SUMMARY : The reader finds the perfect gift for our favorite crossbow wielding survivor.
WORD COUNT : 1,821
A/N : I know I have a lot of requests to work through but this quick little story popped into my mind and wouldn’t leave me alone. Hope you enjoy!
“Close your eyes!”
“Come on, Daryl!”
“Why ya lookin’ a’ me like that?”
“Just close your eyes, damn it.”
“Stubborn ass woman ya are, ya know that?”
You rolled you eyes upwards, praying for patience as you kneeled next to Daryl on the bed, practically bouncing up and down. “Please, just close your eyes,” you sighed, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.
The archer grunted, shaking his head a bit. But he couldn’t hide the amusement in his eyes as he watched you.
It was rare to see you this excited about anything — this happy. He didn’t want to close his eyes. He liked seeing you like this.
“Whatcha got back there?” he grumbled curiously, trying to peek around you and get a glimpse of what you held behind your back.
“You’ll never find out unless you close your eyes,” you mused, a cheeky grin spreading over your face.
Now it was Daryl’s turn to roll his eyes, but you knew he was intrigued. You’d gotten to know the archer very well over the past two years — you’d come to realize he wasn’t as difficult to read as he appeared to be.
Ever since you joined the group back at the prison, you had a special connection with Daryl.
Maybe it was because you both had it rough growing up or maybe it was because he was the one who saved you that night in the woods two years ago.
Either way, you’d had an undeniable bond from the moment you met him. You couldn’t remember when things started to change — when the feeling of friendship began to progress into a deeper kind of relationship.
You fought against the feelings, positive they were simply one sided. But you’d been more than happy to find out it was mutual.
Both you and Daryl struggled at first getting used to being in a romantic relationship — the last relationship you’d been in had ended a couple months before the world went to shit. And you were pretty sure Daryl had never been in a serious relationship.
But with time and a lot of work on both sides, you and Daryl found yourselves in a comfortable, loving relationship.
The two of you had your ups and downs — Daryl struggled with communication and you had a tough time opening up — but you always found your way back to each other.
Finding Alexandria had been good for you two — had been good for the entire group.
The group had been searching for a safe haven for what felt like forever and finally, you’d found somewhere you could hopefully one day call home.
“If I close my eyes, will ya stop buggin’ me?” Daryl retorted, pulling himself up into a sitting position, yanking the covers up to his waist.
You hummed thoughtfully. “Probably not,” you replied sweetly.
“Smartass,” he rumbled, nudging you gently.
“Let’s go, Dixon. I don’t have all day,” you shot back, scooting closer to him on the bed, giving him an encouraging nod.
Daryl cleared his throat and sighed heavily, closing one eye, keeping the other trained on you. You glared at him until he scoffed and shut his other eye.
When you were sure he wasn’t peeking, you pulled the gift out from behind your back and plopped it onto his lap.
His eyes shot open and landed on the object, confusion spreading over his face. “The hell is this?”
You couldn’t help but laugh as you folded you legs under you and sat down. “It’s a helmet! For your bike.”
Daryl wrinkled his nose, picking up the helmet and turning it in his hands. It was jet black, had a clear plate that covered the face, and was a little worse for wear — but most importantly, it was useable. “I ain’t wearin’ a damn helmet.”
“Do you know how dangerous motorcycles are? What if you crash? You need a helmet.”
“I ain’t gonna crash,” he rumbled in response, quirking a brow at you.
“Will you please just try it on?” you pleaded, feeling as though you were talking to a child.
Daryl’s face scrunched up, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t wanna mess up my hair,” he shot back, the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
“You haven’t washed your hair in weeks, Daryl!” you pointed out incredulously, unable to keep your face serious as a laugh escaped your lips.
A rare smile spread across the archers face before he turned his gaze downwards, his long mop of hair effectively covering it.
You sighed, running a hand through your own hair as your laughter died down. “I just want you to be safe.”
Daryl glanced up at you, holding your gaze for a moment before nodding once. “Whatcha get me this for anyways?”
You shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe to make up for all your birthday’s I missed?” you offered with a small smile.
Daryl grunted softly, running his fingers gently over the top of the helmet. “I ain’t never got a birthday present ‘fore,” he said so softly you almost didn’t hear it.
You felt your heart break as you stared at the man sitting in front of you. Daryl was the best thing in your life and it killed you whenever you heard little details of his past like this.
You turned your head slightly, swallowing the lump that grew in your throat.
He deserved a better life than the one he was given — he deserved to be loved and cherished and cared for.
And it made a red hot anger snake its way through your veins when you realized that Daryl hadn’t been given any of that.
You felt eyes on you and glanced back at the archer, who was watching your expression with furrowed brows, his deep blue eyes boring into yours. You sighed softly. “Daryl…”
“It’s alright, Y/N,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “An’ thanks for this,” he added, patting the top of the helmet.
A sad smile came across your face and you laughed once, rolling your eyes a bit. “Okay, fine, you don’t have to wear it,” you finally relented, slinking off the bed and padding around to the other side so you were standing over Daryl. “But I think it’d look real good on you,” you added with a wink, before leaning down and placing a light kiss on his cheek.
When you pulled back, you saw red flush over the archers cheeks and felt a warmth spread throughout you. “Is, uh, is Rick still wantin’ ta’ check out that market today?” Daryl spoke quickly, clearing his throat.
“I think so,” you nodded, gently smoothing back the hair that covered Daryl’s face. “He said to head over to the front gate. So I’ll meet you outside, okay?”
Daryl just nodded, never taking his eyes off you. You made the move to leave, but felt him grab your hand and pull you back. “Wha —”
Whatever you were about to say was cut off by Daryl pulling you to his chest and pressing his lips gently against yours, placing a hand around the side of your neck.
Your stomach did a flip, as it always did when he touched you, and you smiled around the kiss.
He pulled away and you pouted your lips, making a noise in protest which elicited a small laugh from the archer — one that you wished you’d hear more often.
“I’ll meet ya outside,” he finally spoke as you straightened back up, a warmth in his eyes as he looked up at you.
“Such a tease, Daryl Dixon,” you sighed dramatically, amusement etching your features.
Daryl just scoffed, shaking his head, clearly pleased with himself as he watched you leave.
You jogged down the stairs of the house you and Daryl shared, feeling on cloud nine. Times like these were rare and fleeting in this new damned world and you wanted to hold onto these moments as long as possible.
Deciding to get your pack ready for the run into town, you headed to the back closet where you and Daryl kept most of your gear.
You slipped a backpack over a shoulder and began loading it with items you’d need for the day — ammo, two bottles of water, a couple protein bars. You slid your hunting knife into the sheath you kept strapped around your leg and tucked your gun into the holster around your waist.
You heard Daryl’s footsteps as he came down the stairs and watched his retreating form as he headed outside, crossbow slung across his back.
A smile spread across your lips and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this good — this happy.
You heard Daryl’s motorcycle roar to life and took that as your cue to leave.
Zipping up your backpack, you shut the closet door and headed back to the front of the house. You slipped out the front door, slamming it shut behind you and jogged down the porch stairs to where Daryl had parked his bike.
You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the archer — there he was, straddling his motorcycle, wearing the helmet you’d just given him.
A huge grin plastered itself on your face as you took slow, measured steps towards Daryl. “I told you it’d look good,” you managed to squeak out, taken aback by just how handsome this man was.
Daryl rolled his eyes a bit, grunting once, but you could see he was pleased. You laughed aloud as you slipped on the bike behind him. He looked over his shoulder at you, eyebrows furrowed.
“What?” you questioned, pushing the hair back from your face, feeling self-conscious.
Before you could say anything else, Daryl was slipping the helmet off his head and sliding it over yours. The helmet fit snug and you looked up at him in confusion.
“I jus’ want ya ta’ be safe,” he grumbled, recalling what you said earlier as he adjusted the helmet on you. “It looks better on ya anyways,” he finished, giving you a wink as he turned back around and revved the engine.
You felt your heart skip a beat, a bit taken back at the gesture but filled with an overwhelming amount of love for this man in front of you.
The bike lurched forward and you quickly wrapped your arms around his waist, holding on tight as you road to the front gate to meet up with the rest of the group.
You pressed the side of your head against his back and took a deep breath, filling your lungs with crisp air.
This world you lived in was unpredictable — it was sorrowful and dangerous and downright scary. You never knew what was around the corner, never knew when you’d take your last breath.
But in this moment, holding onto the man you loved, feeling safe and protected in his presence, the world just didn’t seem so damned anymore.
I got hit by a car riding my bike to work a couple weeks ago, and I finally started physio today. It sucks, my knees are messed up, and all I can think about is how much I want to ride my (other) bike or be able to do anything cool again soon
Castiel pulled up to the Winchester home and removed his helmet. He left it on the seat of his motorcycle as he strode up the front walkway, and then the porch.
Just as he raised a hand to knock on the door, it opened from the inside to reveal Dean’s mom, Mary.
“I thought I heard what sounded like a motorcycle out front.” She grinned and gazed past him. “Is she yours? She’s a beauty.”
Castiel smiled. Dean’s mom was the best. “Yeah. I got her last week and I’ve been trying to convince Dean to take a ride with me.”
Mary shook her head. “Oh, that boy.” She backed up and gestured for Castiel to come in. As he did so, Mary yelled for Dean right in Castiel’s ear, which made him wince.
Dean’s dad, John, was in the kitchen when Mary ushered him farther inside.
Castiel braced himself. John loved his family, and Castiel respected that. But he had an issue, not with Dean’s sexuality, but who he’d chosen as a boyfriend.
Who stood now in his usual punk attire, with spiked hair, piercings, tattoos, and a tongue ring, which he sucked on as nervous habit.
John took one look at him and sighed. “What’s going on now?”
“Cas is taking Dean on a ride on his new motorcycle,” Mary said.
“His motorcycle,” Mary repeated calmly. She threw Castiel a wink, but he really wished she hadn’t said anything.
“Do you know how dangerous those things are?” John asked, but it was a rhetorical question. “Do you even have your license? And you’re not wearing proper gear. Helmets! God, do you even have helmets? I will not have my son riding on the back of those death machines without a helmet!”
Castiel cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. He responded to the floor, “I’ve got my license and we’ll both be wearing helmets, sir.”
“Damn right you will be! Now let me see that license–”
“John, for crying out loud, let them live a little!” Mary said.
Footsteps pattered down the stairs and Dean swung into the kitchen. Castiel brightened at the sight of him. Dean wore jeans, a button-down shirt, and his thick, square glasses, which Castiel loved.
He smiled. His boyfriend was just so cute. Dean made everything better.
“Hey,” Dean said with a grin. He glanced between his parents. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. You just go and enjoy yourselves, alright?” Mary said as she steered them out of the kitchen. In front of the door, she gave Dean a little pat. “Be safe, and have fun, okay?”
Dean frowned after her as she returned to her husband. He glanced back at Castiel. “So what’s the surprise?”
Castiel grabbed his arm and tugged. “It’s outside.”
They hurried out, and as the door closed behind them, Dean paused on the porch.
“Hold up. That’s not…yours is it?” His voice squeaked on the end, and Castiel leaned in to peck him on the lips.
Often Hador, and Galdor after him, had borne it in war; and the hearts of the host of Hithlum were uplifted when they saw it towering high amid the battle, and they cried: “Of more worth is the Dragon of Dor-lómin than the gold-worm of Angband!”
But in truth this helm had not been made for Men, but for Azaghâl Lord of Belegost, he who was slain by Glaurung in the Year of Lamentation. It was given by Azaghâl to Maedhros, as guerdon for the saving of his life and treasure, when Azaghâl was waylaid by Orcs upon the Dwarf-road in East Beleriand. Maedhros afterwards sent it as a gift to Fingon, with whom he often exchanged tokens of friendship, remembering how Fingon had driven Glaurung back to Angband. But in all Hithlum no head and shoulders were found stout enough to bear the dwarf-helm with ease, save those of Hador and his son Galdor. Fingon therefore gave it to Hador, when he received the lordship of Dor-lómin. By ill-fortune Galdor did not wear it when he defended Eithel Sirion, for the assault was sudden, and he ran barehead to the walls, and an orc-arrow pierced his eye.
But Húrin did not wear the Dragon-helm with ease, and in any case he would not use it, for he said: “I would rather look on my foes with my true face.” Nonetheless he accounted the helm among the greatest heirlooms of his house.
You’d changed a lot more than expected in the past two weeks after Cap left you. The next day you’d woken up with an incessant drive that pushed you to prove him wrong. You went against all of your morals, taking up missions that would lead you closer to death and promised no victory at the end. You trained harder than ever before, taking your duels to a whole other level. At one point you accidentally broke your trainer’s arm.
It was a couple of hours before your next mission and you decided to use your free time to go and train some more, not that you even really needed to.
Still, the punching bag could actually be quite therapeutic. All you had to do was imagine that you were punching Steve and the workout became incredibly easy. Normally you were a much saner person when it came to emotional problems like these, but what Steve had done was so unexpected and so uncalled for that you couldn’t be anything other than angry.
The punching bag method was getting you by pretty well until you heard the sounds of footsteps entering the gym. You turned around to greet whoever had entered, only to be met by the one person you really didn’t want to see. “Captain,” you daren’t say his name, he’d made it quite clear that all he wanted to be was someone you worked with on the odd mission. You decided to respect that in the sassiest way possible. “Might I ask why you’ve gifted me with your presence?”
“You’re training?” He asked, ignoring your question and instead concentrating on all the equipment you’d set out. It was all stuff to get your strength up, after all it’s what your heart desired, to be stronger.
“Indeed I am.”
Cap nodded his head in appreciation at what you were doing, most of the time before a mission he would find you just sitting at home, it’s one of the reasons why he always feared your safety when you went on missions. This time was no different though, he was beginning to wonder if he was going to just be constantly worrying about you before a mission. “Mind if I help?”
“Why, I’d be overjoyed.” You put a hand against your heart, “I don’t know why but I have this insane need to punch you in the face lately.”
“Very funny,” he said in a deadpan voice which seemed in opposition to his words. “I heard your coming on this mission, are you sure you want to do that?” You bit your lip at that remark, the anger returning with Cap providing more fuel to the fire, rather than making some rather disrespectful remarks to your ‘superior’ you decided to hit the punching bag a few more times. “Stop that,” he said and you did so instantaneously. “You won’t be fighting punching bags out on that mission, you’ll be fighting people like me. So, fight me.”
He didn’t need to ask you twice, you moved in quicker than he’d expected. Obviously he’d not only underestimated your fighting capabilities, but he’d also underestimated your speed. It was like hitting bricks but you didn’t care, you just kept punching him. You went for the throat first, winding him so you could get the upperhand.
As he fell backwards, hands automatically going to where you’d punched him, you took this as an opportunity to climb him and use a move taught to you by the Black Widow herself. Your legs wrapped around his throat and you pulled him down to the ground, rolling away so the impact didn’t hurt you. You forgot that Cap was excellent at his gymnastics though and so he easily stood back up, having recovered quite quickly. The next thing you know he’s grabbed your leg and thrown you into a wall which the people that designed this room had smartly covered in a pillowy sort of material.
Still the hit had you a little bit dizzy, when you looked back up (the room only spinning slightly) you saw Cap slowly walking towards you. It was like something out of a movie, seeing this gorgeous goliath of a man strutting towards you displaying only power. Part of you wanted to let him throw you about, it wasn’t until you managed to remind yourself that you weren’t in a bedroom with him that it was too late. You kicked at his shins so that he was down at your level, punching his lip and happily seeing blood begin to ooze out of a split in it. He reciprocated this move, punching your chin so hard your head snapped to the side.
You launched yourself at him next, now having him pinned beneath you. It didn’t take him long to over power you, being a super soldier and all, he had quite the upperhand. Though you could tell that he was mostly holding back with his punches.
The next thing you knew, you were the one being pinned to the ground. When all seemed hopeless and it looked like you were about to lose, a rather mischievous idea popped into your mind. Cap may overpower you with his strength, but you had your own little trick. A simple thing that was overflowing with power.
He was an unsuspecting victim, but when your lips hit his he became a willing fool. A lot of the passion and anger you felt was pushed into that kiss and he seemed to share the same emotions; it did have the desired effect in the end, he knees became weaker and you managed to move your leg out from underneath him. Once you’d gotten it into the perfect position, you brought it upward quickly and with a lot of force, hitting him perfectly in the balls.
As expected, he groaned out in pain but gave you enough room to get out from underneath him and begin to leave the room. Leaving him to writhe on the floor whilst you skipped out of the room, feeling rather proud of having beaten a super soldier. “I’m going on the mission Steve.” You faltered for a moment after realising you’d called him by his name, a sign that you still harbored feelings for him. Feelings you did no longer want.
The mission was a simple one as far as you could tell, it was just that the Hydra agents you’d be fighting this time weren’t so ordinary. They weren’t exactly super soldiers like Steve or Bucky but they might as well have been. You’d been hearing stories on the way to the location that these soldiers felt no pain, even if they had a broken arm it was the same as a splinter to them. You thought these were all jokes though.
The aim of this whole mission was to get two SHIELD operatives out of a cruise ship these people had stolen and hidden the agents on. You figured the agents must be pretty important considering that SHIELD rarely ever pulled the stops with hostage situations like this.
Cap was obviously the first to get onto the ship as he had no need for a parachute unlike you and the ten other agents that were joining you. When you got down you expected Cap to already have run off to fight someone but instead he was just stood waiting for your arrival, chewing on his lip and looking very confused. Well, you think he was confused, you couldn’t actually tell because of the helmet he wore. “What’s wrong?” You whispered.
He apparently didn’t feel like talking to you though and he instead started talking to the people that remained on the helicopter. “Can I get a heat signature of the ship please?”
Through your own com device you heard them say that there was supposed to be over fifty people on the ship, not including your group. Yet there seemed to be no one. After receiving this news Cap stopped for a moment to think about what to do next, “alright, we’re going to split up into groups, Y/N, you’re with me.”
“No.” Your reply came out quick and apparently to everyone’s surprise.
Maybe Cap was surprised as well, you simply couldn’t tell when he was wearing that damn helmet. “Excuse me?”
“I’m going with a different group, or do you want to fight about this as well?” Perhaps you were going mad with the power you’d felt from winning that fight earlier in the day but you didn’t feel like he deserved to be your captain anymore, you’d proved to him that he was the weaker one, the one who shouldn’t be going on missions if he can’t get his emotions in check.
He leant on one foot and placed a hand on his hip, “you’re disobeying Captain’s orders now?” He asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
“Maybe,” you shrugged coyly, “or maybe I’m just doing my mission. Either way I think we should probably start actually saving these people, don’t you?”
There was no other option than agreeing with you and so he told everyone to disperse and take different sections of the ship, before you could actually escape his looming presence he grabbed a hold of your arm. “When we get back you and me are having words?” He hissed.
Your eyes turned to slits as you snatched your arm away from him, “I think you’ve said enough don’t you.”
Finally you were free of him for the mission. Your decision to join another team had nothing to do with the fact that you didn’t want to work with Cap, it was more to do with your need to show off your power. You wanted to let him know that you didn’t need his presence, and this was the best way to do it. And if you were to actually manage to save the victims than even better!
The quadrant of the ship you were suppose to search was floor two and you managed to get there with no problems, yet funnily enough, having no problems was a problem. Your steps were slow and purposeful, using your speed and grace to move further ahead than the team; another thing you did because deep down you knew it would piss Cap off.
Then there were two shots. Bang. Bang. The sounds of your two comrades falling to the ground could be heard. You went to tell Cap of this exchange through your earpiece but it was too late. Something metallic and sharply edged hit you on the head. You suspected it was a gun but there was no time to think. No time to see. You passed out.
Waking up wasn’t the hard part. Sure, your head stung a little but the fact that you suddenly found yourself tied up on a chair that would not stop swivelling.
“Well this isn’t nice,” you quipped, going to press your hand against your aching head only to be reminded of your constraints. Eventually you opened your eyes, the pain of being met with a bright light passing slowly. The sight that met you was obviously the ship’s control room, and beside you, a man.
He didn’t have any decipherable features that you could link to any famous criminals, if anything he just looked quite ordinary. He had blonde hair that seemed much greasier than Caps, and dull grey eyes. Eyes that were surrounded by bags. Realising that you’d awaken he stood up taller, showing off his full height. “I’m sorry that it had to be you,” the apology had you leaning back in your chair a little, it certainly wasn’t what you’d expect someone who just knocked you out and tied you to a chair to say. “I’d hoped to have Cap in that chair but, well, I’m sure you realise that I’m just a normal guy and he’s a super soldier. My chances were low.”
“So you went for the defenceless girl instead? How chivalrous of you.”
“Don’t act like you’re defenceless, I know if they put you on this mission than you’re obviously one of their best agents.” You made a noise of approval at that statement. “Anyway, I just wanted to have my villain moment, so I decided to kidnap someone, tell them my evil plan, that whole thing.”
“Understandable,” you said, nodding your head. You still felt quite confident, maybe it was because you had 100% faith that Cap would rescue you as soon as he figures out your missing, or maybe it’s because as he speaks you got out a knife and began to cut at the rope he’d tied you with. Obviously he wasn’t a very good villain, he didn’t even check your body for weapons, these thoughts drove you to ask the following question: “If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t really seem like the villainous type, so what are you doing here?”
“Ah!” He made a theatrical sound, raising his finger up into the sky. “I’m glad you asked.”
“Your welcome?” You continued to speak in order to distract.
The man grabbed a hold of another desk chair and sat in it, swaying from side to side and playing with a device in his hand. “You see, I used to be one of the good guys. It’s how I orchestrated all of this, I did all the computer stuff with the odd mission shoved in between. It wasn’t hard to hack the heat sensors and make up files about kidnapped agents - me being one of them of course - and impossible to kill enemies. All because of that guy, Captain America.”
“Oh god that guy,” you managed to copy the hatred that was filling his tone, “he did something to you as well? God, what a douche canoe.”
“Yeah well, anyway,” he didn’t seem happy with you interrupting his story at all, making it clear that he really was one of those psychopaths that sees a villain in a movie and tries to become them. The guy wanted his big villain speech and it seemed like he’d practiced it a lot before this moment. “I know you’re dating him so please stop pretending me. I’m not stupid.” You went to interrupt him but he brought out a gun, pointing it right at your head, “I really just want to get this over with so can you shut up, please?”
You nodded your head. “Thank you,” the gun was placed back into the back of his pants, “so as I was saying. I had this one mission with Captain America that went horribly wrong, like, I thought he was this great guy who was fighting to defend this great country but then he goes and saves this group of Asians. I tried to tell him that they were immigrants and that they were poisonous to our country, but he told me I was the one in the wrong. Seen as you date him you must know the truth, he’s a terrorist right? One of them. The ones that want to destroy America.”
“Ooooooohhhhh,” you made a long drawn out sound to hide the sound of the ropes being roughly sliced through, “so you’re just a big racist then?” You didn’t need to hear the rest of his story, you didn’t want to either. Instead you stood up, he went to grab the gun but you were quicker than him. As soon as he’d had it pointed at you, you bashed his wrist and grabbed the gun he’d dropped out of instinct, shooting him in the stomach.
Rather than making sounds of pain like you’d expected, he instead began to laugh. “You should have let me finish my story,” he said through his fit of giggles.
You were too busy looking over the control panel to find the radio that would broadcast through to the speakers on the ship, the loon had done one thing right when kidnapping you and had actually taken your com out of your ear. “Why’s that?” You said, just to keep him going.
“Because then you’d know about the bomb.”
That had you freezing, a cold feeling washed through you and the panic attack began to rise.
“It’s going to go off in five minutes and all your friends will be bye bye. Your precious Captain America and even you. So if you don’t mind.” You remained facing the control panel, thoughts racing. You heard your third gunshot that day, this time it was administered by your captor, to himself.
As harsh as it may have been, you did not care. Your eyes burned with an ache to sob as your stomach rocked back and forth on the harsh waves of fear. You wondered for a moment, ‘why are we taught to fear it? Why? Whether death is an eternal abyss of darkness, a fiery pit, or a clouded castle, we fear it. Whether it comes as a relief or a surprise, we fear it’ and you couldn’t remember anyone ever teaching you to fear the inevitable, yet you did, why?
“Come on Y/N,” you said through gritted teeth, “stop it.” Though you already knew the answer to this enquiry you went to try the door, it had been locked and you bet there would be no key. Even if you tried to pick it, there was no guarantee that by the time you’d finished doing it that you’d have time to actually leave. Hopelessness passed through you, and it was refreshing, if a little insane.
Returning to the control panel you restarted your search for the radio button, mostly just pressing all the buttons until you heard a loud ringing sound that had no doubt also been heard all over the ship. “Well that will have got their attention.” Taking a deep breath you pressed the button again, “Steve.” When you set out to do this your plan had been to tell everyone to get off the ship, but a selfish need within you drove you to listen to what your heart wanted, it wanted your last words to be to the man you loved.
“Steve,” you started again, beginning to cry, “there- there’s a bomb on the ship. It’s going to blow in about four minutes so you best hurry and get off this ship, I would join you but I seem to be locked in this room so… I guess you were right. And I just, I love you so much Steve. I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please get off the ship.” By the end of it you were a mess, the hopelessness being cast aside for the realisation that your life was going to end.
You collapsed onto the ground, putting your head into your arms and allowing the sobs to break free.
You were never going to get all the moments you wanted with Steve. Your heart burned with the love you felt for him, and this love had so much potential. You could have had kids, the boy probably named James and the girl no doubt named Peggy. You could have had a boat, and you could have sailed around after retiring, exploring a world Steve has barely seen. And together, as you looked up at the sun setting over the ocean line, it’s beautiful pinks and oranges melting into a dark blue that showed off a cluster of stars that could never be seen in the city, you could have had a moment when you realised that not even this compared to the awe inspiring love you shared. And even then, with the promise of dying, you knew that those moments didn’t mean anything. You’d give them all up for just a night in with Steve, cuddled up on a couch, maybe eating some bad takeaway.
You didn’t want to die, you wanted Steve Rogers.
And by some miracle, you got him, just not in the way you wanted. Three minutes had passed, there was barely any time on the clock but you saw the lights of the helicopter came down onto the ship and then fly away once more. You thought Steve had left, but that was very naive of you.
It was naive of you to think that you loved Steve more. It was naive of you to think that Steve would ever leave you. It was naive of you to think that Steve would ever let you die alone.
It was naive of you to think that Steven Grant Rogers would let die not knowing that he loved you.
“No,” you gasped, “Steve what the hell is wrong with you?” You hit his chest hard, never hating him so much in your entire life. “You have to go, you’re faster then me, run, jump into the water. You might survive this.”
“Y/N, shut up.” You went to continue yelling at him but he just repeated his earlier statement. “Shut up, I love you too.” You couldn’t be angry at him, not when he ran through a locked door just to proclaim his love to you. “And you were right, I am scared of losing you. I’ve lost everyone and I’m sick of it. I can’t lose you. Not you Y/N.”
Pathetically, you fell against his chest, your hands clutching the material of his suit as he embraced you back. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, this is my decision.”
“You’re stupid decision!” You grumbled, looking up to find him smirking despite the numerous tears that were running from his eyes.
“Maybe, or maybe I’m just doing what I was meant to do.” He played on your words from earlier but you couldn’t really see the funny side, all you could see was the man you loved.
“I’m going to close my eyes now, because I want you to be the last thing I see.” You did as promised, your hands wandering all over his body. Memorising each detail for the last time. “I love you Steve.”
“I love you t-”
The heat didn’t get you first, no, what came first was the loud roar as it’s fiery teeth claimed the entire ship. Then the fire came. Then blackness.
16 "What a thing to say - and on my birthday!" Your Shep + Garrus
Remember when you prompted me this? I filled it! <3
“This hurts you,” Harbinger intones.
Shepard squeezes off a few rounds in his direction. The bastard flits off to another part of the battlefield, leaving only a fine mist of ichor where one of her shots was lucky. He is without a doubt the worst Reaper she’s ever met. Sovereign wasn’t this chatty.
“I actually miss Saren,” Shepard says over the comms. “At least you could talk to him.”
Given how Saren died, that was probably a poor choice of words. Shepard wrinkles her nose, then picks off a Collector and feels better about herself.
“You miss the banter, Shepard?” Garrus drawls in her ear.
“We used to attract better megalomaniacal villains intent on the galaxy’s destruction,” Shepard opines.
One of the most disgusting parts of a Collector is its everything, Shepard decides. From their skin (dry but oily) to the bulbous protrusions filled with yet more reeking pus, and the weird damn flies that buzz around them.
“Is this really the time, Commander?” Miranda asks.
Since she’s holding her own, Shepard isn’t too worried about whether lighthearted chatter will doom the mission. Besides, if something happens to Miranda, the Illusive Man probably has spares in a closet somewhere.
“Next time don’t bring my sense of humour back, Lawson!” Shepard says.
“I’m not convinced we did, Commander,” Miranda fires back.
or Keeping Your Soft Bits on the Inside in 2183, or Sin'Vraal’s Lengthy Mass Effect Armor Headcanon because she’s a Huge Nerd and Thinks About This Stuff Almost as Much as Shenko.
AKAWhy my Shepard and gang always wear their damned helmets.
By 2183, powered armor comes in a wide variety of forms, with variations to suit almost any need from civilian to military. Different companies specialize themselves in particular technologies, and aim for different market segments. Still, most share common broad functionality. Simple pragmatism has lead all manufacturers to trend toward proven technologies.
The armor is almost a world of its own. Its complexity is possible in large part because of significant leaps in the field of miniaturization and nano-level fabrication. Where once space-going humans had to wear bulky suits with huge backpacks, modern suits are self-contained environments where suit functions are distributed throughout a multi-layer strata of closely linked systems. High quality suits are marvels of engineering, able to keep the wearer alive through staggering amounts of abuse. While military culture still fetishizes the weapon, most soldiers know they’ll be spending most of their credits on their rhinohide, because the best rifle in the world isn’t any use to you if you’re losing pressure in a vacuum.
For the anon that wanted to see my Voidfang vestments. I had to remake the shoulders, but other than that I’m done! Not pictures are the pants, gaunlets and shoes. I will not be wearing a helmet to Dragoncon. Too damn hot ;_; I’m gonna be in the Tower all weekend xD
Title: A Handful of Dust (63/?) (On AO3 and FF.net)
Summary: Ten billion people over here die, so twenty billion over there can live. After the war, there are pieces to pick up, and lives to rebuild. And even with the Reapers gone, nothing is easy.
Sixty-Three: Silence in the Gardens
Garrus moved through the overgrown verdure as carefully as he’d ever done while maneuvering through alleys and over catwalks on Omega. Then, at least, he’d known the faces of his enemies. He’d known roughly their strength, their numbers, the arsenals they had at hand. He’d assumed—rightly—that Omega itself was hostile, and that everything should be considered a threat until proven otherwise. This place, though it made Shepard’s heartbeat increase and vitals spasm with stress, didn’t strike him as particularly dangerous. It was warm enough that his suitboard computer didn’t have to overcompensate for Vancouver’s tendency toward the chill he’d never grown accustomed to; the sky overhead was as blue as atmospheric debris would allow; plants proliferated, twining riotously around and over and atop each other.
With no red sand coating everything, no abandoned children’s toys lying broken, no rooms filled with the fallen and forgotten, it was nothing like Mars, and yet a chill separate from his hardsuit’s environmental controls shook him. Something in the silence, the emptiness, pulled at him, tormented him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He found himself peering into the sun-dappled shadows, half-expecting broken bones jutting from the dark soil or skulls grinning their empty grins from between the roots of trees. The susurrus of the wind in the leaves wasn’t like the howl of a Mars sandstorm, but his gut clenched all the same.
He wondered, a little, if visiting this place would prove as useless as visiting Mars had been, and he pulled his rifle a little closer, though the comfort it offered was scant.
I bet you don’t even remember this prompt. But I hope you still love my fics after this, and that you enjoy this little story! Love you Eis (*3*)
Wear a damn helmet.
How often had she told him that? How often had he nodded his head in agreement or given or a snide remark? How often did he roll his eyes when she chided him for his ignorance, gave the horrors of riding a bike? The horrors that came with not abiding by the basic rules of road when it came to being the proud owner and rider of a motorcycle never applied to him. At least they didn’t until he found himself in a situation that they did. Until he found himself sprawled on the pavement and wishing he wasn’t a complete idiot.
God, he was so fucking stupid!
But thank whoever was in charge of his fate that he didn’t suffer any major damage. Thank whoever that he wasn’t lying in some morgue waiting for the love of his life to come identify his body, her tears probably clouding her vision as she gazed at his bruised and battered body. Thank whoever that he was instead lying on a semi-soft hospital with all kinds of fucking things stuck in his body. Maybe it wasn’t the most ideal situation — if only he had been more safety cautious! — but he was alive and that was better than dead.