#who throw sums of millions out of their mouths like any other lovely word. i cant stand the thought of your loss | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there.

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought.

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid.

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind.

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return.

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did.

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him.

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.”

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.”

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.”

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.”

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite.

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.”

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’.

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.”

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?”

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?”

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?”

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger.

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.”

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction.

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?”

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.”

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?”

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.”

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?”

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always.

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever.

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?”

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher.

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned.

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.”

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #more cult girl #cult girl #cult girl 2 #tw pregnancy #tw emotional abuse #tw death #tw conservatives

79 notes · View notes

jadedxrealityw · 3 years

Text

-Never Meant To Be- Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

☼-🐍-☼

Request: What about a angsty fic with Draco where he doesn't want to reveal that he's with a Hufflepuff (even tho she's a pureblood) bc of his image, and she sees him flirting with Pansy and she decides to ignore him until he realizes that she's ignoring him, and he wants to approach but her friend is like "dude u fucked up i have to console her every five seconds" fluffy ending pls!

Kody: damn, i can’t make Pansy gay in here. Sad pog. I also added some extra odds and ends for plot. I hope you still like it anyhow! Also no voldy moldy action. before i get questions, i am indeed fully aware that Fred, George, and Cedric are older then the rest of them. I just do not care lmao.

Year: 7th

House: Hufflepuff

Possible Triggers/Warnings: cursing, angst, Draco sadly being character, Cedric being the bestest of friends, eventual fluff

☼-🐍-☼

you had always fantasized about what having a lover was like. Full of love, honesty, and trust. Who knew you would get secrecy and lies instead. You were in a secret relationship with the one and only Draco Malfoy. It had started almost a whole year ago.

yes. You both were well into graduating soon and still had to sneak around to be together. You might be wondering why right? Draco truly loved you, but he was terrified of his father. Even if you were a pureblood, you weren’t a Slytherin. So if he wanted to keep you, he’d have to hide you.

Draco set ground rules so “We don’t disappoint anyone” you wished he had worded that differently. To sum up the short list, no interacting in public or any public displays of affection. Your were his dirty little secret. You would never want to hurt his feelings, because you loved him.

so you agreed to his rule, but slowly it started to become unbearable. Seeing each other for little amounts each week was painful. Especially how when you were apart, Draco was the same old taunter he always was. You wondered if you made an effect on him at all.

you were lucky you didn’t have to bare this sorrow alone. Your best friend, Cedric Diggory had found out about your little love affair when he found Draco’s Quidditch jersey in your dorm. You eventually caved and told him and ever since Cedric loathed the Slytherin seeker.

☼-🐍-☼

“I’m starving” Cedric grumbled as he walked alongside you, scratching the back of his neck. He had early quidditch practice and had just came back from the showers to eat breakfast, while you had just woken up and were wearing your pjs still.

it was a saturday morning after students had been taking exams all week. So every Hogwarts student was in there pajamas at the moment and no one cared. “Yeah me too. After all the exams i can’t wait to graduate in a week now” you chuckle, reaching up to rub your E/c eyes.

Cedric nods “Yeah, me and Harry have been talking about moving in together after we graduate” he says, a smile forming on his face. You gasp, nudging his arm with your shoulder “That’s great! i’m happy for you, really” he enjoys your enthusiasm, but his smile fades “What?” you question.

he looks behind him before answering “What about you and Malfoy. What are your plans?” your expression drops. “Um well, we haven’t really talked about it. He has to work around his parents and all that” Cedric knew that explanation was bullshit. He didn’t believe Draco wanted to keep you around at all.

but for the sake of your heart, he sucked it up. Putting a smile he wraps an arm around your shoulders “That’s awesome Y/n. Now onwards, food awaits!” he exclaims. You break out into a fit of laughter before the both of you make your way to the great hall.

☼-🐍-☼

“Cedric!” Harry shouts as soon as both of you walk through the great hall doors. Cedric leads you over to the Gryffindor table and you take a seat next to Luna. On the right side was Cedric, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. On the right side, your side sat George, Luna, then you.

“Geez, we’re all wearing our pjs aren’t we?” Hermione pointed out and you all let out a chuckle. “Can you blame us? Exams were such a drag. I’m surprised i didn’t throw myself off the school building” Ron scoffs. “At least they are over now. I have so many naps to catch up on” Luna sighs, leaning on Georges shoulder.

suddenly, the food appeared on the table and you could hear the chorus of cheers come from students. Everyone started to pile the array of breakfast foods with haste. George managed to snatch the last serving of pudding and put it on Luna’s plate. You wondered if Draco would do that for you.

you grab some french toast and piled on a hoard of bacon on your plate. “Oh merlin. Draco Stop!” a cackle bursted through the great hall, causing your small group to turn your heads towards the noise. Sat at the Slytherin table was Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, your boyfriend. Flirting.

“What? I mean it. Your very pretty” a sharp pain came to your chest. This hasn’t happened before. Draco flirting with Pansy. He had never done this before. Why was he doing this? “Y/n?” Cedric looked up at you and reached across the table to grab your hand.

Pansy gripped Draco’s bicep, a flirty smile playing on her features. She was beautiful and everything he could ever want. She was enough. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach and pushed up from the bench. “Y/n-” “I have to use the bathroom” you said before Cedric could get a word in.

you began to walk away and out the great hall. ‘Damnit Draco. Why do you have to be like this?’ you thought as tears started to form in your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. You wipe them quickly and harshly. All you wanted was to be alone.

☼-🐍-☼

you had spent the whole breakfast crying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She cried with you as well. The sound of students flooded the halls and you knew that meant your friends would be looking for you. That also meant Draco would be waiting for you.

meeting up with Draco in the astronomy tower had become like second nature, but you didn’t want to seem him. It would hurt to much cause as soon as you would look into those grey eyes the look he gave Pansy would burn into your mind a million times over.

you just couldn’t. You get up from the floor, wiping your eyes “Thanks Myrtle. Your nice to talk to” you said. The ghost girl smiles, hovering over the ground “No worries! Now i must tend to my studies!” she exclaims flying into her stall.

smiling, you walk out the bathroom and are instantly met with the sight of your friends standing in front of the entrance. George, Luna, Cedric, Harry. “What’re you guys doing out here?” you asked, tilting your head. “We we’re waiting for you so we can hang out” Cedric smiled, his arm around Harry.

“Hang out? Where? Shouldn’t we change out of our pj's?” you questioned. George shook his head “Nah, i’m taking all of you to my dorm for an unofficial pajama party. Now onwards and upwards” he grabbed Luna’s hand and skipped along with her.

“Wheres Ron and Hermione by the way?”

“Said they were busy. So probably making out somewhere”

“ah okay”

☼-🐍-☼

all of you went into the Gryffindor house and into Georges dorm passing Fred who decided to tag along because he had nothing to do today. As you all settled in George and Luna sat on the bed while Cedric, Harry, Fred, and you took the floor.

you four sat on pillows and blankets. “Now now. I have an entire stash of sugar quills!” George announced as he pulls out a box out from under his bed. He reaches in and grabs a blue one, blueberry and hands it to Luna “These aren’t tampered with right George?” you asked as he walked over to you.

“I gave one to Luna. Your safe, for now” He sent you a playful wink making you laugh. Fred grabbed an orange one, Harry a watermelon, and Cedric a Strawberry. George went over to you and you reached in without thinking. You liked all the flavors so why not. You grasp one and pull it out.

green apple. George goes back over to the bed and unwraps a pineapple flavored sugar quill. Everyone unwrapped there’s as well. You looked at the quill and it reminded you of Draco. Draco, your boyfriend. Your Slytherin boyfriend who flirted with another girl.

Snap!

you look down at your hands. You snapped the sweet in half, leaving the middle of it in small crumbles that were leaking out the package. “Woah, what did the sugar quill do to you?” Fred says, reaching over to grab it from your hands.

“Flirt with another girl, treat me like i’m some sort of stain on his life, hide me away from everyone even though all i want to do is be with him. All the time!” You sputtered out, your hand going over to your mouth. Awkward silence filled the room. A ant could be heard crawling around if you listened hard enough now.

“Y/n” Cedric spoke, sympathy was present in his tone. You felt tears welling up in your eyes again “What- What’s going on?” George spoke up, getting off the bed along with Luna. They all sat in front of you now with a look of expectancy. “I have something to tell you guys”

Cedric shook his head “You don’t have to tell them Y/n” he said “Tell us what? Cedric?” Harry looked at his boyfriend who just gave him a sympathetic smile. You took a deep breath “I had a boyfriend for almost a year now” you said, eyes widening around you. “You what!” The twins said at the same time.

they both quiet down after Cedric glared at them “It’s Draco Malfoy” you added. A smile forms on Luna’s face “I know” she spoke in her soft voice. George snaps his head in her direction “and you didn’t tell me?!” he exclaimed, her smile staying. “It wasn’t my secret to tell Georgie”

the Weasley twin just sighed and pressed a kiss to her temple, mumbling something about her always being right. “You’ve been dating Malfoy for almost a year now and kept it a secret because, why?” Harry spoke up. You exhale before answering “He’s scared of what his father would think”

Fred shook his head “More like his reputation. Wasn’t he all over Parkinson at breakfast. Word spreads at Hogwarts” he scoffs. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “Y/n you have to start thinking about your future, with out Malfoy” Cedric speaks, rubbing your back with his hand.

“But-” “-But nothing Y/n. I love you like a sister and i know you love him, but he’s just using you. After graduation he’s going to throw you away because that’s who Draco Malfoy is, a user and a asshole who cares about his reputation more then what’s in front of him” Cedric was fuming with anger.

Harry wraps his arms around him, his head digging into the Hufflepuffs back. Cedric visibly calms and leans back into Harry “Sorry” he mumbles. Tears streamed down your face as Fred pulls your body next to his, wrapping his arms around you. He presses a firm kiss to your head “It’ll be okay princess”

will it though?

☼-🐍-☼

you avoided Draco Malfoy all sunday and monday. You had time to think about what you wanted and what Draco wanted. As much as you didn’t want to think about what Cedric had said, your mind did. Maybe he was right. Maybe Draco was using you for all you were worth.

As Cedric walked the halls with Fred Weasley a certain platinum blond stopped in front of him “Diggory. A word please” he spoke, with slight irritation. “What in the hell do you want Malfoy?” he snapped back. Fred had a small grin on his face.

Draco looked at Fred and eyed him up and down before looking back at Cedric “Alone” he says. Fred raises his hands up before nudging Cedrics shoulder. Fred walks down the hall, leaving the two alone, per Draco’s request. “Okay speak” the hufflepuff crossed his arms.

“Wheres Y/n? i haven’t talked to her in three days. Is she okay?” Cedric hated how worried Draco suddenly sounded now after what he did. Cedric let out a bitter laugh “You can drop the act Malfoy. We both know you could care less about Y/n. Don’t you have pug face anyway?”

Draco suddenly realized what was going on. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face “Shit. Look she was coming onto me, i was just messing around. What right do you have in our relationship anyway?” he said, clearly taking offense to his questioning. Cedric. Fucking. Snapped.

“Seriously!? Everytime you fuck up i’m there to pick up the fucking pieces! She’s so stupidly in love with you, for some reason that she ignores it and moves on everytime! She broke down in front of me on saturday because of the stupid shit you did!” Cedric was co close to punching him the face.

he took a couple deep breaths and stepped back while Draco stood frozen “Your not there because you don’t care Malfoy. I never said anything to her before because i wanted her to be happy, but i did on saturday. You will always care about reputation more than Y/n and she knows that now”

with those parting words Cedric turned on his heels and walked away. Draco blinked mindlessly before walking back as well.

☼-🐍-☼

Thursday. One day till graduation. You were holding a box full of colored tinsel that needed to be in the great hall so the planning committee could hang it up. You were passing by in a empty hallway “Need any help, love?” you stop mid step, turning to your left.

“Draco?” you slowly place the box down and look up at him. He seems nervous. He takes a step, arms reaching out for a hug but you step back instead. “Love, what you saw with Pansy i-” “You don’t have to explain Draco, i understand” you nod once. A smile grows on your face.

“Oh thank merlin. Let’s drop this off and hang out somewhere, yeah?” he asked, but you shake your head “I understand that no matter how much i want to be with you. We’re just to different. Draco, we don’t work” you spoke, about to lean down and pick up the box again when Draco grabs your arms.

“If Diggory said i don’t love you that’s the farthest from the truth. I am in love with you Y/n L/n, it’s just my father and the public eye on me. Please don’t do this i- i- can’t live without you” Draco was breaking down in front of you and it was a sight to see.

you held your composure the best you could, practically forcing yourself to not breakdown as well and hug him close to you. Instead you smile lightly and remove his hands from your arms “I don’t doubt you love me, but you should be with somebody your father approves of if his opinion matters that much to you. It’s okay Draco. It was never meant to be. Have a good life”

you bend down to pick up the box, leaving the Slytherin boy to weep alone. You could hear his quiet sobs behind you and had to bite your lip so you wouldn’t cry out as well. You had done it. You had left Draco Malfoy and in all honesty. You felt as if a part of you had been ripped out.

☼-🐍-☼

friday, graduation day. You and Luna were getting ready. You both had picked dresses to wear under your graduation robes. You chose a short black dress while Luna chose a long white sundress. After finishing up, you both made your way to the great hall.

Professor Dumbledore and Mcgonagall said there announcements and gave out a few awards. Cedric Diggory got one for quidditch, which you cheered loudly for. After those some students gave speeches. Hermione’s was very sweet and short and you enjoyed it.

after the clapping died down Mcgonagall stood up “Next student to say a few words is Draco Malfoy” the Slytherins cheered loudly for there headboy while you sunk into your seat. Draco stood up and shrugged off his robes, leaving him in a all black suit and tie. So handsome- wait. Stop Y/n.

he walked up to the front and gave the crowd a slight smile. Oh yeah, i forgot to mention that parents were aloud to attend the ceremony. No wonder he wanted to speak. He needed to impress his father. Typical. You sigh and prepare yourself for what's to come.

“Thank you Professor. When i first came to Hogwarts the only thing on my mind was my education, but i made friends along the way and found comfort in people around me like Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, my best mates.” he points towards the two in the crowd and they stand up momentarily to wave.

you shake your head. Could this be over already? “Hogwarts has become my second home really. It’ll be hard to leave this place and not return next year to all the places i loved to visit, like the astronomy tower” your heart tugged, you couldn’t do it. Standing up from the table, you walk towards the exit.

“you might be wondering why that place is my favorite out of all the wondrous parts about Hogwarts. Well, it was where i was most happy because i-” Draco looked at his father, then his mother before continuing. “it’s where i met my love” you stopped walking as collective gasps erupted throughout the hall.

you turn slowly and look at Draco “Yes, save your shock. I Draco Malfoy am in love with Y/n L/n and i’m tired of hiding it.” what the hell was he doing? Students whispered to each other and others gave sympathetic stares at Pansy. His father looked furious.

everyone then looked towards you as Draco stepped away from the front and made his way to you. Oh no “I haven’t been a good boyfriend by hiding you away and Diggory was right. I chose my reputation over you and i shouldn’t have because in the end you were always the one that stuck around”

a cane stops him from walking and he looks up to see his father glaring at him “Draco, you will stop this nonsense and we will leave at once. You will not tarnish the Malfoy legacy over some feeble Hufflepuff girl” he spat. Draco’s eyes narrowed at his father. He lifts his hand and slips off the Malfoy ring he wore.

he dropped it on the ground, causing a metallic sound. “Fuck your legacy and your small minded bullshit. Cut me off, i don’t care. Never speak to me again, i. Don’t. Care, but you won’t talk about Y/n that way. Goodbye father” he pushed the cane away and rushed towards you.

“Draco! Get back here now!” his father shouted. Draco grabs your hand and runs out the great hall with you. You unclip your robe and watch it fly off into it reached the ground.

your friends watched you run off. George turned to Fred who had a small smile on his face “You okay Freddie?” he asked, nudging his twins shoulder. “I never had a chance with her did i?” he says, sighing deeply. George purses his lips, shaking his head.

Cedric sighed deeply, leaning back into his seat “Not bad, Malfoy”

☼-🐍-☼

you both ran out the school. It was raining, not too hard though. Suddenly Draco stops, causing you to do the same “What?” you say, the rain wetting your H/c hair. He pulls you into his chest and uses the other hand to pull you in for a kiss. It’s sweet and passionate, you wished it would last a lifetime.

as you pull away you see his platinum blond hair flatten, raindrops cascading down his face “I’ll never betray you again Y/n. If you’ll be mine again. We’ll move in together and make a legacy of our own. I promise” he says, leaning his forehead against yours.

“That’s all i ever wanted” and with that, you both kiss again.

☼-🐍-☼

Kody- served hot and fresh with extra extra cheese for all you fluff lovers. Anyways, peace.

325 notes · View notes

somanyerikas · 3 years

Text

Nostalgia sells - or does it? About BBC’s rehiring of a previous showrunner for Doctor Who as a marketing strategy

All, right, this is the one where I deal with my issues about RTD’s rehiring from the standpoint of BBC’s business strategy . Brace for passive agression, swearwords, brief history of british television and numbers. So, so many numbers.

Allright, so I already wrote a post about my problem with RTD’s (re)hire from the creative standpoint (it’s here in case you’re interested), but hey, I can bitch about it all I want, but we all know what caused the BBC to make this decision, right? You’ve heard about it for sure. The Dropping Ratings. You’ve read about it on so many posts, lots of them probably oh-so-gladly conflating this fact with their own opinion about the deteriorating quality of the show. (Don’t worry, we’ll get to that.) So Obviously the execs at the Big BBC Quarters needed to do something about it, and what better way to go than rehire a guy who’s run at Doctor Who is a warm childhood memory for so many in it’s fanbase? After all, it’s what we’re seeing nowadays: from Star Wars return to wave of 80′s nostalgia to every old blockbuster star doing a comeback, there is but a single conclusion - nostalgia sells.

Or does it?

Part One: Moving with the change; or very much refusing to.

Let’s start this off with some facts about the ratings for Doctor Who. (Well, I warned you there’s gonna be numbers, didn’t I. Stick with me, I’m going somewhere with this I promise.) In it’s beginnings, in the sixties and seventies , the series flown high, averaging a viewership from 8 up to 10 million viewers per season. Collin Baker’s series 17 brought in a record of 11.21 milion viewer asses in front of a good ol’ TV screen, real champagne opener here. But, as it happens, things were downhill from here. During the eighties, the rating started dropping steadily, reaching an all-time low of 4.15 milion couch-warming bottoms in 1989, the last season of the classic era.

Years passed, 16 of those years to be exact, and here comes our saviour RTD. Under his wings, the revived series premiered, bringing in over 10 milion viewers to the premiere episode of season 1, Rose. A viewership this high did not last for long, but still, RTD’s seasons averaged between 7 and 8 milion viewers per season, which seemed pretty respectable. But then, as the story likes to repeat itself, not unlike the bbc execs just did, along came the decline again. Ever since 2010, the ratings began steadily dropping again, from 7.95 in 2010 to 5.46 in 2017. Then DW experienced an unexpected peak in 2018 with the premiere of Jodie Whittaker’s first season, which averaged 7.96 viewing asses, but then continued the dropping trend on the next season, averaging 5.40 viewing butts.

So what went wrong?

You see, part of the reason that Doctor Who was bringing in such great viewership numbers in the 60′s and 70′s, was that, to put it simply, BBC did not have much competition. Or, to be exact, only had one competitor. ITV was literally founded in order to break BBC’s monopoly over British television. But in the 80′s, with the launch of Channel 4 and Sky, the british viewers had more and more options to choose from. So logically speaking, they no longer had to watch BBC’s programming just because there was nothing else on. There was more and more new programes to boredom-watch. And here’s something y’all need to know about the tv industry: the boredom-watchers, the casuals? That’s the most important demographic. As hard as it might be to swallow, us hardcore fans, forum dwellers and Ao3 gremlins, we’re not as big of a group as we’d like to think. Loving fans are important to the tv execs as providers of word-of-mouth advertisment, but the real numbers come from the casual, everyday viewer who will just put on the next episode cause the other one was kinda fun I guess. Or more fun than the other options, anyway.

And this is why, by the way, when someone is conflating low viewership with the show Dissapointing The Fans, they’re full of shit. I’m sorry, but we’re really not that much of a force here, definitely not enough to make such a big impact on the numbers. Another factor, that some of you probably noticed already, is that the numbers I’m quoting are from british tv only, while the online fandom is very much international, so our opinions matter even less to the british execs, I’m sorry again, hard pill to swallow I know, but true nonetheless.

But I digress. So, to sum up the previous paragraph, Doctor Who’s viewership decline in the 80′s was the effect of the changing landscape of the TV industry, with which the BBC struggled to come to terms with.

Sound familiar?

Let’s move on to the 2010′s, shall we?

2010 was is actually a good marker of a year to choose, because it marks one important thing that begun a big change in the industry. This was the year in which Netflix expanded their services overseas, from being a DVD rental company to providing VOD services. Over the next decade streaming services grew in importance, from being an add-on to your cable TV that you didn’t really want but they were throwing it in for cheap, to very much self-sustainable media services you might very well buy instead of buying the cable. And if you look at the numbers for Doctor Who viewership declining over the last 10 years, that’s precisely what’s been happening. It’s not that people don’t want to watch Doctor Who on tv, they don’t want to watch tv in general. Do you know what was the most popular channel in Britain this year? Can you guess? Fucking Netflix that’s what. It’s just slowly-yet-steadily ceasing to be the way we use home entertainment anymore. Again, not much to do with the audience approval, because for that matter, let’s see about the specific episodes that saw the spikes in viewership.

Rose, which i mentioned at the start of it, was for the longest time the unquestionable queen when it comes to viewership, at 10.81 milion. The next episode, The End of the World, pulled in 7.97 - almost 3 millions worth of lost viewer-butts in one week? Is it because it was so much worse than it’s predecessor? No, it simply did not have the smell of Newness, the Event You Must See, and as such brought forth less of the casual viewers who were simply curious about The New Thing. The next season followed the similar formula, peaking at the premiere, when the marketing was at it’s strongest, going down during the season, sometimes rising slightly for the finale, sometimes not. The most popular episodes are, of course, the specials - yet again, the vibe of The Event To Be Seen worked here, but one more thing working to their advantage is they often aired in spaces between seasons, serving as both a long-waited Crumbs of Content for the fans, and the basically stand-alones for the casuals. Do you know what the single most watched episode of revived DW is? No, it’s not Tennant’s goodbye with the role (yeah I know, I thought it had to be that as well). It was Voyage of the Damned, between seasons 3 and 4. The perfect standalone for the casual watcher. And last but not least, you know one more special feature that brought, maybe not as much, but definitely more than expected? The 1996 movie Doctor Who, with 9.08 million. Again, a perfect standalone.

But the standalones aren’t the only way to grab the viewership. The currently-highest viewing non-special episode of DW? The Woman Who Fell to Earth, Jodie Whittaker’s introduction. In 2018 no less, in the year when the streaming was the ruler supreme, this episode brought a whooping 10.96 million buts to the good ol’ TV again. Let me reiterate: this episode brought in more viewers than Rose did in 2005, while having WAY more competition and way less favorable circumstances of release that RTD’s debiut did. Not only that, it managed to bring on some numbers for the entire season as well, not as good of course as the premiere (because again, the Event vibes faded), but still brought a better average than the last six seasons did. (Again, let me reiterate: more than the last SIX seasons. More viewership than any series since 2010, since the Streaming Wars.) So clearly, this must be the way, right? Catering to this Weird New Trend, that saw directors notice there do in fact exist other actors than white men, that surely brought in some profit, even Marvel does it now, right? Out with the old, in with the new!

Part 2 The Deceitful Charm of Nostalgia

Well, it turns out the whole Doing New Things deal didn’t work out that well after all, now did it? The second season penned by Chibbnal averaged 5.40 milion, that’s 2.5 million drop from the previous one! It must mean it didn’t work, right? Well, yes and no. As much as the refreshment of the formula as simple as Let’s Put A Woman In It absolutely worked for one season, it very visibly did not hold up for longer. An Event-Episode is something that can still happen on TV, Event-Series? That’s pretty much reserved for streaming now, if you think about it, and it’s honestly kind of a miracle that Series 11 did as well as it had. Two consecutive Event-Series on network tv? Flat out impossible.

So how to make those ratings great again? How to get those butts in seats of the Good Ol’? Well, the execs of the BBC have a plan for that. They brought in a devouring beast, and it’s name is: Nostalgia.

Without a doubt, there is a number of people who feel nostalgic about RTD’s era of Doctor Who. It’s a lot of people’s fond childhood memory, or the series they started with, and judging by the numbers, there should be quite a lot of them. So the new plan, as it appears, is to get to those who maybe lost interest in the show and lure them with the promise of the thing That Is Totally Like The Thing You Used To Love, Remember? (This is why I don’t actually think that RTD will be allowed to do anything new and interesting, that’s not what they hired him for. And that’s why I think this is bad from the creative standpoint.) So there are two questions here: One, will the people be lured? And two, for how long?

Nostalgia as a marketing strategy is something that you’re probably sick of seeing already (I know I am). But it has very much been effective on many levels, especially the eighties-baiting, Stranger Things style, can bring a new IP up to relevance. But what about old IP’s that want to have a comeback?

It’s kind of dificult to find another TV show that I could compare to Doctor Who. Most series that have been running for that long are mostly soap operas, that operate on slightly different rules, and are also targeted to a different audience. So as much as the movie series is still not exactly the best comparison, when I think about a big IP, campy sci-fi, family-oriented (at least in theory) on its path back to relevance, I think about Star Wars, obviously. The Force Awakens gambled on that nostalgic feeling and won big, but the next two movies, while still financially successful, were nowhere near the astounding success of the first one. And that’s because - you guessed it - it created the Event You Must See again, The Great Comeback, but merely two years later, the comeback became old news. So what we can gain from that is that nostalgia can create an Event as well as a new trend, if not better. But the question remains: how long will that last?

That is, after all, the main difference between a movie franchise and a TV series in the traditional, network TV sense of the word: movie franchise must bring in the viewership every year or two, and TV series must bring in viewers every week for at least two months. Is RTD’s Nostalgia Vibes enough to provide for that?

I’ll say this: I’m absolutely certain that the 60th anniversary will be very popular. I still don’t think it will break any records because, as I’ve been trying to explain for this whole post, it is not 2007 anymore no matter how much the tv execs would like it to be. But ironically, the almost-certain success of the special is the very thing that could undermine the effect of bringing their precious Nostagia Boi back onboard. Remember, the first Event Episode is The Big Oof. That’s the one that gets asses to the Good Ol’, if anything ever does. After the first big event one, that’s the point when things start going down. They’re wasting their Special Event Boi for something that already would be an event, dear fucking gods, I hate your plan and I would still execute it better. Either have RTD be the Anniversary Guy and then hire someone new, use that hype and keep it going, OR have RTD come in after the anniversary, then at least you get the Event Effect for the premiere of his first return season. Fukin’ amateurs.

But even if they did that, here’s the thing: do you think that the people who departed from the show years ago actually want to watch another three to five seasons of The RTD Show? I mean, I’m sure the thought warmed some hearts, for sure. A number of people will definitely gladly watch the anniversary, probably the first few episodes of the first return to the basics, but after that? In the world when, due to streaming, they have an easy way to revisit the actual thing they’re nostalgic towards? I honestly don’t think so. And you’re not really gonna get many new people by going back, if that nostalgia factor isn’t there. And then there’s casual viewers, the backbone, as we established. And here’s the thing: lots of those people don’t even know who the current showrunner is, cause they’re not Terminally Online like we are, and the second thing? Lots of those people ARE JUST NOT WATCHING NETWORK TV, IM SORRY GARRY. They’re just. They’re just not. I don’t know how to spell it out better. Even my mum has netflix now. Your biggest base is in another castle mate, gotta get moving and gotta get moving quick, cause here’s another thing: all the nostalgia in the world will not do SHIT for you if your target, people who were kids/teens when the RTD era was airing, PROBABLY DON’T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING TV ANYMORE CAUSE THEY MOVED OUT OF THEIR PARENTS FLAT AND LOTS OF YOUNG PEOPLE JUST DON’T BOTHER. Just. I’m sorry but you’re trying to resuscitate a decade-deceased corpse there buddy. It just won’t work. The times have changed and you gotta swim or drown, and it’s just not gonna be 2005 again, no matter how hard you pretend it is. It’s not your content it’s your business model. Just push more marketing for your iplayer or whatever, focus on streaming as your primary not your secondary cause that’s just what it is now, and maybe don’t rely on the viewer-counting systems of the yesteryear to evaluate your business. Or else you’re gonna get stuck sacrificing the creative growth of your show for a marketing strategy that probably won’t even fucking WORK.

There, I got it of my chest. Feel free to reblog, and also: you somehow got to the end of this, congrats! I’ll make numbers nerds out of y’all yet.

#it's like. my sister and I were #watching a movie lately. the one with multiple will smiths and the de-aging tech #(don't recommend it it's real boring)#but when Youngened Will Smith appeared on the screen my sister got my spiting my tea laughing by innocently saying:#"oh i don't know this actor. it's nice that they're giving opportunities to the young actors. great to see a new face in the biz''#and u know what #this rehire is the same fucking vibe to me #some cunts from marketing plastering make-up to an old man's face and pretending its 2005 still #anyway #doctor who #i guess.

44 notes · View notes

heartshyuck · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Haechan x reader

Genre: fluff, enemies to best friends to lovers, college au

Synopsis: he was the sun but you liked the moon more.

Word count: 6.3k (I know it's literally double the word limit 🥲)

Warnings: swearing

a/n: this is dedicated to @bl--ankhaeji, for the secret santa (@neoculturechristmas ), I hope you have a great holiday and a happy new year <3 sorry I made you wait forever!

Beautiful was the moon, the way she gracefully arose to the sky shining down on earth guiding those who travelled late at night. Accompanied by the stars, she outshone all those no matter how much she showed of herself in the night sky. In winter she ruled the skies with her reign lasting even when the sun would emerge, she would still look mesmerising and for that reason you loved winter. With the moon high above watching over you and the white specs of snow that gracefully fell, illuminated by white light; you walked through the empty campus back towards your dorm, it was pretty late but there were still a few passing bodies that relieved some of your building anxiety.

Once you approached near, your fingers had already begun to numb, the tip of your nose kissed with frost and your toes frozen in place despite the many layers trying to keep you warm. Your hands shake slightly as you try to lift the key to the lock, hearing your struggles to open the door your roommate comes and saves you as he opens the door before you can. The warmth of the house engulfs you and it's like a pair arms have wrapped round you, protecting you from the harsh cold outside, instantly you begin to warm up.

"Why do you insist on walking back in a blizzard" Jaemin rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he steps aside letting you in and closing the door behind you. "Literally just call me or Jeno and we'll pick you up" he whines, as always nagging and telling you off in the most loving way, and it only makes you smile, genuinely touched that he cares so much about you.

"Because Jaems you both have lives and I don't want to be a hassle" you say as you rid yourself of your outside gear and then make your way to the living room, him following shortly behind you. Jaemin and Jeno are both good friends, more like brothers or as you like to put it, guardian angels that the goddess of the moon sent to you upon your new dawn here at Neo University. From showing up when you needed an apartment to being there to remind you to eat when you were studying late into the night, you were indebted to them forever. "You could never be a hassle," Jaemin argues.

"Who's a hassle?" Jeno walks into the room, food in hand and he chucks you both your favourite snack and again you're reminded how much they take care of you. "Me. I'm a hassle" you raise your arm, waving your hand a bit and Jeno sits beside you, covering himself and you in a blanket as he shoots you his famous eye smile, that reminds you of a crescent moon.

"Last I checked you were a y/n, not a hassle" Jeno giggles, you and Jaemin both rolling your eyes at his incredibly bad jokes, though you're used to them by now. After a good few seconds of him still laughing at the horrible joke, he clears his throat "anyways Jaemin is right but if you don't wanna rely on us, how about you get a boyfriend" he raises his eyebrows.

"Well sorry to break it to you but there are no decent guys in this uni" Jeno pouts and Jaemin quickly chucks in a "hey we go here too" in protest, but you continue within the same breath, "all fuckboys who truly do not give a shit about anything but getting their dick wet" you huffed out in obvious built up annoyance directed to the male species.

"What about Renjun? He's decent and you guys are good friends" Jeno asks "surely if you're friends, he has to be decent"

"I saw Renjun in diapers, his mum's shown me pictures of him as a naked baby, I could never date him;he's literally my brother" you list off the reasons as to why you could never see Renjun in that way, you had known each other since before you could walk.

"Maybe you should stop brother zoning guys then" Jaemin says under his breath in a pout and you send slit eyes his way and he smiles at you in return.

"Okay what about Haechan" and as those words fall from Jeno's mouth, laughter erupts from Jaemin. Again you roll your eyes for what seems like the tenth time in this conversation, Jeno is visibly confused by both your reactions as his eyebrows furrow and nose scrunches up slightly. "What's so funny" this comment only makes Jaemin laugh more and you throw a pillow at him in hopes of shutting him the fuck up but it doesn't. "Best joke you've ever told" Jaemin says in between laughs "she hates Haechan's guts"

"I don't hate him" you snap back at him and Jeno's confused look turns into a surprised one "hates a strong word, i just dislike him" you explain yourself but Jeno's expression is dying for a better explanation "I find him insufferable and annoying as hell"

"But why" Jeno says almost in a cry "he's nice, fun and honesty is the mood maker. He's great." Jaemin nods along showing that he agrees with Jeno

"If he's so great, you date him" you roll your eyes and it's a childish comment but the topic of Lee Haechan and him in general brings that side of you out. "I think he's self absorbed, thinking he's the center of the universe and lights up everyone's world" Haechan calls himself the sun and honestly it's obnoxious but fitting you think. To all those around him he seems like the sun, but even the sun is insignificant amongst the millions of stars in the universe. He's just the center of a solar system that's amongst millions of others. He's nothing special but he thinks he is and it sums him up pretty well you think plus you've always liked the moon more anyways. "Also can we drop my depressing love life and watch a movie" you sigh, it’s not like you weren’t already thinking about you being incredibly single, you didn’t need these two idiots to remind you.

"Yeah please, she's hopeless anyways" and again you throw another cushion at Jaemin, landing square on his face,”I’m not wrong” he cries out, hugging the pillow “you refuse to get a driver’s licence too” and you jab him in the ribs with you elbow causing his to yelp, again rolling your eyes.

A few days past and much to your relief the topic of both, relationships and Haechan don’t come up again but it was silly of you to assume that God would be so kind to let it drop so easily. Of course Jeno had to bring it up the next time he saw Renjun, “So i was the only one who didn’t know y/n hates Hyuck” Jeno whines a little too loudly in the cafe you all were seated in. It’s a small place, right on campus, decorated with strings of fairy lights that give off a warm hue to the place; it’s open all day and it’s here you found Jeno and Jaemins want for a roommate poster on the notice board. “Jeno can you be quiet, anyone can overhear and like i said i don’t hate him” your voice dropped into a whisper as if it could undo any damage Jeno may have done and you spoke through gritted teeth.

"It's not like he's here" he argued back and as if he had summoned him Lee freaking Haechan walks through the cafe doors. He strides in with confidence circling around him, dressed in his infamous playboy outfit, the leather jacket and black combat boots, he holds a smirk across his face as he scans the room; all eyes are on him as the bell that hung above the door announces his arrival as if royal blood coursed through his veins. In these moments you understand why Haechan believes he is the center of the universe because here everyone orbits him, everyone but you. Everyone stops and stares, their eyes lingering at each step he takes and each expression he makes. Their weary of his eyes, just in case they stop on theirs, everyone but you because you couldn't care any less. The sun is blinding and it's irritating and you'd much rather avoid it, as he steps closer towards your table; recognising the boys that accompany you, he smiles and waves in their direction, you get up to leave. "I need to go" you blurt out, pushing your chair out abruptly, it scrapes against the floor, the screech making you cringe. "I'm gonna be late for my next lesson" you clear your throat of any awkwardness and grab your things before any of them could question or comment on the situation, you rush past Haechan not giving him a second look.

Jeno's eyes widen at the scene that had just unfolded in front of him, his mouth slightly gaping, Renjun sighs and rolls his eyes before giving a welcoming smile to Haechan who stands there confused whilst Jaemin simply continues to drink his coffee, firmly believing if he act like it didn't happen, then did it really happen. "Is y/n okay?" Haechan asks with genuine concern in his voice and in the same breath he continues to question the three, "is it me or does she always seem to leave when I arrive?"

The three sit there in slight awkwardness that hangs in the air, it's not hard to answer this question, the simple answer would be a yes. Another simple answer would be to just shrug him off and tell him you have a lecture, a lie but still a rather simple answer and before the lie could leave Renjun's mouth, the truth slips out of Jeno's. "Yeah she absolutely hates you" Haechan's smile falters and Jaemin chokes on air.

"What the fuck Jeno" Renjun gawked, jaw hanging, there's a heavy silence and it probably only lasted a few seconds but it felt like forever as everyone just stared at each other, only breaking when Jaemin laughs a little raising confusion amongst the three others who stare back at him. "Good joke Jeno, best one you've told" he places hand on Jeno's shoulder and kicks him under the table. Laughter erupts from both Jeno and Renjun as they try and attempt to cover up the damage. "Yeah y/n just has a lesson" Renjun laughs out and tries to emphasise this to Haechan who's now laughing but with obvious hesitation in it, awkwardness still sitting in the air.

"Oh shit, I just forgot I had to meet up with Mark" Haechan waves to the boys as he leaves the cafe, a sigh leaves his mouth as he finally exits the cafe, his shoulders drop and a deep breath he didn't know he was holding left his lungs. He sees your figure still in the distance and he's not sure what takes over him but his legs being to move. Faster and faster, Haechan runs towards your figure that only seems to be getting further, maybe it was his pride that was hurt or maybe it was curiosity as to why you hated him or maybe it was because Haechan liked a challenge.

The heavy steps and heaving breaths catch up to you quickly, getting louder and louder you stop and turn back, Lee Haechan stands chest rising and falling rapidly bent down with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. "Haechan, what the hell are you doing?" He lifted his finger up indicating for you to give a minute for his lungs to catch up with his body, you roll your eyes and it’s action that doesn't go unnoticed as he begins to speak through his heaving breaths, struggling. “I heard you hate me” it’s breathy and deep but you make it out all the same, a wave or shock and slight embarrassment overtakes you, a heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks and you’re quick to shake your head, denying his allegations. “No. what? no i don’t-” you stammer over your words until you're cut off by Haechan, as always he’s the one that controls the conversation.

“Jeno told me” he clears his voice, finally have caught his breath, “by the look on renjun’s face and your reaction, he wasn’t lying” you grimace at his words “so I’m here to change your mind” Your mouth gapes as he stands there glowing in the white light that reflects off the snow, it angers you how beautiful he looks yet his ego is insufferable and too suffocating for you to focus on that.

“Fuck you Lee Jeno” you mumble under your breath and haechan smirks at the comment, “honestly Haechan i don’t hate you” you begin to explain hoping you’ll get out of this, whatever this is. “I just don’t like you as much as others do and that’s normal”

“No it’s not” again your cut off and you’re pretty convinced he’s in love with the sound of his own voice with how many times it’s happened “you can’t hate me” and at this you scoff, eyes rolling back so far into your head you’re sure they’ll get stuck.

“I have a lesson” you say turning on your heels, every conversation with Haechan is a reminder as to why you can’t stand him. He loves himself a little too much, he has a superiority complex that’s consistently being fed, he thinks he’s the epitome of perfection and he thinks he’s the sun, center of everyone’s universe.

“What lesson, I’ll walk you there” he says as he follows your footsteps, prisoning you as he wraps his arm around yours, you're confused, shocked and baffled, legs stopping, as you look down at the junction where both your arms meet and you try to release yourself but his grip is too strong. “Come on, let’s go” he pulls you, not knowing where your lesson is. “You’re a history major right?” he keeps talking, not allowing you to even answer the question “so you must either be in building B or C, but since psych usually runs at this time in C, i guess your in B” again he doesn’t waste a second before pulling you towards the building he assumes is where your lesson is. You pull back, still in complete shock as to everything that’s going on, you just said you didn’t like him and by how quickly he was able to deduce where you next lesson is, you're pretty certain he knows you don't’ want to spend any time with him and of course he knows, the smirk is evident of that. He doesn’t care what you want, for his pride you must like him because the existence of your hatred itself is an imperfection of his, a cloud covering the sun.

“Haechan just please leave me alone” it’s like you're speaking to a wall, completely ignored as he just navigates his way to your building, arm still interlinked with yours and every now and then when you try to pry your hand out, his grip tightens. “You’re hurting my arms” you deadpan and he turns back, loosening his grip and rubbing your arm.

“Sorry” he laughs a little and smiles, you don’t know what it is but for the first time you’ve looked at Haechan and the irking feeling of wanting to punch his face isn’t there, his face looking a little less punchable. You shake your head, choosing not to believe the bubbling feelings of butterflies and warmth on your stomach as that smile replays in your head, again and again. You let him continue leading you to lecture, too tired to fight anymore.

You don’t even notice when you’ve reached your destination blindly following Haechan, until he stops suddenly turning again as he flashes his brightest smile and it’s as if golden rays are dancing on your skin, lighting you up, sparking warmness in your chest. You’re flying too close to the sun. “We’re here” he says happily and finally releases your arm from his captive.

“Thanks” you mumble annoyed but not as annoyed as you thought you’d be, there was a warmth that comforted you, a woody musk that swirled around you placing you in a trance. Haechan glowed, ethereal he was with all his beauty on display and you realise if kept his mouth shut more often you probably would be just as in love as all the other girls but thank god he doesn’t have an off switch because you will not fall in love with Lee Haechan. The one who melts hearts and burns skin, everyone who’s got too close bursting into flames.

“I’ll see you after your class” he waves turning back to the direction you just came from, your heart finally returning back to a normal pace the further Haechan walks away from you, the cold from the snow returning to your skin, finally your world has span on its axis away from the sun allowing the moon’s white light to cool you down and comfort you.

Your lecture went on for about two hours, your eyes nearly closing towards the end as at this point not even caffeine isn’t getting you through these long days and you’re sure your lack of sleep is causing you to hallucinate, because there sat at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to building B stands Lee Haechan, Lee fucking Haechan. When he said see you after class you didn’t think he meant straight after class. Fear rises and you beg he doesn’t turn around. It’s fine you tell yourself, just don’t look in his direction and don’t draw any attention to yourself. You walk down the first couple of stairs, slowly thinking it’ll make you invisible or something and then comes the screams. Girls that flock past shouting Haechan’s names, he turns around and there he sees you, nose scrunched up as you cringe at the banshees and sigh in defeat as your attempt of an eclipse fails.

Haechan waves at the girls as he walks up to you, snatching your folders out your arms he carries, “so where are we off to now?” he asks, grabbing your hands in his, your hands are cold, fingers frozen but his are warm, a never ending supply of heat emitting off of him.

“I’m going to the library” you say, taking your hand out of his “no idea where you’re going to next” you smile at him, snatching your folder back. Haechan can’t help but smirk, he really loves a challenge.

“Oh wow what a coincidence, I was on my way there too” he smiles and takes your folders back out of your grasp, “so let me help you” you let a deep sigh out and close your eyes trying to regain some of your patience. You decide it’s best to not fight it, you walk past him letting him carry your folders and he runs to be by your side again catching your hand in his. You don’t know he’s playing but you allow it to happen, after spending two hours learning about medieval medicine, eyes closing slightly, you allow Haechan to warm up your hands. Some sun is good for you, right?

“So you just not gonna work” you look up from the book you’ve been staring at for the last thirty minutes, Haechan choosing your face to stare at instead, he only smiles at your word as he rests his head on his hand.

“I am studying” he says with mock offence as if he’s been accused of something he hasn’t done, “I’m studying beauty” he smirks looking directly in your eyes and all though you roll them an unbearable heat still manages to rise up. “You hungry? we should take a break”

“Why is my face boring you” you look down at the book, trying your best to stay focused but the universe really isn’t letting that happen today. For it places a giant burning ball of fire in your path, one that feels warm from a distance but once you instantly get too close you’ll combust, so you have to keep your distance not ready to give your heart up for anyone just yet.

“No never” again in that sarcastic offended tone, that just irks you, seriously you’re impressed at your patience in not having punched him in the jaw by now. “But i thought you might be getting bored and studying History must make you hungry”

“I’m not hungry, thanks” you cut him off, not looking up from your book hoping that the less interest you show, the quicker he gets bored. However, like you said, the universe is not allowing that to happen and your body betrays you for not feeding it earlier. Your stomach rumbles and it doesn’t help that the library is dead silent, the sound echoes and Haechan lets out a soft laugh.

“I think you are, don’t worry I’ll go get snacks” instantly getting up and heading towards the vending machine that awaits outside. This is it you think to yourself, this is your chance to escape his burning presence, finally be free and all you have to do is run out the door. Quickly you pack up your belongings, shoving everything into your bag before Haechan comes back and out the library door you ran, freeing yourself from his burning presence but not for long as he trails after you. As a kid you thought the Sun was following you as you would stare out the window of the moving car, thinking you were the center of the galaxy, only to find out you orbit the Sun instead but now as the sun trails after you, his legs speeding up to reach your side, you guess you are at the center of this galaxy. "Why do you keep running" he shouts as he tries his best to reach you

"Because you're insufferable, Lee Haechan" you shout back, still keeping up your fast pace, not taking a second to spare him a glance.

"And you think you're not" he scoffs and sighs in disbelief, a sound that makes your skin crawl. “I hate to break it to you but you’re pretty annoying too” and the statement shoots straight to your heart, out of all people who was he to say that, causing your legs instinctively to turn; your fast and loud stomps directed straight at him.

“I’m the annoying one? Says the one who’s none stop bothering me for hurting his superiority complex. I’m sorry Haechan that you’re not as perfect as you thought you were, sorry that one person in this whole world doesn’t like you and I’m sorry you aren’t the center of my universe” you step closer and closer as you ramble about what about him just infuriates you and all Haechan can do is roll his eyes at you and even has the nerve to let out a small laugh that only seeps wrath further into your bloodstream, intoxicating you. Everything about Lee Haechan does that to you, his smirk, his attitude, his carved by the gods features and that damn smile. He’s a menace, the core of chaos and the true essence of calamity and yet somehow it’s exhilarating enough for you to crave his presence and it causes your skin to crawl, your eyes to roll. Too close and you’ll burn. “What’s so funny?” annoyance dripping of every word.

“I just find it funny how you’ve placed me on a pedestal in your head of being perfect, superior and then decided to hate me because of it” he inches closer, heat radiating off his body , his lips so close to yours, you feel the words that next leave his mouth with each movement, his breath sending chills down your spine “the image of me in your head, isn’t my fucking problem” he steps back after finally being satisfied with how startled he’s left you, leaving you dazed as his words hit you hard. His warmth no longer there, you shiver yet his words still hang in the air as they plague your mind, repeating themselves again and again. He walks further away and you let him have the last say because you're sure he’ll be back, his pride won’t allow you to hate him for much longer, won’t allow you to block his rays of light. He’s right the way you perceive him isn’t his problem but that doesn’t mean he won’t go out of his way to change that and nor does it mean your perception of him is wrong, even if it’s just at surface level you know enough about Lee Haechan to predict his next move. He’ll be back.

"Ugh" you scream out, letting out a deep sigh, eye's screwed shut as you let the snow fall on your face in hopes of letting it cool you down but then there's a burning on your wrist, fire swirling around you, sparks dancing on your skin and stars shoot through your bloodstream. You're pulled and pushed, swung around until your eyes land back on his, you should've known the sun never really disappears even when it sets, eyes burning red; anger, passion or lust you’re not quite sure but burning orbs are staring right at you. You don’t even have time to respond as both his hands reach up, gripping at the side of your face, holding tight as he crashes his lips onto yours. Your lips melted, his in a hurry as he harshly pressed against yours, passion overflowing in each rough movement, his warmth radiant and you welcome the burning sensation for once. Finally you move your lips against his. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing against each other occasionally, with his grip on your face tightening, you crumpling his shirt as you hold on as if you’d fall without support, his scent intoxicating and strong and you press your body further into his and it’s as if a knot has come undone. As if the air it’s self released a heavy sigh as it seems lighter and all fades away as you begin to float, lips moving in perfect unison until the last of the oxygen in your lungs is exchanged and the burning scorches your lung even after Haechan pulls away, with a heaving chest. “Try hating me with that” he huffs out, lips swollen and eyes glossy and again the sun sets.

Again he leaves you stunned, holding on to your lips as you walk home in hopes that the warmth from them won’t leave just yet, the scene playing in your head over and over again as if it was the greatest blockbuster but a buzzing snaps you out of it and you flinch at the sudden noise. Your phone flashing bright with an unknown number, hesitantly you pick up. “Um hello” nerves evident in your voice

“I’m picking you up tomorrow at 5, be ready” and with that you roll your eyes, his voice still annoying your ears. “Also before you ask, Jeno gave me your number” he tells you as if he could hear your thoughts aloud.

“I’m gonna kill you Lee” you whisper under your breath and Haechan isn’t sure if it was directed at him or Jeno but he hopes it would be the latter and chooses to ignore it.

“Anyways 5pm, okay” he repeated once again, asking for confirmation that you heard him.

“You really can’t just leave me alone, can you?” you whine in annoyance but Haechan finds it cute and it only pushes him more to continue bothering you.

“And have you forget me and my handsome face, never could allow that now could we” he teases

“Handsome? More like punchable, trust me i could never forget how much i want to just wipe that smirk off your face” you argue back, how could he even think you could forget him after that kiss. It’s all you could think about.

Ignoring your comment, he continues “Yeah well 5 tomorrow, I’ll be waiting outside your place, dress warmly” he tells you for the third time and without even saying bye, hangs up.

“Ugh stupid Lee Haechan” you kick some snow in your path as you continue to walk home.

When you got home that evening you didn’t waste a second in trying to kill Jeno, trying would have turned into having killed Jeno if it wasn’t for Jaemin who had been there to hold you back. Yet that’s the last thing on your mind right now, now all you can think about is what to wear tomorrow. “Something warm” you keep repeating to yourself, mind wandering to where you'll be going instead of choosing something to wear and time flies past and before you know it, it’s already 5pm. Haechan is outside honking, being his usual obnoxious self, having no patience as usual. You run out the house, shoes not even on properly and quickly shooting Jeno a middle finger as he smirks watching you leave. He’s honking all the way until you sat down in the car. “You’re so annoying, you know that right” you tell him as you fasten your seatbelt.

“Yes, you remind me every breathing moment” he rolls his eyes and starts driving, christmas songs playing.

“Well if you weren’t so annoying every breathing moment, i wouldn’t have to remin-” your cut off by your own breath that gets stuck in your throat as you look down to find his hand holding onto yours that rests on your thigh and you see the smirk he holds on your face as he’s proud he managed to shut you up. “You were saying” he teases and you clear your throat as he laughs slightly.

“Like I said annoying” you move your hand from under his yet it gets worse as he just rests his hand on your thigh, heat seeping through your jeans.

“You call it annoying, I call it charming” he turns to you as he pulls up at a red light, flashing you a beautiful smile causing you to scoff, crossing your legs, his hand drops off your thigh.

“Anyways where are we going?” ignoring his earlier comment, done with arguing for now.

“Surprise” he tells you, taking your hand back in his, his grip loose and when you make no effort to move, an eternal smile is plastered on his face as his grip tightens. The music fills the car, you hum along to every song that plays.

“Well then music major” you start up conversation again “how about you sing for me” you turn to him, hands still intertwined. Haechan only laughs at your request “hey I’m being serious, all the rumours that Lee Haechan is good looking, has a great sense of humour and can sing”

“And you believe them?” he asks, still smiling.

“Well your jokes aren’t for me but humour differentiates, so prove you can sing”

“Ah, so you think I’m good looking” he comments, smile only growing bigger.

“I didn’t say that” you scoff

“Yeah and you didn’t say I wasn't” he retorts, smile turning into a smirk as he feeds his own ego.

‘Are you gonna sing or what” you pull your hand out of his and instantly he pulls it back as he suddenly agrees to sing for you.

“I sing like an angel hun, you’ll think you’re in heaven” he tells you again feeding into that forever growing ego of him

“I’m sure i will” every word dripping in sarcasm as you roll your eyes. He wasn’t wrong though, you jaw hung ever so slightly as he sang along with Mariah Carey, compared to him she was nothing. The once vocal goddess outshined by Lee Haechan as his angelic voice drowned hers out. It was beautiful and he knew it, continuously he left you dazed. You were lost for words, you couldn't describe how beautiful it was and all that could leave your mouth in that moment was “wow” you let out a heavy breath.

“I know” he laughs at your reaction. The rest of the ride was silent, on your part at least as you focused on the moments Haechan would sing along with some of the songs, even his humming was pretty. He glew when he sang, shining brightest.

Pulling up to the place, the light sparkles infinitely. Laughter rang through the air and there was warmth despite the snow that fell down. Your eyes lit up and for once being around Haechan didn't seem so bad.

"The winter carnival it's my favourite. I come every year" Haechan tells you as he grabs your hand in his, leading you towards the entrance.

"Oh and how many other girls have you brought here?" You tease him

"None" he turns to look at you and for once the fire that burns behind his eyes isn't blinding or intimidating, they sparkle. Instead of just the sun, a galaxy. You find yourself drawn into them, like a black hole he takes up all life around, light fading away until it's just you two by him. You move closer until you realise black holes destroy, the sun burns and you flinch backwards.

You clear your throat before shooting him a smile that's well rehearsed "let's go" you say softly, gripping his hand and this time you take the lead.

A few rides, hot chocolates and countless conversations, you find that Haechan isn't entirely what you thought he was. Yes he's confident, knows he's good looking and has swarms of girls after him but there's something about him that seems to balance it all yet you're not quite sure what it is but he doesn't allow you any moment to think anymore about it. Always dragging you from one stall to the next.

"I'll win the big Teddy for you" he declares, chest puffed out and embarrassment strikes through you. You would have never imagined standing here, watching Lee Haechan trying to throw down all the pins to win you a Teddy bear. Everything feels so surreal, a warmth bubbles up inside you as you watch him, tongue slightly sticking out as concentration takes over and you can't help but smile. The sun's beauty, clear. He shoot a few times, each time turning to see your reaction, promising he'll get it the next one and when he finally knocks down every pin. He pulls you in his arms, happiness practically seeping out of him. You can feel his heart beat against his chest or was it yours you weren't sure. Pointing at one of the big blue teddys at the back he hands it over to you. You almost fool the sparkles in his eyes for adoration as he nears you again, a smile stretched along his face. "I told you I'd win it for you" he says, cocky as ever.

"Thanks" you say so softly you're unsure if he heard but the smirk on his face says otherwise and thank god he couldn't hear nor feel your heartbeat as it fastened in pace, jumping and leaping against your ribs, answering to his voice. Your heart was ready to be his. That would've inflated his head a bit too much, and just when he couldn't do anything else to cause butterflies to burst, you watch as his eyes wander to a little girl, also trying to knock the pins down.

"Do you need help?" He asks her softly as though she was made of glass, she only nodes in return but he picks her up, placing her on his shoulders so she had a better view. Her arms extend backwards as she throws the ball, knocking down all the pins. Haechan shouting words of praise and a smile lights up the little girl's face as she grabs onto a large teddy bear.

"Thank you" she whispers, visibly shy once Haechan places her down and she hugs him. It was in this moment you could feel you were flying too close to the sun, heat rising, palms sweating and eyes sparkling as you watched him, the only source of light and the center of the universe.

Haechan begged you to go on one more ride with him before going home, the wind was harsher and the snow fell heavier and though the sun had set long ago, the moon’s reign seemed to be never ending. Your own sun was right by you, emitting light and heat endlessly, he held your hand and kept you close as you rode the ferris wheel to the top. The ride was silent most of the way, the occasional hum from Haechan as he stared out into the horizon, the dark sky filled with bright stars and the moon shining down, lights and Christmas decorations and a sfar as the eye could see white snow that illuminated under the moonlight. Once you reached the top, he turned to you. Your breath hitching as beauty stood in front of you, a stone statue carved by the gods to show the ability of their power, a rival to the moon’s beauty, a rival to the sun light and warmth and a rival to billions of stars that envied the way he shined, forever burning.

“So do you hate me now?” He asks a smirk always on that goddamn beautiful face of your and you can’t help but smile. Pulling him closer until he can feel your lips brush past his as you speak these next words.

“Shut up, isn’t this where you kiss me” you crash your lips onto his and you can feel his heart stop, taken back by your actions yet he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, lips moving in sync and you can feel his heat overtaking your body, your heart leaping. You’re flying too close to the sun, your wing’s melting and you’re falling. Falling in love with the sun.

#nctcreations #neowritingsnet #neothestars #neoculturechristmas #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct 2020 #nct fic #nct au #haechan #haechan fic #haechan fluff #haechan x you #haechan x reader #nct haechan #haechan Christmas #loml haechan #fullsun

339 notes · View notes

vague-and-aloof · 3 years

Text

GETTING TO KNOW YOU CHAPTER 3 - SNEAK PEEK

Well, I promised you guys a sneak peek of the next chapter, and here it is! Hope you’ll like it!

———

Mistoffelees had never invited another cat home before, not even as a kitten. When he started going to school his father had already started to tell him that magic scared other cats and this had resulted in him not even trying to make friends or get too close to other cats. So asking any of his classmates if they wanted to come with him to play at his house was never an option. So he wasn't quite sure what to do as he led Tugger into his house, unlocking the door to find the house empty.

"Looks like father isn't home yet." He said as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat hanger and toed off his shoes. "And Victoria was going to be with Plato after school, so we have the house to ourselves."

"Lucky us." Tugger said a little vaguely as he shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it next to Mistoffelees' before taking another good long look at the hallway with wide eyes. "Wow, this place is nice. Like, really, really nice." He turned back to Mistoffelees, kicked off his boots before placing them by the other shoes. "Your dad must be seriously loaded if you can afford living in a damn mansion! I mean, my dad's pretty well-off too, but not like this."

Mistoffelees smirked cheekily and shrugged. "I don't know if I'd call it a mansion, but yeah, I suppose it is a pretty nice house."

Tugger whirled around and stared at him, very much like how Plato had stared at Victoria the first time he had come by their house. "Pretty nice? Understatement of the decade! When you said that your dad makes millions of pounds a year, I thought you were exaggerating."

Laughing softly, Mistoffelees shook his head and started to lead Tugger further into the house. "Well, in a way I suppose I was and wasn't. Father comes from a very wealthy family, so he already had a big sum of money to his name. But he also owns a lot of very popular and upscale clubs in the city, which makes him a lot of money every year. A big sum of that money goes back into his clubs, in order to keep making those big sums of money. But he still gets to keep-" He paused to think for a moment. "Hm, I believe about 50 percent of it. So if he makes 5 million pounds in one year, he still gets to keep 2.5 million."

Tugger's jaw looked like it was close to falling off his face as he stared at Mistoffelees. Then he blinked and started to quietly mumble under his breath and counted on his fingers, then his eyes widened. "Dude, that's still 200 000 pounds a month! What the hell does he even do with that much money? Your bills can't be that much!"

Laughing again, Mistoffelees held up his paw and started counting on his fingers. "Cleaning staff, personal chef, tuition and school related costs, top of the line dancing gear and instructors for me and Victoria, his own personal parties... food." Mistoffelees sighed and shook his head exasperatedly. "Lots and lots of food. It's all very good food, the best he can find, but it's all a bit much. Especially since Victoria and I don't eat anywhere near as much as he does."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "There are cats starving in Africa and here we are, buying enough food to feed an entire army for months every week. It's sad, really." Then he shook his head again and turned back to Tugger with a small smile.

"And of course he gives me and Tori an allowance every month. But he only gives us a small amount, I don't think he's ever given us more than a hundred pounds each. He says he has no problem paying for school and the things we need or make us happy, but he doesn't want us to rely on him for everything. He values hard work and working for your success and doesn't want to spoil us to the point where we expect him to hand us everything in life."

Tugger nodded and tilted his head to the side. "Hm, that's pretty smart. Don't want to spoil your kids so they end up like Amaryl."

This made Mistoffelees laugh and he covered his mouth with his paw. "No, you really don't." He took a deep breath and licked his lips. "My father and I have different views on a lot of things, but I respect that he has always wanted to teach us the value of hard work and encouraged us to find our own success rather than lean on his wealth."

They entered the dining room and Mistoffelees placed his bag in one of the chairs, prompting Tugger to do the same. "Let's sit in here. It's the most comfortable place to do homework in."

Mistoffelees, still very unsure of what to do, remembered how his father usually treated his guests when he invited his friends over and made his way towards the kitchen. "Can I get you anything, by the way? Water, tea, coffee?"

Tugger grinned widely. "Yeah, can I have some fur dye in my coffee?" Both of them started laughing for a good long minute before calming down.

"Well, I don't think we have any fur dye in the house at the moment, unfortunately, but I can go and get some of my father's fur tonic if that's alright." This got them laughing again before Mistoffelees waved at him to come with him into the kitchen.

"It's probably best that you make your own coffee, so you can pick what you want for yourself."

Their coffee machine was very nice, made out of metal and black plastic with a touch display showing several different kinds of coffee you could have. From regular coffee, espresso, cappuccino, latte and much more. The Deuteronomys' had a similar one back at home, but the one they had could only make coffee, espresso and cappuccino. Tugger tended to make two cappuccinos at once in a big cup, which was fairly similar to a latte but not quite the same. This was a bit more luxurious, that was for sure.

He looked up at Mistoffelees, who was rummaging around in a cupboard for tea bags. "I thought you said you weren't a big coffee person."

Mistoffelees paused in his rummaging to turn and look at Tugger, one eyebrow raised and his mouth a straight line. "Oh, yeah you're right, I'm not. I suppose we really should just get rid of it then, since there's no one else in this house who likes to drink coffee." He turned back to the cupboard and took out a box with tea with a long, exaggerated sigh. "Oh, what a waste of two thousand pounds."

At first Tugger smirked and turned back to the display, but then his words registered in his brain and he whirled around to stare at Mistoffelees. "Your dad bought a coffee machine for two thousand pounds?!"

Groaning loudly, Mistoffelees turned around to Tugger with a large tea mug in his paw which he placed on the counter before filling it with hot water. "Yes, that was my reaction too. I couldn't believe that he'd spent that much money on a coffee machine when there are so many others out there at a much more reasonable price. But he and Victoria both really love coffee so they wanted the best they could find." He poured a little milk into his tea and then turned back to Tugger. "Me, I'm fine with just sticking with tea and the occasional cup of coffee. Never saw the appeal in it and I still don't."

Tugger kept staring at him for a good long minute before he finally blinked and turned back to the coffee machine, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. "The life of the one percent." Which prompted a small chuckle from Mistoffelees.

His own family was far from poor, they were limited to one income since it was only their dad working to support them all. Munkustrap had a part-time job at a bookstore and was able to pay for some of his things himself and though Tugger had tried to find a job too, he'd had no luck yet. So while they did have money, they did not have this much money that they could throw on a coffee machine.

"The day I become rich," He said, accepting a mug from Mistoffelees and pressed on the screen to make himself a latte. "I am going to buy myself a house like this and fill it with all of the expensive stuff, just because I can. And I'll commission huge paintings of myself that'll hang all over the damn house! Screw all of that typical rich-cat facade, I'll have five rooms with instruments, video games, an actual movie theatre in the living room and a damn bowling alley in the basement."

Mistoffelees snorted and shook his head. "You act as though there aren't rich cats out there in the world who have all those things."

@uppastthejelliclemoon @soh-da-meatball @storyweaverofgondor @whitmerule @demandra @i-overanalyze-musicals @rainbowratsstuff @rainbow-donkey @tigerstripes-and-leopardspots @tigertail94 @roxycake @roselessart

#jellicle arts for jellicle cats #cats the musical #cats musical #my writing #fic #my fic

19 notes · View notes

minyoonmeme · 3 years

Text

Normalcy of the Pretty Posse

Chapter 4

Word count: 3232

Pairing: Jeongguk x reader, ??? x reader

Description: Stupid Jeongguk and his cute sweaters and pretty posse of hyungs

Genre/Warnings: Min Yoongi is not very good at meeting people, but Park Jimin is.

Tag List: @luvtaeha @holaaaf

Previous Next

masterlist

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

Jeongguk and Hoseok whispered to one another huddled over a family size bag of chips, crumbs falling each time they shifted. Their eyes danced between (Y/N) to Yoongi while they mindlessly shoveled chips into their mouths. Yoongi had let Jeongguk and (Y/N) into the studio twenty minutes ago and beyond introductions not much had happened. Hoseok almost pouts from disappointment. Where's the flare? The dramatics? Why hasn’t Yoongi pissed himself yet from nervousness?

“Are you love birds gonna stand outside holding hands or are you gonna come in before you waste time?” Hoseok’s grip on the door was light as he narrowed his stance and let the two past him. “Hi (Y/N), you look cute today. Jeongguk you look cute too, I guess.” Hoseok smiled to himself as (Y/N) skirted past him with an embarrassed smile. Jeongguk followed suit with a wave to Yoongi, who was too occupied trying to make himself look busy, and a pinch to Hoseok’s arm for the added embarrassment.

“You speak Korean right?”

“Hyung!” Yoongi barely spared Jeongguk a glance as he glanced toward (Y/N) from his seat. Yoongi noted that she was a small thing with her head barely past Jeongguk’s shoulder. Her head bobbed up and down before she fell into a bow.

“Hello, My name is (Y/N). I’m a commercial music and production major at KNU. It’s nice to meet you, please take care of me.”

Yoongi blinked a few times and shook his nearly empty coffee before responding. “So.. do you speak Korean or..?”

“Hyung, she just spoke Korean!”

“Jeongguk-ah, you and I both know she could have prepared that.”

“She goes to a Korean university in the middle of Seoul, I highly doubt that.”

Yoongi gave a small shrug before reaching his hand out. “You shake hands where you’re from right? I’m Min Yoongi. It's nice to meet you.”

Hoseok was loving every second as he watched from the couch.

“Should we say something?” Jeongguk watched as (Y/N) tapped her fingers against the table. Jeongguk recognized a few familiar hand positions from the few piano lessons Yoongi had reluctantly given him his sophomore year.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of intimidated right now. Hyung looks like he wants to jump out a window or run out the door any minute now.” Jeongukk shrugged and leaned closer to Hoseok crumbling the chips between them in the process.

“It would be great if we could hear what they were listening to instead of listening to each other finish an entire bag of chips. Did you know you eat with your mouth open? Fucking heathen, I didn’t raise you this way.” Jeongguk smacked his greasy crump covered hand across Hoseok’s shoulder for that. Hoseok just whines and rubs at the spot tenderly.

Yoongi and (Y/N) sat adjacent to one another as Yoongi’s soundboard desk shuffling through the drive she had brought. Yoongi had asked (correction: forced) Hoseok to wheel in another chair for (Y/N) to sit in while they listened, but her feet barely reached the floor as she swung them back and forth with nerves. Jeongguk was sure she was overwhelmed as Yoongi usually chose to sit in silence while he listened to tracks and Yoongi’s silence was nothing short of intense. A plain matte black pair, a pair Yoongi had pulled out from a random drawer, sat on top of her head just slightly too big. Jeongguk had never seen the pair before and felt a small flutter on his stomach at the thought that Yoongi had bought a new pair for her to use. He knew Yoongi tended to shy away from leading or teaching, but felt grateful his hyung was willing to even try. The flutter had nothing to do with the fact that he thought she looked cute as the headphones slipped around repeatedly off of her head. Nope, none at all.

“How many songs has it been? Like 6? My back is starting to hurt from this couch. Hyung should really get another one.”

“It’s uncomfortable for a reason, you brat. How long are you trespassers going to keep talking?” Jeongguk and Hoseok jumped up, effectively smacking their heads against one another at the sudden voice. Both met Yoongi’s stare as he looked over his left shoulder, one ear free from his headphones.

“Sorry, Hyung we’ll stay quiet.” Hoseok nodded along with Jeongguk’s words, even going so far as to mime zipping his lips closed and tossing a key over his shoulder.

Yoongi rose his eyebrows up before lifting his headphones off of his head with a deep breath. (Y/N) followed suit, although slightly more hesitantly. “You guys can leave, actually.”

Jeongguk’s eyes darted over to (Y/N) as he watched her body freeze. The hand that had been tapping chords onto the table unplugged her headphones before stiffly beginning to neatly wrap the cord. He wished he knew what was going on in her head as he watched her eyes dart back and forth along the floor. His hand itches to stop her small trembles as she reached to pull out the usb drive.

“Yoongi-hyung don’t you think you’re being too harsh. It’s only been like twenty minutes...”

Yoongi threw a confused look at Hoseok before spinning his chair fully to face the couch behind him. “I kick you guys out of my studio like twice a week, this is nothing new. Now out.” Yoongi emphasized the “now” with a flick of his chin towards the door before turning back to his monitors. He hadn’t even acknowledged (Y/N).

Hoseok loved his friend, he did, but watching Jeongguk beat himself for bringing (Y/N) here made his skin boil. A look at (Y/N) left him even more mad. Her shoulders were squared inward as she shoved her things into her bag as quickly and quietly as possible. They weren’t close in any way, but Hoseok had grown up with a sister and hated seeing anyone, especially girls, cry.

“Fine. we’re leaving you hermit. Don’t think we won’t be having a talk about this later when you get home.” Hoseok heaved Jeongguk up from the couch by his elbow and did the same for (Y/N). Their eyes met and Hoseok mentally cursed in his head for Yoongi’s asshole tendencies. He knew Yoongi wasn’t an actual asshole, nor was he intending to be mean, but this just is how Yoongi was. ‘All think, few words' is how Hoseok described Yoongi’s communication style or lack thereof. Yoongi could feel a million things and somehow sum it up in twenty offensive words or less. Looking at her again Hoseok leaned down and whispered, “Let’s get some ice cream, yeah? My treat!” His heart eased little when a small smile and a squeeze to his hand on her elbow were returned.

“Where are you going?” Yoongi looked up from his now blank monitor confused and blinked in (Y/N)’s direction. All think, few words indeed.

Jeongukk, Hoseok, and (Y/N) looked between each other. Jeongguk had his head wrapped around the door’s handle ready to storm out toddler style while Hoseok’s hand slid from her elbow to her wrist.

(Y/N) shook a little while she stuttered, “I thought that you-- I mean you said to--”

“I thought you said you could speak Korean?”

“I can! I’m-uh just confused, I think. You said to get out?”

Yoongi met her eyes for a few seconds before furrowing at the ground. “I meant them. Why would I kick you out? That’s dumb.”

(Y/N)’s hand swung to Hoseok's wrapped around her elbow and threw him a brief bright smile. Hoseok, confused but slowly understanding the situation, smiled back just as big and gave their hands a small shake in victory. Another crisis avoided, he supposed.

“You’re right, I’m sorry for misunderstanding Yoongi-shii! Where were we? Let me get my hard drive back out!”

Yoongi handed her a reconnected pair of headphones, keeping his hand out for the usb drive she had taken back. Her hands left hoseok as she excitedly ruffled through her bag. The usb fell onto the open palm before her as she threw the headphones over her ears. She made sure to throw a smile and thumbs up to Jeongguk still standing by the door. Crisis very much so avoided, actually.

Hoseok patted (Y/N)’s head before grabbing Jeongguk’s elbow in tow. “We should probably get out before Yoongi-hyung starts throwing pens at us. I think he started sharpening them down after Jin-hyung took an HDMI cord.”

Jeongguk opened his mouth to reject Hoseok’s idea, but was interrupted by (Y/N) spinning her chair away from the soundboard to face him halfway. “I’ll text you when I’m done and let you know how it went okay?” Jeongguk nodded, mouth a little too dry from the smile lingering on her lips, and tried to return it. “Bye Hoseok-shii, we can get ice cream later maybe? Bye Jeonggukk-oppa!”

Hoseok kept his giggles in as he dragged a flustered Jeongguk out the door.

_______________________________________________________________________

God he was intimidating…

Yoongi had chosen to forgo any excessive speaking and instead settled for minimal verbal explanations with lots of subtle grunts and pointing. It worked for a bit as Yoongi pulled up the tracks of my songs in a much more advanced version of Logic Pro than I owned. College budgets don’t really allow for excessive spending these days, ya know?

“Uh Yoongi-shii, I really appreciate everything we’ve done today, but I have no idea what you’re saying right now.” Yoongi, I had noticed, tended to mumble and despite having spoken for Korean for a couple of years now satoori and mumbled things tended to make understanding someone very difficult.

Yoongi looked at me sideways and blinked before taking a deep breath. He had looked more sure of himself when Hoseok and Jeongguk were here, so I chose not to mention how his shoulders seemed to move inward as he inched to face me. “You distorted this sample right?” I nodded in response. “Right, well I was just wondering why you added so much reverb if you’d already added distortion. It throws the whole thing off after the second verse, no flow really. You should probably scrap it and start over.”

“Oh uh, I mean you’re right actually. It’s kind of an overkill. You’re very honest, Yoongi-shii.”

I watched as Yoongi finished off the last of his now mostly water iced coffee with a nod. “You could say that.”

“In that case, I’ll be honest too. I think you’re being a little picky because you don’t know what you’re doing or what to do with me, specifically.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes and leaned backward in his chair, the joints squeaking slightly as he did so. So much for a cool guy move. “Picky? Did you expect me to graze over your mediocrity? I’m a professional kid, we don’t take mediocrity in the big world and Daddy’s money isn’t gonna get you far.” Yoongi whipped his hands on his pants as he clicked around.

My arms tingled as a heaviness settled in my chest, something akin to disappointment and failure making a home. “Daddy’s money? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yoongi turned and refused to look at me any longer. “It means I can smell the money rolling off of you and I don’t think working in a cafe can get you the program needed to mix music like this.”

My chest felt heavier than before as I geared myself up to respond. “You’re right. That was expensive and maybe I do come from money, but that song was made in 2014 and I’ll have you know that I’ve been living on my own in Korea since I was fucking shipped off in 2015. I didn’t come here to get profiled Yoongi-shii, I came here because I thought you were a professional who knew how to scroll and find my recent tracks.” Fuck Min Yoongi if he thinks he can walk all over me.

Yoongi clenched his jaw with a slight tilt of his head to the side before visibly gulping down whatever was in his throat. His free hand meanwhile gripped the mouse and clicked into another folder. _______________________________________________________________________

To: JJK-Oppa

Heading home now Yoongi-shii is weird and mean

From: JJK-Oppa

How was it? I’m sorry about earlier by the way. Yoongi-Hyung isn't the best at expressing himself or talking really

To: JJK-Oppa

I figured as much, he seems harmless though just a little idk??? So much attitude in a tiny body Don’t tell him I said he’s tiny oh god I already kinda sorta maybe went off on him

From: JJk-Oppa

Secrets safe with me :) Why did you go off on him??? I’ll beat him up for you >:)

To: JJK-Oppa

Jeongguk-oppa, I don’t think you could hurt a fly but thank you <3 Do you think Hoseok-shi would still get me ice cream? I’ll give you all the juicy details later

From: JJK-Oppa

Hyung said he’s always down for ice cream We can pick you up..?

To: JJK-Oppa

Say less <3

______________________________________________________________________

“(Y/N)! Over here!” My head flew right as I looked in the direction of the voice. Jeongguk stood half in the back door of a black SUV. I threw a hand up and waved back noticing he had changed from a casual oversized sweater and jeans to a matching baggy grey sweatsuit.

“Hi Jeongguk-oppa, it’s nice to see you again.” I gave a small bow of my head before ducking beneath his arm holding the door open and sliding in. I released a happy sigh when I felt the heat coming from the vents. “Hi again Hoseok-shii, thank you for picking me up.”

Hoseok and scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Back it up women, what’s this “Hoseok-shii” business all about? You call Jeongguk Oppa and not me? You’re soon to be dance captain too?”

I smiled and leaned forward to place my cheek against the side of his seat. My eyes fluttered and smiled up at him. “Would you like you to call you oppa hoseok-shii?” Hoseok turned to face me and pinched my other cheek with a scrunch of his nose

“You brat, it’s Hobi-Oppa now okay? You’re gonna be trouble. I can tell already.” I rolled my eyes and pulled his hand from my cheek before slumping back. “This is Jimin, by the way. He wormed his way into the car before we could stop him, so I apologize for anything he does beforehand. He is also trouble.”

Jimin, for what it's worth, only smiled and turned from the passenger seat to smile at me as I buckled my seatbelt next Jeongguk. “I heard there would be free ice cream and gossip about Yoongi-hyung, so I had to come.” His eyes melted into crescents as his smile grew in a way that I can only describe as heart clenchingly cute. God dammit another member Jeongguk’s posse.

“It’s nice to meet you Jimin-shii. Free ice cream is the best kind of ice cream, so I don’t blame you for tagging along.”

Jimin studied me for a few minutes with a small smile before Hoseok yelled at him for not wearing his seatbelt.

“You think I want your dead body on my hands if we get into an accident? I’m all up for living on the edge Jimin, but please put your seatbelt on so Jin-hyung doesn’t have a heart attack, please.”

“I’m too cute to be a corpse.”

“I hate to break it to you, but being cute doesn’t constitute not dying Jimin.”

“God clearly has his favorites, look at me! I’ll be fine.”

“Do not tempt me into killing you with this car to prove you wrong. I’ll do it. (Y/N) tell him I’ll do it.”

“(Y/N) sweetie, you stay out of this okay? Just sit there and hold Jeonggukie’s hand while Hobi-hyung and I sort this out.”

Jeongguk, most likely used to this kind of conversation, was glancing out the window in thought as a nudged him. Though the flush on his cheeks that matched mine told me that he was still listening. “Is this normal for you guys?”

“Hm? Oh you mean Hobi and Jimin hyung? Yeah, all of my hyungs bicker like old married couples. Says is what they get for raising me.”

Before I could respond, Jimin was tapping my knee closest to him with a pout. “Ya! Weren’t you listening? (Y/N), you’ll call me Oppa right? Hobi-hyung and Jeonggukie aren't the only ones, right?” Hoseok and Jeongguk both scoffed from their seats.

My eyes widened as I gave a quick glance to Jeongguk only to receive a shrug in response. Just great, thanks for the help. “Uh yeah Jimin-shii, I guess I’ll call you oppa one day.”

“One day?” Jimin scoffed and pinched my knee. “You call me Jimin-oppa right now, young lady. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other more often. Us cute people have to stick together against people like Hobi-hyung.” The hand that pinched my knee returned and gave it a few pats. My mouth hung open slightly before I nodded and fought off a few giggles as a response.

Things settled down for a few minutes before Jugguk shifted in his seat away from me slightly. His head was no longer facing the window, but now towards his lap as he flipped his phone between his hands. I was happy to see him not ripping at his fraying sweater sleeves, but curious as to what was causing the furrow between his brows. The atmosphere was light as Jimina and Hoseok continued to bicker about ice cream shops, so his look only made me worry. I snuck a glance at the two up front and decided texting was probably better than announcing any worries out loud. Jeongguk seemed like the private type anyways.

To: JJK-Oppa

Everything okay?

Jeongguk blinked as his phone lit up with my text message. He read it before furrowing his eyebrows deeper at the screen. I motioned for him to text me back with a pout.

From: JJK-Oppa

Why are you are texting me

To: JJK-Oppa

Do you not want me to text you? :(

Jeongguk looks at the screen with wide eyes before shaking his head no at me. It’s dark but I can still see the pink dusting across his skin nonetheless. Cute.

To: JJK-Oppa

I’m kidding, but really what’s up?

Jeongguk goes to type again, but freezes his fingers a couple of times before typing and erasing a few times. Trying not to overwhelm him and give him some peace, I look away to listen to Hoseok and Jimin talking about which chores are overdue at their place. A chime of my phone brings my attention back to my phone.

From: JJK-Oppa

It’s nothing

To: JJK-Oppa

It’s okay. Sprinkles make everything better :)

Jeongguk’s small giggle eases the worry in my chest and any residual hurt lingering from my meeting with Yoongi as his eyes crease at the ends. It’s then that I suddenly remember why Jeongguk and his friends were so well known around campus. He’s so pretty. I hear Hoseok and Jimin cackling from the front and give my chest a few pats as it races. Correction: they’re all pretty.

[A/N: Hello~ I feel very ehh about this one, but honestly props to me for putting this out despite working two jobs, being a full time student, AND being major depresso espresso lately. Let me know what you guys think!]

43 notes · View notes

letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked · 4 years

Text

Words On My Skin Chapter 30

Bucky Barnes X Reader (Soulmate AU)

A/N: I guess it takes a quarantine and deadly virus for me to start writing again, huh? LOL! TAGS WILL BE REBLOGGED ON THIS EVENTUALLY! I have like... a whole year of tag requests to sort through! So... Sorry LOL

Warnings: Be gentle... I’m rusty at writing lol

Main Masterlist // WOMS Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/n: I'm on my way back! Happy is driving me! I'll tell you the details when I get home! I got you a surprise! <3

Bucky: I'm in the room, doing paperwork. Steal one of Steve's granola bars for me, please and thank you and I love you.

Y/n: I'm not taking the fall again if he catches me!

Bucky: He's out with that one blonde chick we don't like.

Y/n: Ew. Why???

Bucky: Why do you think?

Y/n: Ew. She looks like she has crotch crickets. Plus she was a bitch to me last time she was here. I tried to be nice. I think she's in it for his fame... and the D.

Bucky: ...that's disgusting.

Y/n: I'm making him an appointment for an STD check.

Bucky: He's going to kill you.

Y/n: He'll thank me when his dick doesn't fall off

Bucky: He's going to make you do more cardio.

Y/n: ...Okay, yeah, I'll just let his dick fall off. LOL fuck cardio

Bucky: You seemed to enjoy last night's cardio. ;)

Y/n: That was more like naked yoga... with a happy ending! Totally different!

Bucky: We can do naked yoga anytime you want.

Y/n: I'll take naked yoga over cardio all day every day

Bucky: All day every day? ;)

Y/n: Shut up, fool. <3

---------------------------------

Placing your phone back into your purse, you stared out the window, watching the busy streets blend into trees and snow. Stupid snow. You were lost in your own head, thinking about the meeting with your parents. Which had gone... surprisingly well.

Your mother was fairly civil to you - as well as the waitstaff - and your father actually had a serious conversation with you.

It was one of the weirdest days of your life... and you lived with a bunch of superheroes.

Seeing your parents like this, after so many years of loathing, arguing, controlling... You weren't sure where your relationship stood.

Though, it was nice to gain at least a little clarification and get everything out in the open.

They'd apologized for the way they treated you in your youth, as well as the way they treated Bucky. You'd apologized for all the shit you'd said to them before you'd moved away, as well as keeping them pushed away in your adult years. The excuses your mother had for acting like a controlling robot were just... sad. She talked about how your grandmother treated her the same - if not worse. She was the way she was because she wanted you to be better than her. No wonder you've never actually met your grandparents in person. Your mother hated her parents. Almost as much as you'd hated yours... until now.

Now... You just had sympathy. Not that it excused any of the behaviors over the years, but you understood now.

It seemed as if she'd convinced herself that the way that she raised you made you the positive person that you were, today. Which was true to some extent. It was recovering from the way you were raised that made you the person you were today. You may have been comfortable with money, but money wasn't everything behind closed doors. Money didn't solve the problems that you'd dealt with in your youth. In fact, it was living the stereotype of a rich family that had caused the majority of your problems. It was the cold, brash emotions modeled by your parents that made you want to be different. The controlled diets, the need to hide emotions and compartmentalize, the forced dating, the fights, the lying, the fake public image... it was dealing with those things after you'd escaped it that made you the person you are today.

Personal growth, and all that jazz.

After the emotional bit of the dinner, you'd actually enjoyed yourself. Your parents asked you about your job, the first day you met Bucky, college, your friends, and everything else they hadn't been a part of for the last decade or so.

They told you about their trip to Paris, where your mother had tripped over a crack in the pavement and they spent half the day in the emergency room so she could get stitches. They told you about how they got their entire office to donate a large sum of money to Bucky's charity that he had been running. They told you about the day that they realized that they needed a change of scenery from California.

It was almost... normal.

If you even knew what normal was.

"Y/n?" You heard Happy's muffled voice, followed by a light tapping on the cool window. He hadn't opened the car door, because your head was leaned against it. "You ready to rock and roll?"

"You're such a dad." You giggled, grabbing your purse and leftovers as he opened the door for you, "Speaking of dads, are you going to become Peter's step-"

"I DON'T-" He paused, taking a breath through his nose and blowing it out of his mouth, "I don't want to talk about that."

"Happy and Mae, sitting in a tree..." You sang, grinning as you skipped past him, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"You're such a child." He rolled his eyes, slamming your door closed and walking to the driver's door.

"You love me, anyways." You pulled open the front door to the compound, leaving Happy to bring the car over to the garage.

You removed your coat the moment you stepped into the heated building, throwing it over your arm and hiding the bag of leftovers and Bucky's surprise. Glancing around, you saw the lobby was nearly empty, save for a few agents using the lobby to cut to the other wing.

Glancing over to the front desk, a grin spread over your face as you took in the sight in front of you.

Caleb was snoring loudly, mouth hanging open, head tipped back, and his feet up on the desk. The book you'd given him for his birthday was open, resting on his stomach like he had fallen asleep reading in his chair.

"FRIDAY, can you please do me a favor and record this please?" You whispered into your watch, sneaking over to the sleeping agent. "Send it to my tablet when it's done."

You were glad you wore flats instead of heels, so your shoes made no noise against the hard floors as you snuck behind the desk. You kept out of swinging distance, grabbing a clipboard off his desk and readying yourself for whatever happened.

"CALEB, WAKE UP!" You screamed loudly, slamming the clipboard repeatedly on the desk. "CALEB, THE SKY IS FALLING!"

He let out a loud shout, limbs flailing around, and chair tipping backwards. "I WASN'T SLEEPING." The obnoxious laugh you let out made his face scrunch up in confusion from the floor, "Y/n?" He glanced around, springing up gracefully and surveying the empty lobby before sending you a glare, "Rude."

You couldn't reply, leaning against the desk and tossing the clipboard in front of him, hysterical laughter echoing through the nearly-empty lobby. "I- You- Oh- Dying." You wheezed, trying to calm your laughter before you peed yourself, wiping the tears from under your eyes, "Oh my god."

"I'm glad my fear brings you such joy, you awful human being." Caleb grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair, "I hate you so much right now."

"I brought you dessert." You replied, finally able to pull your shit together, grabbing a box out of the big bag you were carrying. "It's chocolate and peanut butter cheesecake."

"I hate you less, now. You are forgiven." He lunged forward, a large smile on his face. "Gimme', gimme', gimme'."

You handed him the box, shaking your head and glancing at your watch, "I'm beat. I'm gunna' head up."

"Your soulmate is an asshole, by the way." Caleb informed you, mouth full of cheesecake, "He kept telling me he's going to get Claire an obscene amount of slime for Christmas." He glanced up at you with narrow eyes, "I'll hurt all of you if you get her slime, or anything else with loose glitter. My kitchen table is ruined."

"I cannot confirm nor deny that we got her slime for christmas." You shouted, jogging towards the elevator. "Love youuuuu."

"Fuck youuuuu." He sang back at you, as you disappeared from sight.

"My floor, please, FRIDAY." You requested as the doors to the elevator opened and you got in, "Is Bucky in his room?"

"Yes, Ma'am." FRIDAY replied.

Leaning against the wall, you inhaled deeply through your nose - trying to dispel any weird feelings in your gut. Ever since you'd left dinner with your parents, your shoulders felt lighter... but there was a sense of unease in your belly. You'd never expected in a million years that you'd actually have a relationship with your parents where they communicated with you in a semi-healthy way.

Was this real life?

Honestly, it felt like you were in a simulation or something.

Nothing felt normal anymore.

When the lift doors opened, a wave of delicious smells hit your nose - and you followed the scent to the kitchen, calling out, "Who's cooking delicious-smelling food?"

"That'd be me." Sam called, head in the fridge as he searched for something in the back, "Where the fuck did my strawberries go?"

"That'd be your not-so-little buddy Steve." You chuckled, watching as Sam glared at the fridge before moving back to the stove in a huff. It was actually Bucky, but you weren't about to snitch on your soulmate. "What are you making?"

"God dammit." He grumbled, stirring whatever was in the giant pot, "I'm getting a mini fridge in my room. This 'sharing' business is pissing me off."

"Sam. Food."

He turned to you with a grin, "Momma Wilson's famous lasagna soup."

"They make lasagna in soup form?" You frowned, walking over to the stove to inspect, confirming the fact that he had - indeed - made soup out of lasagna ingredients. It was confirmed by the broken-up lasagna noodles floating up to the surface, and the red sauce littered with spices. God, that smelled good... "Where'd your mom come up with this, and can I have the recipe?"

"Nope. Special made by only me." He shook his head, shooing you away with the spoon. "Go away. You already ate."

There goes getting the granola bar... Sam would totally snitch.

"Save me some for later?" You stuck out your lip in a pout, giving him your best innocent face.

He rolled his eyes, turning away from you and stirring his soup, "We'll see."

You giggled, turning away and walking towards the living quarters with a pep in your step, "I appreciate you."

"Yeah, yeah." You heard him grumble, "Since you do my paperwork..."

"And I do a fabulous job!" You called in sing-song, rounding the corner into the hallway and feeling giddy about bringing Bucky his surprise.

He'd been talking about how he'd been craving French Silk Pie, and you just so happened to spot a few slices left at the restaurant. The manager had recognized you from the photo of you and Bucky at the sushi restaurant and seeing you in that interview, and had offered to slip in a few extra slices of pie for next to nothing... so you'd taken a page from Bucky's book and tipped the staff an obscene amount.

Bucky was going to shit when he saw how many pieces of pie you were coming back with.

"FRIDAY can you unlock the door for me, please?" You called out quietly, listening to the door click as it unlocked. "Thank you." As you pushed open the door, you spotted your handsome soulmate sitting at his desk, sharpening a knife carefully. "You planning on murdering me with that, or what?"

"Ha-Ha. Very funny." He deadpanned, eyes trained on the knife as he examined it, "If I was going to murder you, stabbing you to death would be too messy."

"Comforting." You chuckled, shutting the door behind you and hanging your coat on the back of the door and laying the plastic bag full of food on his bed. You reached behind you to unzip your dress, heading over to his closet to grab a shirt to lounge around in. "I buy you a delicious treat, and you plot my murder."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm also looking at files for the new recruits." He replied, voice sounding really far away. "Jennings looks promising."

You frowned, pulling his shirt over your head. Trying to feel him out through the bond. He seemed... neutral. It was weird. Not upset, but also not happy. Peeking around the corner, trying to be sneaky, you watched him as he read through another recruit file flipping the knife around skillfully. He didn't look tense. He also didn't look like he was concentrating on the file, either.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asked suddenly, not turning around. His hair looked messy, like he'd been running his hand through it.

"Why are you being weird?" You asked, walking over to the bed and grabbing one of the small to-go boxes out of the bag. Setting it on his desk with a plastic fork, you leaned down and wrapped your arms around him from behind - resting your chin on his shoulder. "I got you french silk pie."

He turned his head, pressing a small kiss on your bare arm. "Thanks, sweetheart."

You didn't think you could frown any further, but you were wrong.

He was totally being weird.

"Okay, okay." You moved away from him, sitting on the edge of his bed and grabbing one of the pie slices. "What's wrong with you? What are you hiding from me? You're too... neutral."

"Nothing's wrong with me." He replied, not turning around. "I'm not hiding anything."

Bullshit!

"Lies." You sang out, digging into your piece of pie. "Can't bullshit a bullshitter. Especially when she's connected to you emotionally through a magical soulmate bond." You shoved a bite into your mouth, realizing that you'd grabbed one of the apple pie slices. A pang of annoyance nudged you in the chest, and you rolled your eyes, "You can be annoyed all you want, but that's not telling me what's up with you."

He sighed, leaning his head back for a moment, before spinning around in his chair and giving you a look of annoyance. "If I tell you, will you let up?"

"Maybe." You smirked, taking another bite of pie.

"I..." He looked down, picking at one of the plates in his hand - a nervous tick. "I talked to Tony, today."

Oh.

Oh shit.

You hoped it was a productive conversation. It had to have been, if Bucky wasn't upset. Then again, he was attempting to hide his feelings from you. Maybe it wasn't, and he didn't want to tell you?

You set your dessert down on the bed, leaning forward in interest, "And...?"

"He..." Bucky cleared his throat, not looking at you. "He wants to have us see Dr. Collins." He finally looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Together."

You smiled, relief washing through you. This was good. If they saw Dr. Collins together, they might get to the root of their issues in a positive way that didn't include destroying the building... one can hope.

So why did Bucky look like someone pissed in his coffee?

"This is good, right?" You asked, confused. "Progress?"

"Yeah." He mumbled, looking back down at the dark, metal plates in his hand. "I guess."

"But...?"

"But-" His leg started bouncing up and down, and you could feel the nervous energy outside of the bond. "I'm a little... afraid about..." He sighed, shaking his head and closing his beautiful blue eyes, "I don't know. Doing all this-" He seemed to be struggling for the right words. "-opening up."

You nodded along as he paused, waiting for him to continue.

"What if... what if he still hates me in the end?" He rushed out, leg still bouncing. "I'm just... I'm so sick of people hating me for something I did when I was... him." He stood up, beginning to pace back and forth, and you had a feeling that he was about to explode. "I'm trying so hard. SO HARD. I..." He stopped, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. "I just... I hate what he did. I hate this. I don't want to go through all of this just for Tony to still hate me in the end."

He sat back down in his chair, hand running through his growing hair and leaning his elbows on his knees, "I'm just... I don't like this nervous feeling. That's why I was trying to hide my feelings. Because... I don't want to feel them." He looks back up at you, blue eyes full of sadness that hurt your heart. "Sometimes I feel like it's easier being him. He doesn't feel anything, and I barely remember half the shit he did."

"Bucky..." You sighed, standing up and moving to sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his middle and leaning the side of your head against his shoulder. "It's understandable that you don't want to feel the hard feelings. They suck ass." He snorted at your words, arms wrapping around you, but you kept going, "But you're human. Even if you're a supersoldier with some crazy serum running through your veins, you're human. Feelings make you human. Feelings make you Bucky, instead of him." You looked up at him, as his arms tightened around you. "I'm not going to pretend I'm Dr. Collins and say something irritatingly profound, but... I think you know exactly what Dr. Collins would say."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He sighed, pressing his face into the top of your head - warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. "He's annoying."

"He may be annoying, but he knows what's up." You chuckled, turning your head so you were looking into his icy eyes, "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, I know." He smiled, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, "I love you, too."

Shifting around, you moved so your arms were wrapped around his shoulders and your face was level with his, "I brought you french silk pie."

"You spoil me." He grinned, arms around your middle, "How'd your dinner with your parents go?"

You grimaced, rolling your eyes, "It was weird. It kind of feels like those two hours were a dream. I don't believe that my parents actually had a real conversation with me." He raised an eyebrow at you and you huffed out a sigh, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm happy. I'm glad that we can finally talk, but... it's just weird. I don't really know how to process it."

"Finally going to be one big, happy family, huh?" He laughed, poking you in the side. "Like The Brady Bunch?"

"First of all, when the hell did you have time to watch The Brady Bunch without me?" You narrowed your eyes at him, raising a brow in question, "Second of all, there's only three of us."

"I didn't watch it," He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at you before standing and setting you on the bed, turning around and grabbing his container of pie, "I read about it."

"STOP DOING THAT!!" You whined in annoyance, throwing a chunk of your apple pie at him. Oh my god, if he kept fucking doing that... "You need to actually watch these things! Stop reading the plot on Wikipedia! It's not the same!"

"I read faster than I watch!" He took a huge bite of his pie, crumbs falling onto the floor. "I can read the plot in a fourth of the time it would take to watch the whole thing." After another obnoxiously large bite of his pie, he set the container back on the desk, moving towards the bed, "If I try and catch up on all the shows and movies I missed over the last century, I'll be biologically ninety before I'm caught up."

As he moved the bag of containers to the floor, you held the slice of apple pie closer to your chest, "I'm not sharing my pie." You took another bite of the sweet pie, the taste of cinnamon on your tongue. He kept moving closer, and you turned your body away from him holding the pie away from him, "NO! You can't have my pie! You have your own!"

"If you don't put it on the nightstand it's going to be in the bed." He warned, an evil look in his eye. "I'm giving you three seconds."

You yelped, attempting to scarf down the obscenely large and sweet piece of pie as fast as you could.

"Three."

You scrambled away from him, but his arm wrapped around your middle as you continued to shovel the food in your face.

"Two."

"NO!!! I'm TRYING!" You giggled, tossing the fork onto the floor, but unable to reach the nightstand with the container full of whipped cream and a large chunk of pie still sticking in the container. You shrieked out a laugh as he tackled you into the bed, the slice of pie completely smearing all over your face and hair. "BUCKY!!"

"One."

--------------

Part 31 ...coming soon to a Tumblr near you.

660 notes · View notes

stressisakiller · 3 years

Text

Little Sister

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 8)

Summary: Tony has some explaining to do

Warnings: References to murder referenced child abuse also cussing, but I feel like its warranted

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Lot of new information in this one as well. Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!

Series Masterlist

<< Previous Next >>

When you were little, you had looked up to your father, what little girl didn’t believe that their father hung the moon? That quickly changed when you were five and your father took you with him to work. You had always wondered what kind of father could have done the things that your father did to you. Now you understood. A father who wasn’t your father at all.

Your eyes were wide as you stared at Tony, your thoughts going a million miles an hour, racing past in an almost unintelligible stream. Wait, he’s your brother? Not only your brother but your twin brother? That meant your father wasn’t actually your father. You weren’t related to that asshole at all! Fuck. fuck. You… you killed… how could you… how could he… no. no. no. There had to be a mistake, you couldn’t have. And yet.

All eyes were on you. Watching your emotions race across your face, watching as your eyes widened in understanding. Watching as your eyes glassed over and you broke.

The ground was hard, unforgiving under the weight of your body. Legs no longer willing to hold you as grief washed over you. A strange feeling of warmth brought you back. A hand sure and strong on your arm, a lifeline, pulling you out of the depths of your grief. Eyes focusing on the face of your soulmate crouching in front of you, concern etched in every line of his skin. Blinking the tears away you looked at him, the man you had saved, the only good thing you had ever done. His words rumbling in your ears as he murmured to you.

“Come back to me my love, the past no longer holds you, I am here.”

His voice pulling you firmly out of the abyss. Staring at his features just a moment longer before looking at the man who called himself your brother.

“How?” your voice sounded scratchy in your ears, “How are you my twin?”

Tony’s eyes were soft as he gazed at you, everyone else turned to him, waiting for the explanation.

“When I was young,” He began, taking a seat on the floor in front of you, “my parents told me that I was not meant to be an only child. I had a twin, a sister. My mother’s labor was long and arduous, we were not positioned in the best way for an easy birth. When I came out I was slightly blue, apparently, I wasn’t getting enough air while being born. The nurses took care of me, making sure that I suffered no lasting damage. When my sister was born, there was no crying, no sign of life. Mother said that the nurse seemed to be acting strange about it but that she was too medicated to do anything. The nurse pronounced the baby dead and took her from the room. My parents never saw her again, and they never truly recovered from it. When they first told me about it I thought nothing of it, but as I got older something about the story started to bug me.” He stood up at that, beginning to pace across the room,

“ I began to look into it, I searched for the records of my birth and found the hospital and the name of the nurse that had been in the room. I discovered that shortly after my birth she was found dead in an alley, a single gunshot wound to the head. That obviously piqued my curiosity and I searched deeper. I finally found that she had been given a large sum of money days prior to my birth. She was paid to steal one of Howard Starks’ babies. I found the proof in the police reports, they cataloged anything suspicious or strange at the nurse’s house. Specifically a note, she had written the day before she was killed, she said that she was sorry and that she had been forced. She didn’t give a name but in the corner, she drew an octopus.” He stopped, letting the information soak in. His body in front of your spot on the floor. Wide eyes looked up at him, your mouth parted in shock, realization flooding over you

“Hydra,” the name came from your lips little more than a breath. “Hydra paid her to steal me from my family.” Tony nodded slowly face solemn. “I could have been normal, I could have been raised by someone who loved me. My whole life is a lie.”

Anger and confusion began to bubble in your veins, thoughts of how much different your life could have been. Your fists clenching as the man you had called father flashed before your eyes. You stood quickly looking around at your friends, all of their eyes filled with pity save one. Bucky looked angry, pissed at the people that had done this to you. He caught your eyes and you motioned for him to follow you,

“I need a minute, I need to release some steam, or I will explode. I am going to the training room, I need to punch something and I’d rather it not be one of you.” Turning quickly you stalked to the practice rooms. Stripping out of your jacket and shoes, wrapping your hands before stepping onto the mats. Bucky mirrored your movements, knowing exactly what you needed. Stepping on the mat in front of you, he didn’t speak, he simply waited for you to make the first move. Stepping forward you struck, Buky blocking with one arm and throwing a punch with the other. Ducking you avoid his fist, bringing up your leg and kicking him in the stomach sending him back a couple of steps. And so you continued, falling into a steady rhythm, moving around each other in a violent dance. Years of training together are obvious in the knowledge you had of each other's bodies, knowing each other's weak points and yet choosing not to exploit them, at least not this time. Grabbing his arm during a punch and using your momentum to throw your legs over his shoulders you pull him to the ground in a chokehold. Both of you breathing hard as he taps out, your anger spent. You are ready to talk. Turning to leave the room, you are surprised to see Tony standing near the door watching.

“Hey,” you say, walking up to him.

“Hey, nice fighting there.” He said with a smirk.

“Yeah, well I’ve had a lot of practice,” you shrug, not knowing what else to say about it.

“Come on,” he said throwing his arm around your shoulder, “Let go talk, I know a great spot”

Tony leads you to the kitchen grabbing you water and a snack, and whiskey for himself, before leading you to the elevator. He presses a button that needs his fingerprint and you feel the elevator begin to rise. You end up on a roof terrace.

“This is my secret place, the place I go when the world and my lab get to be too much.” He gestures to the green space around you, a small couch and table in the middle surrounded by a multitude of plants. You can’t help but smile, it seems so opposite to the Tony you know to have a secret garden, and yet, it makes perfect sense. He leads you over to the couch, relaxing for a moment before speaking.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to take in today and it’s getting late but I really wanted to be able to talk with you before sleeping.” he seems nervous as he speaks as if he isn’t sure just how you will respond. To ease his nerves you give him a small smile.

“I would like that,” you state, turning on the couch so that you are facing him. “I still can’t believe that I’m your twin sister, especially considering that you’re now physically older than me. I hate that we didn’t get the chance to grow up together.” your brow furrowing as you speak, thinking about all the things that you missed out on.

“Hey,” He says softly placing his hand on yours, “it’s not your fault, and I’m just happy to get to spend time with you now, knowing that you are my sister.” Nodding, you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Can you forgive me?” your voice comes out as a broken whisper, “I killed our parents.” your head drops, and you feel the tears well up. “I murdered our father as he begged for our mom’s life, and at the time I felt no remorse. How could you ever forgive me? How can I ever forgive myself?” Your whole body trembled as you started to sob.

Tony pulls you into his arms holding you close as only an older brother can do, comforting you as the tears pour down your face.

“Oh little one,” his voice is soft, “How could I ever hate you? How could I not forgive you for something that you had no control over? There was nothing that you could do, the only one to blame for this is Hydra. Not you, not ever.” you pull back looking into his face, searching for any condemnation and yet finding none.

“I will admit that at first, I was furious, I couldn’t believe that someone I trusted could have done that to my parents. Then I walked away, and all I could hear was your broken voice saying that they did this to you when you were only 11. You were still a child and yet they did this to you.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing,

“I met this kid a couple of years ago, his name is Harley, he helped me out when I needed it. I thought about how old you were when this happened and my mind saw him. How would I feel if this kid came up to me and told me the same thing that you just did? As soon as I saw him, my anger at you was gone. My anger at Hydra on the other hand is alive and well.” His lip tugged up for a moment before falling.

“You’re my sister, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you know what it’s like to have a family that loves you.” He paused for a second before grinning, “Now about the Winter Soldier.” You smacking him lightly, chuckling through your tears.

“He’s my soulmate, so sucks for you, but he’s not going anywhere. I’ve worked too damn hard to get us free and safe to lose him now.” There was a ferocity in your voice as you spoke, Tony smiled to himself as he heard it, you had your spark back, he had been afraid that it was gone after everything that happened that day.

He raised his hands up in a placating manner,

“Alright, Alright the grizzly bear stays! Although I’m not sure how I feel about my little sister living in the same room as a boy.” The teasing sound of his voice and shit-eating grin causing you to laugh.

“Well tough, you may be my brother but that doesn’t mean you get to choose who I sleep with,” you said, grinning at the fake shock on his face at your words.

“Well I never,” His voice took on a thick fake southern accent, his hand dramatically clutching his heart, “That is no way for a young lady to speak!”

You giggled again leaning against him. You sat like that for a long while, just soaking in everything you learned today and how much your life had changed in the last two years. Stretching, you finally stood,

“I should go find Bucky,” you said looking at Tony, who was still seated. “I know he’s worried about me and we need to talk about everything.” Tony smiled,

“Well, I think I’ll just stay up here for a while and have a bit of a drink.” He raised the whiskey glass in his hand. “Let me know if you need anything and just ask Jarvis to lead you to your room if you need, it’s the same one as last time.” You nodded, giving him a small smile,

“Goodnight big brother,”

“Goodnight, little one.”

Walking into your room you were happy to see that it was mostly the same as last time, all of your stuff still on the walls. The main difference was the muscley man leaning against the headboard. His hair laid limp on his head, still wet from the shower, he must have taken. His eyes opened at the sound of you entering and he quickly stood and pulled you into a hug. You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when you felt Bucky shake his head.

“Shh Sunflower, we don’t need to talk about it right now. You are still the same woman I fell in love with, we just know a little bit more about where you came from now.”

You smiled into his chest, heartwarming at his words. Of course, he understood, who could understand more? You thanked your lucky star that this wonderful man is your soulmate. He pulled back, quickly kissing your forehead,

“Ok doll, it’s been a day. Go on and take a hot shower, make it as long as you need, and then when you’re done we can lay down.” He gently pushed you towards the bathroom. Stepping away from his warmth you grabbed onto his hand, pulling him with you.

The heat from the water running over your shoulders caused you to sigh. You were leaning forward, forehead pressed against Bucky’s chest as he gently washed your hair. Gently massaging the knots in your shoulders, causing your eyes to shut in exhaustion. He finished helping you wash up and gently helped dry you off. The adrenaline from the day had faded, leaving you dead on your feet. Picking you up, bridal style, he walked you over to the bed and softly laid you down, turning off the lights before he finally joined you. You snuggled into his chest, basking in the feeling of his heartbeat. The last thing you heard before succumbing to sleep was bucky’s soft voice,

“Sleep my little sunflower, I’ve got you.”

#hello sunflower #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #soulmate #marvel imagine #avengers fanfiction #stark!reader

41 notes · View notes

waywardnerd67 · 4 years

Text

Starving Affection

Summary: It had been five years since (Y/N) had any physical contact with another person. When she starts talking with a man online who reads her fanfics, a battle of her mind and body begins. When the time comes to meet him, she finds that there are still decent human beings in the world. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Sami (OFC), Plus Size!Reader Pairing: Jensen x Plus Size!Reader Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Smut/Body Image Distortion Word Count: 9256 A/N: Again, me working through my feels. Thank you for allowing me to do so.

My chest tightened. Jaw clenched until my teeth hurt. My body rigid and frozen as panic flowed through my veins. The overly friendly, new teacher had her arms outstretched towards me. If I had been a normal person, I would gladly hold my arms out as well embracing her kindness and affection.

I was not normal.

“Hey Katy!” My partner teacher and best friend, Sami, headed her off by stepping in front of me and taking the hit of affection.

There was a special place in Heaven for Sami and if not, I would fight God themselves to make it so. I could see Sami whispering to Katy and a nod of acknowledgement told me I would not have to worry about her advancements again.

“Sorry (Y/N), I didn’t know you weren’t a hugger. How about a high five?” Her sweet gesture had my trembling hand stretching out to her as she quickly slapped it with her own.

Only Sami could see my flinch from the physical touch of someone. Everyone else summed it up to my quirky personality and weird aversion to being touched. Thankfully our English department meeting was over and I could escape to the safe haven of my car. Sami was close behind me waving goodbye to everyone.

I bumped my shoulder to hers as she was the only one I had no problem with minor touching, “Thank you for taking that hug for me.”

She laughed, “You’re lucky I’m a friendly and huggy person. Hey, I meant to ask you before school today, but how is counseling going?”

I cringed, averting my gaze from her, “It’s… going fine.”

She stopped me with a tap on my shoulder, “The truth, please.”

I sighed as my shoulders slumped in defeat, “I stopped going,” I saw the incoming assault in her narrowing sky colored eyes.

“(Y/N)! You were making such good progress with this counselor. I was even able to give you a one arm hug.” The disappointment in her voice weighed my shoulders down even more.

I leaned against my car pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie, “I know, I know. She had me go to one of her support groups and everyone had to hug someone. I… I just couldn’t. I tried three or four times going to the group and I failed every time.”

My eyes fell to the ground, disgust filling my mind, “Yes, you really are as pathetic as you’re sounding.” My inner voice snarked.

I heard Sami sigh, “It’s okay. We can work through it together. We can keep doing everything you liked from her and work at your pace.”

Looking up, I forced my lips into a small smile to appease my only real life friend, “That sounds good. Thanks Sami for putting up with me.”

I made my way home to a small ranch style home that was off the beaten path. My grandparents had left it to me knowing I would love the seclusion of it. It was my Fortress of Solitude. The only living thing, other than Sami, to be able to snuggle with me was Charlie the cat. The copper Main Coon was sitting by the door awaiting my arrival.

My evenings were always the same. Check in with my mom for an hour on the phone. Make or order dinner, which tonight was ordering pizza for the leftovers tomorrow. Turning on my favorite TV show, Supernatural, on Netflix and working on one of my millions of fanfics.

“Yes, stay in complete denial by hiding in your fantasy worlds and falling in love with fictional characters. Loser.”

I pushed my inner thoughts to the very back of my mind and focused on my current series I was writing. Pulling up Tumblr, I looked in my notifications seeing someone binge reading my masterlist. My heart always swelled with joy whenever someone took the time to read my writings. This person was also leaving feedback as well.

“ChevyMan67: I love this version of Dean! You truly have captured his personality and sarcasm.”

“ChevyMan67: I can’t get enough of this series! Please tell me there is more to come. I need to know if Dean finally falls in love and gets his apple pie life.”

I read through every comment and looked at every GIF the reader posted. I hit follow on his blog then took a few screenshots from my activity page, pulling up a blank post adding the pictures.

“Thank you to @ChevyMan67 for binging my stories! Your feedback means everything to me!”

As soon as I posted it there was a notification of a reblog from him. He posted a GIF of Dean screaming with #Fangirling flashing underneath. My cheeks ached from the unusual tension of a genuine smile spreading across my face.

Online I could be anyone I wanted. I would virtual hug and blow kisses at my friends. I was able to be more like the woman I was. Social, happy, carefree, open to others. I could be the woman I desperately wanted to be but my mind would not allow.

“Stay guarded. Remember what happened when you trusted him? Trusted his family? Never again. You promised never again.”

My indeed guard held the line at the gate of my mind. She stood in full armor and shield ready to throw off anyone that even attempted to break through to the part of me that desired to be a whole person again. I shook my head with a firm nod and reaffirmed my promise to myself to never let anyone that close to me again.

As I was closing down her computer for the evening, a ding caught my attention as a message came from Tumblr. Opening the window, I saw a DM from my newest follower.

“Hey there, I just wanted to say thank you for following me. Apparently I’m a rarity on here for being male and a fan of Supernatural. I truly love all your writings and can’t wait to read more. Hopefully, we can get to know each other better and become friends. Anyway, I’ll leave you alone. Message me any time. Goodnight.”

I re-read the message several times before closing my computer. Sure I had people message me for small talk and a few close friends I had on there. This felt different. Something deep within me sparked and I did not know how to react. There was only one person I knew I could go to and her reaction was more frightening than the thought of responding to ChevyMan67. That night was the first of many restless nights for me.

A week later, I finally sat down and responded to him.

“Hey, I’m sorry it took me so long to respond. I’m… well, I’m not used to talking to guys here. I think it’s great that you’re on here and reading, BTW. I’m working on a few pieces right now, maybe you could beta for me if you have time. I hope we can be friends as well. Have a good weekend!”

I was nearly hyperventilating when I hit enter sending the message. I tried to work on my newest one shot story and ignore my anxious heart awaiting for the ding. It was not until I was in bed watching my favorite episode of Supernatural that my phone chimed.

“Tumblr: Message from ChevyMan67”

My finger hovered for a moment before opening the app. The message opened and I let out a air I had been holding in my chest.

“No worries. Everyone is busy and has their “real life” to attend too. I work odd hours and days all the time so I get it. I would LOVE to beta for you!!!! Reading your work before it’s posted online? HELL YEAH! I feel honored you asked and I’m fanboying hard right now. Crap… that sounded… I mean. Sorry lol. You can send your fics to [email protected]. Looking forward to hearing from you again.”

Over the next six months, Ross and I talked throughout our days getting to know one another. Three month into Tumblr messenger and dumb updates, he gave me his cell number to text one another. At times, I would have to catch myself from laughing while my students took a test. Everyone around me started to notice the small changes in me. Smiling more, talking more and one student commented on me wearing bright colors.

“You look good in yellow Miss (Y/L/N).”

However it was Sami who demanded to know all about the changes going on with me. We sat at our favorite restaurant, the first round of drinks being set in front of us. After the waiter took our order, Sami began her interrogation.

“Tell. Me. Everything. You’ve been keeping me at bay and I’ve respected your space, but you have seemingly blossomed in the last few months. Spill.”

I bit my lower lip as my phone sounded with an all to familiar chime. I went to grab my phone when Sami placed her hand over it, “Me first. Tumblr second.”

“It’s not Tumblr. Let me reply to him and then I will tell you everything.” I dared to look up to see my best friend’s face frozen in shock.

Her eyes wide and mouth gaping, “Him?!”

I nodded reading Ross’s message, “Hey I know you’re out with Sami and going to tell her about little ole me. I just wanted to make sure you were still thinking about what I asked last night. Can’t wait to hear from you soon. Not now though, have fun with Sami.”

I smiled, locking my phone and putting it in my purse looking back to my ridiculously happy friend, “His name is Ross.”

There was a loud, attention grabbing squeal from her as I shushed her, “Leave out no details…” she rested her perfect chin on her folded hands.

I told her all about Ross and how we began talking. I told her everything I knew about him and what he knew about me. Finally, as our food came out and drinks were refilled, I told her about what he had dropped on me the previous night.

“He asked me to meet him at the Supernatural Convention in Dallas next month. He already has the passes paid for and a few photo ops that we could share.” My heart raced at the thought of meeting Ross and meeting my favorite celebrities all at the same time.

Sami’s smile faded slightly, “Does he know about your struggles with being touched?”

I nodded, “It was one of the first personal things I told him. He’s still talking to me so I took that as a frightening good sign.”

“What are you feeling?” her point blank question shook me for a moment.

My fingers drummed against the table, “I’m nervous, scared, anxious…” I paused for a moment before looking up at her with a smile.

“I’m also excited, hopeful and curious.”

Sami held out her hands to me, palms up and I hesitantly placed my hands in hers. It was something we had been working on for the last couple of months. This was the first time I allowed her to squeeze my hands.

“You really like him.” She whispered smiling like a fool.

I felt my own smile mirroring hers, “Yes I do and that scares me shitless.”

The rest of the evening felt like the old days before my life fell apart. When I got home, I decided to test my luck. Pulling up Ross’s number, my thumb hovered over it until I smashed it hearing it ringing.

“Well hello, this is a surprise.” His velvety smooth voice sent shivers down my body, “Take a deep breath and know it’s okay if you hang up to just text me.”

“N-No, I’ll be okay.” I stammered as he let out a low chuckle.

I could hear him moving away from other voices around him, “I interrupted something…” Guilt and shame weighing my shoulders down.

“Not at all. They can wait, you calling me is an important moment. Not everyday, I get to speak to my favorite writer on the phone.” His compliments calmed my queasy stomach, “Could I be so hopeful that this phone call is working up to a good answer?”

I took a deep breath in and let out slowly, “Yes.” The word seems foregin to her as it left my lips.

“Yes I can be hopeful or yes to my question?” His jovial banter eased the tension in my shoulders.

“Yes.” I tried to sound a little more confident, my heart beating against my chest.

There was a moment of silence before loud cheering and yelling came through her speaker. His excitement was silenced by my own unfamiliar laughter. Suddenly I was hyper aware that he was no longer making any noises. Panic and fear swelling inside me.

A soft sigh came from him, “You have a beautiful laugh. I can’t wait to hear it again.”

My cheeks burned, “Thank you.”

Ross told me he would send all the details for our trip and that I was not to worry about money of any kind. Mentally, I began planning out how to save as much money as I could in the next four weeks. Thankfully, my savings was built up enough to take a small hit and not dip into her emergency fund. Over the next several weeks, I began to prepare for my first convention, first time meeting an online friend, first time traveling by myself, first time facing the unknown in five years.

The morning of my travel day, I went over to Sami’s house with Charlie. I was surprised to see her sister sitting there. She waved to me before taking Charlie’s crate.

“What’s going on?” I looked around seeing Sami’s suitcase packed by the door.

She smiled, “Your friend Ross, reached out to me.”

The color from my face drained for a moment, “H-He did… How?”

“He found me on your Instagram page. DM me asking me to join you on your trip. Stating and I quote, ‘I know you being there with (Y/N) will make her more comfortable. I want this weekend to go as comfortably as possible for her. I know it’s a big step and I want her to be taken care of.’”

She smiled softly as my vision blurred from tears slipping down my face, “Oh… wow.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty amazing (Y/N/N). If you were ever going to work on overcoming your touch aversion this would be the man to do it for.” Sami turned around to help her sister, leaving me to my own thoughts.

“Absolutely not! There is no way he is getting through my defenses. I have held strong for five years. Your heart and mind are safe within my holds.”

“Do you really think he’s going to want to touch you? Look at yourself. Lumpy. Chunky. Squishy. Dull (Y/C/H) hair. Boring (Y/C/E) eyes. Not even a decent pair of boobs or ass. You’re nothing special. Always remember that you’re nothing special.”

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) stop it.” Sami’s voice rang clear bringing me back to the present.

I nodded slowly, “Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Freaked out. We will work through it. Sara is gonna drive us to the airport and we have an hour to chat. Okay?”

It was in the moment that I noticed my best friend had absentmindedly placed her hand on my shoulder and I did not flinch. My eyes looked to her hand and back to her, “You’re touching my shoulder.”

“Crap, I’m so sor…” she started to say but my bright smile stopped her, “What?”

I placed my hand on top of hers, “I didn’t flinch or move or even notice you did it.”

Now her smile was matching mine and we had a moment of pure excitement jumping around each other. True to her word, we spent the hour on the plane doing some meditative exercises. I thanked every high power who would listen for my best friend getting her psychology degree.

There was a man waiting with our names on a piece of paper. He took our bags and drove us to a hotel near where the convention was being held. Sami checked us in since there were so many people inside and my anxiety started to flare up.

Breathe in counting to six. Breathe out counting to six.

I repeated my breathing exercise until Sami returned her brow furrowed, “What is it?”

“I don’t know who Ross knows, but he must be connected in some way. We have a suite on the fourteenth floor.”

My jaw dropped slightly before I stood up bracing myself for the next hurdle of getting through the elevator ride. Luckily, there were only two other girls in the car and I could safely keep my distance from them.

“I heard that Jensen is staying at this hotel.” One mentioned as the other rolled her eyes.

“Yeah right. This is Dallas, I’m sure he’s probably staying with his family or something.”

The girls exit on the eighth floor and before the doors could close Sami and I were chuckling to ourselves. The chances of Jensen Ackles staying at this hotel would be astronomical. The car dinged for the top floor and opened to a small hallway. When we opened the door to our suite neither of us spoke.

Sami walked throughout the entire room before I could even move from the entryway, “This room is amazing! Check out the view we have (Y/N).”

“Hold on. Having a moment.” I breathed as Sami came to my side and I held my hand out, “I’m fine. Just need a moment to make sure this is real and not a dream.”

I watched as she walked over to the coffee table where there was a gift basket and she held up a small notecard, “Oh it’s real.”

“(Y/N) and Sami, I hope you love your room. Enjoy your night and order anything you want. The front desk knows it’s all on my tab. I’m hoping you both will join me for dinner tomorrow night after registration. Sadly, my job won’t let me leave before then. I look forward to meeting you both. -R PS: I highly recommend the spa and they have a large private jacuzzi just for you, (Y/N).”

Sami sighed, “I really hope he has a single brother, cousin, friend that is like him for me.”

I rolled my eyes walking over to the large windows looking out. Flashes of the last time I was in Dallas popping into my mind. I shivered as the one voice I hated yelled loudly in my ears. My hands covered them and I felt Sami tap my shoulder twice. For the first time, in several years, I reached out to her and gripped her arms.

“(Y/N) remember why we’re here. Remember talking with Ross on the phone. The tone of Ross’s voice. His laughter.” Her calm tone eased me out of the wretched memory.

She guided me over to the couch and went to get me a glass of water. I sipped it slowly before squeezing her hand, “Thank you.”

“You know, I can get used to you reaching out to me. Feels like the (Y/N) I knew coming back.” Sami squeezed my hand back before I let slip from her grasp.

She was right, the woman I once was before my ex was fighting her way to get out again. Still, my guard was up standing fortified at the gate.

That evening was a girls’ night of epic proportions. They went to the spa where (Y/N) sat in her private jacuzzi while Sami received the best massage of her life. Afterwards, we ordered our dinner from room service making moderate choices since neither of us were paying. When our food came there was a special dessert also with another note.

“A little birdy told me that your favorite dessert was French Silk pie. I wanted you to have a slice and some New York Style cheesecake for Sami. Have a wonderful night.”

Sami whistled, “Man, he has it bad for you.”

“Shut up.” I muttered lifting the dome to see a delicious slice of pie.

As they ate and talked, Sami took my phone taking pictures of them enjoying a very Sam and Dean style dinner. Sami having a Chef’s salad with honey mustard dressing. I took a picture of my dinner sending it to Ross with a text saying thank you.

“Dean would be proud! That bacon cheeseburger looks good. Enjoy!”

I smiled the entire time I ate my burger. Finishing out meals, Sami hooked up her laptop putting on Supernatural. I decided to try and work on some stories when a terrifying thought crossed my mind. I looked up to the screen as Dean began to talk. I closed my eyes listening carefully to his voice. The low tone and smoothness of it. It was the way he said the word writer that had my eyes snapping open and a gasp escaping my lips.

“What? What is it?” Sami sat up concerning filling her eyes.

Like pieces to a puzzle everything snapped into place. All the small details that would go unnoticed by someone who would never expect it. Sami tapped my shoulder and I turned to her with wide eyes.

“Ross… that’s Jensen’s middle name.” I mumbled reaching for my phone.

Sami stood up pausing the episode, “Okay… what are you getting at.”

“Listen.” I played for her the voicemail he had left a few days earlier, “Now play the episode.”

Sami’s eyes connected to her, “No way.”

“Ross is Jensen Ackles.”

That night my dreams were filled with my ex yelling at me. Fat shaming me. Calling me a loser. Calling me useless for not being able to bear children. His looming form made me coward into a ball on the floor. I woke up several times during the night, the final time close to six in the morning. Sami was peacefully sleeping on her side of the bed.

I picked up my phone going into the living area and dialing the all too familiar number. On the third ring she was going to hang up, but then his groggy voice pierced my ears.

“(Y/N), is everything alright?” All I could hear was Dean, which meant that it was truly Jensen on the other side.

“You tell me, Jensen.” I heard him sit up as I began to pace near the window.

A long sigh came from him, “I knew you would figure it out before meeting me.”

I scoffed, “Is this some kind of celebrity joke or prank? Pretend to be someone’s friend and embarrass them when they meet you.”

My guard was shaking her head muttering, “Told you so…”

“No, (Y/N) it’s nothing like that. Misha had read some of your stories and suggested I should read them. At first, I thought it would be weird because I’ve never read fanfiction before, but your writing… it drew me in.” His words came out all in one breath.

I froze, “M-Misha read my stories? Oh god…” My body burned from embarrassment.

“Honestly, there’s not a person on our crew that hasn’t read at least one of your stories. You’re talented and the way you write for the boys is amazing. Our own writer’s are impressed with your talent.”

I groaned slumping down to the floor, “This was all a mistake.” The last thing I heard before ending the call was rustling around as if Jensen was moving from his bed.

My phone slipped from my hand as tears streamed down my face. I closed my eyes allowing my inner voices to consume me. Dragging me down into the darkness.

“You fool! Here I stood guarding you from this and still you allowed someone in. You deserve what is coming to you!”

“You useless piece of nothing! You’re the biggest joke this world ever created. Fat, ugly, even your body can’t do the one basic thing god made it to do. You’re worthless. Sucking up air that could be used on someone contributing to the world. No matter what anyone says you will always be the biggest failure in this world. You. Are. Nothing.”

I felt someone tapping on my shoulder and I tightened myself into a ball, “Go away Sami.”

The tapping continued and I reached out grasping an unfamiliar hand. My eyes snapped open and were met with concerning, piercing olive eyes. The eyes I stared at for hours on my TV. The eyes I wrote about in hundreds of thousands of words online.

As soon as my eyes opened he withdrew his hand and my heart sank further into darkness, “I told you. He will never want to touch your disgusting body.” The snide voice of my inner self whispered.

“(Y/N), please hear me out. Please for five minutes just listen to my side.” He sat across from me leaving a foot of distance between us.

I nodded looking up as Sami gently touched his shoulder, “I will be just outside if you need me.”

He waited for the door to close to start talking. His large hands rubbing against his cotton covered thighs.

“I started reading your masterlist on Tumblr and couldn’t get enough of your stories. I didn’t know exactly how to work Tumblr so Misha showed me how. I noticed you don’t get a lot of notes and I wanted everyone to notice you. I started sharing your work with everyone after sending you that message.”

He paused for a moment as I fidget with the hem of my shirt, “Why did you message me?”

His smile was more radiant in person, “It’s just as I said. I loved your work and I wanted to be friends. However, the more I got to know you… the more I wanted to meet you in person. I knew that would be problematic.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I scoffed looking down to my hands.

He inhaled a deep breath, “You connect with Dean Winchester the same way I do. To find someone like that is a once in a lifetime chance. I want someone who I can gush over Dean with because soon I won’t be hanging out with him as much and he’s the best imaginary friend I’ve ever had.”

Seeing Jensen open himself up to me was creating a battle of mind and body within me. He was just as nervous as I was to open up to someone else. Suddenly, I did not feel so alone in my isolation. My hand trembled as I reached over placing it atop of his.

“Dean Winchester saved my life and I don’t mean that figuratively. I was on the verge of leaping into darkness when I found him getting Sammy to find their dad. I found the strength to carry on because I knew that was what Dean would do. I found that being broken wasn’t a bad thing but something that could drive you to keep working. Dean helped me to feel again when I had become numb to the world around me.”

His eyes shined as I spoke trying to hold back his own tears, “I’m glad he could be there for you when you needed him the most.”

“Then you came into my life when I least expected it.” I whispered as I squeezed his hand.

My mind was screaming at me to get as far away from him as I possibly could. To call out to Sami to make him leave and move out of the state disappearing from the world. However, my body was urging me to jump into his arms. To open myself up to him as he had done with me. I felt like a spring coil ready to snap. My mind was holding my body back waiting for my consciousness to make a decision.

And she did.

I launched myself into his arms startling him as we crashed to the floor. His arms instinctively wrapped around me as mine encircled his neck. The door flew open as Sami came rushing in as Jensen’s laughter filled the room. I hugged him tighter to me as he tightened his grip around me.

“Oh my god… (Y/N), you’re hugging him.”

I did not need to open my eyes to know tears were slipping down my best friend’s cheeks. Her voice was thick with utter joy and amazement.

“Does this hug mean that you don’t hate me?” His question caught me off guard.

Jensen’s hands kept me in place as he sat up swinging my legs across his. My arms are still around his neck not wanting to lose the connection. Now that my body was against his, it flooded with the strange feeling of desire. Sami joined them on the floor sitting cross legged in front of them.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you. Though I’m still upset you lied to me.” I rested my head on my arm and against the side of his neck.

Feeling him sigh and seeing Sami grinning, I knew this was a big moment for all of us. We sat on the floor for another hour talking before Jensen had to go back to his room to get ready for the day. Neither of us wanted to let go of the other. He hugged me one last time before walking out of the suite. When I turned around I was immediately engulfed into another hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” Sami squealed.

“Thanks, I think…” My sentence drifted and she pulled away from me.

I walked back toward the bed and flopped face first onto it. I felt her crawl up on the bed beside me knowing me well enough to give me space.

“Talk it out, (Y/N). What are you feeling?”

My cheeks burned from the first feeling to pop into my head, “I feel warm, anxious, happy...” I paused gathering the courage to say the last word, “desire.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last one?” Sami eagerly asked.

I sat up, “Desire.” Saying the very word felt weird.

She began to clap and raised her hands in the air, “Praise the lord!”

“Don’t get all weird about it. I don’t know what any of this means. My body is tingling…”

Sami interrupted, “I bet it does…”

“Shut up, mostly not in that way. I don’t know how to act around other people anymore. What is too much touching? What is too little? What does a hug mean? I have too many questions and all the answers just walked out the door.”

I looked over as my phone chimed seeing a message from Ross, “I guess I need to change that now.” I murmured as I pulled up his message.

“First, thank you for trusting me with a hug. It means the world to me. I wanted to know if you wanted to have an early lunch with me? We could eat in my room or restaurant or your room with Sami. Whatever you are most comfortable with. Let me know.”

I held my phone up for Sami to read and she jumped off the bed, “You can have our room. I will go entertain myself by the pool.”

I texted him back that he could come to my room as Sami began tossing clothes out on the bed, “What are you doing?”

“Finding you the perfect outfit. Now go shower so I can play dress up with you.” She clapped her hands excitedly as I groaned loudly.

Looking in the mirror again, I pulled at the shirt clingy to every soft, round surface of my waist. I pushed my stomach watching as it bounced back into place like jello. Turning to the side, I sucked as many rolls as I could inward, holding my breath. The air rushed from my lips as a knock came from the door. Making my way towards it, I grabbed my zip-up hoodie slipping my arms in it quickly.

“Hi.” The word came out more breathlessly than I wanted.

My inner voice whispering, “Yeah fatty, let him know that walking across the room makes you lose your breath.”

“Hey there, I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and grabbed lunch for us.” Jensen held up a paper bag from a local sandwich spot.

As he walked in, I took a moment to truly admire him. He looked like a male model in his tight dark jeans, black boots, dark olive Henley and sunglasses resting on top of his unruly, sandy brown hair. His smooth voice caught my attention.

“You could take a picture and it would last longer.” He chuckled sitting down on the couch and laying out their lunch.

I sat on the opposite side of him as far away as I could. Even though my body desperately wanted to be closer to him, I kept my distance not pushing my mental capacity. He glanced over a hint of disappointment in his eyes seeing me so far away.

Jensen slid a sandwich towards me, “I remember you telling me that you love ham and swiss with tomato.”

“Thank you.” I unwrapped the sandwich and grabbed a bag of chips.

We ate in silence as a strange tension built between us. My stomach churning to the point I could no longer eat. I would look over to him out of the corner of my eye to find his eyes drifting over me. I wrapped my hoodie around me instinctively trying to hide the imperfections.

“There’s no hoodie big enough to hide your ugliness.” The familiar voice whispered.

I shook my head when I heard music playing, looking back to Jensen. He smiled sheepishly as he set his phone on the table.

“I thought maybe some background noise would help,” He stood up clearing the food from the table then stood in front of me with his hand out, “Trust me?”

His eyes were shining from the afternoon rays of sun coming from the window and his lips were spread in a gentle smile. I exhaled slowly allowing all the tension to leave my body and placed my hand in his. He pulled me up from the couch taking my hands and placing them behind his neck. His large hands slid down my sides to my hips and I flinched.

“You do know that you’re beautiful, right?” He whispered swaying my body with the music.

I shook my head, “I’m really not. Ordinary at best.”

Jensen lifted my chin, piercing (Y/C/E) meeting , “You are far from ordinary, (Y/N).”

“You’re just being kind.” I looked away as he slowly turned us in a circle.

The music continued but Jensen stopped moving, “I have so many questions but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or have you running to the hills.”

“Questions for me? Surely, you have better things to do with your time other than sitting inside with me. Don’t you have fans to entertain?” I smirked.

He chuckled, “Lucky for you, I happen to have the day off. I normally spend the day with my family. However this year they all ditched me.”

I mockingly acted shocked, “Oh no! You poor thing.”

His eyes narrowed in on me before laughing, “My mom and dad are somewhere in Spain enjoying their anniversary gift. My sister decided a girls trip with her best friends was better than hanging with me for the day. My brother is always busy with his family. You’re stuck with me.”

“I guess there’s worse ways to spend my day. Okay, ask away but I’m not promising I’ll answer them all.”

Jensen led me back to the couch, but kept ahold of my hand as we sat back down. He laced his long fingers with mine. His thumb brushing over my knuckle. I settled back against the couch once again wrapping my hoodie around me.

“What were you thinking when I put my hands on your hips earlier?”

I bit my lower lip, “I was mortified that you were touching my squish rolls of skin. I was thinking you must be disgusted by it.”

“Wow…” He squeezed my hand, “Whoever he was he really did a number on you. If I ask his name and address would you be against me and Jared beating the crap out of him?”

A genuine burst of laughter echoed in the room, “He’s really not worth it. Plus, he is much happier with his life now and that’s all that matters. He deserves to be happy.”

I was surprised to see Jensen face scrunched up in anger, “But you don’t?” He leaned in slightly, his features softening.

“No, I don’t.” The words came out without even a second thought and seeing Jensen recoil from them as if they had slapped him in the face twisted my heart.

His tongue darted out over his lips and the electrical energy between us sparked wildly, “You’re wrong. You deserve all the happiness in the world. Any man who told you otherwise is no man at all.”

He was leaning in closer, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart pounding in my ears and my body urging me to meet him in the middle. His forehead pressed against mine and his nose caressed mine.

“I’m going to kiss you.” he whispered.

“I don’t think I remember how to kiss back.” The pathetic confession was followed by a wayward tear slipping down my cheek.

His soft, full lips pressed gently against mine. My mind searched for the file within the long abandoned cabinets for how to kiss someone. He pulled away for a split second only to return his lips to mine. I found my lips pushing against his out of basic instinct. Our lips melded together for a moment before I felt him smile against mine.

His hands cupping my face, “I think it will all come back to you easier than you may think.”

I took in a deep breath letting it out in a short burst, “I think you believe in me too much for only meeting me a few hours ago.”

Jensen was still holding my face as he leaned back, “Other than Jared and Mish, I have never felt closer to anyone, but you.”

“You have your work cut out for you then,” I pointed to my head, “because it’s a nightmarish mess up in here.”

He leaned in kissing me once again, “You are worth every second of being with you because you’re stunning, smart, talented, caring and most of all you’re beautiful inside and out.”

I stared up at him speechless as my inner guard laid down her shield, “I like this one.”

“No… no one has ever said that about me. I-I don’t know what to say or how to react.” I stammered, unable to comprehend what he said.

He smiled widely, “Get used to that feeling because I’m preparing for you to feel that way a lot. Now, I don’t want to test your boundaries too much so I think we should hang out here and watch a movie.”

Jensen moved to the end of the couch resting his arm along the back of it and propping his feet on the table. For the first time in forever, there were no inner voices to keep me from doing what I desperately wanted. I moved over next to him resting my back into his side and stretching my legs out to the other end of the couch. His arm draped over the front of my chest and his fingertips brushed against my side.

This time there was no flinching and I smiled at the small victory.

The rest of the weekend was like a dream. Seeing the convention backstage, meeting all the rest of the other actors on the show and most of all Jensen’s constant touch comforted me throughout it all. Sami beaming with pride as I pushed myself to be in the crowd for the concert on Saturday. When Sunday came, I found myself riddled with sadness knowing I would have to leave this magical weekend behind.

Sami had decided to go back to the hotel while I waited for Jensen to finish his autographs. I had noticed Clif, the boys’ friend and bodyguard, staying close by me. When the last fan left the autograph room, he motioned for me to follow him. Entering the room, I found Jensen with his head down on his table while Jared and Misha were fooling around at theirs.

Walking up, I slid my hands over his shoulders and began rubbing the knots out of them. A small groan escaping his lips sent a wave of desire over my body. I moved my hands down his back eagerly wanting to hear him again.

“Hey, if you’re giving free massages away I’ll take one!” Jared called out.

Jensen’s head snapped up, “Don’t even think about it Padalecki. Her hands are too precious for your sweaty self.”

I chuckled as he stood up letting my hands drift down his back. I knew he was fit but his body was firm and lean in all the right spots. As he moved away I found my fingers stretching out to touch him again. All weekend I had found myself craving his touch. My mind was obsessively thinking about his hand in mine or my arms around his waist or his hands gripping my hips. My cheeks felt like they were on fire and I heard him chuckle.

“You okay? You kind of spaced out for a moment.”

I nodded smiling, “I’m great. Just thinking was all.”

“Well come on, you and I can grab something to eat then hang out in my room.” His arm slipped around my shoulders and instantly I relaxed into his embrace.

Dinner was unexpectedly crashed by Jared and Misha tagging along. We found a twenty-four hours diner near the hotel that was nearly empty and we all spent a few hours talking, laughing. I could not help the sadness creeping over me as the minutes passed by. Minutes I was losing to have Jensen to myself. As if he read my mind he excused us to head back to the hotel.

We walked in silence, hand in hand. Stepping into the elevator, he pulled me into his side and I wrapped my arms around his waist. His room was on the opposite end of the same hall as mine. Stepping inside, the door clicking shut as we stood across from one another. It was like a shotgun going off as Jensen closed the distance between us. His hands sliding down my body as his mouth crashed to mine.

As suddenly as it happened, it was over.

“I’m sorry… shit. (Y/N) I’m really sorry.” His pleads confused me for a moment.

Breathing heavily as he stepped back further from me I blurted out, “W-Why are you apologizing? D-Did I do something wrong?”

His dark forest eyes snapped up, “You do something… you didn’t do anything but be you, (Y/N). I just couldn’t stop myself. This weekend has been the best one in my life. Being around you, holding your hand, kissing you has rejuvenated me. I just want more of you, all of you. Simple looks you give, the way you hold yourself and the moment you open yourself up to reach out to me. I just found myself unable to hold back anymore. I know…”

This time it was me who closed the distance between us. My lips crashing into his. My hands running up his broad chest and into his soft hair. The soft moan escaping my lips as we parted.

“I want you to have me…” I whispered in between breaths, “I’m nervous with a bunch of what ifs running in my head.”

“Do you trust me?” The corner of his lip curling upward.

“Yes.”

Jensen took my hand leading me into the bedroom of his suite. He gently picked me up and sat me on the bed. He knelt in front of me, slipping my shoes from my feet then pulling my socks off. His thumbs pressing into the bottom of my feet as I began to giggle.

“Oh… now that is an amazing sound. I must hear that again.” He smirked, tickling my feet.

I fell back in a fit of giggles as Jensen’s laughter joined mine. I leaned up on my elbows looking down at Jensen resting his chin on my knee. He lifted his brows asking permission and I nodded. His hands drifted over my calves, up to my knees and over my thighs.

“You have incredible legs. I found myself staring at them as you would walk in front of me with Sami. Wondering how they would feel beneath my hands.” He gently squeezed them near my hips.

His knee pressed into the mattress between my legs as his firm body hovered over mine. My fingers brushed against the hem of his shirt pushing it up and hesitantly touching his stomach. Jensen sucked in a quick breath as his hands paused on his hips. I focused on the feeling of his smooth, warm skin beneath my fingertips. His flat stomach is surprisingly soft.

I grasped the end of his shirt pulling it towards his head as he pulled back allowing it over his head. Taking it from my hands, he tossed it on the floor. I took in every inch of his skin from his muscles flexing to the freckles decorating it.

“You beautiful, you know that?” I did not think he heard me until I saw the smug smirk on his face.

He leaned down kissing me, “Stealing my lines, sweetheart.”

His hands went back to my hips as his lips left a trail of kisses down my neck, “You think that your softness is revolting, but I find it inviting.”

I froze as his hand pushed up into my shirt touching my stomach. I squirmed as he pushed my shirt up just under my bra. My hands threading through his hair as his lips pressed small kisses against my stomach.

“Jensen…” The tension in my tone caught his attention.

His eyes filled with worry, “Too much?”

I took a few deep breaths and shook my head, “I’m fine, promise.”

“See there you go, being brave and pushing yourself. You have no idea how sexy that is.” He murmured against my skin.

As Jensen’s mouth neared the waistband of my jeans, I tugged his hair motioning for him to come back up to her. He smiled randomly kissing spots along my body. His lips finally met mine as I slid my arms around him. His tongue swiped across my bottom lip as they parted for him. His gentleness and care to make me comfortable broke down the last existing wall of defense.

Their kiss deepened. My body burned with a need to feel Jensen’s skin against mine and to be close to him in every way physically possible. Foreign pressure began to simmer deep within me and I lifted my hips pressing them against his thigh.

He pulled away his eyes blown with passion searching mine for an answer to a silent question.

“Please… take away everything he did. I want to feel whole again.” I pleaded just above a whisper.

His lips were on mine again as he gently lifted me up further onto his bed. Sitting up, I pulled my shirt over my head holding it in front of me for a brief moment. His eyes watching my every move as I tossed it over the side. He reached behind me with one hand unclasping my bra in one swift movement.

I kissed his collarbone as he leaned in to do so, “Show off.”

He chuckled before leaning back and allowing me at my pace to unveiling my bare chest to him. I slid the straps down my arms holding it in place before playfully tossing it at him chuckling. Joking had always been my way of dealing with uncomfortable moments. When I looked up his eyes were drifting down my bare upper body.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He smirked as I rolled my eyes at him, “Seriously, (Y/N)... you’re absolutely stunning.”

He ran his hand down my chest, between my breasts and down to my jeans. He undid the button and slowly drew down the zipper. Hooking his fingers with a belt loops dragging my jeans down my legs. I shivered as the cool air hit my skin. Jensen tossed them off to the side then began to place gentle, open mouth kisses up my leg.

My breaths were coming out in small little puffs the further up my leg he got. His mouth hovered over her cotton cover mound inching closer to it. My teeth dug into my lip desperately wanting him to press them against me. Instead he kept his path up my body stopping at my breasts. He cupped the side of one running his thumb over my nipple.

A long sigh escaping my lips from just the slightest touch from him, “O-Oh… Jensen…” His mouth had gently suckled my other nipple, the pressure turning to an ache between my legs.

“You have no idea hearing my name from your lips does to me.” He softly said before circling my nipple with his tongue.

Feeling bold, I slid my hand down between us running it along the hard bulge being restrained by denim. Jensen sucked in a sharp breath dropping his head between my breasts, “Shit…”

“I believe I have some kind of an idea.” I smiled as he grinded himself against my palm.

He stood up at the edge of the bed, his intense stare making me tremble with anticipation. Leaning forward, his fingers hooked the sides of her cotton panties and pulled them down until they were on the floor.

“Exquisite, flawless, perfect.”

“As are you.” I sat up until I was sitting on the edge in front of him.

My hands trembled as I unbuttoned his jeans and carefully unzipped them. Jensen let out a soft hiss as I brushed against his length. His hands cupped my face pulling my lips to his urgently kissing me. I pushed his jeans and boxers down as far as I could before he pushed me back onto the mattress. His hand drifting down my body until his fingers pressed against my folds.

“Jensen, please…” I begged needing to feel any kind of relief from the pressure pulsating from between my legs, “Ohhh… god.”

Jensen began to rub lazy circles against my clit. My hips grinding against his hand as his lips pressed just below my ear, “Are you okay?”

His question sober me from the drunken stupor of desire and I placed my hand over his pushing down further, “More than okay.”

Jensen pushed one long finger deep inside me with a hiss, “Fuck pretty girl, your so tight.” He slowly pushed a second finger inside.

My head pressed against the mattress, my back arching as he pumped his thick fingers in me, “More, oh please Jensen, I need more.”

His pace picked up and I looked up to his face. His eyes wide and dark watching me come undone as his thumb rubbed harshly against my throbbing clit, “Jensen!” I cried out overwhelming pleasure wrecked through my body.

Breathing heavily, my body shaking slightly as he pulled his fingers from me, “Now that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

A slow grin spread across my face as I pulled his mouth to mine. He positioned himself between my legs pulling away slightly, his lips grazing against mine.

“Are you sure? We can stop if you want.” Jensen’s tone was tense as I felt his length resting against my folds.

I kissed him, “I need you. All of you.”

He braced himself up with one arm as his hand slipped between us. Jensen ran the swollen head along my slickness before nudging it against my entrance. The room filled with groans and heavy breaths as Jensen slowly sheathed himself within me. There was a singe of pain as I stretched taking him his thick length but quickly was replaced with immense pleasure as he thrusted gently into me.

“So. Tight.” He panted against my cheek.

I wrapped my arms and legs around him digging my heels into him. Each stroke pushing me further to the edge. Feeling every muscle straining along his back and arms. His head buried in the crook of my neck grunting almost painfully. I knew then he was holding back.

I pressed my lips to his ear, “Jensen, I won’t break. You’re making me feel incredible, but I want you to let go. Show me how I make you feel.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he nipped at my neck and his hips snapped against me. The echoes of our skin meeting, loving praises and the headboard against the wall filled the room. I started to meet each thrust of his, the coil within me ready to snap. His hands were gripping my shoulders holding me against his burning body. I clung to him scraping my nails against his back making him growl again.

“Shit Jensen, I’m so close. Just a little more, oh god please!” I beg as he thrusted into me feverishly small grunts coming from him, “Yes, yes, oh… Jensen!”

My whole body was shaking as an intense wave of euphoria covered me. Pulsating around him, he abandoned all control chasing his own release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He gritted his teeth as his body went rigid before slamming into me his length twitching deep within me, “Holy shit…”

Jensen rode out his release, his arms shaking to the point he could not hold himself up anymore. I groaned as he pulled out leaving me empty. He rolled onto his back breathing heavily as I curled into his side burying my head into his chest.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” His concern only made me cling to him more.

I shook my head, “No, I’m just overwhelmed. Too many feelings at once.”

“Talk it out. Tell me what you’re feeling.” Jensen wrapped his arms around me holding me close.

I took a deep breath, “I’m feeling exhilaration, bliss, pleasure. Right now, I’m feeling empty and it’s almost like I can’t breath. I feel scared by how much I need to feel your touch.”

His fingers were drawing small circles against my bare back, “If that’s your way of asking for round two, you’re going to have to wait for a little bit. I haven’t come like that since I was a teenager.”

There was a brief moment of silence before I started to laugh. My body shaking from the laughter pouring from my lips. I kissed his chest, “Thank you.”

“You never need to thank me. It’s my honor to make you laugh. Bring your pleasure. Praise you for your beautifulness. More importantly, always holding you close to me.”

I entwined my legs with his as he pulled the sheet over our naked bodies. Just when I thought he was about to fall asleep, I slipped my hand over his soft member then pressed my lips just under his chin.

“Round two?”

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @deans-baby-momma @spnbaby-67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @carryonmywaywardcaptain @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @dwgrl1903-blog @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @superromijn @witch-of-letters @time-travel-bouqet @screechingartisancashbailiff @myinconnelly1 @sister-winchesters99 @thekatherinewinchester @maddiepants @tumbler-tidbits @sandlee44 @destielhoneybee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @thefaithfulwriter @stoneyggirl @supernaturalginger @emoryhemsworth @wednesdayismyfunday @team-free-will-you-idjiot @atc74 @cosicas-cuquis @casseythebee

#jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles x plus size!reader #jensen ackles #angst #fluff #smut

114 notes · View notes

ourimpavidheroine · 3 years

Note

You've given us your favorite records, so how about your favorite movies?

Okay, sure! Under a cut though, because it’s long.

In no particular order!

Strictly Ballroom (1992)

Oh my god, one of the funniest movies ever made. Every single thing about this movie makes me laugh out loud - in fact, I laughed so loud in the theater when I saw it the first time I’m surprised they didn’t kick my ass out. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched and re-watched it. My late wife and I used to quote this film back and forth to each other all the time.

“Arms, Clary!”

“That was unexpected.”

“I’ve got my happy face on today!”

There’s a lovely little romance going on and a quote that I live by:

A life lived in fear is a life half lived.

Thank you, Baz Luhrmann.

Bringing Up Baby (1938)

Screwball comedy romance with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. Still funny, over 80 years later. Mistaken identities, a harrassed archeologist and a clueless rich girl, so on and so forth. If you watch it, you will see shades of Wu and Sayuri in Susan, for sure. (And some Zu in David.) The comedic timing of this movie is sheer and utter perfection. Not a single beat wasted. Brilliant, the entire thing.

Moonstruck (1987)

God, what isn’t there to love about this movie? CHER. A woman coming up on middle age who has settled into widowhood without a whimper decides to marry a man she’s fond of for no other reason than she thinks she should meets the fiance’s younger brother and her entire life goes, as her Italian Catholic mother says in the middle of church, “...down the toilet.” This movie was handled with so much love and care, it deserved its Oscars. If you’ve never seen it, you should.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)

I saw this movie the one and only time I visited the States after I moved to Finland. I had left my wife here in Finland but had my 20 month old autistic twins along and my mother was being beyond horrible to me and I was exhausted and just wanted to go home. There was one afternoon where my favorite uncle came to me, gave me his car, and told me he was going to watch the kids and for me to go out and have a breather. I decided to see a movie - I can’t remember which one - but the paper had gotten the time wrong and it had already started by the time I got there. I asked the woman selling tickets what she recommended that was coming up and she very fervently told me to go and see this one.

Still one of the best movies I have ever seen. The acting is so subtle, so beautiful, and the scenery! The ending broke me, just shattered me into a million pieces. Years later, when my wife died, I knew exactly that feeling of desperately wanting to go back in time and somehow do it all right and all I can say is, both Michelle Yeoh and Zhang Ziyi get all of my love forever for doing it the way they did.

I bought it when it finally came out on DVD with English subtitles and I made my late wife watch it with me and she sobbed at the end and told me I was cruel for making her watch it. (Guess what, babe? You were crueler for making me live it.)

The Handmaiden (2016)

Normally I am not all that keen on books being made into movies. I fucking loved Sarah Waters’ Fingersmith and wasn’t sure about it being taken out of its Victorian England setting into 1930′s Korea but oh my god I have never been happier to have been proved wrong in my life. THIS FILM. Listen, it is one of those rare times when a book and an adaptation can stand next to each other, equally as good, equally as strong, despite the differences. There is so much to unpack about women’s experiences with sex and how that compares to how men dictate those experiences to them and the movie never drops the ball with this. Frankly, I had seen Oldboy and Snowpiercer (among others) and I really did not think Park Chan-wook had it in him and shame on me for that.

Warning: this movie is HOT.

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

This is a damn good movie. Charlize Theron elevates anything she is in, and as Furiosa - dirty, grim, disabled, clinging on to tattered hope with desperation - she just takes this film to another level. Plenty of other good performances - including Tom Hardy, who’s never afraid to drop himself into a role - and some frankly astonishing editing work by Margaret Sixel as well as a male director who understands, deeply, how to film women without subjecting them to the male gaze. This is not a schlock film, despite the franchise it belongs in. It’s good.

I saw this film the night before my wife died; the last time I spoke to her on the phone I told her that I’d take her with me to see it again, I knew she’d like it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to separate this film from that loss, but that’s how it goes sometimes. Still wish you could have seen it, babe. You would have loved it.

The Great Race (1965)

Is this a great movie? Not critically speaking, although Jack Lemmon is brilliant, as he almost always is. Rather, it was a movie my father and I loved together, and I have so many good memories of watching it with him whenever it would play on TV (these were the years before VHS even, never mind Netflix) and eating popcorn and laughing together.

We loved the huge pie fight scene so much that on my 16th birthday my father bought 3 dozen store bought pies, defrosted them and/or baked them (with the help of our neighbor, who was in on the secret) and he woke me up that morning, told me to get dressed and come outside, and he got me with a pie to the face right as I walked out the door and the two of us chased each other, throwing and dodging pies, making an unholy mess, slipping and sliding all over our deck and driveway, stumbling and laughing hysterically.

It is one of the best memories in my life. How many other girls can say their fathers gave them a pie fight for their sweet sixteen? This movie makes me laugh and, more importantly, remember my father with so much love.

The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

I did love all three of these films. Were they perfect? No. (I am still salty about Faramir’s entire movie arc and the fact that Merry was just Pippin 2.0 instead of the distinct character he was in the books.) But they were made with so much love and heart by people who loved and cared deeply for the source material. And they were astonishing in scope as well. Just glorious to see in the theater.

I first read those books when my father lent me his copies when I was eight and they were a vital part of my growing up; to see Peter Jackson and his entire cast and crew love them as much as I did was genuinely special for me.

The other two films are just as good with some astonishing moments (Billy Boy’s last minute song in The Return of the King still gives me goosebumps) but this was the first one, and just remembering holding my wife’s hand as we both gasped together over the scope of it was a memory I will keep with me always.

When my wife and I went to see this one here in Finland I was pregnant with my twins and I was like, oh my god, please die already Boromir because were twins on my bladder and I knew if I didn’t get to a toilet soon it was going to be all over. (It was a long movie without a pee break for a pregnant person, let me just say.) I was never happier for a tragic end to a movie in my life, LOL.

The Matrix (1999)

Dude. Dude. Just the concept of this movie. The Wachowski sisters have never limited themselves and that’s what makes them so different and so exciting. One of the greats of Sci Fi and, as far as I am concerned, one of the greats bar none. Yeah sure, I know it isn’t a critical darling but lord, I am not a film critic, just someone who loves movies. And I love this one.

(And excuse you, Elon and the rest of you alt-right men’s groups, you dicks, for appropriating the whole blue/red pill thing: it’s a concept from two trans sisters, so fuck right off with that.)

My best friend, who saw it with me the first time (I took my late wife to see it later in the year when she arrived in the States) laughed at the whole little kid with spoon scene. That’s like listening to you, she said. I never know what is going to come out of your mouth or whether I’ll understand it in the moment but it will eventually make sense to me. Which pretty well sums me up, I think. And this movie as well.

The Piano (1993)

There is a moment, in this gorgeous, deeply beautiful, aching film, where Harvey Keitel fingers a small hole in Holly Hunter’s stocking and it is the most erotic heterosexual thing I have ever seen. Trust a woman director to understand why women would love this. There’s Harvey Keitel’s character: older, soft around the middle, barely literate, covered with traditional facial tattoos. He’s nobody’s idea of hot. But he understands what this woman in particular needs, understands what she is telling him without words, and that’s what he gives her and it is erotic beyond measure. It’s not about what he looks like; it’s about how he understands her.

Holly Hunter does this movie without speaking a single word or getting any subtitles and short of a few brief translations by Anna Paquin playing her young daughter still manages to express herself. It’s brilliant acting. (And look, I know - today we’d look for an actress who was mute to play the role, and rightfully so. It still doesn’t take away from Hunter’s performance.)

Ada drowned in the original script but Jane Campion changed it at the last minute when filming and it was the right choice. The absolute right choice. Ada deserves her freedom and her chance to pursue her own happiness.

#my favorite movies #personal #Anonymous

7 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 4 years

Text

—𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅;

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 7.9k+ (missed 8k by like 20 words welp)

summary: Is it possible to hate and miss someone in the same breath?

warnings: swearing, violence/blood, angst.

notes: Well, we have arrived at canon events soldiers. This is going to be one bumpy ride so fasten your seatbelts ladies, gents and others. And enjoy!

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | . . | 07 |

OPEN CONTRACT:

JOHN WICK

2 MILLION USD

BY: VIGGO TARASOV

The light emitting from your phone screen is the only one in your room, and you breathe in and out slowly, thinking.

Of course, the team was going to fail. Five years or not, John is still…

He’s still John Wick.

It almost makes you wonder what exactly Tarasov was thinking sending such an insulting number to his front door. But you wouldn’t have known about the dinner reservation John rang in if it hadn’t been for Winston who shared the information with that accepting, knowing air about him.

There’s a storm coming.

Seems like the Bowery King was right to say such a thing. Because Iosef—that cruel, stupid, petulant moron—has now unleashed hell upon his own family and himself. If there is anything of the old John still left inside, you know that he will tear New York to shreds to uproot the young idiot from his hiding spot. There is no hole left in this city where John will not eventually find him.

You swallow, locking your phone, and run your hand harshly over your face.

This—you don’t need this right now. Not when you have yourself to think about, and especially not when there are clearly individuals out there gunning for you and Santino, too.

John belongs in the past, and it makes you wonder if it’s some cruel joke that life keeps pushing him back into your path.

2 million contract though.

It won’t surprise you if it’s money Tarasov took from Santino for your own job. The sum feels too deliberate and Tarasov knows that the news will reach you soon.

Rising from your seat with a jerk, you grab your jacket and walk towards the door. You can’t focus on work right now less you mess up, and this waiting for the axe to drop is starting to drive you insane.

Winston is out, you know that much, but the bar is always open.

Slumping in the elevator, you close your eyes, trying to imagine what all this could mean.

A war, for one. A bloody one.

John has never given up on anything and you recall the empty look in his eyes the last time you saw him. For Iosef to come into his home and to take that very last shred of peace and hope from him—

The elevator rattles to a stop and you pull the door to one side, stepping out.

“I apologise, Mr. Wick,” Charon’s smooth voice reaches your ears and your head jerks towards the reception desk. “But I cannot give out information about other guests.”

John stands facing the concierge, his back to you, and seeing him in his old suit takes you back five years. It’s both devastating and chilling to see him back here. The lobby may look different but this moment is like watching a memory loop.

“I just need to talk to her.”

He sounds—

Charon’s expression doesn’t ease. “I apologise, sir Wick, but we respect the individual privacy of those that stay with us. Even if you were once…associates.”

The slight edge in Charon’s voice surprises you. It’s not the kind of thing you would expect from him, especially considering that Charon and John have always had an amicable relationship. But that’s in the past, you remind yourself. It’s been five years since they’ve last seen each other.

“It’s okay, Charon,” you interrupt, walking up to the reception table and ignoring the many curious stares that you can feel drilling into you. “I’ve been expecting him.”

John turns upon hearing your voice and you meet his stare evenly.

Scraps and bruises mar his face, and you bite back a sarcastic comment about how he must be losing touch. But the time of teasing and ease between you has long since passed.

John doesn’t say anything to you but you see everything you need to know in his eyes. That, at least, hasn’t changed. He’s only guarded when he wants to be.

“Only Winston can reach me,” you remind the concierge without breaking eye contact with John, and incline your head towards the elevator.

You turn without waiting for a reply and start heading back, your eyes sliding over the curious onlookers with a clear warning. Most drop their eyes but a few brave enough still hold your stare, gaping openly. John follows behind you silently and comes to stand at your side, both of you waiting for the elevator to arrive down without a word.

The journey to your room is deafeningly quiet and little by little you keep adding to your armour. This will be a storm to weather, and you need to be ready.

“Same room,” John notes calmly. “Some things don’t change.”

“And some do,” you remark pointedly and invite him inside. “Water?”

He shakes his head, and you gesture for him to sit down, which he does.

John is rigid. As always his features are calm, but an old, familiar tension lines his frame and you drop down on the seat in front of him. The very same chair that Santino sat in only a few days ago. If you inhale deep enough you can still pick up faint traces of his cologne.

John gazes at you for a long moment but you don’t rush ahead. You simply sit there, already knowing what he wants, but hearing it from his mouth is a whole other matter. So you wait, expectant.

“He killed my dog.”

You stare at him flatly, still silent. John, seeing no reaction, leans closer and it’s hard to look into his dark eyes. You’ve spent so much time looking up to him—at him—that it makes you feel caught between two different times in your life. The past with him in it, and the present where there’s just you and a sparse few individuals you consider your own.

“Where is he?”

Your smile is slow coming before you chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair, staring at him through narrowed eyes.

You understand his grief and anger and need for revenge. That’s all perfectly fine with you. Those things are familiar, safe. Those emotions embody you both in different ways—always have.

But—

“Do you have any idea what you are asking of me?” you wonder idly, softly, gazing at him pensively.

John’s lips press together and his head lowers for a moment though you don’t miss the flash of guilt there.

So he is aware, at least there’s that.

For a minute, you’re both silent; he with his head bowed as if repentant, and you with an icy, hard stare that won’t let him escape now. If he wants this, if he really believes he has any right to ask it of you, you will hear it directly from his mouth.

“I know it’s a lot—”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, rising to your feet and your hands clench into fists as you round the seat, not looking at him. That bitter, cold hurt floods your veins once again and your teeth grit harshly. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me. Even if I knew where the hell Iosef Tarasov spends his time—which I sure as hell don’t—do you have any idea what happens to me if I tell you?”

John looks up at you, but his voice is calm as always when he speaks. “No one will ever know that it was you—”

“You are asking me to throw away seven years of hard work,” you whisper but the quietness of your words slices through the room like a scream. Your eyes meet John’s and you wonder if your wariness and disappointment are as clear to him as they are inside your chest. “Seven years of murdering in that man’s name, and now that I am a breath away from freedom, you ask this of me? Tarasov will know that it was me because he knows you would go to me first. Even if he doesn’t get to me himself, you already know what the High Table will do to me for such a betrayal.”

“After Helen—” he begins and his voice catches, his low baritone trembling. He blinks, his head lowering and you swallow weakly, turning your head away from him. His pain is too raw and you don’t want it to soften your heart, to drive you to him again. It’s no longer your job to comfort him. “After she died. That dog is all I had, (Name). My only hope. I was no longer alone. I know you understand that better than anyone.”

You do. You did.

Once you would have waded through a river of blood for him with a smile on your face. Once you thought you understood him better than anyone, and him you.

“We were close once, John,” you admit even though it sounds like a hilarious understatement of what you had. “But that door closed a long time ago. I can’t help you.”

John’s lips part to reply but the shrill ring of your phone fills the air and your eyes flutter closed before you pull it from your pocket.

Your heartbeat jumps at the name reflecting back at you.

Santi.

Not looking at John, you answer, lifting the device to your ear. It’s an effort to force your voice into neutrality. “Hey, grumpy,” you greet with a slight smile. “How is Vancouver treating you?”

A chuckle sounds on the other side and your smile widens. “Ah, cara mia. Rather cold,” he notes pleasantly though still manages to sound petulant about it. “And very boring without you here to keep me company. Business is good though.”

“Good,” you say, and stare at your dark carpet with dread coiling your stomach. “Listen, can I call you back later? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’ve heard about John. I assume you have as well.”

You go still. For a second, you think even your heart skips a beat. Except it’s the exact opposite of a happy sensation.

“Yes.”

There is a pause. In the distance, you think you can hear the sound of rushing water. Santino likes being near water. It reminds him of home—of his childhood and his mother. For a moment, you almost wish you were there with him instead of here. Here in this room with the personification of your heartache and lost love sharing your breathing space.

“Have you talked to him?”

Even though it pains you to do so, you can’t force yourself to lie to him. “Yes.”

You know he gleans as much from your tone and answer as you do from his silence. The suffocating, dreadful silence that is so unlike him—especially with you.

“Is he with you right now?”

His voice is quiet, his accent heavier as if the words take substantial effort to get out, and you work your jaw restlessly.

“Yes.”

The silence on the other side is an endless, ugly thing and you feel oddly helpless. You don’t like how this is making you feel. You don’t like the fact that you are forced into this situation in the first place.

“I see,” he says, at last, his voice stilted. You don’t miss the switch to Italian either. “Do look after yourself, cara.”

“Santino—”

From the corner of your eye, you spot John’s head snap in your direction, his eyes full of surprise.

But the line goes dead. Your hand lowers and you stare at the phone for a second, your fingers tightening around it. It doesn’t ring again.

“Santino?” John wonders and his quiet voice is loaded with things unsaid.

You don’t look at him when you answer. “He’s my friend.”

It feels hollow saying it. Because he is that but—

I am a patient man. I can wait.

“Santino doesn’t have friends,” John points out neutrally, and you feel your head slowly turn in his direction. Whatever he sees on your face seems to give him a pause.

“He does now.”

This time the silence between you is different. For the first time since your reunion at the cemetery, John seems to be looking at you with different eyes. Fresh eyes that finally understand the passage of time. Eyes that note the difference in the way you hold yourself. In the way you no longer lean into his shadow hoping to make it your home.

You are your own shadow now.

“What I said earlier still stands,” you tell him flatly, finally putting your phone away even though it sits like a heavy weight in your pocket. “I can’t help you. I understand, I do. But I’m not going to forfeit my life for this.”

John stands, coming closer. “(Name)—”

You turn away from him, heading towards the door. “But I’m not the only individual residing in this building with the power to help you.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you see him straighten, understanding shining in his eyes.

The bar is a buzz.

It’s Friday night so you suppose that should not surprise you that much.

The stares that follow you and John even more so.

For most, seeing you together is either a novelty or a call from the past. You’re unsure how it makes you feel. It’s as simple, as comfortable, by John’s side as it's always been. But you lack the ease you once carried around him. Back then your trust in him was so absolute but now only pieces of it remain.

Perkins spots you, her pretty lips twisting into a sneer when you wink at her, her expression relaxing only when she sees John next to you. She salutes him with her drink and it makes you smirk.

Aiming high as always.

Envy and jealousy have always been easy for her. She’s never been able to let go of the knowledge that she’s in your shadow; her accomplishments always being compared to what you have achieved in the past. You’ve never intended for there to be bad blood between you but it seems that you both carry a natural dislike for one another.

After Santino, however, she no longer approaches you as brazenly as she once did.

Remembering that confrontation still makes you grin.

Winston sits in his booth as per usual when you approach him, working; a drink and a cigarette in front of him. You smile despite yourself.

“Martini kind of night, is it?” you call as you come to a stop before him, and his head lifts at the sound of your voice. He registers the sight in front of him and leans back slowly, taking you both in while you stand side-by-side. “Brought you a guest.”

“Winston,” John greets, and the warmth in his voice is genuine. It doesn’t surprise you though. These two men were friends once. Perhaps not the same level of friendship as you and John but there’s still enough history between them. “Good to see you.”

“Well, well,” Winston begins, pleased, a smile lingering on his face. “This is a sight I never thought I’ll get to see again. The Boogeyman and the Viper, together again. Reunion of the century, if I do say so myself. Sit down, Johnathan. You as well, dear,” he adds when he notices you eyeing the bar.

You hesitate but sit down after both men fix you with an expectant stare.

Your eyes track the people inside the room, most either openly staring or whispering under their breaths when they look towards your booth.

“Have you really thought this through?” Winston’s question brings you back to the present, and his voice carries a note of something almost patronising. Like John is already in too deep and has no idea how much worse it can get. “I mean really chewed it down to the bone. You put so much as a pinky back into this pond, and you may find that something latches on and drags you back to its depths.”

“I just want his son.”

You click your tongue before Winston can answer and give John a sideways look. “Let me tell you something interesting about Viggo and Iosef, John,” you say, your voice forcefully calm as your fingers drum against the pocket where your phone sits. “Iosef is a spoiled, rotten little bastard who’s going to run his father’s empire to the ground because he lacks the drive and the spine to carry his work through. Viggo knows this too. That being said, make no mistakes. If you go after his son, Viggo will unleash hell upon you. Do you really think he will let his only son’s killer live on in peace? You know what kind of man he is.”

A man like us.

Tarasov is a different side to the violence and the hardship that has forged you and John. He’s the power, the influence, the order. You and John are the cruxes, the foundation, the bricks he used to achieve those things with.

Winston takes a small sip of his Martini, his gaze both amused and pointed. “She speaks the truth. And I would encourage you to listen.”

You blink, shooting a brief look of surprise Winston’s way but the man only smiles faintly.

John looks unhappy but knows better than to argue. Despite his silence, you know that he will not drop this. He can’t. He doesn’t have it in him; the capacity to let this go.

John Wick is only a hurricane you can weather and hope for the best.

“You are amongst friends here, Johnathan,” the manager states and you know from his tone that he means you specifically. Old, sly bastard. “Now might be the perfect time to sit down, have a drink, and relax. Work through old problems to gain fresh…perspectives.”

It’s an endeavour to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“I need a drink,” you mutter instead, rising from your seat and wandering towards the bar.

Then, somewhere between the booth and the bar, it hits you. Like a brick to the face and you practically collapse onto the small chair.

John is back.

Back here in your atmosphere again. Till now it’s been like some surreal illusion with the added benefit of his presence never fully sinking in.

But he’s back.

Your muscles tense when he comes to a stop behind you, hesitating, before slowly lowering himself down beside you.

He’s come back to this world, just like the Bowery King said that he might, but not for the reason you might have hoped.

When the King said he might come back, there had been a tiny hope in your chest that if—if—he really did come back that it would be for you. Because, perhaps, if nothing else, he wants to be with you as a partner if not a lover. That perhaps he wants to try and mend the deep-running hurt between you.

But no.

John is not sitting beside you because he wants to be with you. Not even because he wants to be back in this world.

He’s back because he wants revenge. Because his wife’s dog was killed—his last connection to her—and now he has nothing.

Perhaps, it could have been different if you’ve stayed that night of the funeral when he asked you to.

But, perhaps, you would have also lost whatever little of your old self still remained if you did.

I will never abandon you.

Your heart clenches at the sudden, unbidden memory. Santino.

“You really have changed,” John speaks up suddenly, glancing your way. His eyes focus on your hands and he visibly hesitates. “You don’t wear it anymore.”

Your fingers curl loosely at his observation and you stare at the bar blankly. It’s true that his viper ring no longer lives on your hand but you wish it were that simple.

“I survived,” is all you offer in reply; an echo of his words from seemingly a lifetime ago now. “I survived.”

Without you, goes on unsaid but you know he gets your deeper meaning by the way he looks away from you. As if ashamed.

Addy brings your usual and you observe her open delight at seeing John again.

“Hell, it’s so good to see you both together again,” she exclaims with a bright grin. “Just like old times, huh?”

John dips his head in a nod with a discreet look in your direction. You don’t say anything.

“Compliments of the house,” she announces as she places a drink in front of him as well.

Something scribbled on the napkin catches your eye and you suck in a sharp breath.

Red Circle.

You both turn around almost immediately, looking towards Winston’s booth. The man smiles slightly, enigmatic as always, and raises his glass to you in a silent cheer.

John’s heavy stare moves to rest on you, but you keep eye contact with Winston for a moment longer. You’re not sure what exactly the look in his eyes means, but when you finally do look towards John what you see there surprises you.

He looks hopeful.

So hopeful that for a moment it clenches your stomach and heart like an unyielding fist.

In that look, you see years of partnership, of protecting each other, of being a team. A lethal, harmonious duet of death.

But you’re not that anymore.

You are you, and John is John. A grieving husband.

Not yours—never yours—and you’ve accepted that a long time ago.

And yet.

He still calls to you.

Even through the pain and the rage, there’s still an ember of something.

But even so.

Your head turns back towards the bar, your drink, and you force out a choked, “Happy hunting.”

He lingers for a breath, his disappointment palpable before he walks away without another word.

You don’t look back at him as he leaves.

Your steps cut a tight line. Back and forth, back and forth. Agitated.

“I’m surprised.”

“Don’t be. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.”

A laugh. Amused. “Then I shall exercise patience.”

“You do that.”

You don’t wait for an answer.

The line crackles on the sixth ring. Not that you expect anything else. He likes to keep you waiting.

Silence greets you.

“I need your help.”

“You,” is the soft disbelieving murmur. “Need my help?”

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

You hear a sigh on the other side, reluctant but open, and don’t bother holding back your victorious smile.

By the time you stagger out of the bar, you have come to two conclusions.

One, you did the right thing by not getting involved.

Despite the feeling of guilt that has tried to drag you from your seat and after John, you’re glad that you stayed in your spot and chatted with Addy for hours instead. You might have felt Winston’s stare burn into the back of your head a few times but he didn’t call for you and you certainly didn’t go to him either.

The second conclusion is that you need to talk to Santino. As soon as possible.

Address everything from start to finish. Plan your next step. Find whoever knows about Chicago. That’s where your priorities now lay. Tarasov can ring the dinner bell for the last job whenever he feels ready to do so, but as of right now, there are more pressing issues on your plate.

John’s appearance may have caught you off guard but your life doesn’t just stop.

If Iosef is not dead yet, he soon will be and you can’t imagine John coming back. Properly this time.

You certainly can’t imagine him coming back and actually staying. Not for you, at least.

“(Name).”

“Jesus!”

“Not quite,” is the wry, laboured reply.

John staggers on his feet and you move on instinct, wrapping your arms around him. He looks like he’s just been through a war zone, covered in blood and clothes ripped. His raven hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and he gasps when you press too hard on his no doubt many bruises.

“What the hell John?”

“He’s gone,” he breathes harshly, not answering you. The look in his eyes is difficult to pinpoint but it’s not happy that’s for sure. He leans into you willingly when you help him walk towards the reception desk though. “I didn’t get to him in time.”

Iosef.

Unease coils your insides.

You had hoped that John would succeed on his first attempt. Now, there’s no telling what’s coming. Or where the brat is, for that matter.

“Miss Vipress,” Charon greets, his expression vacant before his eyes move towards John and his eyebrow cocks slightly. “Mr. Wick.”

“Call Doc, please,” you request, awkwardly fishing out a golden coin and dropping it on the counter. “Tell him I have first aid covered.”

“Certainly,” the concierge answers, nodding his head. “Anything else? Some bourbon, perhaps?”

He directs the last part towards John who grunts and nods, making you roll your eyes. Shooting a grateful look at the man, you half walk, half-stumble John towards the elevator. The ride up consists of you mostly poking holes in his clothes and checking his vitals.

John, as always, stays upright by sheer will alone. Some things, perhaps, really don’t change after all.

His room lacks the lived-in touch your own has when you enter. It’s cold and clinical. You spot his bag neatly placed in the corner but otherwise, not a single particle of dust seems to be out of place. When compared to your own room full of vials, notes, and odd-smelling plants and herbs, this place is like a hospital.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you grunt without thinking as you help him sit down, huffing from the strain of his weight. “Sincerely hope you know that.”

John glances up at you, his eyes brighter than they were moments before, and a slight smile twitches his lips. The first you’ve seen since your reunion.

“I know,” he replies and there’s that wry humour to be found in his tone that makes you glare at him in annoyance. “You’ve told me plenty of times in the past.”

Your lips part to reply—a jab ready to go—but there’s a knock on the door and you move towards it, your hand hovering over one of your blades.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice calls out and your hand drops down as you pull the door open.

“Doc,” you greet the elderly man with a nod. “Good to see you. You were quick.”

The older man shuffles into the room right away, his bag in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in another. He places the drink on the coffee table, his disapproval clear, but starts setting out his tools without commenting.

“I was in the area,” he shoots back, casting a look at John and then back at you. “You did not work together?”

The silence his question births is an awkward one, and you pointedly look away when Doc asks John to start removing his clothes.

“No, we didn’t,” you confirm calmly, carefully so, and grab an empty glass to use. “Got my new shipment yet?”

The older man looks up at you with a shake of his head and you dip your head in understanding. John observes the exchange, seemingly confused, and it’s yet another reminder that he has no idea how your relationships have changed in the past five years. Because he hasn’t been a part of your world for five years.

“You could have done this yourself,” the man comments lightly, shooting you a quick look. “I passed my knowledge on for more than poison making.”

You walk up to them, offering the glass to John who takes it with a grateful nod but don’t miss the way he focuses on your exchange with Doc. Curious and more than a little confused.

“Yes, but poison making is so much simpler,” you shoot back with a slight smile. “And you’re better at stitching than I am. Your hands are steadier.”

The old man shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and gives you a reproachful look over his shoulder. “Your hands are plenty steady, girl,” he notes, and you don’t miss the slightly chiding note in his words. Your eyes lock with John’s and you bob your head from side to side mimicking Doc’s words, a joking smile on your face. “What you lack is the belief that those hands are good for something other than bloodshed.”

Perhaps.

No, definitely, but neither of them needs to know that.

“Whatever you say, Doc,” you mutter, passing him some bandages without looking.

A tiny, barely-there smile lingers across John’s face, and despite being half undressed and bruised from head to toe, he looks more at ease now than he has in a while.

You know why.

Because despite everything unsaid and things long since passed, this is familiar. This is safety. This has been your bread and butter for years, and you feel the warmth of this simplicity sink back into your bones with every inhale.

It makes you as happy as it makes you sad.

John peers at you over Doc’s shoulder, and you at him, neither of you speaking while the man between you works. He’s methodical and always takes his time but his hands are the best you can hope for in New York.

“Just like the old times,” Doc hums under his breath after a lull of silence between you. “Hopefully better fortune will follow you from now on, Mr. Wick.”

It does feel like before. When it was just the two of you against the world.

You rise to your feet abruptly, making both men look over in your direction.

“I’m going to get you something for the pain,” you inform them hurriedly, and you can see the worry in John’s dark eyes, and attempt to smile convincingly. “The Doc is almost done anyway. Try resting.”

“But you are coming back?” he checks and you offer him a tight smile.

“Of course.”

Your words sound faint, almost distant in your ears, and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to keep your composure.

It’s an effort to keep your steps steady and slow before you close the door behind you.

It takes you longer than necessary to get the vial of pain remedy you’ve made for yourself a while back.

That’s because the journey back to your room is a blur, and when you do get inside the familiar walls, it takes you several moments to pull yourself together.

Is it possible to hate and miss someone in the same breath?

Is it possible to turn a blind eye to years of struggling and pain just for the sake of having something good back?

Rubbing your forehead harshly, you stare at the vial in your hand, a heavy throb quaking your heart.

Everything has a price as Santino is so fond of reminding you, and it makes you wonder what price this will demand of you.

Locking the door to your room, you approach the elevator, ignoring the buzzing of the phone in your pocket. Frankly, you’re not in the mood to talk to the Pope himself right now—much less anyone else.

The elevator grinds to a halt and you push the partition to the side but the moment you do, a crash greets your ears. A cool blade slips into your palm and you tense. Across the corridor, John’s room door is wide open and you spot Perkins of all people crawling closer towards you.

She looks bruised and bloodied as she tries to get away and you move towards her.

The blade almost takes off her ring finger as it sinks into the carpet in front of her face and she freezes.

“Now whatever are you doing here?” you question coldly, grabbing your gun from underneath your jacket. “Late night tryst?”

Perkins glares up at you, her expression livid before she tries to grab the blade in front of her but you react faster by stomping on her hand and levelling the gun in front of her face. “Please try,” you state lightly, almost pleasant.

John staggers out of the door, looking in an even rougher shape than before. His side is dark with fresh blood, the stitches Doc has so meticulously sown clearly torn, and he leans heavily against the door for a second. Your eyes meet and you finally understand exactly what has happened.

Perkins has tried to complete a hit on John inside the Continental. Tarasov is scared enough to allow such a thing to be associated with his name, regardless of the consequences. Scared enough to allow for one of the unbreakable rules of your world to be broken in his name.

John stalks closer towards you and you move back, still keeping the gun on Perkins. She’s a slippery one and you would rather not take any chances.

“You okay?” you ask, not dropping your eyes from the furious woman on the ground.

The assassin grunts with a nod and grabs Perkins, pulling her up till the muzzle of his gun presses into her cheek. The woman squirms but John’s grip only tightens. He’s done playing games and you can tell this will not end well for Perkins unless she gives him what he wants.

“Where is Iosef?”

Perkins snarls, twisting inside his hold, but still winces when John pushes the gun deeper into her skin; a silent warning. To her credit, she doesn’t falter, which is not something you can say about many. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“Please don’t,” you input with a mocking little smile that you’ve seen Santino use so many times in the past, effectively catching her attention. A perfect trick to heat someone’s blood and get them to slip up. “I have means by which to make you talk.”

The woman grunts under her breath, more blood smudging across her lips, and shoots you a venomous look. “Fuck you. You know what will happen to you—”

John jerks her to the side roughly, silencing her, and your arm lowers at his chilly whisper, “Give me something, Perkins. This is not worth dying for.”

She swallows, a flicker of healthy fear twitching her pinched expression at last. You step closer, the silent threat obvious, and her glare sharpens.

“He’s going to hunt you both down like dogs,” she spits instead, meeting your stare with a wide grin. Her bloodstained teeth make for a gory sight and you feel your expression harden at her words. “He will get this entire city searching for you. He—”

“The church,” you interrupt her little rant, and her mouth snaps shut at your blunt statement. “Tarasov keeps his personal stash of blackmail there. As well as a lot of money. You want him? Take him through that.”

Both Perkins and John stare at you. One in disbelief and one in silent understanding. John knows what this means but, predictably, it’s Perkins that reacts outwardly.

“You traitorous bitch!” she snarls, her eyes wide as she trashes again. “When Viggo learns about this he will destroy you—”

John drives the butt of the gun against her temple and she slumps to the floor, unconscious. For a moment it’s so still that your breathing seems like the loudest sound in New York City.

“Do I know you?”

You jerk to the side, your gun flying up as you point it at the man standing in the doorway of one of the rooms. But your arms lower a moment later when the familiar features register.

“I think so,” John speaks slowly, carefully twisting around to look at the newcomer too.

“Harry,” you greet the older man and he nods at you with a smile. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Better,” he answers and his attention goes back to your old partner. “John. Good to see you again. For a moment I thought you were getting into trouble with D’Antonio again, V.”

Purposely turning your head away from them, you slot your gun back in its original place, giving them a clipped, “Not this time.”

You feel John’s focus on you for a moment before his scrutiny lets up and he stands.

“You still up for earning a coin, Harry?”

The church looks peaceful in the early morning light.

John stands beside you, his warmth a faint brush in the chilly New York air, and you find yourself shivering despite your best effort not to.

The silence between you is—despite what you first assumed would be the case—heavy. John wants to ask you, and you don’t want him to. When faced with the question of why you are doing this, placing yourself in danger for him yet again, it always comes back to a simple fact.

For yourself.

Not for him. At least, that’s what you have to convince yourself of.

You and Tarasov have your own unfinished business.

Things always come full circle. Finally, after all these years, you are starting to understand Santino’s philosophy. Things always have a way of following you, never allowing you a moment of peace. You can run from them, but ghosts have a way of clawing their way back into your life.

You will always make the same mistakes, viper.

You shiver at the memory, shoving it away harshly.

“He has a vault under the church,” you break the silence between you, and feel his head turn in your direction. “The security is minimal because not many go to a church with intention of breaking into it, and he doesn’t want to draw attention. That’s its genius. But if you want Tarasov’s attention this is the way to get it.”

“You don’t have to come,” he states mildly, though sounds almost reluctant to do so. You don’t look at him, still focused on the building before you. It seems to loom now; a tall, frightening skeleton of your past. “I know the risk you’re taking right now. I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, and finally look towards him. “This is not the time for this conversation. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me.”

John hesitates and turns to face you fully. His eyes catch the light and you’re unsurprised to find that they still reflect amber in direct sunlight. The brightness strips away at his dark demeanour and leaves only a man behind. A good man, despite his flaws—despite his grief and thirst for vengeance.

“If this goes badly,” he begins softly and pauses for a second as if searching for the right words. “I want you to run. Promise me you will.”

Even though your hands are buried in your jacket pockets, your fingers still clench tightly at his words. It’s impossible not to miss his concern for your wellbeing.

“Run,” you repeat slowly, rolling the word on your tongue, tasting it. “You know I did a lot of that in the beginning. Running. It’s all I did. Just to stay alive. But then I realised that I shouldn’t be the one doing the running. So I don’t anymore.”

He knows what you’re referring to. Those five years are splitting you apart like a bottomless chasm even though there’s less than a footstep between you. The five years in which you had to defend yourself while he lived his happy life with his beautiful wife.

“Let’s do this, shall we?”

You take a step forward but John’s hand halts you, resting against the crook of your elbow. On instinct, your own arm snaps out, striking his wrist to get rid of his touch. You suck in a sharp breath when you realise what you’ve just done, heartbeat galloping, and John’s expression creases with worry, sadness, understanding.

“Don’t touch me,” you force out because it hurts. His touch burns and it’s not the kind of pleasant warmth that once soothed you. “Just—don’t.”

Pivoting, you march towards the church, your jaw set and lips pressed in a tight line. Your heartbeat still betrays you though; a fluttering, tiny bird trying to escape its own cage of bones.

Despite your exchange only moments prior, you still wait by the door for John who catches up with you quickly. He falls to your side—an old, familiar routine you’ve done dozens of times even if it’s been years—and sharing a glance, move inside on his signal.

The door creaks open and you note the usual suspects sitting in their pews as you stroll inside.

Much like you predicted, and told John earlier, the priest falters upon seeing your face. There’s a moment of fleeting panic there, and you know that he’s wondering if Tarasov himself is a step behind you. You only ever come to the church if the man demands it of you, and it effectively sows doubt and confusion when you notice more eyes look towards you. But the priest doesn’t know who John is so, as per instruction, he plays the role assigned to him.

“My children, can I help you?”

“Yes,” you state amiably and pull out your gun, pointing it at him. “You can.”

You then shoot him in the leg.

It’s a flurry of who can pull the trigger faster. The guards, caught unaware and panicked, are nowhere near quick enough. You count four that drop to the ground dead, and John shoulders his machine gun calmly, looking unruffled. The old lady continues sitting inside the pew, staring at you wide-eyed, and you give her a small wave when you pass her by.

“I always wanted to do that,” you comment offhandedly, tilting your head to observe the squirming man. “He’s a shit priest.”

John nods his head a little, considering, and the priest shoots you an enraged glare.

“Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?” he splutters, clutching onto his bleeding leg. “You traitorous trash! Viggo will—”

You kick him in the leg. The man lets out a strangled little yell, curling in on himself. John gives you a look as if to say he understands what you meant earlier, and grabs the priest by the scruff of his neck.

“Yeah, we do actually,” he replies dryly in Russian and shoves the priest ahead of you. “Take us to the vault.”

“N-No.”

You pull out a blade, twisting it between your fingers. “Do disagree with him again. Then I get my hands on you.”

The priest stumbles back, his frantic stare switching from you to John, clearly trying to find a way out of his predicament. The assassin gestures with the barrel of his gun and the priest swallows, stumbling in the direction of the staircase.

Just as you recall, there are two more guards downstairs, and disposing of them is easy; a bullet each. Tarasov’s vault stands like an indestructible gate between you and the women inside who scream upon seeing you. The destructive sound of gunshots split the air and then it’s quiet again.

“Open it,” you demand, gesturing at the keypad. “I know Tarasov gave you the code.”

The priest lays on the floor, shivering, as beads of sweat cling to his brow. Though his lips are trembling from both pain and terror, he still musters up a half-hearted glare.

“But not you,” he hisses in Russian, knowing and accusatory. “Viggo must have always known that you will try to betray him.”

You chuckle, and lean closer, patting him on the shoulder with a patronising smile. This, too, is a familiar motion. The priest cringes back and you see the naked fear in his eyes. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you admit coolly with a faint hum as you glance towards the trembling women inside the vault. “Guess I’m just done playing nice. Open it, or I’m going spill your guts all over this shiny, reflective floor that Tarasov gets you to scrub every night.”

The priest shudders, staring at you in dismay, but still moves to do as you told him. Ignoring John’s burning, silent stare you wait for the code to be input.

John enters the moment the beep sounds and you stay silent as he dismisses the women inside—ever the gentleman—and starts tearing the vault apart. You watch him do so, and it gives you a wicked surge of satisfaction, knowing just how much this all means to Tarasov. A lot of it is your own work; different blackmail that you have painstakingly collected for him over the years. Despite that knowledge, it doesn’t upset you to see it go up in smoke.

The flame rages, angry and hot, and you linger for a moment, observing years of servitude disappearing in front of your eyes. It makes you feel strangely empty, almost numb.

You’re dead to the world, Kishi’s voice reminds you and you feel your eyes lower to the floor.

John doesn’t try to ask you questions while you wait for Tarasov’s arrival and you’re grateful for it. Right now, you don’t think you’re capable of any kindness. Right now, you think you would tell him everything, and if there’s anything of his heart still left, it would simply break all over again.

With the priest alive, the news reaches Tarasov quickly, and his familiar black SUV pulls into the churchyard only ten minutes later. The priest, predictably, doesn’t survive past telling his side of the story in choked, weak stutters.

“Let’s finish this,” John tells you calmly, deadly so, but your gaze lingers on Tarasov who is like a caged animal moving with clear fury in his every step. “After today we’re both free.”

Your head snaps in his direction but he’s already walking away and you peer at his back for a moment.

Free.

Shooting one last glance towards that churchyard, you follow after him.

Coming to a stop beside him, you both wait, silent and focused as you hear Tarasov and his party approaching. John looks up at you, serious as always, and you simply peer at him for a moment. All this time, hoping that he will be back and he finally is. He’s a step away, a hand reach away but—

John opens fire first. He always believed in best defence being a strong offence and the guards scatter, replying in kind with their own weapons drawn. Exhaling slowly, you steel yourself for what’s about to happen, and round the corner, opening fire yourself.

As always, you work as a seamless machine. With John at your back, there are no blind spots, no ways to get caught off guard. You cover each other perfectly, a well-oiled death machine that churns out bodies left and right.

John reloads, and you cover him. You duck to do the same a moment later, and John takes your place, covering you with his back to you. Your eyes flicker over him and towards the car behind which Tarasov is hiding. From this far, you can just barely make out his hat as he rises to peek at the situation.

You rise to your feet smoothly and slam the back of your gun against John’s head.

The bullets cut out immediately and John staggers, turning around hurriedly, but you spray fine mist—one of your fastest, most viciously effective formulas—in his face, kicking at his shins for good measure.

He stumbles to the ground, looking up at you wildly, gasping, “(Name)—”

His stare is lost, frantic. Almost like what he’s seeing and what has just happened are two things not connecting just yet, leaving blind confusion in their wake.

“I told you,” you remind him gently, coldly, as you approach him. “I’m doing this for me.”

You don’t wait for the paralyser to kick in.

Your gun slams against his temple one last time and he drops to the side, unconscious.

The churchyard is once again peacefully tranquil.

. . .

an: *shocked Pikachu. jpg*

I feel like the first half of the chapter was Team John going “Yay!” and Team Santino going “Boo!” and then by the end that switched lol.

Loved it? Hated it? Any predictions? Let me know and, as always, I love you all. I’ve had a rough week but all your COA messages just brighten my day guys ;-; thank you so much!!!!

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fic #santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #keanu reeves #riccardo scamarcio #winston #fic: children of ares

534 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part seven Word count: ±5570 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part seven summary: Zoë goes undercover to find out more about the murder she saw in her dream. Little does she know, that Sam and Dean do the same. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Confident, Zoë bends down in order to fit under the yellow ‘crime scene - do not cross’ ribbon. She takes out her federal agent ID and flips it open before the officer guarding the perimeter can ask her about it. He steps away respectfully and lets her through.

It’s about 10 AM and the sun is already out on this relatively warm November day. Marching up the driveway with her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete, Zoë unbuttons her black suit jacket to let in some air. The Stars and Stripes hasn’t been taken down yet and still flutters from the top of the mast, located in the center of a perfectly landscaped garden. The fallen leaves drape parts of the neatly mowed lawn in different tones of orange and brown. Not only does this particular estate look amazing, the entire street is brochure perfect. It is obvious that the families living in these homes on Reynolds Park Road, are wealthy ones. However, the ambulances and police cars blocking the street and the officers scanning the area, indicate that something is terribly wrong. What would seem like the last place on earth for a murder, is indeed a gruesome crime scene.

Two officers are having a conversation by the front entry. They pause the discussion once they notice the unfamiliar face approaching them. She captivates them instantly. Determined strides, head held high, clearly a woman who stands her ground in the men’s words that is law enforcement. There’s not a single trace of doubt noticeable when she flashes her ID once more. “Agent Evans, FBI,” she states.

“Detective Lee. This is officer Sanchez,” a tall man, with a serious case of a receding hairline, introduces his colleague a little reluctantly, clearly not happy about the presence of a fed. He holds out his hand anyway and Zoë makes eye contact, giving him a powerful handshake. “I didn’t know the Bureau was involved,” he comments with an Upper South accent, common for the region.

“Well, if you had paid attention while investigating the crimes in your own county, detective,” the specialist returns without missing a beat, facing the two man with enough arrogance to shut them down immediately, “- you might had noticed that there has been a murder similar to this one, making this a serial killing.” “Still don’t make this a federal case,” Lee returns, standing his ground. “What does, is the fact that there’s a whole string of deaths leading from Alabama up to your lovely little town.”

Of course she just made that up on the spot, just to back up her reason to be here, but no one would be able to tell without doing some solid digging first. She is so convincing that the two men fail to counter her. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. If you could be so kind to show me the way, that would be neat,” she requires, throwing them a fake smile while narrowing her eyes.

The two officers glance at each other, it being clear as day that the detective is not amused by the way he’s spoken to. Nonetheless, he gestures to the FBI agent to get into the house. She seems like a person not to be messed with.

They enter the villa with Zoë in tow, who nods approving while taking a look around. She glances up to the high ceilings, which are decorated with beautiful alto-reveilo, carved into the white plaster. Roman pillars support the level above, and in the back two staircases circle up to the second floor. Every square inch of the floor underneath their feet is made from marble. Renaissance paintings, portraying country sides in the 19th century and battles from the Civil War hang from the walls, a gold plated chandelier floats overhead. Flower pieces, amongst them an expensive bouquet placed on the mahogany round table in the center of the main room, gives the house a finishing touch. Zoë knows the lifestyle of the rich and famous, but this place looks more like a palace than a principal’s home in a town called Paragould.

“As you can see, Mr. Van Dyke lived the good life. His father owned a Dutch shipping company and made millions,” Officer Sanchez explains, having noticed the federal agent’s impressed expression. “We believe the fortune he passed on to his son might have something to do with Van Dyke’s death.”

As they climb the stairs, Zoë chuckles, but doesn’t say a word. These oblivious bastards... they have absolutely no clue, do they? “You think something else is going on?” Lee questions, noticing the sarcasm in her little laugh. “Money is not the motive,” she returns, curt.

An awkward silence follows and Zoë can feel the hostility between her and the two police officers. She has experienced it before, especially in smaller communities. Most cops despise the feds, simply because the cases they work quite literally hit close to home. The FBI is no stranger to barging in and taking over entire investigations, without sending a ‘thank you’ card. A lot of hard work for the local coppers, without any credit. Zoë can’t say she blames the police for being reluctant.

“This way.” Sanchez beckons them after climbing the stairs to the second floor, where he turns left on the vestibule. The closer they get to the crime scene, the more crowded it gets. The Crime Scene Unit has already arrived and forensics dust for prints, take pictures and search for evidence. When Zoë enters the room and finds Mr. Van Dyke, she frowns.

In the corner lies a man, probably in his mid fifties, half into a shattered exhibition case, his eyes open, death evident. It’s not the first time Zoë has seen a dead guy, but she wasn’t expecting such a violent killing committed by a ten year old. Apparently his head got smashed into the showcase; glass is scattered all over his body. He has bruises and cuts on his arms and face, but most peculiar is his probable cause of death. His neck is broken; the head at a 90° angle.

Zoë scans the room, which shows several signs of a struggle. One thing is certain; Van Dyke really got his ass kicked before he died. As she takes a look around, a woman wearing white latex gloves updates Lee and his partner. Zoë glances over, notices the CSU logo on her jacket, and walks over to tune in. “- time of death was between 6:30 and 7 AM. No prints found so far,” the forensic states. “Look at this place. There must be something,” Detective Lee ponders, his gaze panning over the crime scene. “Not even a fiber,” she sighs. “I have to admit; I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Seems like the suspect has left no trace,” Zoë intervenes, mixing into the conversation. “Someone just did a good job covering up,” Sanchez scoffs, not finding her remark relevant. “We’ll find something.” Dude, you have no idea, Zoë thinks to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. She doesn’t cut in on him, although she has about a dozen smart curve balls ready. Never get too smart around cops, who knows what she might need them for later on.

“There’s one thing, though, but it adds more confusion than it clears up.” The forensic walks over to the body of Mr. Van Dyke and points out the way his sweater is pulled down. It uncovers his left shoulder, the sleeve seems too long at the end by the force that was used. “Looks like someone pulled him down. As if the killer wanted to level his victim with him or her,” she clarifies. “The murderer was shorter than the victim,” Lee concludes. “Not just a little shorter, I’m talking about round 4 ft. 5 here, looking at the angle and location of the bruising,” the forensic adds up. “About the height of a ten year old, right?” Zoë fills in, as the clues sum up. “Yeah, that would be correct, but that’s impossible. Even if a ten year old could be capable of doing such a thing, they wouldn’t have the strength,” she rules out.

Impossible isn’t in Zoë’s dictionary, but she has seen enough. The forensics might be on a dead end, Zoë is a hundred percent sure of who Van Dyke’s killer is. She is dealing with one furious ghost child here, but two questions remain unanswered: why isn't Laura at rest and how is she able to relocate? A cursed object is the first thing that comes to mind. Being on the clock, Zoë decides to leave and have a talk with the family. “Thanks very much, I’ve got everything I need.” She gives both the forensic and the members of the PPD a nod, before she exits the room.

While Zoë walks down the corridor towards the staircase, the undercover huntress goes through the things she just learned. It almost seems like Laura is trying to put her victims through the same horror she experienced before she died. She simply shows them who’s boss, just like her father used to teach her. It’s violent, not suited for viewers under the age of eighteen, and yet a girl of only ten years of age, is behind these murders.

Back on the first floor, Zoë can hear soft wailing coming from the dining room. For the third time this morning she shows her ID, this time to the officer guarding the shielded off private space. The door is slightly ajar, when she pushes it open further in order to enter, the investigator finds the Van Dyke family, gathered together. A woman in her early fifties with blonde pixie hair has her arms around a teenage girl, who Zoë presumes to be the principal’s daughter. The son, a few years younger than his sister, stares outside, his empty eyes gazing out over the lake, quietly grieving in his own way. Instantly, Zoë feels sorry for the family. She wouldn’t wish this upon anyone. “Mrs. Van Dyke?”

The woman looks up with tears in her eyes and lets go of her daughter, but not before sweetly stroking her hair. Zoë shows Mr. Van Dyke’s wife her identification. “I’m Special Agent Evans, you can call me Sharon. I would like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.” The mother of two nods her head as she wipes away her tears. “Of course.” “Your husband’s passing took place between 6:30 and 7 O'clock this morning. Where were you at this time?” Zoë questions calmly. “I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast,” Mrs. Van Dyke replies, having crossed one arm over her chest, her hand covering her mouth as she breathes out with a shudder. “And you heard nothing?” the huntress wonders, her voice gentle, not wanting to upset the poor woman even more. “Not a sound,” she shakes her head. “Heather was in her room next to Bill’s office, she didn’t hear a thing until the dog started barking, that’s when she found him.”

Zoë nods at that, aware that dogs have a better sense of the supernatural than humans have. She glances past the woman before her, noticing the kind Australian shepherd, who has laid his head in Heather’s lap, watching up at her with worried eyes while trying to comfort his owner. The dog seems calm now, a good indication that Laura isn’t anywhere near. What the huntress does find strange, though, is that their daughter didn’t hear a thing. The article in the newspaper yesterday about Robert Shire’s murder comes to mind. His family was home during the incident as well.

“That will be it for now, thank you for your time,” Zoë notifies, smiling sympathetically. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Van Dyke turns back to her family with half a nod, still in complete shock after this morning’s events which turned her world upside down. Zoë would like to take more time to talk to the children, but she simply doesn’t have a minute to spare. Hastened, the huntress exits the house, stepping out into the warm sun as she takes out her shades and puts them on.

It all makes sense now. Laura isn’t just getting even with the people who are directly or indirectly connected to her death. She’s recreating how she died. What Zoë remembers from her flashback, the poor girl was a punching bag for her father’s fist on a daily basis, but it’s not just that. No one around heard a thing, not even a single sound, like the victims were isolated from the outside world. The vision of Laura’s mother stoically continuing her dinner while her older brother watched TV. As if they couldn’t bear the abuse and therefore shut out the sounds that came along with it.

Pondering, Zoë strides down Reynolds Park Road, back to her bike, which she parked near the water. Unlike the police, the huntress is everything but stuck, she knows exactly where she needs to go. Next stop; The Shire residence.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Dean has been complaining ever since they pulled away from the In-N-Out, when Sam came up with his newest masterplan. Their usual jeans and several layers of plaid have been replaced with black suits, the sharp dressed men now approaching Arkansas Methodist Medical Center, leaving the Impala in the parking lot.

“We are doing this, so get used to it,” Sam returns, getting tired of his brother’s whining. “You have the ID’s?” Dean takes out two leather wallets and flips them open, showing him the fake identification. Sam stares at the ID’s, his jaw falling open. “FBI? Are you nuts, Dean?” “Dad and I do it all the time. No sweat,” Dean shrugs, not that worried about getting caught.

“What if they look up our badge numbers? This is suicide!” Sam hisses, keeping his voice down when they pass people at the entrance of the hospital. “You wanna know what’s suicide? Meddling with Zoë’s case,” Dean counters. Sam huffs. “Oh, come on. How bad can it be?” “You should have seen her in Rochester when she found out we rang Cliffer and blew her cover. That wasn’t even intentional, and now you actually choose to get involved?” Dean argues.

He gives his brother his new identification, which Sam studies carefully as he mumbles his fake name. Dean watches his brother closely, curious if he will detect the little gimmick in their aliases, them being Angus and Young. But Sam doesn’t know enough about rock music to notice that the two names combined is the full name of AC/DC’s lead guitarist. Nonetheless, Dean is proud of the inside joke.

“She might get a little annoyed, but she won’t get mad. We’re helping her,” Sam assures, hoping his brother will stop being dramatic. “Exactly! I’m dressed like a fucking penguin while I know she won’t ever thank us, even if we have a major breakthrough.” Dean loosens his tie a bit, smothered by the tightness of his collar. “Look man, we can sit on our ass and waste this day or--” “- I prefer that actually,” the oldest intervenes. “Or--” Sam continues, sternly, “- we can do something useful.”

With that being said, he walks through the revolving doors of the governmental facility, followed by Dean, who mutters something unintelligible; stubborn fucker. Dean might be the older sibling here, but when Sammy has got his mind set on something, he can’t be reasoned with. Heading straight for the main desk, the Winchester brothers get into character. Sam especially looks somewhat young to be a federal agent, thankfully his height makes up for that. They both need to sell this in order to gather new information on the case. Confidently, Dean flashes his FBI identification to the woman behind the counter. “Agent Young, this is my partner Agent Angus. We’re here to see a dead body.” “You came to the right place,” she comments, apparently not impressed by their badges. She calls for an older physician in a long white coat who just passed by. “Dr. Hughes? Could you escort these two agents to the morgue?” she asks him. “Of course, I’m heading over there anyway,” he agrees, beckoning Dean and Sam to walk with him.

The hunters follow the doctor through the long hospital hallways. White ceilings, mint green vinyl floors and random photos and Picasso rip offs on the walls every now and then; the typical hospital decor the Winchester brothers are more familiar with than they would want to be. They’ve been inside medical centers plenty. To investigate a case, but also as a visitor whenever someone in their close circle got hurt on the job, but also as a patient. Hunting isn’t just a profession prone to injury, it’s worse than that. It’s a profession prone to death.

Dr. Hughes eventually breaks the silence when they reach an elevator. “Who are you here for?” “Ronald Shire,” Sam informs. Unpleasantly surprised, Hughes looks up at the tall agent. He halts by the elevator, calling it down to the first floor. It takes a second to arrive, the doctor uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the other. Dean and Sam have noticed it, however, exchanging a look.

“I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes when he realizes how his behavior might come across. “Ronald was a colleague of mine, but he was also a close friend.” “Our condolences,” Dean says, knowing all about Shire’s death after Sam filled him in earlier. Hughes pushes the button to call the elevator down, accepting the sympathy offered by the agent. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? We see death every day and yet when it hits close to home, you never see it coming.”

Wise words, applicable to everyone. He has been there on many occasions when the final hour struck; of hunters, of people they were trying to save. One would expect all this experience to give him thick skin, since he’s used to the violence and killings. But when Jess was murdered, it hit him harder than a wrecking ball.

The younger Winchesters train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the bell, announcing that the elevator has reached their level. He clears his throat and directs his attention to the doctor again. “Do you have an idea what happened to Mr. Shire?” “I did the autopsy myself; it left me stunned,” Dr. Hughes tells them as they enter the elevator.

Again the doctor presses a key and the doors close. As they slowly move down to the basement, Dean tries to find out if Hughes knows more about the case then he’s willing to let go at this point. “We think his death might have something to do with the murder that took place in the Van Dyke residence,” he fills in. “I heard about that on the news. CSU is still on that, though”, the physician says. “We have one of our agents at the scene,” Sam returns, with the short statement explaining their suspicion.

The doors open and the three enter the morgue of the hospital. It’s cool in this section and an unpleasant scent fills the area, chemicals almost masking the lingering smell of the dead. The doctor walks over to the furthest wall of metal drawers. He pulls out one of the many trays and puts on a pair of latex gloves before he zips open the body bag. “What’s so stunning about this case?” Sam wonders. “See for yourself.” Hughes unfolds the bag and both boys raise their eyebrows. “Ouch,” Dean comments.

The body of Laura’s father is badly bruised and battered, as if he got beaten up by a street gang in a bad neighborhood. His jaw is demolished, his neck broken; this is some serious abuse. The ‘Y’ shaped incisions on his torso indicated that a full autopsy has been performed on Ronald Shire, but the large stitches barely stand out between the black and broken skin.

“That’s not all,” the doctor adds as he takes out the file. “I searched every inch of his body on the in and outside, but there is not a print, not one single fiber on him that could point you fellas towards a suspect.” Dean gives Sam a look without the physician seeing it. Dr. Hughes might have never seen this before, the hunters certainly have. Ghosts never leave any trace on their victims, unless they want to.

“This caught my attention, though.” The doctor points out the bruises. “See how they run out upwards? That indicates that these injuries were caused from a lower angle. Or the killer was on its knees - which would be most unlikely - or the injuries were inflicted by someone shorter than 4 ft. 7. Someone with a growth defect, dwarf syndrome. That’s the only way I can clarify this.” “Have you considered a child?” Sam questions, carefully. “I have for a brief moment, but it’s theoretically impossible for a child to throw punches like this, even when it would use an object to create some kind of leverage, which I found no indication of,” the doctor explains. “Honestly, I’ve never seen damage done like this, not even by trained fighters. The evidence doesn’t add up in the slightest. This shouldn’t be possible.”

The boys exchange another glance; the evidence adds up just fine for them. Sam tilts his head and nods to the door, giving Dean the signal that they are leaving. “Thank you for your time, doctor.” he rounds up their visit. “If there is anything else, let us know.” “You’re welcome, I hope you’ll get this one,” Hughes mentions while he cleans up. “We’ll do our best,” Sam ensures.

The two hunters leave the morgue and step back into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, the oldest of the two turns to the other. “Laura, definitely,” the youngest brother states, determined. “Unless this town is haunted by two frustrated mini spirits, yeah, it’s Laura.” Dean agrees, watching Sam take his phone out of his pocket as they arrive at the first floor again. “Who’re you gonna call?” “The other Ghostbuster,” Sam replies, as he looks up Zoë’s number and presses the green button as soon as they step outside the hospital. “Shouldn’t we get to the bomb shelter first?” the oldest suggests, snarky. “This information could be useful”, Sam replies, but before Dean can respond to that, Zoë answers her phone.

“Sullivan.” “Hey Zoë, it’s Sam. Listen, I’ve got some info on Ronald Shire for you,” Sam cuts to the chase. “Why would you have info on Laura’s dad?” Sam cringes slightly, detecting the suspecting tone in her voice. Oh well, here goes nothing. “We went to the Medical Center to see Shire’s body.”

Complete silence, but Sam can almost hear Zoë’s blood boil on the other side of the line. Dean pulls his sleeve and gestures at him, frustrated. “What are you including me for?” he hisses, making sure Zoë can’t hear him. Sam waves him away, without making a sound he hushes his brother to be quiet, turning away from him in order not to get distracted. He takes a breath, gathering his courage.

“Zoë?” “I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood you. Did you just tell me that you deliberately messed with my case, even though I told you VERY clearly not to get involved?” The huntress’s voice trembles with anger, Sam can hear she tries to keep calm. “We figured we could spare you some time by going ourselves--” “- You FIGURED?!”

Sam cowers, her voice so sharp and loud that he doesn’t have to put her on speaker for Dean to pick up on the conversation. He did move closer to his brother, invading his personal space in order to tune in. “Better take cover,” Dean advises his brother. Annoyed, Sam pushes his brother away and focuses on Zoë again.

“We didn’t mess anything up if that’s what you’re worried about”, he states defensively. “I wouldn't give a flying fuck if you solved the fucking case! You didn’t listen!” “You’re not my boss!” Sam makes clear, not having her raging attitude, no matter how intimidated he feels by the fiery woman. “I am the boss when it comes to MY cases, damn it! This is not a fucking candy store I’m running, Sam! You can’t go do my job without telling me, you almost got me killed last time!” “It was an innocent morgue visit!” Sam exclaims while making a wild gesture, even though Zoë isn’t there to see it. “And honestly, would you have said ‘yes’ if I asked you first?”

“No of course not, you fucking asshat! That’s the fucking point!” she returns, clearly furious. “I swear to God, Sam, if you and your brother cross my path again…” “What? You’ll kill us?” Sam huffs. “Listen, Zoë. Ronald Shire was attacked by Laura, without doubt. He was a mess, his jaw was wrecked and his neck was broken, all injuries inflicted from a lower angle. That’s all the info I’ve got for you, you do with it whatever the hell you want.”

Before Zoë can return an answer, Sam ends the call. It’s only now that he notices Dean opposite of him, his arms crossed in front of him. He nods, appreciating. “No more Mr. Nice Guy. I like it,” he comments, then continues his way to the Impala. Without responding to his notification, Sam follows and catches up with him, still angry with the ungrateful attitude of the huntress. He cannot believe he saved her at least an hour and a half and this is what he gets in return; so much for gratitude.

Together they walk over to the classic Chevrolet without speaking about it further. Yet Dean can’t help but smile as he opens his door. Sam notices the grin and rolls his eyes. “Just say it,” he mutters. “Say what?” “You know what.” Dean looks at him over the top of the black Chevrolet and ponders, still deciding if he should say the words which he longs to say. He can’t help himself, he has to enjoy the moment and rub it in. His smirk grows even wider. “Hate to say I told you so.” “No, you don’t,” Sam sighs, sits down and closes the door.

Dean does the same and turns the key, starting up the Impala’s V8 engine, which lets out an enthusiastic roar. People Are Strange by The Doors is playing on the radio while Sam stares through the windshield, still bummed about the call. “Why doesn’t she just drop the act?” Sam wonders. “I’m not sure if it’s an act, Sammy.” Dean checks in both directions before steering his precious car onto the road. “I sincerely think her soul is pitch black.”

But Sam shakes his head, not buying it. “This can’t be her persona. You said it yourself; she was different when you first met her.” “So? People change,” Dean simply declares, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe, but this is just stupid. We’re in town, bored out of our skull while she is working her ass off to finish up on time. It can’t be that hard to accept our help.” “Apparently she’s socially disturbed, Sam. Let it go already. If she can’t appreciate a helping hand, she’s not worth the effort,” the older brother suggests, not wanting Sam to be bothered by the matter. “Let’s go to Texas and hunt some wolf, huh?”

He considers the advice for a moment as they drive by Linwood Cemetery. As soon as he spots the place, he glances across the road at the Hampton Inn, but there is no sign of Zoë; she must be at the crime scene. As they pass through, he decides he wants to stay. “No. We agreed to stay in town till tonight. Zoë will leave, case closed or not. It’s almost midday, so what difference will it make if we leave now or tonight?” “Half a day,” Dean answers smartly. “Denise? Or did you completely forget about the fact that you are meeting up with her later?”

The driver of the black car raises his eyebrow at that, contemplating, because Sam is right; he did forget about his ‘date’ later today for just a second. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but Denise is a very big plus to stay in town just a little while longer. A silence follows after Sam’s mention while his brother thinks through his options.

“Point taken,” he gives in. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Zoë is not gonna come around.” “She will, believe me. She’s not as bad to the bone as she pretends to be,” Sam states, sure of his words. After all, last night she was friendly for letting him crash in her room and transferring all that lore to his computer. “I know her better than you do,” Dean weighs up. “I don’t believe that's true,” Sam counters, shaking his head. “Wanna bet?” Dean looks aside as the argument is starting to turn into a ‘do not, do too’ fight. “Burgers for a week.” “I rarely eat burgers. How’s that gonna benefit me?” the younger sibling brings to mind.

“Okay, well… If I win, you buy me burgers for a week. If you win, I won’t give you shit for ordering a salad in every fast food joint we eat at.” The green eyed hunter wiggles his eyebrows, his arrogant grin confident, spread wide on his lips. “I’m not settling for that.” Sam huffs and shakes his head. “You can buy me whatever I order for the next seven days if I’m right.” “Deal.”

Before Dean can assure him that this is a bet he will win, his brother’s Blackberry rings. Surprised, he checks the screen for the number, his long chestnut hair falling in front of his eyes when he looks down, then he raises his eyebrows and smiles. Victoriously he shows the screen to Dean; it’s Zoë. Sam picks up his phone and puts her on speaker. “What?” he snaps, still mad at her. “What are you up to?” The youngest of the Winchesters isn’t sure if she’s asking him if he’s still intending to mess with her case or that she’s asking if he has some spare time. “Depends,” he answers, curt. “You said Shire broke his neck, so did Van Dyke.” “So?” “Might be something.”

Sam keeps his mouth shut, warning Dean to do the same with only a look and a slight shake of the head. An unpleasant silence follows. Obviously, it irritates Zoë. “C'mon, Sam. Knock it off!” “No, Zoë! We’re helping you out and this is what we get?” Sam returns. “You two nosey dickwads went behind my back! How can you expect me to be--”

They can hear her sigh and swallow down the rest of the sentence as she collects herself, trying to keep her temper in check. “I don’t like working with others and I certainly don’t want to abandon this case. I’ve never passed up a job, it’s not my style. But if I don't finish up by tonight, I don't have another option.”

“I get that, but wouldn’t it be better if we just work together now and make sure that you’ll make your deadline?” Sam suggests, calmer than a moment ago, now that the woman on the other end of the line has done the same. “Look, Zo,” Dean interrupts, adding his two cents. “I know you’re not particularly happy about teaming up - and hey, neither am I - but you’ll be able to cover more ground that way. You can’t expect us to leave town knowing you might have to face a dilemma. The sooner you close this case, the sooner we can go our separate ways.” “I don’t know...” Again a sigh while Zoë considers her next move. Sam allows the silence, granting her the time to think it through. The way he sees it, she doesn't have much of a choice. The Winchesters are the best option she’s got. “Okay, fine,” she eventually gives in. “But this is still my case. I call the shots and might we stumble on trouble, we stick to the plan. I can’t settle for anything less.” Dean has already opened his mouth to object, but Sam elbows him hard, shooting him a warning glare. “Agreed,” the youngest quickly answers, ignoring the quiet muttering from his left. “Dean?”

The older Winchester brother grinds his teeth. Shit, he does not want to bow down to her, because he knows the second he does, she will without a doubt step up to become Evil Queen Bitch. He’s never going to live it down. One case, he tells himself. One fucking case and he will never have to deal with her again. “Fine,” he utters, barely audible. “One other thing. I need to leave town tonight, case finished or not. We have to try or take care of this today, okay?” “We will,” Sam assures. “And if we run into trouble and can’t manage to wrap up, you don’t have to worry about this case. We’ll make sure to have it covered and that Laura will be put to rest.” “So, do we meet up or what?” “Yeah, sure.” “Where are you at?”

Before Sam answers he checks the name of the road they are on. “W. Kings Highway, going west. We’re staying at the Ramada Inn,” Sam tells her. “Shit motel.” He scoffs a chuckle, glad the tension has lifted. “Tell me ‘bout it.” “I'll see you at In-N-Out,” the huntress decides. “I want an Animal Burger.” “Have you had that 4x4 burger?” Dean says, his mouth watering. “The amount of meat, hmm.” “Are you kidding me? I grew up in California; In-N-Out is my jam!” “Their food is fuckin’ amazing, ain’t it?” Dean agrees. “Oh my God, yes! How they grill their cheese—”

Stunned, Sam stares from the phone to Dean and back. Did the unthinkable just happen? Did Zoë and Dean actually agree on something? Remarkable, but truly, here is the one subject they can’t fight about; food. “Zo?” he interrupts. “Yeah?” “See you at In-N-Out.” He chuckles and hangs up.

The Ramada Inn shows up in front of them and Dean pulls up into the parking lot, turning off the ignition once he has found a spot close to the entrance. Before he gets out of the car, he registers Sam, who’s wearing a boyish grin on his face. His eyes sparkle through the curtain of his bangs, his pearl white teeth on display; it’s clear he’s very much amused. “Hate to say I told you so,” Sam nags victoriously, and pushes the passenger door open.

With a confused expression upon his face, Dean gets out of his car himself. He then glares at younger Winchester over the top of the Impala, the words sinking in. Fuck, he lost a bet; Zoë came around. “No, you don’t,” he mutters, following his sibling inside. Looks like he’s going to have to live through the embarrassment of ordering and paying for salads the coming week. Oh well, at least he doesn’t have to eat them.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eight here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Supernatural OFC series #SPN #Supernatural #dean angst #sam angst #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #STSS #STSS 1x01 #In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

42 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

What a Wicked Game {12/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thank you to the mods at @captainswanbigbang for running this event and helping to encourage writers to finish their wonderful stories, to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading all these words, and to @captainsjedi for making the beautiful artwork ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |

-/-

October 19th, 2018

October dawns bright and warm, but as it settles in, the warmth disappears into a chill and the brightness of the sky turns to the gray for which London is often known. Leaves are still in the midst of changing colors, from a dull green to vibrant oranges and reds that contrast the sky, and Emma finds herself staring out the large window in Killian’s bedroom to look at the leaves falling from a tree and drifting through the air until they eventually land on the edge of the roof. It’s been seven weeks since she slept in her own bed and had her parents just down the hall from her, and as weird as it’s been, she’s thankful for this.

She’s thankful that every day she is actively making the choice to be with Killian and to work at adjusting to all of the complications that come with this life.

It’s more than a lot, but as she looks down at her arm and sees it without the ugly white plaster and stretches her arms above her head without any pain, Emma reminds herself that time and a little extra care can heal things. The immediate reaction and pain doesn’t stay. It changes and lessens. Her body is healing, her heart too, and the darkness that surrounded her for all of August seems to have almost been extinguished.

Nothing about this has been easy, but Emma doesn’t want to retreat back and walk away again. She still believes that her reasons were sound, that she had to do it in order to take care of herself and protect her heart, and in a weird way, coming out on the other side has made her thankful for it.

Getting into a car crash and possibly almost dying because photographers wanted a picture of her sitting in a car after they found out about she and Killian’s breakup wasn’t great. She could have done without that. She still could. And she definitely won’t be getting in a car on a rainy night anytime soon.

Her physical scars may be lessening, most of them non-existent now, but she’s not ready for that. She’s not ready for a lot of things, but when has she ever been?

“Darling,” Killian calls out, and she gets a little smile on her face at how much his accent thickens on that word, “do you know where my solid navy tie is? It should be with all of the others, but I can’t find it.”

“Where did you last see it?”

“If I bloody well knew that, I wouldn’t be asking where it is.”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom before walking outside and finishing the buttons on his dress shirt. He looks handsome today in his navy pants and light blue dress shirt, and she really doesn’t see why he needs to wear a tie when he looks fine without it. Royal dress code or something. She doesn’t know. Over the past few weeks as she’s isolated herself in Killian’s apartment at Kensington or wandered over to Liam and Elsa’s to spend time with Elsa, she’s found herself going through guidebooks that Elsa had made when she got engaged to Liam. There are all these rules and regulations from how to cross your legs to what nail polish she’s supposed to wear, and while Emma thinks a lot of it is bullshit, it’s the territory that comes with being in this relationship.

Emma will paint her nails ballet slipper pink and cross her legs at the ankle every damn day if that’s what it takes. What she won’t do is be suffocated by the press and by Brennan.

What she won’t do is make Killian leave his family and break his mom’s heart simply because she couldn’t handle the pressure.

If he wants to leave, if it is truly his decision outside of her, she’s more than happy for them to live their lives in a simpler way where Killian doesn’t have to worry about where his solid navy tie is. Leaving may be in their future, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

But if they’re staying and doing this, she wants to make the best out of the situation. She wants to work with charities that help empower women and children. She wants to do that for men too, to educate them on the intricacies over an ever-changing world. She wants to do good and be good. This family is insane, the money and the traditions and the vault full of actual tiaras like something out of a movie, but they can use their privilege to do good.

Emma knows what it’s like to not have this kind of privilege, and now she may be in a position to help.

“Cool down, Casanova. No need to get all snippy over your tie. Where are you even going today?”

“The opening of a hospital wing and then I’m meeting with a slew of new security guards to interview.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Killian arches a brow. “Haven’t you spent enough time in hospitals lately?”

“I meant to the interviews, dumbass. Isn’t this for my security, too?”

Killian fidgets with the neck of his shirt, buttoning and then unbuttoning it so that black tufts of chest hair show. “Aye, but I figured I’d go through the candidates first, and then you could meet the top few to see which ones you’re most comfortable with.”

“I can come with you. It’s really not a big deal. I don’t have any plans for the day.”

“Swan, it’s fine. I promise.” Killian walks over to her and sits down on the edge of the bed next to her before taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. “This is a dreadfully boring process, and my father is unfortunately going to be there for some of it, though I’ll likely leave the room when he does his own interviews. I don’t - after August, he’s convinced that I can’t pick out my own security team.”

“August was...I mean, he was selling information about us because his dad is sick and can’t afford the surgeries and medication back in America. He was willing to risk prison to save his dad. That’s not something you could have predicted.”

A part of Emma understands the words she’s telling Killian, but the other part of her wants to punch August’s fucking teeth out for making her life hell and inadvertently causing her crash.

“You’ve met Brennan. You know how he can be. I could do everything perfectly, but one screw up that’s outside of my control, and I’m incompetent.”

“Your dad sucks.”

Killian leans his head back with his laugh before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her knuckles once more. “In three words, you’ve managed to sum up quite a bit of my life.”

“I’m magical like that.”

“That you are, my love. That you are.” Killian sighs and blinks at her a few times. She thinks he’s going to say something to her, but then there’s a slight shake of his head and she knows the moment has passed. “Give me a little more time, and I swear I’ll talk to him. Seriously. He and I may never get along, but that’s okay. I simply need him to publicly accept you and to sign off on all of these protection measures for you.”

“Killian, you know you don’t have to do - ”

“No, I do. I will do everything I can to protect you, and if that means I have to have an actual conversation with my father where I don’t leave the room until I get what I want, I will. We’ve missed so much time not talking and not taking action. I don’t want to miss any more.”

Emma leans forward and presses her mouth to Killian’s cheek. “I love you. You should wear the white and navy striped tie instead of the solid one.”

He raises his hand to his forehead as he stands from the bed. “Aye, that’s a good idea.”

“And babe?”

“Yeah, love?”

“If Graham Humbert doesn’t make it to the final interview stage for security, Ruby and I will both be pissed at you. He’s who I want protecting me.”

“That doesn’t terrify me as much as it should.”

“Ruby will be vicious.”

“Eh.”

“I can withhold sex, and you just got that back.”

Killian mock gasps, placing his hand over his heart. “You’re a liar, Emma Nolan. I know you find me too attractive to ever do that.”

He catches the pillow she throws with annoying ease, and she hates him for it.

(Not really.)

After Killian leaves, Emma falls back into bed and thinks that she’ll spend her day watching Netflix or doing something else as equally lazy. What better way is there to spend her last day of being twenty-five?

None.

But that lasts approximately two episodes of a show before guilt nags at her, and she’s moving the covers off of her legs and standing from the bed with a frown etched on her lips and the idea that she needs to clean something. Cleaning is not at all her thing unless she’s working at the pub, but she’s been pretty much on vacation (if vacation included recovering from a car crash and having a million talks with your boyfriend over all of the problems in your relationship) for two months, and she’s probably genetically unable to not work for such long periods of time.

She’s in a literal palace, even if it’s nothing like any of the movies or shows, and instead of relaxing, she wants to clean up the spots Killian has let go over the past few weeks from not having a maid to aid him in his ridiculously specific cleaning rituals.

What even is her life?

She starts in the kitchen, going through Killian’s fridge and throwing out everything that’s expired or has gone bad, and she quickly moves on from that to vacuuming every rug and sweeping or dusting the places that get missed. It’s a lot, and if it wasn’t for the music that is playing over the system, she’d have quit hours ago. She’s about to quit now when she remembers just how messy Killian’s closet is because of her absolute inability to hang up her own clothes.

They’ve probably had more fights about that than, oh, you know, whether or not the actual King of England wants to behead her or not.

(Currently, they’re leaning more toward him wanting to lock her away in a dungeon so she can’t cause any more unintentional media frenzies. It’s apparently less dramatic than a beheading because at least she gets to live...this is a weird train of thought.)

Emma’s phone starts ringing, and she pulls it out of her pocket to answer as she walks up the stairs.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets. “How are you feeling today? Old? Young? Like your life is over because you’re getting closer to late-twenties than early-twenties?”

“You are the most encouraging person alive.”

“I try.”

Emma chuckles and turns down the hallway to go into the bedroom, picking up her bra from where Killian must have tossed it last night and placing it in the hamper. “I’m fine. Killian’s at work opening a new hospital wing, apparently. I’m cleaning. How are you? What are you guys up to today?”

“I’m sorry. Did you say you were cleaning? Are we sure that you don’t have a concussion?”

“Your dad jokes are not good.”

“Every joke I’ve told since the day you were born has been a dad joke, and they’ve all been fabulous.”

She groans and walks into the closet before placing her phone on the table in the center of the room and putting it on speaker so she can do a little work before she loses momentum.

“I’m taking your dad joke privileges away, and to answer your question, I really am fine. I’m just messy, and Killian hasn’t had any of his usual staff in the apartment while I’ve been here. I think the whole August thing freaked him out so that he doesn’t trust anyone around me.”

“Someone close to him was selling information about you that harmed you. I’d be freaked out too. Hell, I am freaked out. If I wouldn’t get arrested for assault, I’d confront the guy.”

Everyone she loves wants to punch everyone who has hurt her, but they all stop themselves because of the fear of getting arrested for assault…she’s not sure if that’s flattering or concerning.

“What are you and Mom up to today?” she questions again, wanting to change the subject. She doesn’t want to talk about all of the shitty stuff that’s been happening to her lately. All she wants is to pick up all of her sweaters from the ground and figure out which ones need to be washed. Focusing on the bad is not how she’s going to move forward.

(And maybe not having to see August Booth’s face.)

“Your mom is downstairs with Will going over some possible menu changes, and I’ve been told I’m not allowed in the pub until I fix whatever is up with this toilet.”

“Ah, so you called me to procrastinate on doing that?”

“You know me so well.”

Emma fills in her dad on everything that’s been going on over the past few days. She tells him that her arm almost doesn’t feel weird anymore and that Ruby came over for dinner two nights again and brought Graham along with her. David is nearly as shocked by that as she was. This might be the longest relationship Ruby has ever had, and it’s good to see her so happy. It’s good that Emma likes Graham in that he’s dating her best friend and also might be protecting Emma’s life from now on if his next round of interviews goes well. In return, her dad gives her far too much information on the date he and her mom went on last night, and then he spends at least ten minutes talking about the difference in two brands of tomatoes.

All the while Emma has almost the entire closet (seriously, her dad talked for way too long and gave too much information about the date like he was talking to a friend and not his daughter) cleaned up. When she moves a pair of jeans that are on Killian’s side of the closet, she finds his solid blue navy tie he was searching for earlier.

“Ha,” she mumbles before reaching down to grab the tie.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says to her dad before tugging on the tie and pulling it up only for a small black box to roll out of it and tumble down onto the ground. “Holy shit.”

“Emma, are you okay?” David asks, but Emma barely hears him over the pounding of her heart. There might as well be an entire drumline in the room.

“Emma?”

“Y-yeah,” she lies even as her fingers tug so tightly on the tie that it might tear. “Hey, Dad? Has Killian talked to you about any...future type things?”

“What do you mean?”

Emma huffs and goes to pick up the box. They could be earrings, right? Or a necklace? Or another ring? She’s got a sapphire one she wears on her right hand. Killian has given her a ring before that wasn’t an engagement ring. That doesn’t mean what’s in this box is one. He buys her jewelry, and it’s not a big deal.

Except…

When the hell did he have time to get this?

How long has he had it? What made him decide to get it? When does he plan on using it? Does he still plan on using it after their breakup?

“You know what I mean. Has he - you know what,” Emma decides, placing the box on the table, “never mind. Don’t tell me anything. I think I’m going to have to call you back later.”

“Whatever you want,” David sighs, confused. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

And then the phone line disconnects and she’s left with nothing except for the sound of that damn drumline and the jewelry box that she doesn’t know what to do with. She’s not going to look. She can’t look. There’s no good that would come out of it.

She really wants to look.

Like, really.

“No,” Emma tells herself, grabbing the box off the table and moving to put it back where it must have been before it got tangled in her jeans and in the tie. She puts the tie back for good measure as well, and she’s absolutely going to bite her tongue on bragging about finding the tie when Killian gets home.

He wants to marry her.

She wants to marry him.

Maybe cleaning was worth something.

-/-

Killian comes home that night with grilled cheese sandwiches, which he hates, and onion rings from Ruby’s grandmother’s restaurant, and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more.

He tells her that Graham has moved onto the final selections even with Brennan’s hounding and worry over Graham not being trained in the same way as their usual security.

Emma knows that she wants him to be the one who’s hired. She’s not going to trust anyone else, not after everything that’s happened.

-/-

He doesn’t give her any kind of jewelry for her birthday the next day, and she knows what was in the box.

There’s no definite proof, but Emma knows.

Right now, where they are, she’s not ready to get married, but she will be someday. Probably soon. So if Killian were to ask her, she’d say yes over and over again, but the actual getting married part would have to be put on hold until her emotions, Killian’s too, were a little less chaotic.

Love is a really funny thing.

-/-

November 10th, 2018

The cool of the marble pebbles Emma’s skin as Killian helps guide her on top of the counter. His fingers inch over the back of her thighs and up behind her knees where she’s sensitive, and she giggles into his neck while trying to keep herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. Killian keeps the apartment so warm that she didn’t bother to put on anything more than her sleep shorts and a t-shirt last night before going to bed, and she’s regretting that now with every shift over her body over the countertop. But Killian is warm, especially when he steps in between her thighs and she hooks her ankles around his back right over his ass, and every touch of his fingers, gentle and teasing, brings a little more fire to her body.

Especially if he’d stop trying to tickle her while hotly running his tongue down the side of her throat and leaving open-mouthed kisses there.

He’s particularly good at those, and she could spend day after day close to him as he covers her body with affectionate words and delicate brushes of lips that turn into more.

Really, that’s been the last two months, even with her having to wear that atrocious cast for most of it, but they found simple ways to fix that. Being apart and not having those beautiful blue eyes to look into or that laugh to hear after a funny joke was absolutely torture, and having him back in her life, having him back as her person, is something Emma doesn’t ever want to take for granted again.

She will inevitably. It’s human nature. But she doesn’t want to.

Being with Killian is the easy thing. Fighting off the demons is what makes it difficult, but fighting off the demons and conquering them has made her realize that good things often come after struggles that seem impossible.

She’s a sentimental fool now, and she doesn’t care.

(Finding the engagement ring two weeks ago has made her even more sentimental.)

She especially doesn’t care as Killian’s tongue dips into her collarbone and his hands snake up underneath her shirt, warm palms against cool skin in a combination of which she’ll never tire. Emma knows that Killian is a sentimental fool now too. He was before, definitely more than her, but she can see all of the little ways he’s being more affectionate than he was before.

That’s saying something.

But his affection has been obvious lately. In the mornings, she always wakes to him curled around her, hand resting between her breasts and chin nuzzled into the back of her neck. That’s not how they sleep, not usually, so she knows that he does that when he wakes up in the morning while she’s still sleeping. He’s always touching her - hands intertwined, arm around her waist, ankles hooked together - like he’s looking for constant reassurance that she’s real.

That they’re real.

Killian has gone to war for her on multiple occasions, and she has seen the intensity and the fighting spirit that he possesses. She watched him break down over her accident and watched him absolutely vilify every single press association that was involved in that incident or any of the ones that have attacked her in the past or stolen private information from her. She’s watched him deal with the Neal interviews that seem to keep coming despite their falsities, and she’s watched him do absolutely everything that he can to protect her.

Emma never wanted protection or help. She thought that it made her weak to not be able to handle things on her own, but that was wrong.

All of it.

People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You have to punch back and say “no, this is who I am.” If you want people to look at you differently, make them. If you want to change things, you’re going to have to go out there and change them yourself. Because there are no fairy godmothers in this world.

But there are supportive partners who punch back with you or stand to the side and cheer you on when you need it the most.

“I hate these bloody shorts,” Killian mumbles into her skin as the deep timbre of his voice vibrates down her spine. “I seem to both want you in them and out of them all at once.”

“That’s quite the conundrum you have going on, Jones.”

Killian chuckles before nipping at her jaw and pulling back so that she sees his eyes are blown black. “You are the conundrum, Nolan,” he softly says as his thumbs ghost over both of her nipples, slowly but surely bringing them to peaks. “It’s a funny thing. I seem to always want you. I want you in the mornings, at night, in the middle of the damn day…”

Emma hums while pleasure continues to curl between her thighs, and she wraps her arms loosely around his neck, playing with his hair and running the gemstone of her ring down the back of his neck. “Tell me more about this wanting me in the morning thing.”

The look on his face is positively dirty, and it’s exactly what she wants. So when his hands leave her breasts and move to take her shirt off, she stretches her arms in the air and allows him to undress her until the warm air of the heater is touching her skin. Killian shifts against her so that she can feel his length brushing against where she wants him, a perfect fit in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable, and she melts at his touch as the roughness of his unshaven scruff scratches against her neck and down her sternum to be between her breasts.

“You’re a damn temptress,” he mutters, voice deep and raspy with sleep still lingering. “I wake up and see the smoothness of your skin laid out before me, and my mind is only filled with thoughts of you. I’ve never wanted someone like this.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Do you now?” His fingers tug into her shorts and her underwear, and she lifts her hips as he pulls them down and off of her ankles so that she’s left bare before him, the marble chilling her skin has goosebumps pop up and spread over her.

“I do. Most definitely. You’re quite the catch.”

Killian laughs as he captures her lips, so soft and pliant and warm, with her own. There’s something to be said for kissing just for the sake of kissing, the feeling it sends through her body, and when Emma gently runs her tongue across his bottom lip, asking for entrance, he gladly grants it, tangling their tongues together in one of his favorite dances. She’s definitely picked a partner who knows what he’s doing.

Emma runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her hand anchored there while the other runs up his spine, soft little taps of her fingertips against the bone underneath his shirt. They stay that way for awhile, lips moving together, until Emma’s hand leaves his hair to move underneath his shirt as well, pulling up at the material until he pulls back and tugs it over his head.

“I feel like we’re on a little bit more equal footing now. You were wearing too many clothes.”

“Was I? I hadn’t noticed. I was a little bit distracted by how unsanitary it’s going to be for us to fuck in the kitchen.”

“That’s literally never stopped you before.”

He huffs and leans forward to kiss her, slow and so impossibly thorough that she feels it all the way down to her toes. “I know,” he grins. “Are you okay up there, or do you want to move upstairs?”

“As long as you don’t hit my head into a cabinet, I’m fine.”

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” he whispers against her skin, kissing the tops of her breasts as her eyelids flutter closed and she recovers from the whiplash in the change of his tone. “I remember the first time I saw you, Emma,” he speaks into her skin as his nose drags along her stomach and arousal tugs at her belly. “You were – are so bloody gorgeous, the curls of your ponytail framing your face and the dark of your eyelashes looking down at me as you told me to get my soggy ass out of the booth.”

“I didn’t say that,” she protests, running her hand through the hair and tugging him down closer to where she’s desperately aching for her.

There’s something about the night that they met that Killian always thinks about. It’s a frequent remembrance, this conversation one they’ve had before, and Emma knows that in moments where Killian is nostalgic, where he’s thinking about how much she means to him, his mind goes back to that night and piecing together all of the circumstances for their meeting.

She doesn’t care how it happened. Just that it did.

No one was ever supposed to love her or treasure her like this. This wasn’t supposed to be how it is for her. She wasn’t supposed to get the good guy. It wasn’t in the cards.

Life has apparently decided to deal her a new hand altogether.

“But you were thinking it,” he whispers against skin, lips pressing against her small tattoo and lingering there. She thought getting that might be a mistake, that the desperation was too much, but over the past few weeks, Killian has held onto it like a glimmer of hope. She did the same. “You looked so frustrated with me, like how dare I walk into your pub in order to get out of the rain.”

“Shameful, really,” she teases, and when she opens her mouth to say something else, she can’t, her throat suddenly too tight to speak while the entirety of the English language escapes from her brain.

Killian’s hands hook around the back of her knees, and this time there’s no playful teasing. Instead, he spreads her legs further apart and bends down to his own knees. She’s about to make a joke about him not hurting himself, a tease over his twenty-ninth birthday last month and how dramatic he was over being nearly thirty, but then he’s kissing her exactly where she wants him, where she needs him.

His tongue drags roughly against her like a perfected routine, and Emma’s eyes tighten. She can’t bear to open them, but then she does and sees the dark mess of hair between the paleness of her thighs. Even more than that, she sees the blue of his eyes under the hood of his eyelid, and she wonders if today is going to be the day that this is all too much for her.

Never.

Killian shifts underneath her, his right hand leaving the curve of her knee to join with his tongue as he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her. Moans filter between them, hers and his, and the tension could be cut with one of the knives that’s in the drawer beneath her ass. It’s all too much - too much pleasure and want and love - and when he slips two fingers into her and curls them, she gasps out his name as a chant that never seems to stop.

“Magnificent,” he mumbles, the sound of his voice like liquid fire in her veins. “Bloody magnificent. Your noises, my darling. Fuck.”

There’s something about knowing that Killian is as affected by things like this as she is, even if he’s the one giving all of the pleasure, and that with the combination of his mouth moving over her bundle of nerves and his fingers moving within her as her falling apart little by little, like the waves cresting onto the shore.

Damn.

Killian presses a kiss to where she’s still fluttering before moving to her thigh, light touches that are nothing more than a blink, a whisper. When he rises from the ground, he grunts, probably from having his knees pressed into hardwood for so long, but she doesn’t think about that for too long when she can feel him hard against her and pressing into her thigh. “Mmm,” Emma hums, pulling herself up and tugging Killian closer to her so that she buries her face in his neck, kissing the straining cord. “You are wonderful.” “Ah, well, that tends to be your reaction after we do something like that.” “Are you fishing for compliments?” “Never.” She chuckles while he does the same, and even without looking, she knows that his eyes are crinkled, joy written across his face.

“Do you want to move upstairs or…”

“Upstairs. Definitely upstairs.”

They move quickly, neither of them in the mood to wait, and while it would have been faster to move to the couch in the living room, this is better. Killian falls back to the bed with laughter on his lips, and Emma immediately hooks her thumbs into his sweats and pulls them down as much as she can before he lifts his hips off the bed to help her out, kicking them off his ankles and onto the floor while she is busy kissing up his thigh, her hand running up his length, feeling the warm hardness in her palms.

“Emma,” Killian moans, voice gruntled. She smirks into his thigh and keeps her hand on his length.

“I am romancing you, Killian,” she promises against his lightning bolt scar before crawling up his body, peppering open mouthed kisses against the trail of his chest hair until she’s leaning over his mouth, her folds teasing him at their hips. “Like you do to me.”

“Darling - ”

“Your eyes, even blown black with desire like they are right now,” she whispers, circling her hips above him to lightly grind down, “are the most gorgeous blue I’ve ever seen.”

She touches his face then, running her fingers over his jaw. “I love your stubble, how it’s black with a little bit of red peppered in, and I love when you don’t shave for a few days and it’s full and just the right mix of soft and prickly. I love the way it feels when you rub it against my cheek in the mornings when you’re waking me up or how it feels against the inside of my thighs.”

She kisses his jaw, running her tongue behind her lips, and the grunt Killian makes curls as little bursts of fire down her spine.

“I love,” she says, running her hands down his biceps as she sits on his lap, right below where she knows he wants her, “the strength of your arms when you hold me, no matter what the occasion. And I love,” she moves her hands through the hair at his chest as Killian twitches beneath her touch, “this hair and how it pokes through the top of all of your shirts. I love the ways that your eyes crinkle when you’re truly smiling.”

I love that you love me enough to want to marry me, she thinks to herself before saying. “I love that you fight for me every day no matter the circumstances.”

She rises on her legs and scoots forward, guiding him to her entrance before slowly, slowly, slowly sinking down onto him. It’s a perfect fit. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, and Killian’s hands grapple for her hips, nails digging into skin. She doesn’t think he’s ever been this quiet for such a long period of time during sex.

“And mostly, at least for our purposes right now, what I love is the feeling of you inside me, thick and full and perfect.”

At that, she starts to move, rolling her hips against him, and it feels so goddamn good that her brief stint as the verbose one in the relationship has ended and Killian is the one to start muttering words of encouragement and curses that would have anyone blushing. She sets a slow, unhurried pace that she knows will draw out pleasure, but Killian doesn’t let her do that for long before he takes control of their movements, speeding up the pace as he thrusts up into her. She lets out a whimper as he hits the exact right spot, and Killian captures the next one with his mouth, kissing her like a man starved of affection and like it’s not ten in the morning.

Suddenly, Killian grabs her hips and rolls them over to change their position, his body encasing hers. He mutters a “bloody fuck” when she clenches her thighs to try to keep him from slipping out, and Emma throws her head back with laughter even if she shouldn’t.

Killian nips at her neck, but she can feel his smile too.

He must be able to tell that she’s getting close, rising higher and higher to her peak, because he releases her hips to grab her wrists, sliding his hands until their fingers are interlaced above her head. He tilts his hips so that his thrusts catch her clit. Her breath hitches and her legs wrap around his backside, and Emma might actually melt. She thinks that she has. Her limbs are all jelly, and Killian isn’t much better above her.

This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

There are a million things they should probably do today, but they never seem to move away from bed besides getting food from the kitchen. That’s what she’d been trying to do this morning when Killian distracted her, but she’s not going to complain. This is good and nice and Emma could wrap herself in these blankets and in Killian for the rest of time.

When she wakes later, it’s to the slap of a hand to her skin, and Emma immediately flinches and jolts up, blinking into the darkness.

“Ow, shit, Killian. What was that for?”

“I was just making sure you’re here,” he mumbles, voice groggy.

“By slapping me?”

“Killian,” a voice says, and Emma realizes that Killian is on the phone. He might not even realize he’s on the phone. “Killian are you there? “Killian, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

Liam. He’s talking to Liam.

Holy shit. Why is Liam calling him in the middle of the night?

“I’ll be honest, no. I’m still mostly asleep.”

“Asleep my ass,” Emma mumbles before reaching over to put the call on speaker phone so she doesn’t have to keep straining her ears to hear him. Killian grumbles something, but she ignores him as she settles herself underneath his arm. “Liam, what’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”

“Elsa is in labor, and we sent all of our nannies home for the night. Can the two of you watch Alex for us?”

“Of course,” Emma sighs. “Bring him over when you guys leave, okay?”

“I will, lass. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Killian promises, finally waking up. “Congratulations, brother.” At that, the line goes dead, and Emma immediately moves to get out of bed only for Killian tugs her back into him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Emma raises a brow and motions down to the distinct lack of clothes on both of their bodies. “I know Alex is about to have a sibling, which is definite proof of his parents having sex, but I don’t want to be the one to have to explain why his uncle was having a naked sleepover with me.”

“Really? You don’t want to explain sex to a toddler? Shocker.”

She huffs and leans forward to brush her lips over his forehead. “Congratulations on being an uncle again, babe.”

Emma hears his swallow as his head nods up and down in affirmation. “Thanks, love. Let’s go put on some clothes so we don’t scar the lad.”

-/-

The next chapter is technically the last official chapter. How is that even possible? Thank you all for coming along for this ride ❤️

tag list: @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @owlways-and-forever @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @397bartonstreet @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @scarletslippers @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @captainswanbigbang

#what a wicked game #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #captain swan

94 notes · View notes

cirrius-akiyo · 3 years

Note

50* + buddie sorry but if you want to write both that is okay with me hehe

Read in AO3

@buckleysjareau , I couldn't help myself but to do both 49 and 50 from the Fluff/Angst Prompts List

I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it.

Thank you for the prompts. 🤗🤩

The moment Eddie agreed to throw himself into the underground fighting scene, he never thought in a million years he would get addicted to the adrenaline roaring through his vein with every punch that followed. Eddie thought he would be able to quit anytime he wanted to, because he was still in control, he needed to be in control. He woke up every morning convincing himself that those days would be his last in the scene, that he would stop when he could, that he would not let himself astray more than it was, but every triumph and money stacks he received at the end of his wins made it harder and harder to quit.

Of course, things got out of hand because the next thing he knew, his opponent was not breathing and Eddie knew without intervention, the man was as good as dead. Calling for an ambulance to the scene was a risky move, but deep inside he knew he is a firefighter first, and so he braced himself for the consequences as he dialed the 9-1-1. Consequences that include exposing himself open in front of Bobby, confronting the ghost of his stewed anger towards Shannon and towards himself. Consequences that had forced him to talk with Frank, leaving out all of his skeletons and miles long disappointments for a stranger to see.

Now, the consequences of his bad decision had come back to taunt him yet again, forcing him to wait once more at the wrong side of the hospital room.

Moving Christopher’s weight from one side to the other, Eddie wipes away the stray tear stains painted on his son’s face who has his head cradled at the crook of Eddie’s shoulder, still sobbing silently. The hushed sobs compel Eddie to stifle his own as he inspects the gauze on Chris’ left elbow, examining his own aching knuckles.

Eddie’s focus shifted from their minor injuries as he looks up at the direction the clicking sound of booted footsteps belongs to none other than Sergeant Athena Grant, who is walking towards them with urgency and purpose.

“How is he doing?” Athena queries as she takes a sit beside Eddie, her back stiffs against the hard chair, staying alert with any impending news.

Eddie purses his lips and spats bitterly in a hushed whisper, “Are you asking about Chris or Buck?” Because right now, both of them are far from being okay by Eddie’s definition. Hell, he himself is far from okay at the moment, so excuse him for struggling to contain his emotion.

But credit to Athena, she does not sway a bit with his little outburst and simply clarifies, “both.”

“Sorry.” Eddie exhales roughly, wiping his face with his free hand.

Athena smiles empathetically. “Don’t be. We are all strung out with the news. I have talked with Maddie and Bobby. She will be here soon. The rest of the team will come once their shift is over.”

Eddie nods, grateful for her help because the thought of calling Maddie or the team totally skipped his mind with his sole focus fixed on his family and their safety. “Chris got some bruise on his elbow when he skinned himself falling down. Other than that, he’s quite shaken up. Buck on the other hand,” Eddie paused, pushing the queasy feeling down before continues, “he was barely responsive when they brought him in. The doctor said something about possible concussion and broken ribs.” Eddie breaks his eye contact with Athena, not wanting her to see his brimming tears.

“How about you, Eddie?”

“What about me?” Eddie retorts defensively, pulling Christopher tighter into his embrace, as if he is ready to pick up the boy and run away, away from this mess and nightmare.

“As far as I’m concern, you’re a victim too in this attack. So, tell me, how are you doing?” She repeats herself, demanding for a no-bullshit answer.

“I’m fine. Buck took the brunt of it.” That is definitely a ‘bullshit’ answer.

Athena arches an eyebrow, giving Eddie a skeptical look but does not pries further on the subject.

Instead, she proceeds with her business with, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

There it is, the million-dollar question Eddie has been dreading the moment he saw Athena walked down the corridor. Because to answer her questions, Eddie needs to relive the hellish moment again, visiting his past mistake and he is not sure if he has the gut to do it.

“Can we please do this after Tia Pepa picks up Christopher?” Eddie tries to compromise, ignoring how broken his voice sounds, because he really doesn’t want to subject Chris through the torment again.

Athena nods in understanding. “Sure. I’ll wait right here with you, or do you want to be alone?” She asks as she changes her posture, preparing to leave if Eddie wanted her to.

“No, stay please. I don’t want to be alone.” Eddie pleads, not sure what comes over him as the words leave his mouth.

“Sure, honey.” Athena relaxes in her seat, but her keeping her guarding stance.

///

“Are you ready, Eddie?” Athena starts, pulling out her notepad and pen.

Eddie nods, not trusting his words now because he would never be ready. All his life, he never would imagine himself being a victim, having caring countless victims in his few years of service, but today’s incident has changed the narrative.

“Do you recognize who hurt you? Hurt Chris and Buck?”

“Yeah. He uh… I uh… fought him once… during the street fighting, and uh, he lost quite a big sum that day.” Eddie grits his teeth, nausea building up behind his throat as he remembered the thrills he felt when he received the winning stacks, the elated face of Christopher when he bought him the latest Lego set using the bloody money.

“Do you have a name?” Athena proceeds stoically, not a bit fazed by Eddie’s dirty little secret.

“Jake…um, Jake Woodson? I think so, yeah.”

“How about you tell me what went down from the beginning.”

Eddie shuts his eyes, trying to recall the mirage of the daunting memories. He could feel his palm getting sweaty under the visible stress. He really doesn’t want to do this, but the son of a bitch needs to pay for hurting his family, and so Eddie perseveres.

“We were at the park. The one near the firehouse.”

“It’s getting dark. You think it’s time to go home yet?” Buck asked as he shoved his hands into the pocket of his brown jacket.

“Yeah. I think we burn enough of Chris’ energy for today. I’m tucking him tonight.” Eddie smiled cheekily at the prospect of Chris easily falling asleep.

Buck pouted. “You always tucked him in when he already burned out. It’s not fair,” the man half grumbled.

Eddie chuckled heartily, grabbing Buck’s elbow as they strutted towards Chris who was still immersed feeding the ducks. “But you love it.”

“I do, but we are stopping by the McDonald’s afterwards.” Buck flashed him an evil grin.

“No, we aren’t.” Eddie chastised.

“Hey Chris! How does a McFlurry sounds?” The shouts caught Chris’s attention right away and he beamed at the promise of dessert.

“You vile, vile man.”

“You love me.”

“I know I do.”

“We were walking back to our truck when he approached.” Eddie continues.

“Jake Woodson?”

Eddie grimaced at the name, but nods in confirmation.

“So, what happened then?” Athena prods as she tries to paint a clearer picture of the incident.

“We were completely blindsided. I was about to help Chris into his seat when suddenly this man shoved me to the ground, bringing Chris down with me. That’s how Chris…” Eddie gestures to his left elbow, hoping Athena would comprehend.

“Hey! Get away from my family!” Buck growled before pushing the man away from Eddie and Chris who were still stunned on the ground.

The man, who Eddie swears got bigger from the last time Eddie saw him, sneered at Buck and before Eddie could warned his husband, Jake grabbed Buck’s head and smashed it hard to the side of their truck, painting the metal red.

Eddie screamed as Buck collapsed in a heap, his face scrunched in a mixture of daze and pain as blood sluggishly trickled down his temple.

Eddie lets out a harsh sigh, looking down at the tear drops staining his jeans.

“Do you want to take a break?” Athena places her hand on the sobbing man’s shoulder.

Eddie shakes his head. He wants to get this done and over with.

“I want to help Buck, but Christopher was crying behind me. I couldn’t simply leave him alone. What if Jake attacked him?” Eddie sheds angrily at the tears that doesn’t seem to be stopping.

The torn feelings he had felt at that time was agonizing.

“So, I…I pushed Chris to hide behind the truck…oh God! I should help Buck faster! I should...I should…,” Eddie breaths bleakly at the thought as he shuts his eyes close, trying to replay the moment where he could do better.

Athena immediately kneels in front of Eddie, trying to calm down the man who is now borderline hyperventilating. “Eddie, Eddie! Listen to me. Listen. What you did was right. Buck would want you to put Christopher’s safety first.”

Eddie inhales, feeling his breaths stutter in his chest.

“You have to breath. Calm down now, Eddie. What you’ve been through is traumatic, but you have to breath.”

Eddie tries his darndest best to hold himself together.

“That’s right. Keep breathing, Eddie.”

“Okay. Okay.” Eddie chokes back the sobs.

“Are you good to continue?” Athena eyes him.

Eddie nods feebly as he levels down his breathing pace.

“When I got to them, Jake was kicking Buck in the chest.” Eddie swallows hard, recalling how Buck tried to cover his head and chest in a losing fight. “I threw some punches but he won’t relent. Keep snarking about how I should lose everything too like he did.”

“Do you know what that means?” Athena asks further as she jots down Eddie’s statements.

Eddie shrugged, completely clueless. “I don’t know. I just know that I won big that day. I haven’t fight him again afterwards.” He hangs his head low as shame and guilt slithers up his spine.

Eddie is pulled out of his self-loathing when he heard a female doctor asks, “family of Evan Buckley-Diaz?”

Both of them stand up in record time, meeting the doctor halfway who is smiling softly, but Eddie does not dare to let his heart hope, not until he could see Buck is alive and well for himself. Because the last time Eddie saw Buck, the love of his life was half-conscious with blood covering most of his face.

“I’m his husband. Is he okay?” In any other circumstances, Eddie is always proud to tell anybody who is asking that Buck is in fact his husband, but never like this. Not in this sterile hospital corridor surrounded by death and diseases.

“Your husband is going to be just fine.” She starts off with assuring note before continues, “he sustained a nasty concussion and two broken ribs, but he is very lucky there is no internal bleeding, neither in the head nor chest, just some major bruising. Head wound tends to bleed a lot, a fact that I’m sure both of you are familiar with.”

“Can I see him?” His voice timid. The smile that never leaves the young doctor’s face did little to nothing in comforting his racing heart.

“Of course, but he is asleep now. He will be disoriented and most likely in pain when he wakes up later, but other than that, he should recover just fine with plenty of rest.” The doctor finishes off cheerily.

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’s holding. Buck is fine. He is fine. Buck is alive. The mantra resonates throughout his body, vibrating at a wild pace throughout each cell.

But he is pulled out of his stupor when Athena pats his back. “I knew his thick skull would come in handy sometimes.” She chuckles wetly, and Eddie swears he saw the Great Athena Grant sheds a tear.

///

It was almost midnight when Buck stirs groggily, whining unhappily at the assault of pain his body is experiencing.

Eddie approaches his husband almost immediately, calming the struggling man in a hush manner. “Easy Buck.”

At the mention of his name, Buck looks up hazily towards the caramel-brown eyes that hold his world. “Y‘kay? C’ris?” He slurred, flinching as he tries to swallow.

Eddie lets out a wet laugh at Buck’s question as he fetches the water and guiding his husband for small sips.

“We are both okay. Some bruises, but you’re the one who manages to land on this beautifully crafted hospital bed.” Buck doesn’t seem to miss the broken notes in the man’s jesting laugh, but he chooses to let it slides as he turns his head around the room, noting the absence of their son.

Seeing the confusion on Buck’s face as he starts to thrash around, Eddie know exactly who is Buck looking for. “Chris is at Abuela’s. He’s fine.” Eddie emphasis on the word ‘fine’, just so Buck would calm down in his bed.

Yet Buck gives him an unimpressed look, sensing some omission of facts through Eddie’s cracked voice.

Eddie sighs dejectedly. All the time they have spent together, obviously Buck could easily read through his lies even in his groggy state.

“Just some bruises when he fell, I promise.” Eddie confessed. “But you on the other hand…” Eddie tries to find the right word that won’t hurt so much, but suddenly his eyes starts to dampen again.

This time, in the private company of his lover and away from judging eyes, Eddie couldn’t help himself but to cry.

“I almost lost you so many times before, but nothing compares of almost losing you because of my own stupid mistake. I am so sorry, Buck. I swear I never thought it would come down to this.”

“Eddie, I’ll do it all over again just so you and Chris will be safe.” Buck’s voice is definitely stronger and Eddie wonders where does Buck pulls the strength from, because right now Eddie is feeling weak on his knees himself and if he had not been sitting, he would definitely collapse. As his tears fall free, Buck seems to be more alert than before and Eddie couldn’t help but to feel ashamed his outburst has ripped Buck from his well-deserving rest.

“Do you think I’m broken? Because you’re the one on the hospital bed, but here I am struggling to contain myself when I should be the strong one.” Eddie hangs his head low as more broken sobs escapes him.

“Eddie, look at me.” Buck cups Eddie’s chin with his right hand, wary of the IV lines as he pulls his lover’s face towards him. “Eddie, nothing is wrong with you. Struggling is what we do best, and people like you and me struggle because we care, we’re not giving up and we’re trying to stay afloat. Am I wrong?”

Eddie tries to look away, but Buck's face and arched eyebrow say that he demands a response.

“No, you’re not. You’re right.” Eddie lets out a small smile at Buck’s words of affirmation.

“Heck yeah, I’m right. I choose to marry you and I’ve chosen to stay with you throughout your struggles.” Buck plops down on the pillow. “But for now, I’m struggling to stay awake. Get in here with me?” Buck scoots over and pulls his blanket to make space for his husband, careful of the lines and wires hanging around him.

“I’m sure it will be a tight squeeze.” Eddie shakes his head affectionately at Buck’s proposal, not that he would fight it much if Buck insists.

“Please. I sleep easier with you close to me.” And there is the puppy eyes attack and Eddie finally relents as he climbs onto the bed gingerly, trying not to jostle Buck’s ribs much.

“Athena was here. She said your thick skull is what saved you.” Eddie whispers against Buck’s shoulder, basking in the warmth that seeps through the thin hospital gowns.

Buck only smiles at the remarks, already half asleep.

Eddie knows he should update their family soon, but that is for future him to handle, because right now, he just wants this moment to be just for the two of them.

“I love you and all your struggles too.” One last confession before both of them paddles through their dreamland.

#911 prompts #buddie prompt #911 fanfic #911 fics #911 fic #911 fox #evan buckley #edmundo diaz #911 #cirrius-akiyo's bunkdump #9-1-1 #this was supposed to be a very short short drabble #buckleysjareau asks #aki answers #buddie fics #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

doyouever-daydream · 4 years

Text

I’m every woman.

A/N So today is the International Women’s Day and I felt inspired to write something, I tried to incorporate as many women that appeared on Criminal Minds but failed to include them all. I’m going to start writing reader insert imagines for my CM Bingo prompts so SSA y/n y/l makes her first appearance here.

Today I’ll be attending my first Women’s March so that obvioulsy inspired this imagine, if any of you are going to the Women’s March please be safe and thank you for taking the streets and suppporting the cause (the current situation in my country is pretty fucked up so this year is even more important to me to try and do anything I can so women can have the same rights as any human being)

English is not my first language and although I love writing and spent most of my teenage years writing fanfiction, everything I wrote was in Spanish so it took me years to finally decide to post my writing in another language, I’m still super insecure but I want to share it so, apologies for any mistakes (also it is currently 3:00 AM so I am practically writing with my eyes closed), I believe it is important for women to speak up and take actions so they can be heard and there are equal rights so that’s how this imagine was inspired. Also these female characters have inspired me as a woman so I hope you can enjoy this!

Warnings: I mean I don’t think this qualifies as warning but talks of feminism

Word count: 2201

“I’m every woman, it’s all in me, anything you want done baby, I’ll do it naturally.”

It was a Saturday night and Chaka Khan’s song played in the background at Penelope’s and Luke’s apartment, it was a special girl’s night, all of them, even Kristy was there while Matt and Luke baby sat the kids.

“Wine and sign making? This is my kind of girl’s night!” Garcia was ecstatic that all of them were going to the Women’s March.

“I know! Although I’m not sure I’m creative enough to do this” JJ stared at her blank poster.

“Come on, JJ, you can do this! Put feminist AF” Emily was already a little tipsy and was clueless as to what her sign would say but she was excited.

“Actually yeah, I think something like that will be fine, what about you, Tara?” JJ looked at Tara who looked as if she was struggling to decide.

“I don’t know, there’s so much I would like to say but unfortunately I can’t write an entire sermon”

“Same, girl, I’m so torn up, not only about what to write but how to decorate, Garcia here has like a million of art supplies we could use, I’m about to turn up a 9 year old and put glitter on all of your signs.” y/n grabbed one of Garcia’s boxes an eyed the glitter selection her dear friend pulled out.

“YES! Glitter and colors and stickers and ugh, I love you y/n, let’s throw biodegradable glitter as a protest!” Penelope hugged y/n while the rest of the gang decided what to put.

“I’ll need your help with Chloe’s and Lily’s signs! So Penelope and y/n, unleash all of your creativity on her signs” y/n smirked.

“I already know what I’ll write for one of them, tell me what you think, girls just wanna have fun” She paused “…damental human rights”

“I HATE YOU, you should’ve told me to put that” JJ teased.

“I’ll be honest and say that I saw it on instagram but thought it would be cute to put it on one of the girl’s sign.” y/n confessed while she started drawing on her poster.

“She’s drawing already, man, I wish I was as artsy as you are” Tara tried to see what she was drawing but couldn’t make a figure just yet.

“Oh, oh, OH, I got it, y/n will not be the only one using music” JJ started writing on her poster “Check this out” She lifted up her poster that read ‘ok, ladies, now let’s get in formation’.

“I still think you should add my idea” Emily laid comfortably in Penelope’s couch while seeing her friends work on her signs and siping on her glass of wine. “We should’ve brought donuts”

“Oh, I can call someone to pick up some” Penelope already had her phone and was, apparently, sending a text.

“Who else is coming? I thought it was only us?” y/n asked while she kept drawing.

“I invited an old friend but she only just told me she could make it” Now everyone was eyeing Garcia while she smiled proudly.

“Who? Linda Barnes?” Emily’s sarcasm had everyone laughing.

“Nope, but it’s a surprise, let’s continue please.”

“You know what? I already know what I’m gonna put on mine, back when I worked in San Francisco, I had this really annoying co worker, whose name I can’t remember but he was a pain in the ass that constantly went around joking with everyone in the office about how I had the biggest case of resting bitch face, not only did I have to endure that but also his misogynistic jokes” When Tara finished writing on her poster she showed it to her friends.

Resisting

Bitch

Face.

“I’m gonna decorate the shit out of it now” She proceeded to grab cut outs from magazines that Garcia had.

“I love it Tara, and I love being here with you, thanks for counting me in Penelope” Kristy was happy to hang out with these women that she considered her friends.

“Nonsense, you’re part of the girl power gang, we’re family, now, what do you think about my progress?” Everyone turned to see Garcia’s sign, it read: destroy the patriarchy, not the planet.

“Penelope Grace Garcia, you are perfect” y/n stated and everyone agreed with her.

“It’s totally you.”

“Ah, see? Baby girl is a great feminist and ambientalist” Penelope smiled proudly while she painted flowers.

“You know? I’m inspired, I’m gonna start working on that sign, that is until the donuts arrive” Emily sat straight while she put the glass on Garcia’s coffee table and then went to get her poster.

“I finished mine” Kristy said proudly while she held her sign up: ‘women belong in all places where decisions are being made’

“You are a genius, woman” JJ was in awe of all her friends.

“I love it, Kristy” y/n finally speaked up after being very focused designing her sign “I know I’ve told you this many times but growing up I was a tomboy, I loved playing in the dirt, climbing trees, playing I was a spy, I had bunch of guy friends, I loved, I still love baseball with my life, and other sports, I truly believe ‘all clothes are unisex if you stop being a little bitch about it’ and because of that I’ve had to put up with a million comments about how ‘weird’ I am because despite all of that I also like wearing makeup and other ‘feminine stuff’, I grew up being an ‘enigma’ to some people because I like boy stuff and girls stuff and I always hated when they told me bullshit like that, I always refused to accept there were stuff for girls and boys, now after giving you this lecture as if I was presenting my dissertation, look at my sign”

I eat gender norms for breakfast

y/n accompanied the quote with a drawing of a cereal box adorned with blue and pink glitter.

“SLAY” Emily cheered. “I feel you, y/n, I grew up speaking my mind and sometimes that wasn’t well received because I wasn’t a man, it drove me insane, it still does, as much as the brass wants to believe they are ok with having women in charge, they’re not completely convinced, you know?”

“You are a total boss bitch, and we love you” Tara commented while she raised her glass.

“Yes, Emily Prentiss, one day you’ll be THE boss bitch of the FBI, I know it” y/n added as the doorbell rang.

“Ooh, my surprise for you is here” Penelope hurried to the door and when she opened it she shrieked in delight when she saw Alex Blake standing there.

“Hello ladies” She entered the apartment and went to say hi to everyone, introducing Kristy to their former teammate, since she was the only one that did not know her, Prentiss had met her before and y/n was also familiar with her as they’ve worked together when y/n worked for the Crisis Negotiation Unit.

“It’s so nice to see you, Alex, how you’ve been?” JJ asked while offering her a glass of wine.

“Great, I am back teaching at Georgetown, James is also teaching there and we’re very happy to be back from Massachusetts”

After catching up with Alex’s life and the rest of them trying to sum up everything the BAU had been through during her absence time flew by quickly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t joined the BAU when I was there, it would’ve been incredible to work with you Tara, you as well, y/n” She smiled fondly at the two women she had known for the longest time out of the rest.

“It’s known to everyone that has worked with me that I learned so much from the both of you, I can’t believe that now you are my friends and here we are, making signs for the Women’s March”

“Hearing you talk about working together at the BAU almost makes me want to join you, girls” Kristy joked “If only the cases you worked weren’t so dark” They all laughed.

“There have been incredible ladies in that unit” y/n admired the women that had been before.

“I remember when Elle Greenaway joined the BAU boys club and I wasn’t so lonely during our cases anymore”

“I miss Elle so much” Garcia sighed while she reminisced on her friend that grew apart from them.

“I never got to work with her during her time in the Bureau but I heard she was a badass” y/n said wondering what had happened to her.

“She was” JJ added.

“Talking about awesome BAU ladies, the other day I saw Jordan, remember her?” Emily looked at Penelope and JJ.

“No way! I haven’t seen her since she came to our rescue when I was on maternity leave”

“I’ve seen her a couple times, she’s worked her way up, I think she’s also unit chief but I can’t remember which unit, she also has an adorable son, once we bumped into each other and showed me some pictures”

“Ashley Seaver also worked briefly with the BAU, didn’t she?” y/n asked.

“Oh yeah, Seaver! She was nice” Emily said.

“Reid had a crush on her” And as soon as those words came out of Penelope’s mouth she regretted them, she didn’t want to make y/n uncomfortable, not that y/n and Reid were anything but Garcia knew they were pining for each other but were too stubborn to act on their feelings.

“I know her, we’re not friends friends but I like her very much, we have some mutual friends, she’s married now, still working for the FBI at a field office” y/n said making a mental note to call her soon.

“Isn’t it amazing knowing how many women are kicking ass in their jobs and making our country a better place?” Kristy said.

“You’re a part of that change Kristy, you should’ve worked at the FBI”

“Oh no, just one FBI agent is enough in our family but thank you for the trust, now I need ideas for the girls signs, y/n has already helped me with one but I still have one to go”

“What about fight like a girl? Matt has told me how much Lily loves Taekwondo” JJ suggested.

“Actually that’s perfect” Kristy went to write that on the poster her little girl would be holding during the march.

“You know, tomorrow Lily and Chloe will not be alone, Kate is bringing Kelly along with her and Meg.”

“I wished she was here” JJ really wanted to see Kate, it had been a while since she had seen her.

“She had to cancel last minute, poor Kelly has a stomach bug” Penelope lamented their friend couldn’t joined them.

“Alex, do you know what you’re putting on your sign?” Tara questioned.

“Actually yeah, I’ve thought about it all the way here, let me get on with it so we can help you clean and then we continue talking?”

They all agreed and went to finish their signs, after a half an hour later they were all done.

It’s time to ovary-act.

“I’m telling you I live surrounded by incredible women, ugh, I love all of you, mis mujeres” Penelope had learned a few Spanish from Luke.

“I couldn’t resist a little wordplay, after all I’m a linguist” Alex was proud of her idea as the others reassured her it was witty.

“You know what? I’m not that drunk that I actually thought deeply about mine, but I finally got it, and while I’m not that drunk I’m drunk enough to make a speech so prepare” She stood up straight while everyone turned to see her “All my life, no matter where I lived, men have tried to intimidate me just because I am a woman and I’ve always fought against those dicks that try to tell me what I can and can’t do, even when it came to my own fucking body, they felt entitled to give their opinion, it’s time we show them and our next generations that we will not accept being silenced, we have the right to speak and be heard and we’ll rule the world, mes amis.” She jokingly raised her glass while y/n grabbed Prentiss sign so she could show it to the rest of their friends.

Vulva la résistance

The rest of the girls cheered on Emily, they were now standing beside each other, with their arms resting on their friends shoulders.

JJ and Penelope went back as far as 15 years, 14 with Emily and y/n, apart from Tara and Alex, had only met these incredible women a little over a year but she was amazed by the amount of courage they had, she felt extremely lucky to be surrounded by women that did it all. Absolutely all.

Truth was being a woman in the FBI, hell, being a woman anywhere wasn’t always easy, but having a support network like the one they had created made life a little easier, knowing if anything happened all they had to do was look beside them and there would be another woman lending a helping hand.

#criminal minds #penelope garcia #jennifer jj jareau #elle greenaway #emily prentiss #alex blake #kate callahan #tara lewis #jordan todd #kristy simmons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert

62 notes · View notes