. “So why don’t you just stop playing hard to get and get a coffee with me, or maybe we could see a movie? You, me, a dark room… sounds like a good time to me.” He continued with a leer that had you feeling vaguely nauseous, your body tensing with the desire to either get away from the situation or hit him in the mouth to knock that obnoxious smoldering look off his face.
“Ah, mon ami, you have a bit of nerve to be suggestin' a goo’ time wit someone else's partner.” Gambit snapped as his grip on your hip tightened in a way that felt protective, a sharp edge to his voice that had you glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His usual friendly demeanor was nowhere to be found, his teeth clenched so tight that the muscle in his jaw jumped and his eyes hard as he began flipping the playing card between his fingers faster, his gaze never leaving Aiden. “But Gambit is more than willin' to show you why there ain't a chance in hell of dat happenin', if you like.” Gambit continued, his tone dripping with thinly veiled ire.
“Then by all means, man. Prove it.” Aiden challenged with a sweeping gesture, watching the two of you with a smug smile that told you that he thought you wouldn't be able to do it. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated just how much you hated him and just how petty you could be if push came to shove.
You turned to Gambit and, without giving yourself any time to try and talk yourself out of your reckless decision, you threw your arms around Gambit’s neck and pulled him down to you, whatever the Cajun had been about to say transitioning into a choked off gasp of surprise when you pressed your lips against his.
You had every intention of lingering only just long enough to convince Aiden that the two of you had done something like this before –to sell that this actually wasn’t the first kiss you’d ever shared– but, when you made to pull away after the appropriate amount of time had passed, Gambit wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him as he tilted his head in order to deepen the kiss.
You inhaled sharply through your nose when Gambit let out a soft moan against your lips, his breaths turning quick and heavy, and you forgot all about Aiden standing there watching the two of you as you threaded your hands into Gambit’s auburn hair in order to pull him harder against you, holding him in place as you took control and forced him to slow his frantic pace.
You hummed your approval against his lips when he obediently followed your lead, savoring finally being able to kiss your crush –even if it didn't happen exactly how you had imagined it– and you felt a keen sense of loss when you inevitably had to break the kiss. Gambit kept you close, nuzzling your temple with a low, satisfied chuckle as you caught your breath before flashing Aiden a dark grin.
“Convinced now, homme? Or should Gambit make it clearer?” He let his fingers trail down your arm, linking your hands together as he tilted his head, silently daring Aiden to say another word.
“Whatever.” Aiden grumbled petulantly, shooting you a sneer full of wounded pride, before stalking out of the recreational room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the walls.
You stepped away from Gambit and cautiously approached the door to make sure that Aiden was actually leaving, a triumphant grin spreading across your face when you heard the sound of Aiden’s frustrated footsteps get quieter as he stalked down the hall before disappearing entirely.
“Fuck yeah!” You hollered as you moved away from the door and hopped around in a little celebratory dance at finally having gotten Aiden off your ass about indulging him with a date when you’d rather go drink gasoline. And, in the heat of the moment, you spun and planted a wet, smacking kiss onto Gambit's stunned face.
You were unable to help the delighted laugh that bubbled up and out of you when Gambit muttered under his breath in French and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the spit you left behind off his face. Though you didn't take his moody grumbling personally since the grin teasing at the corner of Gambit's mouth was more than enough to reassure you that the other man meant nothing by his dramatic fussing.
“Dis donc, cher, Gambit didn’t realize he was signin’ up to be slobbered on today,” Gambit said as he finished cleaning his face, the man feigning exasperation as he flicked the card that he was holding at your chest –uncharged obviously since he didn’t want to turn you into a splatter on the wall– grinning when you instinctively caught it before it could make contact. “But if dat’s how you thank him for savin’ you from unwanted suitors, maybe he oughta volunteer more often, non?”
“You say that like you weren’t enjoying yourself.” You said with an eye roll, pushing as much nonchalance as you could muster into your voice as you attempted to ignore how the memory of your shared kiss –and Gambit’s involuntary groan of pleasure, which would burned into your brain for awhile goddamn– made you want to blush and trip over your words.
“Oh, mon cœur, do not worry yourself. Gambit enjoyed every second and wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.” He replied with a wink, his eyes sparkling with amusement as your face flushed a bright red at his words, the man raising a brow at you but –thankfully– remaining silent when you tucked the card he’d tossed at you into the back pocket of your jeans like a precious keepsake.
“I–” You began before the words got caught in your throat, Gambit’s expectant stare like a physical weight pressing into you, and –in a moment of cowardice– you decided you couldn’t make yourself finish the sentence, so you shifted gears after a moment of loaded silence. “I owe you one. Thanks, Remy.” You said –settling for something safer than the confession that you’d been about to make– giving Gambit a soft smile as you reached out to squeeze Gambit's shoulder before you turned on your heel with the intention of leaving, though you were pulled to a halt before you could even take two steps when Gambit grabbed your wrist.
You turned your head to give Gambit a questioning look, your curiosity transitioning into concern when you noticed how lost Gambit looked. But, before you could ask him what was wrong, he realized that you were watching him and he quickly replaced the bizarre expression on his face with a grin that looked far too manic to be completely genuine.
“What about Aiden? Won' he go right back to buzzin’ around you if he thinks we ain't together no more?” Gambit asked, his accent getting thicker as he spoke, and you took a moment to consider the question as you raked your eyes over Gambit, taking in the tension in his shoulders… the fragile look in his red eyes as he gazed at you like he hung onto your every word.
“It's inevitable that he'll find out eventually. It's not like we're actually dating.” You gave Gambit an odd look when the hand holding your wrist twitched –a movement that you would call a flinch if you didn’t know any better– before continuing. “And we can't keep up the charade forever. You have men and women to woo and I’m just…” You trailed off as the knot in your chest, one that formed anytime you thought of Gambit with anyone else, tightened painfully.
Gambit's grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn't let go, his fingers lingering against your pulse point like he wasn't quite ready to let go yet as his eyes searched yours for… something. You felt a spark of hope flicker in your chest when Gambit’s harsh grin softened into something more gentle, his thumb absently tracing circles against the thin skin of your inner wrist.
“Gambit's got plenty of admirers, sure,” He admitted with a shrug, like the fact that he had both men and women falling at his feet on a daily basis was nothing. Meant nothing to him. “But maybe… maybe he's lookin' for somethin' a little more den charmin' strangers these days.” His voice dropped lower, teasing but oddly sincere as he tilted his head, studying your face closely.
“Remy, what are you saying?” You asked quietly, as if raising your voice would ruin the moment, unwilling to make assumptions with something this big since it would kill you if this ended up being just another one of Gambit’s games.
You felt horribly off balance, like someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, when Gambit’s eyes flashed with a familiar heat and he prowled forward. You immediately began matching him step for step, staring up at him breathlessly as you backpeddled until the door hit your back, leaving you with nowhere to go when Gambit leaned in until your faces were inches apart and you could count each individual eyelash if you wanted to.
“Who says me bein’ yours has to be pretend, cher” Gambit whispered, the way his eyes darted down to your lips every so often making your heart begin to race beneath his fingertips, a wicked smile spreading across his face as your breathing picked up in anticipation. “You wan’ dis too, non?” Gambit asked in a low voice and you couldn’t help but nod in response –unable to form any coherent words with him standing as close to you as he was– and, while your enthusiasm probably made you look akin to a bobble-head, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care once Gambit closed the remaining distance between you and pressed his lips against yours.
AN: This entire thing stemmed from a double prompt that my sister picked out for me which was Face and “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
I wrote this with Post-season 9 in mind, which I'm pretty sure is around the time when the Whisperers are introduced to the series if I remember correctly.
Anyway, rant over. Super sorry about the long hiatus (there's been A LOT going on irl) but I hope you'll take this new Daryl x Reader two part series as an apology! Lol!
You let out a low grunt of effort as you swung your leg over the top edge of the wall that encircled the quaint town of Alexandria, using the leverage that bracing your leg on the other side gave you in order to haul yourself up onto the narrow ledge. You teetered precariously for an alarming moment, your breath hitching before you quickly flexed the muscles in your thighs in order to straddle the wall harder and avoid falling off.
You closed your eyes and allowed yourself a few seconds to just focus on regulating your breathing as you sat on the wall, the cool night air rustling through your hair and making you shiver, and you pulled your hoodie tighter to your body in a vain attempt to conserve heat.
You had packed in a hurry before leaving the quiet house that you shared with the others with just your tool belt and the clothes on your back, so you had no one but yourself to blame for the fact that you now lacked a proper, heavy coat to throw on over top of your favorite, worn hoodie to help protect you from the biting cold.
You reached up in a subconscious, self-soothing motion as you balanced on the top of the wall, your heart dropping when your fingers hit open air instead of the comforting, skin-warmed mess of stone and thin wire that usually hung from your neck and you cursed as you were abruptly reminded of the entire reason for your reckless late-night prison break in the first place.
You’d lost your necklace while out on a run with Daryl earlier that morning.
After the two of you had spent several weeks casing a department store and came to the conclusion that it hadn’t been completely picked over –if the sheer number of walkers that were loitering about the property were any indication– so you figured that it was a safe enough be that there was a pretty good possibility of finding useful supplies.
The plan was to take out one of the rotting corpses at the edge of the group and smear the blood and viscera over the two parkas that you and Daryl were wearing before sneaking inside. Fortunately, getting ahold of undead viscera was easy enough –especially since it wasn’t the first time either of you had done something like this– the two of you taking turns smearing the other in the gore before making your way toward the back of the building where the herd seemed to be thinner.
Everything was going smoothly until, in your haste to cross the remaining distance left between you and the department store, you accidentally stepped on the dragging, mangled foot of one of the shambling walkers, the creature wasting no time turning towards you with a snarl on its rotting face.
Your eyes went wide in panic when it abruptly jerked forward, its teeth clicking together dangerously close to your throat before you managed to get your arms up between your vulnerable neck and its face, letting the hard, scratched plastic guard strapped to your forearm take the brunt of the creature's jaws, its spindly fingers clawing at your jacket as you grappled with it.
“Fer fucks–” Daryl’s gruff exclamation was cut off and he was forced to back off from his attempt to approach you when several walkers –that had been drawn to the commotion– turned their attention toward him, the telltale soft snick of Daryl unsheathing his knives signalling that things were about to get dicey… and leaving you to fend for yourself.
You growled under your breath as you quickly took stock of the situation, coming to the alarming realization that everything was devolving far too rapidly for your comfort, and it was becoming abundantly clear that, the longer it took for you and Daryl to hack a path through the gradually growing crowd without any real strategy, the more walkers were alerted to your presence.
As far as you were concerned you could either attempt to salvage the run and make it the last few yards remaining between the two of you and the employee back entrance –which you would have to waste precious time trying to brute force your way through–or you could take the safer option and abandon the potential supplies, returning to the Alexandria community empty-handed to try again another day in the not so near future.
You kicked out at another walker that you decided had hobbled far too close to you than you'd like, the sharp snap of brittle bone ringing out as its kneecap shattered under your boot, causing the walker to collapse and reveal a huge herd of walkers stumbling erratically around the corner of the building and straight toward you and Daryl.
You felt panic begin building in your chest at the sight of their snapping jaws and glossy eyes, the persistent buzz of flies that always followed the undead sounding like static in your ears as you stared at the mass of lumbering bodies, all twitching and groaning in barely contained excitement.
You had seen first-hand just how fast a person could get swarmed by a group that big, how quickly those reaching hands could rip through clothing and skin alike like it was wet paper, how screaming could turn into wet choking and finally to terrifying silence in a matter of seconds as they glutted themselves on the slippery, pink viscera that spilled out in thick ropes under their violent onslaught.
Between that and leaving behind a haul of what was probably only a few blankets and some expired cans of vegetables, it was hardly even a decision.
“Daryl! We gotta go!” You called out –hoping that he'd be able to hear you over the constant hissing and snarling– as you stomped down onto the skull of the walker that had been biting at the thick leather of your boots, the brief shift of your attention from your surroundings allowing the walker that had been previously gnawing at your arm guard to slip past your defenses.
You froze for a heart stopping moment as it bodily collided with you, close enough that you could feel its rancid breath blow across the thin skin of your throat as it snarled, the disturbing sensation causing your skin to pull painfully tight as it erupted in goosebumps.
You squeezed your eyes shut and shuddered before snapping back into focus with a speed and intensity that rivaled plunging headfirst into arctic waters with not a scrap of fabric between you and the icy depths, leaving your mind sharp and your senses on overdrive as adrenaline flooded your system.
You immediately planted your feet onto the asphalt, the thick tread of your boots preventing you from losing traction as you used all your strength to aggressively push back against the walker in front of you, the force behind the violent shove managing to be enough to send it stumbling backward with an angry growl.
You felt a faint tug at the back of your neck when you backpedaled away from the walker as it unbalanced, but the sensation was gone as quickly as you had noticed it, so you ignored it in favor of collecting your hammer from your tool-belt and swinging wildly at the walker that had been coming up on your left.
With the immediate threat taken care of after a few hits to the dome with the blunt end of your hammer –foolproof, really– you then turned back to the walker you’d forcefully pushed away, only to falter for the second time that day when it looked up at you from where it had crumpled to the ground.
Right there, dangling from the ripped edges of flesh where lips should’ve been, was your necklace. The delicate chain was tangled in stringy scraps of loose, purple skin, globs of thick, coagulated blood and gray gums, the broken clasp glinting from where it had somehow gotten wedged between the creature’s crooked front teeth.
“C’mon!” Daryl shouted from directly behind you, the man urgently grabbing your arm before you could take a single step towards the slowly recovering creature and proceeding to insistently drag you in the opposite direction the converging herd no matter how you twisted and fought against his grip, desperate to get back to the necklace that was hanging from the walker's deadly jaws.
You put up a brief struggle against Daryl's hold but, once it became apparent that there was no getting out of his unrelenting grasp, you turned around and shifted your grip so that –instead of being dragged along behind Daryl as he sprinted across the parking lot– you took his hand into your own and began to run with him.
Your heartbeat pounded in rhythm with your feet as you sprinted toward the forest that you and Daryl had often frequented when scouting the place out, any hope you had at somehow reclaiming your treasured jewelry lost the moment that the two of you had reached the treeline and disappeared back into the relative safety of the surrounding forest.
The ride back to Alexandria was made in silence, which you had found equal parts relieving and concerning at the time since you could feel the frustration and anger practically pouring off Daryl’s body in waves as he navigated the abandoned country roads. But, the moment that the two of you were through the gate –the walls once again between you and the various dangers of the outside world– the coiled tension that had been building inside Daryl suddenly snapped and all of the emotions that the man had been stubbornly trying to repressed exploded out of him in a truly impressive display of fury.
Your insistence on risking your life for something that Daryl saw as insignificant and easily replaceable resulted in one of the biggest fights the two of you had ever had –including the occasional disagreement you and Daryl had before officially becoming a couple– and it got so bad that Rick was forced to get involved and play mediator when your arguing grew loud enough that it drew in a sizable crowd of curious onlookers.
One Rick had managed to convince –more like command, the bossy fucker– the two of you to part ways in order to cool off, taking some much needed alone time in order to think things over, you began to aimlessly wander around the perimeter of the closed community as you lamented over the loss of your necklace.
Though, when you veered off to the side of the road in order to kick a rock as you vented your frustrations about Daryl at nobody in particular, you paused as it violently hit the looming, metal wall with a loud clang, a wide grin that could only be described as manic spreading across your lips when an idea sparked to life as you had stared up at the tall barrier.
And now you were here, completely alone –since you hadn't seen hair nor hide of Daryl since Rick had very sternly encouraged the two of you to walk it off– freezing your ass off as you clumsily snuck out of Alexandria like a grounded, rebellious teenager gracelessly crawling out a window in the dead of night in order to go to a party. It was decidedly not your finest moment, but you had a mission and you were determined to succeed this time.
“The fuck ‘re ya doin’?” A familiar rough voice rang out and you startled so hard that your flinch briefly threw off your center of balance before you once again managed to catch yourself, aiming a glare down at the nosy redneck standing below you once you were steady.
Johnny’s one of those boyfriends that suddenly remembers you exist and roams the house seeking you out. No real rhyme or reason to it he just wants to see you, peeks into wherever you are and reminds himself you’re still around.
Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who randomly grabs you and shakes you around, I fear you’re going to be a victim of cuteness aggression for the rest of your life.
Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who grabs at your ass when he’s bored, like it’s his own personal stress ball. Same thing with your tits.
Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who blows raspberries into your stomach while he’s laying down on you, even if you hate it. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who knows how to have a laugh when you’re having sex. He brought a glow in the dark condom once and you said his dick looks like a neon green Kermit and he laughed so hard he almost forgot where he was. Almost.
Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who actively gets upset if you try to crawl away from him while you’re cuddling, like ACTUALLY upset, it’s not even funny, don’t try it.
AN: I originally wanted this to be a oneshot, but the premise kinda got away from me and I ended up having to split it into two parts.
Hope you enjoy reading about two stubborn idiots dancing around each other! Will their mutual pining be resolved in the next part... stick around to find out!
Word Count: 2,372
Part 2
You howled with laughter as you leaned back in your seat on the couch, clutching at your aching stomach and wheezing when Soap shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as effective as he probably would’ve liked due to how watery and bloodshot his eyes were. The Scot was seated across from you on the other couch, his body practically vibrating as he tried to breathe through the pain of chugging hot sauce straight from the bottle.
Gaz’s own pleasant laugh joined yours as Soap slammed the glass bottle down onto the coffee table between you and pushed it as far away from himself as he could manage as he coughed, the sound quickly followed by a sniffle miserable enough that you pushed yourself to your feet in order to go and grab the box of tissues that was on the table where Ghost and Price where playing cards.
“Hey, Ghost. You winning or losing?” Ghost turned his head just enough to watch you as you approached, his dark eyes still as intense as they were when lined with coal despite the fact that the man was wearing one of his worn blaclavas as opposed to his usual skull mask, the bottom half rolled up to reveal his mouth and the lit cigarette that he had pinched between scarred lips.
“You tell me.” Ghost muttered boredly as he angled his cards in a way that allowed you to see his hand without revealing his cards to Price, who was lazily puffing on a cigar as he watched the two of you interact with an amused quirk to his mouth.
“Hmm. I don’t know, sir.” You mused as you leaned in closer to speak directly into his ear in order to avoid being overheard by Price. “I think you might have to make your peace with the fact that you have a shit poker face without your mask.”
You watched with barely concealed glee as Ghost’s brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before widening in shock, his mouth snapping shut and cutting off whatever –no doubt– scathing response he was gearing up to dish out when you brushed your palm over his arm and up to his shoulder, the solid muscles hidden underneath his oversized sweatshirt flexing at the teasing contact.
You flashed him a toothy smile when he didn't shrug off the touch and left your hand on his shoulder as you leaned forward in order to reach for the box of kleenex with your other hand, giving him one last friendly pat on the shoulder before pulling away and making your way back to where Gaz and Soap had devolved into throwing crude barbs at each other.
You carelessly flopped down onto the couch next to Soap and lazily tossed the box into his lap, the Scot pausing his petty squabbling with Gaz in favor of roughly pulling several tissues from the box before shoving the wadded up kleenex under his running nose.
“I thought ye two were about ta save us the fuckin’ misery of watchin’ ya dafties continue ta dance around each other an’ finally kiss.” Soap stated as soon as he had cleared his sinuses, the Scot leaning forward with the intent to place his disgusting tissues onto the coffee table, the movement promptly halted when you placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back into the cushions with a dirty look.
“Read one too many bodice rippers have we, Suds?” You snapped back as you pointed over to the trash can located in the tiny kitchen space like the twenty-something year old Scottsman was just a child, much to Gaz’s amusement if his barely muffled chuckles were any indication. “Wash your hands. And eat some butter while you’re over there, it’ll help with the pain.” You recommended as you released him from his seat, the Scot pushing to his feet with the used tissues in hand.
“Piss off.” Soap grumbled petulantly as he wandered away toward the kitchenette, briefly pausing his trek and tossing the tissues that he was holding into the wastebasket before continuing on to the sink. Your eyes tracked his movements as he flicked the water on and pumped a sizable dollop of soap into his hands before scrubbing rigorously.
Once he was finished with that, instead of using a paper towel like a normal person, you watched as the Scot wiped his hands off on his jeans like a heathen before moving over to the fridge, the man bending over slightly in order to rummage through its contents, presumably for something to help with his burning throat and tongue like you’d suggested.
“You started it.” You called after him before turning your attention over to Gaz, who had a wide smile on his face as he watched you and Soap bicker like siblings. You raised a brow as you met his smug, all-knowing stare and he subtly nodded over to where Ghost and Price were sitting, the latter dealing both of them into another round of what you were pretty sure was Omaha.
“He’s got a point you know.” Gaz said quietly and you whipped your head back around to face him so fast that something in your neck popped and went warm. “Come on, it's glaringly obvious that the two of you like each other. You already have everybody’s blessing, I say just go for it.” Gaz shrugged, his smile going from shit-eating to something softer and encouraging.
“Alright, I’m solid.” Soap declared cheerfully as he vaulted over the arm of the couch and landed onto the cushions next to you with a grunt, jostling you hard enough that you slammed into his side. Soap took advantage of your closeness and threw an arm over your shoulder in order to trap you next to him, his keen eyes darting between you and Gaz for a moment before his brows furrowed. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Nope, not at all. Let's get back to it, yeah?.” Gaz stated, the other Sergeant sounding impressively convincing as he shook his head. “Soap, it’s your turn to pick who goes next.” He said in order to redirect Soap’s suspicions by reminding him of where they left off in their game.
“So… Elf…” Soap said conversationally as he slung an arm over the backrest of the couch behind your head –his frankly ridiculous bicep flexing with the movement– as a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You glanced at Gaz when the other man snorted, shooting him a half-hearted glare before turning your attention to Soap and leveling his faux innocent gaze with a flat, unimpressed look at his not-so-subtle attempt at revenge.
“You are so fucking petty.” You groaned as you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to stab the Sergent when Soap merely ignored you, continuing on as if you hadn’t even spoken with all the bull-headed stubbornness of a true Scotsman.
“I dare you to convince Ghost to join our game.” Soap finished with a mischievous smile, his eyes practically twinkling with mirth as he turned his head to stare down at where he had you tucked under his arm.
“First of all, you didn’t give me the chance to pick between truth or dare.” You stated while reaching up over your head in order to take his arm and move it away from you. “And secondly, seriously? I have more of a chance growing gills and living out the rest of my days in the ocean than getting Ghost to agree to play fucking Truth or Dare.” You scoffed, the very idea of Ghost engaging in such a childish activity was ludicrous, and Soap shifted on the couch until he could turn his body to face you head on.
“Not up to the challenge then? That’s alright.” Soap shrugged agreeably and you felt your eye twitch, your expression twisting into a scowl as Soap leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and getting comfortable. “We can just consider your turn over on account of you being a lily-livered milksop and you can do my laundry for me for the next-”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not pussying out, I’m just saying that if it comes to blows, I’m sending him your way.” You snarled, cutting off Soap’s tirade as you abruptly pushed to your feet and stalked away from the two snickering shitheads still occupying the couch and armchair respectfully.
“Fair ‘nough.” Soap called after you, the smile obvious in his voice, and you didn’t bother giving a verbal response, merely settling for flicking him off over your shoulder without bothering to turn around.
You shook your head with a reluctant smile when the cackling behind you grew louder with the gesture, your determined march slowing some as you approached the table for a second time, Price and Ghost right where you’d left them, only this time Price was puffing on a cigar and the two were locked in the midst of a new game.
“Price, sir, I need to borrow Ghost for a bit.” You said, shamelessly interrupting the two as you brought your hands behind your back, your left hand gripping your right wrist in a lazy mimicry of parade rest. Price looked up from his cards, raising a single brow at you from under his stupid hat before he reached up with his free hand in order to pull the cigar away from his mouth in preparation to speak, but Ghost beat him to it.
“What for?” Ghost asked, reaching out to take the cigar when Price offered it to him. You tried and failed not to stare as Simon rolled up his mask until it was bunched up over the bridge of his nose before taking a puff and slowly letting the smoke trickle out from between his full lips.
“Need a fourth player.” You said after clearing your throat and shifting your weight from foot to foot, fighting the blush that wanted to brighten your cheeks when Ghost's eyes lazily slid down your body to stare at your scuffed up boots at the restless movement before the corner of his lips quirked up into a smug smile.
“Seemed to be doing just fine without me.” Ghost said, his tone giving away none of his obvious amusement –as if he'd forgotten that his mask wasn't hiding his face from view– and you shifted position in order to cross your arms over your chest as you breathed a deep sigh of defeat.
“Well, looks like I owe Soap a favor then since I couldn't complete my turn.” You mused solemnly as your previously confident expression melted into one of faux resignation, and you had to resist the nearly overwhelming impulse to give up the charade and laugh when you saw Ghost visibly perk up at your statement, his sudden interest in the proceedings obvious enough that even Price cracked a smile at his expense.
“That so?” Ghost drawled with a disinterested tone, completely contradicting the intense way that he was watching you, his keen eyes searching and serious as you spoke.
“Yeah.” You said, drawing out the word as you frowned, forcing your gaze away from Ghost’s in favor of staring at the wall just behind his broad shoulder. “And you know how much of a flirt he is, I can only imagine what he might choose as his prize.” You said suggestively, silently reveling in the way Ghost’s dark eyes narrowed at the implications behind your words, the man carefully setting his cards face down onto the table.
You resisted the urge to grin or pump your fist in victory at Ghost taking the bait, aware of how intently the man was watching you, and instead settled for staring back, careful not to give anything away cause while you knew that you would most likely only end up doing Soap’s laundry like he’d said, Ghost didn’t know that, and you could use that to your advantage.
“S’pose I could use a break from cards.” Ghost finally said before he rose from his seat, some of your triumphant smugness dissipating once the Lieutenant stood in front of you at his full height, his imposing stature causing him to loom over you somewhat threateningly.
“That's great, Lt. You're really doing me a solid by…” You trailed off mid sentence, planting your feet and swallowing against the growing urge to back away as Ghost slowly approached until he was standing in front of you with only inches of space left between the two of you, the man using his full height in order to loom over you in a way that usually had recruits wetting themselves in fear.
“Can’t leave you to suffer Johnny's depraved whims.” Ghost murmured softly as he leaned down into your personal space, the hot breaths fanning out over your face smelling of tobacco and mint. You swallowed audibly as you realized how close his face was to yours –your lips mere centimeters from touching–and you flushed with embarrassment at the turn your inner musings had taken when Ghost pulled back, allowing you to catch sight of his teasing smile before he rolled his mask back down over his face.
You were frozen in place for a few moments, Ghost moving past you in order to make his way over to the sitting area where Soap and Gaz were impatiently waiting for you to return, before you were able to shake yourself out of your daze and glare daggers at Ghost’s wide back.
“My hero.” You muttered under your breath before releasing a deep, long-suffering sigh, only bothering to pry your furious gaze from Ghost when you heard Price snort from where he was still seated at the table. You reluctantly turned to meet Price’s neutral gaze, rolling your eyes in exasperation when the man lifted a single brow, his smile the same one he wore when he knew something someone else didn’t.
You shot him an irritable scowl and flicked him off, ignoring the sharp bark of laughter that your childish antics earned you in favor of pivoting around on your heel in order to follow after Ghost without a word, quickening your step until you caught up to the Lieutenant.
AN: So, I changed a bit about the reader and Ghost's backstory in Domestic Bliss, I went ahead and linked it just in case you might wanna go back and reread that to see the new lore. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the newest installation to the Married series!
Word Count: 2,643
Main Page
“Evening.” Price said as he stepped into the lounge, giving the group of you a quick nod of acknowledgement on his way to the pot of fresh coffee that was sitting on the counter. He got scattered responses from the other four occupants of the room as he dug a chipped mug out of the cabinet and set it onto the counter before filling it all the way to the top with the bitter beverage.
He either wasn’t affected by the heat or was simply too impatient to wait for his drink to cool because he didn’t even hesitate before lifting the mug to his lips and taking a large gulp of what you were sure was scalding coffee while showing no signs of discomfort.
"I made some chicken carbonara for the boys if you wanted some, Captain." You mused with a grin, using the plate in your hand that you had just cleaned to gesture at the large pot of pasta that was currently sitting on the stove top.
You had started cooking on a whim earlier and Soap had wandered into the kitchen with Gaz, the two curious Sergeants immediately swarming you where you’d been standing at the stove and needling at you until you caved and admitted that you were making lunch and yes there was enough for them to have some as well.
Soap’s eyes lit up with delight as he leaned closer to the pot in order to get a better look and your eyes narrowed in suspicion as you watched him. You opened your mouth with the intent of thoroughly scolding the nosy Scot for practically shoving his face into the pasta you were preparing but, before you could even get a single word out, Gaz distracted you by pulling you into a one-armed hug.
“Soap–” You barked at the man, scowling at the side of Soap’s head when he ignored your warning in favor of carelessly dipping the tip of his finger into the sauce before popping the digit into his mouth, the Scot humming happily before pulling his finger out and going for seconds.
“Would you quit that? I swear you're worse than a toddler.” You snapped as you stubbornly pushed out of Gaz’s hold and aggressively grabbed Soap’s wrist in order to stop him from further contaminating the food, squeezing until you could feel the delicate bones grinding underneath your fingers and you saw Soap wince.
Guilt hit you like a boot to the gut once you noticed his discomfort and you immediately relaxed your tight grip so that your fingers were just loosely encircling his wrist before gently leading him away from the stove, insistently shooing the two troublemakers over to the table to wait until the food was done.
Ghost also found his way to the lounge at some point, the man as silent as his namesake as he approached you from behind and draped himself over your back, expertly ignoring the wolf whistles and jeering from the other two occupants in the room as he nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, pressing a soft kiss against your skin through the worn fabric of his balaclava.
“Hmm…” Price gave a thoughtful hum, the sound pulling you from your reminiscing and bringing you back to the present. “I suppose I can spare some time for grub… I’d be a fool to turn down your hospitality, Hornet.” Price gave a dry chuckle as he walked into the kitchen.
"Well there's plenty left. I made sure to make a lot because all of you are big boys." You laughed, watching Price as he sauntered over to a cupboard to retrieve a plate before moving over to the pot of bubbling pasta in order to serve himself a heaping pile.
Price nodded to himself at the compliment, the plate in his hand looking comically small in comparison to the sheer amount of carbonara that he’d managed to spoon onto it, before he walked to the table and sat down opposite Gaz, who was in the process of messily shoveling a forkful of noodles into his mouth.
"I think you’ll like it, Captain. Simon’s on his third serving already, which is practically a ringing endorsement coming from him.” You snorted, shooting a smug look at Ghost as you gracelessly flopped down into the seat next to him with your own helping of food, your lovely husband not even bothering to lift his head from his plate as he used his free hand to eloquently brandish his middle finger.
“You don’t say? I have always suspected that Simon didn’t have a sense of taste.” Price stated, slightly amused, and you could tell that he was genuinely relaxed and in a good mood, which was rare for him.
"How dare you insinuate that he only likes my cooking because he can't taste it. You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Captain." You growled playfully as you brandished your fork at where Price was sitting across from you threateningly with a faux-insulted expression plastered on your face. “Right, darling?" You demanded in true theatrical fashion as you turned to level Ghost with an expectant stare, your arms crossed.
“Sure, dove.” Ghost answered dryly, his emotionless voice giving nothing away. Though, because you’ve known him for several decades, you knew exactly what to look for in order to tell whether or not he was enjoying himself. You knew how to look past the cold facade that he put up and saw the mirth sparkling in his dark eyes, the way the corners of his mouth curled into a barely-there smile, his body language much more honest about how he was feeling.
"Ha! See? Two against one, Captain… and I don't like your odds of seeing the next sunrise." You cackled openly, a wide grin spreading across your face when Soap and Gaz joined in, the Scot letting loose a bark of laughter that quickly turned into a coughing fit when he choked on the mouthful of food he’d been in the process of chewing like an idiot.
You glanced over at Ghost when the man dutifully pushed his full glass of water to the wheezing Sergeant, your eyes narrowing in disapproval before you smacked his bicep with the back of your hand in a wordless reprimand when you caught his mouth quirking up at corners in sadistic amusement as Soap hacked up a lung, because he was an asshole like that.
“Yeah, I’m shaking in my boots.” Price replied with a little shake of his head, his sarcastic tone slightly dampened by the genuine amusement in his voice.
"As you should be." You nodded firmly, taking a quick bite of your food and chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Have you seen Ghost and I in the field? We are an absolute unit. Aren't we, honey?" You declared before turning your attention back to Ghost, leveling him with a shit-eating grin.
“Affirmative.” Ghost agreed easily –like the absolute ass-kisser that he was with you– and you straightened up in your seat and leaned forward in order to press a sloppy kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, the man obediently tilting his head to give you more space to work with.
“It's time to move aside, Soap, I’m taking your spot as Ghost’s favorite. I've already got him agreeing to everything I say.” You crowed good-naturedly as you pulled away from Simon and fell back into your seat, pointing at Soap with a wolfish grin.
“Yeah right. Even if ye were the favorite, it's only ‘cuz he’s biased. Ah mean, it is his ring ye got on yer finger, ye numpty.” Soap scoffed with a roll of his eyes, the Scot taking a particularly vicious stab at the food on his plate, causing the tines of his fork to scrape over the ceramic unpleasantly.
“Aw, you sound pretty bitter about that, Soap. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a little crush on me.” You said with a shit-eating grin, the man in question taking his sweet ass time noisily slurping up a mouthful of noodles with a grunt of effort before lazily wiping his sauce coated chin with the back of his hand like a disgusting brute.
“Nah. Yer not mah type, love.” Soap scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand and you raised a brow at him, placing an elbow onto the tabletop and slowly leaning forward over the table separating the two of you until Soap’s eyes flicked up from his rapidly emptying plate in favor of warily eyeing you as if you were a lit fuse.
“Is that so? Well, if it's Ghost you're into then I suppose I could lend him to you for a night... if I get to watch.” You whispered teasingly as you fluttered your eyelashes, watching with sadistic glee as Soap flushed a bright red and began to defensively stutter out panicked protests.
“Tryin’ to pimp me out, are we?” Ghost huffed as he kept his eyes down, his gaze stubbornly locked onto his newly refilled plate to avoid looking at anyone as he tucked into his fourth serving. How he managed to get up, get himself more pasta, and sit back down all without you noticing, you had no idea.
“It’s your fault for being so alluring, babydoll.” You purred salaciously as you sat back into your seat properly, turning to press a firm kiss to Ghost’s broad shoulder before blinking up at him as if you were an innocent angel that could do no wrong, knowing damn well that it never failed to soften the man up.
“Keep it PG, would you?” Price demanded, sounding mildly annoyed by the turn that the conversation had taken.
“Yes sir.” You said amicably as you turned away from Ghost, who had stopped eating in order to stare at you in that intense way that told you that he was imagining things that certainly weren’t appropriate to entertain during lunch with your colleagues, giving Price a half-assed salute that no doubt had him silently begging the Lord for the patience to deal with your antics.
“So, if you're disqualified from the competition on account of being married to Ghost, then we're back to square one aren't we?” Gaz asked lifting his hat up by the bill in order to scratch at his head before dutifully resettling it into place.
“Well, Ghost an’ ah have the best correspondence on comms.” Soap offered after a moment of silence, the Scot radiating a smug air that was –in your opinion– totally unfounded as he pushed his plate aside, placing his full focus onto the debate at hand.
“You call what you two cunts do over comms professional? I’d classify it as softcore porn.” Gaz blurted out with an incredulous laugh, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek until you tasted iron in order to avoid grinning like a loon when Soap’s previously self-satisfied expression was ruthlessly wiped from his face and replaced by a petulant pout.
“It still counts as proof of our unbreakable bond–” Soap began to argue adamantly, that telltale determined glint lighting up his eyes –the one that usually only reared its ugly head when the Scot was about to disobey orders and pull something crazy– and you decided to butt in and do some damage control before Soap could get too worked up.
“Now, now, boys. Let's not get too hasty, Simon can easily settle this debate for us." You interrupted Soap mid-rant and the three of you all simultaneously turned to stare at Ghost expectantly, who was scraping up the last of the sauce and noodles from his plate with his fork. "So, Ghost, who do you like being in the field with the most?" You asked, your narrowed stare looking into his uncannily blank eyes in a searching manner.
Ghost didn’t hesitate for a moment.
“You.” He replied in a flat, matter-of-fact tone and you saw Price raise an eyebrow in your peripheral vision, Soap and Gaz looking similarly stunned by the declaration.
"Hear that, losers? I'm the unequivocal favorite." You gloated as you laced your hands together behind your head and leaned back in your chair, all but preening as you smiled triumphantly at winning a competition you weren’t even technically a candidate for, at least according to Soap and Gaz.
“We just established tha’ ye weren't even allowed tae be a fuckin’ contender. It's no’ mah fault Ghost 's a shit listener.” Soap complained as he picked up his plate, sullenly pushing away from the table and bringing his dishware to the stove in order to refill it, the aggressive way he was moving telling you all you needed to know about how he was taking the loss.
“You're just mad cause he didn't pick you.” You needled at him just to be an ass, sticking your tongue out at the Scot when he flicked you off without even bothering to turn away from the pot he was digging into with the pasta spoon.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” Price told you in a mock serious tone, his mustache twitching in a way that signaled that he was trying to suppress a smile before he continued. “Don’t want you getting an ego so large that it takes two birds to carry it.”
"Are you kidding me!? Captain, look at him!" You spluttered incredulously, flailing an arm at Ghost, who looked utterly unbothered by the chaos that his answer had stirred. "You expect my ego not to go through the roof when a big, scary, skull-obsessed tank says that I'm his favorite teammate? I’m practically untouchable."
“So much for maintaining a sense of humility.” Gaz muttered under his breath with an exasperated shake of his head.
“Don’t get too excited. You’re still insufferable, you’re just less annoying than the others.” Ghost stated before you could reply to Gaz’s comment, causing you to shut your mouth with a click as you contemplated whether or not you were going to take offense to Ghost’s apathetic correction.
"I'll take it." You said with a decisive nod, giving Soap's arm an affectionate pat when he passed by, the Scot knocking his foot into yours under the table when he sat down to let you know that there was no bad blood between the two of you and you looked down at your wrist in order to check the time on your watch on a whim, your eyes widening when you saw how late it was.
"Ah, shit. I gotta go train the new recruits on gun safety at the range." You blurted as you rounded the table, heading for the exit to the dining room and kitchen before you paused and looked back at the four men who were seated at the table in a beseeching manner.
"Could one of you guys put whatever's leftover into the fridge when you boys are done eating?" You asked, your expression hopeful as you stared at them, waiting for one of them to volunteer themselves for the task.
“Yeah. I can do it.” Price replied with a quick nod before grabbing his empty plate and pushing to his feet. He moved to the kitchen and grabbed one of the serving bowls, a small smile on his face. It was a small task, but Price seemed perfectly content with doing it.
"I really appreciate it, Price. I'll cook you a nice breakfast tomorrow as a thank you!" You promised as you walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, giving the four men one last parting wave before starting down the corridor.
"Alright. Who's washing the dishes?" He quipped dryly as he looked at the other three that were still in the room with him and, unsurprisingly, no one seemed particularly enthusiastic about the prospect.
AN: Hey guys! I know that I disappeared for a bit, but I promise that I'm still alive and kicking!
I've just been really consumed by the SoapGhost fics that I've been writing/planning for ao3 and that made it hard for me to find time to write for Tumblr in between irl things when all of my free time seemed to be dedicated to COD. But I finally decided to just sit down and work on one of my numerous WIP's which led to me cranking this bad boy out! Hope you like it!
Word Count: 2,118
You moved your hands out of your jacket pocket, revealing your well-loved wallet that you’d had for years, and pulled the card with your current alias printed onto it out of its assigned slot in a practiced motion.
You tapped the chip against the screen of the card reader in order to pay for the obscenely greasy food that you’d ordered for yourself and Dean –who you had left fast asleep in your shared motel room– watching with a keen eye as the payment processed and then was accepted with a little innocuous green check mark, the receipt printing with a soft whir.
You startled a little as a phone suddenly began to ring, the tune echoing loudly in the store, and it took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it was actually your cell that was going off, your free hand –which wasn’t currently juggling both your card and wallet– darted down to the back pocket of your jeans in order to collect the device with a sheepish smile.
You swiped your thumb across the screen and answered the phone without looking at the caller ID, quickly wedging the device between your ear and shoulder in order to take the receipt that the bored looking cashier was impatiently holding out toward you with your newly freed hand.
“Hey, where the hell did you run off to?” Dean was already talking before you could even manage to get a greeting out, his voice rough in a way that it only was immediately after waking up, which told you that he most likely called after rousing from sleep and noticing that you were no longer in the motel with him.
“Just figured that I’d treat your lazy ass to some breakfast since you didn’t look like you were getting up anytime soon.” You said as you took the long strip of paper from the cashier with a small nod of thanks before stepping off to the side in order to make way for the next customer to step forward and be assisted, folding up the receipt and carelessly cramming it into your wallet before shoving it back into your jeans.
You had wanted to let Dean sleep in for once since it was technically your fault that you were both up so late last night, the two of you having been all wound up after running around all day asking anyone and everyone about the suspicious deaths that had been happening around town only to come up with fuck all, so you and Dean had decided to dispel all that pent up energy and frustration by testing Dean’s so-called ‘endless stamina’ that he constantly bragged about.
Needless to say, you had put him through the wringer and managed to come out the other side a little less worse for wear than Dean had.
You settled in with your phone now comfortably resting against the side of your head as you waited for your order to be called, and you bit your lip in an attempt to repress the love-sick smile that wanted to overtake your neutral expression when you heard the telltale shift of blankets over the line.
You could see Dean carelessly sprawl his limbs out across the bed in your mind's eye, your fingers twitching with the urge to brush your fingers through his –no doubt– adorable bedhead, the impulse always bubbling up without fail when you saw his hair sticking up at all sorts of odd angles.
“Rough night?” You asked, your voice practically dripping with faux-concern as you idly watched the people milling about the pop fountain, and Dean let loose a distinctly unattractive snort that had a smug grin spreading across your lips, your salacious smile earning you a dirty look from a woman who had just finished filling a large cup with cola that you unfortunately just so happened to make eye contact with.
“You’d know.” Dean groused, the sound of him moving about restlessly nearly drowning out his petulant response as he heaved himself upright with a groan that had him sounding like he was an old man rather than a spry twenty-six year old, and you winced in sympathy.
As hunters, your line of work was unforgiving and you yourself were subject to the various aches and pains that came from such a physically demanding job on more than one occasion.
“You order yet?” Dean asked suddenly and you blinked rapidly, his voice abruptly pulling you from the aimless staring that you’d been unknowingly doing as you recalled how stiff and sore you were when you woke up this morning. Though, if you were being honest with yourself, that was definitely a byproduct of last night's rigorous activities rather than having to fight for your life against some bloodthirsty creature or another for once, which was admittedly a nice change of pace.
“Yup. Got you a bacon breakfast burrito, hash browns, and a slice of cherry pie.” You replied with a wide grin, a bark of laughter erupting from your chest and startling the few people standing near you when Dean let out a truly sinful moan of appreciation.
“I love you so fucking much.” Dean declared, the mattress springs creaking as he pushed to his feet and walked across the small room before clicking on a lightswitch, his voice taking on a distinct echo as he entered the borderline claustrophobic motel bathroom.
“I know.” You said smugly before suddenly remembering the woman that you had run into on your way to the restaurant, causing you to be out longer than you’d originally intended, which was the whole reason why you were back with breakfast before Dean woke up.
“Also, while I was out, I happened to run into a friend of the ex-wife of the last victim and I may have found a lead on this case.” You stated after briefly glancing around and taking a couple of steps back in order to make sure that no one would be overhearing your conversation.
The most that you’d been able to get out of the shell-shocked woman when you and Dean had went to interrogate her the previous day was that her ex-husband had broken into the house while she was home alone and, after saying some shit that made no sense at all whatsoever, had dropped dead right there in the dining room before she could even process what had happened.
And that wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened, the person before that had slumped over dead in a church confessional booth after saying about three words to the priest and the one before that had just randomly collapsed to the ground in the middle of a crosswalk after angrily yelling at a reckless driver that had almost ran her over.
“Alright, hit me.” Dean said, sounding much more awake now but, before you could say a word, one of the employees called out your order number over the general chatter of the restaurant. You snapped to attention, muttering a quick warning to Dean that the food was done and you were gonna go grab it, before moving forward and maneuvering your way through the small crowd that had accumulated between you and the front desk.
You took the grease-stained brown paper bag with a grateful smile and a polite nod before turning on your heel in order to make your way over to the exit. You shamelessly used your foot to bully the door open –since your hands were full– before stepping outside and squinting when the sun made your eyes ache, unused to the intense brightness after having spent so much time under the fluorescent lights that they had installed indoors.
“As I was saying, apparently there’s an old legend–” You began as you trotted over to the nearby sidewalk in order to begin the long walk back to the motel, only to be almost immediately interrupted by Dean.
“There always is.” Dean muttered to himself through a muffled yawn, but you expertly ignored him –a talent that had been born from being around the older Winchester for several years– and continued on as if he had never even uttered a word.
“–that a witch used to terrorize the area way back when this place used to be just a tiny trading town and, considering that there is definitely some kind of curse involved here, I figured that a witch –if not the very same witch from the story– is most likely our culprit rather than a cursed object, like we initially suspected.” You continued explaining your findings, lifting a hand to wave at the driver of a pick up that had slowed to a stop and motioned to the street in front of them, allowing you to quickly jog across the crosswalk.
“Fucking witches man.” Dean growled, the deep sound sending the wrong kind of signals to your brain and making your core heat up in anticipation as images of last night came to the forefront of your mind, an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction blooming in your chest when you recalled the plethora of possessive marks that you’d shamelessly left all over his body.
The deafening blare of a car horn unceremoniously yanked you from your internal musings and you gave Dean a noncommital hum as your gaze scanned over the street in an effort to find the origin of the noise, pausing your search and freezing mid step when you noticed a man and a woman standing stock still on the other side of the busy road, both of them just staring at you as passersby gave them a wide berth.
“Hello? You still there?” You heard Dean’s voice as he called out over the phone, but your attention was firmly locked onto the pair on the opposite sidewalk who were very openly watching you with an intensity that made your gut churn, your eyes widening when you made the mistake of making eye contact with the woman and she shot you a mean grin.
“Uh, yeah. It’s just– There’s a man and a woman staring at me… and I have a feeling that they’re not coming over here for a friendly chat.” You relayed warily as the two finally moved, the woman taking the lead as they stepped off the curb and began making their way across the road toward you.
And, no sooner than the words had left your mouth, you heard the telltale sound of Dean grabbing his keys and jacket before the rhythmic thump of rapid footsteps and the heavy slam of a door signaled his rushed exit from the motel room, the relative silence of the room being replaced by the whistle of the wind and general bustle of the city as Dean climbed into the Impala.
“Don’t hang up and don’t move, I’m coming to you.” Dean snapped furiously –though you didn’t take his harsh tone to heart since you knew that he was just worried– and you winced when you heard the deafening squeal of tires on asphalt from Dean’s end of the line, the commotion promptly being followed by a flurry of irritated honking as he drove like a mad man.
“The not moving thing probably won’t be an option, but you can access my location from your own phone and use that to track my movements. I’ll keep the call connected if I can.” You said quickly before acting as if you dropped the call and stashing your cell into the right pocket of your jacket moments before the woman came to a halt about a foot away from you, her companion not too far behind.
“Hello. You’ll have to forgive my rudeness, it’s been awhile since I’ve come across a hunter. Especially one who is brave or stupid enough to travel with someone as infamous and recognizable as a Winchester.” The woman –who you assumed was in charge– greeted with faux-remorse, and you swallowed nervously as her red lips stretched into a wide smile that showed off too many teeth to be strictly friendly.
You scrambled for something to focus on as you began to panic at the realization that the mystery woman –who you strongly suspected was the very witch that you’d been looking for– not only knew who you were but also why you were there, your brain stupidly choosing to latch onto the fact that the pair were going to cause you to be delayed even longer, which meant that it was becoming more than likely that your food was going to be stone cold by the time you made it back to the motel.
If you managed to come out of the confrontation alive, that is.
