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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

More Than Sex

TW: Jealous!Rafe. Soft smut. Language. Mentions of alcohol and marijuana. Slight angst due to love confession and jealousy.

SUMMARY: Your friend with benefits situationship with Rafe takes an unexpected turn as your actions prompt him to make a confession.

WORD COUNT:

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Rafe req : when reader and rafe are bestfriends and smoke weef together but occasionally hook up/fwb but when reader flirts/hooks up with jj topper and kelce see that rafe gets jealous and he tells you that it wasn’t ‘just sex’ for him but that he’s in love with you and they get together and confess and everything 💛

*WASN’T SURE IF YOU WANTED SMUT OR NOT SO I KEPT IT MORE OF A CONFESSION PIECE*

More Than Sex

You questioned quite often if Rafe was capable of love. It was one of those thoughts that were mindless when high, looking over to the man in question and beyond curious to just what it was running through his mind as you were both feeling the effects of the marijuana. But this didn’t seem to affect your relationship with him as you had the perfect arrangement that allowed you to quell that carnal curiosity your best friend led you to have since you could remember, while also having the freedom to learn what you really wanted. After all, Rafe Cameron was many things, but boyfriend material wasn’t exactly one of them. Maybe if he was able to have a conversation without resorting to bloodying his knuckles when a disagreement would rival his views or maybe show a sense of romance behind the lust. But it made you understand that he was just as at ease with this friends with benefits situation you had agreed upon over the last year.

But how wrong you were…

As you finished making your rounds through another Kook party, Rafe had parted from you to get you a drink while you were approached by Topper. In the same way Rafe had a camaraderie with you aside from that of a lustful pull, the handsome surfer, and best friend to your lover and friend, held the same. Even if it wasn’t as intense, you were always somewhat curious to what his touch would feel like. But every instance in which you would decide to learn of this, you would always go back to Rafe. Because as much as you wanted everything to stay inconsequential and indifferent, even distant from emotion, being with him was the only way you could be completely yourself as he was equally as broken and when together, those pieces seemed to fit in unison to create something all your own. Chaos and lust. The two words chosen to describe your connection to perfection.

“I could always teach you…” Topper offered as you spoke of surfing, an activity you never really held much interest in as you were honestly terrified of being embarrassed with a lack of equilibrium that was required for the sport. But you did love to watch him as he mastered the curves of each coming wave. After all, you were not bound to anyone. But you wished you were. The same ‘anyone’ that had caught your eye throughout the conversation with Topper as he noticed this and pulled your hips against him.

“First we got to work on your calibration…” But with what should have been an innocuous bout of flirtation would send Rafe off in a huff as he pushed past Topper, forcing his shoulder into his until he was left rubbing it, as you remained to ensure his victim was alright before eventually following in his step.

“What was that about, Rafe?”

“Just go back to your boyfriend, okay?”

“Even if I had one, you have no right to treat me like this…”

“I do when-” He stopped himself as you awaited for his words, but he would just stare, battling if he should even speak them, before silencing you both with hands on either side of your cheeks.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you really think I can stand to see you with anyone else?! After everything we do?”

“We’re friends-”

“Fuck that!” He shot, surprising you as he had never made any grand confession to you before that wasn’t under the guise of some influence. But to this, he was completely sober, a rarity, but something you favored when looking at him like this for you.

“I thought you just wanted to fuck me…” You tested him as he clenched his jaw. “Isn’t that what you did this morning? Last night? In the pool house last week?” You loved puling at him, usually something reserved for sex, but in this instance, you wanted to see how far you could unravel him.

“Because we’re friends-” You spoke again as he was quick to stand across from you, glaring down at you.

“A quick fuck and maybe I’d believe it. But the way you look at me when you feel me come inside of you…It’s the same way I look at you whenever I just have you next to me! Watching anybody else touch you or look at you-talk to you, and I want to tear ‘em to shreds. And the fact that you think Topper can love you like I can?” He paused, clenching his jaw, aware of the words spoken, but not prepared to acknowledge them until knowing your reaction.

“You don’t love me, Rafe-”

“I told myself it wasn’t that. I told myself I was obsessed. I told myself I was bored. But I want more than sex…because this has been more than sex for so long and you know it. I don’t know what game you are playing in trying to get him to fuck you, but it woun’t feel like it would with me. Because what we have is more than any of that. No matter how deep someone else is inside of you, you will ALWAYS wish it was me because you know I love you-you’ve known it. We’ve just been too stubborn. So there. I love you. Okay? Go see-”

“Oh my God!” You silenced him with a kiss as he paused for a second and glared when you pulled away.

“I don’t want to fuck you-” He corrected.

“Then make love to me, Rafe. Isn’t that what two people in love do?”

“I need to hear you say it…Please…” He set his forehead to yours as you would torture him for a moment before finally offering him those words.

“I love you, Rafe-” You were forced against his kiss, strong lips reminding you of the words he’d spoken.

“Prove it.” He challenged.

“You want me to do that ten feet from our friends? Ten feet from Topper’s possibly fractured arm?”

“His cock will thank me since he only uses it to jerk off to you-”

“Rafe!”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice him practically fondling you in front of everyone!”

“So what if he was? I love you.” He carried his hand to your face until it slipped into your hair, pulling it dominantly until you were set at an uncomfortable bend in looking up to him.

“Yeah?” You nodded.

“So nobody else is going to teach you to surf either.”

“Oh, YOU can?” You chuckled.

“There are things you don’t know about me…”

“I don’t know, Rafe, I think I know you pretty well…Everything from your favorite color to the way you can make me shake with only your tongue.”

He blushed with pride before smirking.

“Wrong again.” Your brows narrowed.

“You don’t know EVERYTHING I can do with it.”

You moved closer, “Then prove it, Cameron.” You sauntered to the direction of the pool house, a night spent in repetitive confessions and a promise to ditch the ‘friend’s title in your relationship, binding you together once and for all beneath orgasms and the loving hold bringing you to the arms of the man you loved.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @belcalis9503

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks #obx #outer banks smut #obxsmut #obx fanfiction #outer banks

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joansiefics · 3 years

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Hi! Can you please write prompts 24 and 29 (from the fluff section) with best friend Bucky please? The reader shows up at his apartment even though they canceled their plans together, but he ends up being glad that she came because they have such a cozy and enjoyable time. And maybe a bit of ✨feelings✨ work their way into the air as well. Thanks!

Perceptible-To-a-Super Soldier's Ears

BUCKY BARNES X READER

Prompt 24- “It’s pouring rain, why are you here?”

Prompt 29 - “Thank you for staying with me”

SUMMARY: Bucky cancels your traditional Saturday night plans after a terrible mission and you decide to surprise him at his doorstep.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Death and Killing

A/N: hey, I hope everyone is doing well!!! I'm sorry it took so long to write this (at least I'm back to writing requests in a week from getting them) I hope this is what you had in mind and that you are satisfied.

MARVEL MASTERLIST || PROMPT LIST

REQUESTS are OPEN - I absolutely love it when I receive requests

Add yourself to my TAGLIST

When you were just a six years old girl, your innocence was exchanged for the horrible guilt of each killing HYDRA had forced upon you. And years later the vivid images of each life you ended - the victims' pleading faces, their eyes entrances to their bleeding souls in comparison to their pulped lips, the blood drizzling down their chin. Every little detail still imprinted into your memory, haunting you in your sleep.

When Steve first introduced you to the team, you were a shy, distrustful sixteen year old, talking only when necessary, hiding behind Steve when someone else entered a room or busy yourself in work to ignore the presence of others. With little to no talking and barely making yourself known, everyone still took a liking to you rather quickly, especially one ex-HYDRA-assassin. The Winter Soldier. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes.

The small lopsided smiles he exchanged with you from across the room, the quiet "good morning's" handed to you on a breakfast plate when he dishes up his plate from behind you, the silent conversations spoken between empathetic eyes and the first night he helped you calm down from a nightmare. These were all contributions leading up to the best friendship you never thought you'd find.

The night he calmed you down from your nightmare, he suggested a movie night - junk food, cuddling, talking and the best movies ever. And from that night on, it became tradition. After a long week's work you would hang out at each other's apartments, watch a movie, eat junk food, cuddle and talk about what there's to talk about. This continued for about two years and plans rarely got canceled, unless it was utterly necessary.

It was nearing the evening and you were searching for some clothes to put on before Bucky came over, when you got the phone call. "Hey Y/N" your heart contracted and relaxed hard against your ribcage at the sound of his voice. 'control yourself Y/N, it's just Bucky!!!' you steadied your breathing in hopes to calm your perceptible-to-a-super soldier's ears heartbeat before your voice traveled through the telephone line. "Hey, how was the mission?" you ask, putting on your last shoe. "That's why I called" you froze at his words, your heart rate accelerating at the thought of something going wrong on the mission. "What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Was it-" "Y/N" Bucky called for your attention "I'm okay" he let out a small chuckle at your concern, but then the line got dead silent.

You could hear your heart tearing a bit further with every few words spoken. "I know we would have hung out at your apartment tonight and all, but after today's mission I just need a break and I'm really tired and I don't want to get ready to leave my apartment now... So I was wondering if we could maybe continue our tradition next week?" "It's okay Bucky, I understand. I want you to sleep and get comfortable after your hard work. There will be many more Saturday nights for movie nights." you assured him. "You sure?" you don't miss the lingering sadness in his voice and the throat clearing as disguise for a small sob. "100% sure" "Thank you so much for understanding Y/N, it means a lot to me" "no problem...NOW GO LIE DOWN!!" you cover your strictness with an ending laugh, but your heart is shattered into uncountable pieces - 'I'm not seeing him tonight, just another week...maybe I can go check up on him tomorrow?' "Yes mother... bye Y/N" "Bye Bucky" and then you hang up.

'The mission must have been terrible, why else would he cancel?' Then it streaks you - 'it was a HYDRA mission... he probably relived so many memories. He needs support through this time. That's why he sounded so sad to cancel!!' when you force your thoughts to stop and not make conclusions or bad assumptions you notice that you've already picked up your car keys and were halfway through the door.

------

In the car you push the key into the ignition and force the key right. Before you depart though you see the fuel gauge alerting you that your vehicle does not contain enough fuel for your trip to Bucky. "Damn it!" you hit the steering wheel, before yanking your door back open and storming out. 'Guess I'll have to walk then' you start your trip to the pizza place to pick up the usual pizza order. As you walk you can hear the thunder rolling in, hoping that you'll be snuggled next to Bucky when the storm starts and not be unfortunate enough to get caught in it.

------

"Thank you" you thank the lady handing you the pizza boxes and head out the door to your next stop - the small convenience store for some more snacks. The clouds were joining together fast, accompanying the howling wind and coloring the sky a dark grey. You wore goosebumps on your sleeves and let the wind blow your hair into different directions. 'Please don't start to rain before I get to Bucky'

------

While you chose out the snacks you could hear the faint dripping of the cloud's tears coming in contact with the roof and tar road. The smell of petrichor wafts through the air and twirls into your nose. For a moment you relax at the earthy smell, but then you remember "Bucky needs all the support he can get in this time' and you hurry to the cashier with the basket full of refreshments.

When you exit the convenience store it is pouring rain. 'Great, just great' you sigh and zip down your jacket to protect most of the food from getting wet. You run from one underroof location to the next, preventing being soaked to the bone, but the last underroof hiding to Bucky's apartment is quite the distance and you prepare yourself for the shower.

------

*knock, knock, knock*

Bucky opens the door, only to find you drenched on his doorstep. Bucky takes a quick glance outside his door to the wet outside world. "It's pouring rain, why are you here?" you don't know if you should take his words as an offense or as words of concern, but you go with the former. "I know you didn't wanna hang out, but then it struck me that it was a HYDRA mission and then you sounded so defeated over the phone, so I thought you might want some comfort or some food or both... and now that I think about it, it was stupid to come here in the first place, I mean after you told me that you wanted some rest and sleep and now I'm talking to much," you immediately stop your rambling when you see Bucky's face contort into one of adoration. "I think you read the situation right doll... why don't you come in and I can find you something dry and comfortable to wear?" he asks, already ushering you into his apartment.

"Why didn't you take the car?" Bucky yells over his shoulder as he searches through his closet for something you can wear. "I wanted to, but when I started the car I saw that I wouldn't have enough fuel to make it to here, sooo...." Bucky throws you a shirt and some sweatpants and you thank him before making your way to the bathroom to get changed.

"Which movie do you want to watch?!" Bucky asks through the bathroom door, pressing his ear against the wood, even though he could have heard you from anywhere with his super soldier hearing. "We don't have to watch a movie if you don't want to!" you yell back, silently giving Bucky the opportunity to decide what he wants to do after the heart breaking mission. "No, I want to... I mean you didn't get soaked for nothing" his laugh mends your broken heart. "Then you can pick the movie!" "Okay doll!"

------

When you're finished getting dressed you make your way to the living room, where you find Bucky huddled up in blankets, between the pizza boxes and snacks, with the movie ready to start. You make yourself comfortable next to him and snuggle into his chest. 'remember this is all about Bucky, make him feel special, he shouldn't make me feel special' "Do you want to talk about the mission before we start the movie?" you politely ask, worried for your friend's mental stability . "Well... when we were infiltrating the base, I just got these flashbacks about the innocent lives I've taken, I could see their pained faces and pleading eyes looking at the monster in front of them, and then I saw the room where they brainwashed me, it was all just to much for me"

You lift your head from Bucky's chest and take his vibranium hand into your hand, to show him that he is not a monster and neither a harmful soldier. "You are not a monster... do you see me as a monster?" "No" "Well then you shouldn't think of yourself as one, because I also killed those people, Bucky, I didn't have a choice and neither did you" you let a moment of silence follow for the words to sink into his mind and utter the last words "I love you for who you are Bucky and you should never forget that" "You love me?" "Uhh...yeahhh, and I have for the past two years, sine that first night you calmed me from my nightmare." you shyly fumble with the hem of your shirt, shocked at the confession that slipped past your lips. "And you're only telling me this now because....?" "because I didn't want to ruin our friendship, you're the only person I have left and I don't want to lose you too." You start to tear up at the thought of losing Bucky, but he is quick to soothe your fear "Who said anything about leaving? he takes your fumbling hands into his, gaining your attention. "I love you too Y/N, more than just a friend."

There's a few moments of silence exchanged between the two of you - the conversation playing on repeat in your minds, loving and longing looks shared and Bucky's thumb circling your wrist. "Y/N, I want to ask you something" "Go ahead" you are almost to afraid to listen to his words 'what if he doesn't want this?!' "would you like to be my girlfriend?" those seven words rocked your world and for the second time that day your heart shatters into pieces, but this time from the loud, excited thumping against your ribcage. "Yes, yes, yes, yes!!! I would love that Bucky!!!" you can't contain your excitement and it makes Bucky give you a proud, genuine smile.

------

After the movie, you were still cuddled up to Bucky's side, resting your head on his chest and listening to the rhythmic beats of his heart. You were playing with his dog tags, tracing the engraved titles and flicking it between your different fingers. You let out a yawn and rub your heavy eyes. "How are you still not sleeping Bucky?" "It might take a while with all the memories floating inside my head, but I'll eventually fall asleep, don't you worry about me doll" "I'm always here if you need to talk okay? Even when I'm sleeping at 03:00 in the morning" you give him the only smile you could muster up in your tired state 'just imagine how tired he should be feeling' Bucky lets out a breathless laugh and the rumbling in his chest, sends shock waves straight to your tired and battered heart.

Your eyes flutter closed, but you once again force them open - perhaps you were scared that it was all just a dream and that when you woke up, you'd have to, once again, walk with the secret of loving Bucky and having no idea what to do with it. Bucky bends over and leaves a kiss at the top of you head "Thank you for staying with me" he whispers into your ear. "Always"

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TAGLIST: (if your name is crossed out, I couldn’t tag you)

@buckyzzrogers @buckyandstevesbitch @ooopsthiswasnotsupposedtohappen @marvelouslyriddikulus

#comfort bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #Bucky Nightmares #Bucky Barnes #requests open #prompt list

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obiwanobi · 3 years

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I blame @quiet-oracle and @theevildevices for this, because I couldn’t resist the urge to write 2k of hurt/comfort for the ‘Jedi but enemies’ AU, where Qui-Gon trained Anakin, and now him and Obi-Wan are well-known for despising each other but working exceptionally well together when they’re not lost in ridiculous banters and petty arguments to hide the fact that they’ll be lost without each other;

Obi-Wan winces.

Skywalker’s hand immediately withdraws. “Does it bother you when I—”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“The answer is still the same.”

Skywalker’s sigh is heavier than the entire Republic navy.

His mouth is too close to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he shivers as a result. But it’s only because the cold of the never-ending rain outside still lingers on their clothes and in their bones, even under the tent and close to the portable heater that a clone is still trying to adjust. And also because he’s been sitting there bare-chested for the past five minutes, with Skywalker’s clumsy fingers poking at his hip and ribs, probably way harder than necessary, just to see him suffer.

“I can apply a bacta patch myself, you can go n—”

“Would you please shut up? We both know a bacta patch wouldn’t be enough.”

Only the sound of a packet of antiseptic wipes being opened, gauze being stretched and the clone pushing buttons with no effect can be heard for a moment.

“I don’t think you’ve ever said ‘please’ to me before,” Obi-Wan notes lightly, then grimaces when Skywalker starts pulling on the cloth pressed to his side.

“Don’t get used to it. But if it’s the only way to make you stop being so difficult and contradictory all the time, I will gladly say it more.”

Instead of looking at his own wound —the pain in his hip is enough, thank you, he doesn't need to see the extent of the damages— Obi-Wan glances at Skywalker. Gaze focused and mouth in a thin line, there’s only concentration written on his face.

No one could guess that only half an hour ago, on the battlefield, panic and terror were the only two emotions Skywalker was projecting loud enough in the Force to bring Obi-Wan out of unconsciousness.

Unbelievable, Obi-Wan has thought once he was aware enough to realise that it was Skywalker's hands on his face and Skywalker’s voice in his ear, begging him to come back. He would find a way to be annoying enough to drag me out of a coma if he could.

Surprisingly, the thought has felt like a comfort.

The clone working on the heater stands up suddenly. Obi-Wan almost forgot about him. He nods his head towards them, and goes out of the tent at the exact same moment Hyoid enters.

At the sight of the clone, all modicum of appreciation for Skywalker evaporate.

“You called a medic?” Obi-Wan scowls, with the tone of someone who has just been the victim of a vicious mutiny.

“Of course I called a medic. Half of your tunic is covered in your own blood and you were knocked out for a while earlier, what do you think I was going to do? Tell you to go back out there and watch you slowly bleed to death?”

“Generals,” the medic calls. In vain.

“You would enjoy that,” Obi-Wan grumbles.

“Well, yes, but then the Council will ask me why I let you die just a few meters away from a first aid kit, and then I’ll have to explain that I gently push it away from your weak hands every time you reached for it, and how will I look, then?”

“Like someone who could have let me die on the battlefield and get away with it, but decided instead to choose the most idiotic and time-consuming option available, and I would have enjoyed that very much.”

“Generals.”

“Exactly,” Skywalker nods, “and I can’t let you enjoy things.”

“I know. Don’t think I never realised who was flushing the toilets every time I was in the shower when the hot water came back two days ago.”

“You were so cheerful,” Skywalker says, as if the mere thought disgusts him. “I took that as a personal affront.”

“Sirs, please,” Hyoid implores louder. Both Jedi turn towards him, almost surprised to see him there. “I’m just here to see General Kenobi’s injury, I’m sure you can continue your conversation right after. Sirs. Please.”

It takes them a second to realise that they’re sitting so close together that Obi-Wan’s hand has settled on Skywalker’s knee when they weren’t paying attention, while Skywalker’s fingers are still maintaining Obi-Wan’s pants low on his hip so it won’t come in contact with the long gash on his side. The intimacy of the scene isn’t completely lost on Skywalker, it seems, because he rushes to take his hands away and stands next to his chair, suddenly too self-conscious to know what to do with himself.

“I’m very sorry about him,” Obi-Wan apologises, as the medic takes Skywalker’s seat and starts assessing the mess Skywalker undoubtedly made of his hip and ribs. “He’s a rescue. He still has no idea how to behave appropriately in polite society.”

An outraged noise comes from Skywalker behind him, and despite the throbbing pain, Obi-Wan can feel the corners of his mouth turning up. A hiss replaces his smile rapidly enough when Hyoid applies a spray and starts cleaning what Skywalker missed, before pressing stingy patches on the wound.

The medic is wise enough not to reply to him, but it doesn’t stop him from making a comment or two about how ‘this isn’t superficial sir, you should be more careful from now on,’ or ‘you’ll have to change the bandages, and I’ll get some pills for you to take’ and ‘ok, now let’s see your head, sir, don’t think General Skywalker didn’t mention it’.

His head is, indeed, becoming heavier by the minute, and he can feel himself growing too tired to care enough to listen carefully after that. Once he gives up answering questions and lets Skywalker do it for him, Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to concentrate to feel him poking obnoxiously at him in the Force, testing the limits of his consciousness. It reminds him a bit of when Skywalker was a child, tugging on his robe every two minutes to make sure he was paying attention to him.

No wonder Obi-Wan always tried to avoid him.

“All right,” the medic finally says, pulling him out of his reverie. He stands up, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll get you your pills, and then you should rest.”

Rest sounds amazing. Obi-Wan would kill Skywalker for a good mattress and a soft pillow right now. But it doesn’t mean anything; he would probably kill Skywalker for two minutes of peace on the best of days.

The sudden silence that falls under the tent once Hyoid is gone seems almost unnatural. Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why the faint pitter-patter of the rain outside unsettles him so much, until he realises that it’s the first time since the battlefield that he’s alone with Skywalker.

“Are you going to keep sulking behind me?” Obi-Wan asks, finding his robe discarded on the floor and wondering if it’s worth leaning down to get it. No reply comes. “Well, you heard the medic. You can go now. I, unfortunately for you, will still live to see another...” he trails off as two arms slide over his shoulders from behind, wrapping around his neck and resting there.

Skywalker is warm against him.

For a second, Obi-Wan thinks he’s finally going to strangle him, but a golden head falls on his shoulder gently, face hidden by a cascade of curls, tickling Obi-Wan's neck and collarbone.

“Skyw—”

“Don’t be an insufferable asshole for a minute,” Skywalker mumbles, breath hot against his bare skin. “Just let me have this.”

Ah. It’s one of those moments, then.

He thought they were done with that for the day after what happened on the battlefield. Earlier.

With Skywalker’s face looming over him. Eyes so wide and so blue. One hand pressed against the wound in his side to stop the bleeding, one hand twisted in Obi-Wan’s tunic, right above his heart.

Being the one injured and barely conscious, but also being the one calming Skywalker down. Managing to get him to release his death-grip on him. Assuring him that he wasn’t going to die.

Promising it.

Twice.

Soothing the Hero with No Fear as he would soothe a lost and abandoned child.

“I told you already,” Obi-Wan says quietly. It feels wrong to speak louder when he knows they won’t look at each other for some time after that. “It’s all right. I’m fine now. It’s over.”

The arms around him tighten, mirroring the weight of Skywalker’s presence in the Force around Obi-Wan.

“I thought you’d left me,” Skywalker says accusingly, sounding remarkably like his nine-year-old self. “I thought you’d left me behind again.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, as if not seeing it would erase the fact he’s indulging his instinct to nuzzle his face against Skywalker’s hair. He smells like the rain, muddy but fresh, and feels like lingering distress in the Force. It’s far from pleasant to remain close to such an unbalanced mind, and their position isn’t comfortable either. But Obi-Wan doesn’t shiver from the cold anymore. So they don’t move.

They’ve earned that second of weakness.

Obi-Wan’s hand comes up to scratch at Skywalker’s head gently, fingers tangling with unruly locks of hair. Slowly, his muscles relax and he leans into the touch, chest slumped against Obi-Wan’s back. Skywalker’s face turns towards his throat, nestled under his jaw, before exhaling, deep and warm. In the Force, Skywalker’s signature curls against Obi-Wan’s and quiets down to a low satisfied rumble, dragged away from dread and terror one caress at a time.

Obi-Wan’s mind is suddenly way too tired to be bothered by the tenderness of it all.

“I’m here now, with you,” he whispers in his hair. “That’s all that matters.”

It’s a quiet apology that Skywalker accepts with a satisfied humming noise that resonates in Obi-Wan’s whole body.

It feels a bit like an apology for more. For everything. For all the times he avoided and pushed him away as a child. For condemning him for reasons he didn’t want to admit to himself. For wanting to blame him, for taking his master away, for being such a better padawan than he was, for rubbing it in his face.

For wanting to be his friend, always.

Obi-Wan has been wrong for so long.

When the medic comes back, Skywalker is kneeling in front of the heater, cursing it quietly, and Obi-Wan is adjusting his robe around his shoulders with slow movements.

“All right, sir, this is what you’ll have to take before every meal,” Hyoid says, showing him a small bottle, before putting a white box on the table. “And these are the bandages and the bacta to change every day. I would advise you not to do it yourself, and if you don’t have anyone to—“

“I’ll do it,” Skywalker declares without looking up, and Obi-Wan immediately narrows his eyes.

“You? I can’t even trust you with my toothpaste tube, what makes you think—“

“I don’t care what you say Kenobi, there is no wrong way to squeeze toothpaste!”

“There is, and you do it on purpose. What kind of savage would squeeze it right in the middle—”

Skywalker suddenly turns towards Hyoid, talking over him. “How many pills would it take to be considered a lethal dose, do you think?”

It is, of course, the one comment that ignites a virulent and pointless argument that makes the poor medic reconsider all his life choices and wonder if chloroforming Jedi generals would get him court-martialed.

After seven minutes of a loud and dramatic dispute ending with Skywalker promising to never take part in anything related to Kenobi anymore, except maybe his funeral, Hyoid decides to risk it.

#anakin: I can't believe I have to tenderly tend to this bastard's wounds #and take care of him for the rest of our lives #everyone: you don’t have to #anakin: no no I’m gonna #so when are they furiously kiss each other in the middle of a screaming row #obikin #clem's aus #fic i did write #jedi but enemies au

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

Hello again! Can I have prompt 46 with Ash? Tnx

Recently I told my friend that I had a lot of requests about him and she laughed about it. She doesn't really like him, but she gives him credit since he looks good.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, extreme paranoia, isolation, desperation, mentions of kidnapping,overprotectiveness, mentions of self-harm, Stockholm syndrome

Prompt 46: "Can I...can I kiss you?"

It was nothing less than a miracle that someone like you existed, someone who was cleansed from all the sins of this world and the corruption of humans. You were radiating with everything Ash had wanted for this world, a world that he wanted to give to you. It was the minimum from what she should and would do for you, it was his duty as your very own guardian angel. A role he was utterly dedicated too, devoted to his very own angel who forgave him his sins every time.

It was true, you had forgiven him his crimes already a long time ago as everything around you had started to fade away and you had lost count of how long exactly you had been stuck in here. Somewhere around one and a half years would be your expectation, looking on how the seasons had changed through the large and closed windows which symbolized your loss of freedom. But you didn't mind anymore.

You only needed and wanted Ash, your guardian angel.

There was clear tension in his body, you could feel how he stiffened up under your embrace. He had never really received that sort of affection before from anyone nor would he have ever wanted it from all those worthless lives walking around freely. You were the only person he actually wanted any sort of touches from. That was how pure you were, even causing someone like him craving something and falling victim to his own desires. And it was his own fault for being so weak-minded. He didn't deserve you yet letting you perish outside would be an even greater sin. He had to keep you safe.

"My Queen...what are you doing?"

Being able to keep his composure was important in front of you, though he remembered to have failed multiple times in the past already. Severe punishment was the only thing he could think of to atone for his failures for not being good enough, for proving himself to be so incredibly useless. Even now he could feel some unhealed wounds aching a bit, but you didn't have to know about his weakness and incompetence.

You blinked slightly confused up at him when he asked you such an obvious question, but it soon turned into slight giggling that instantly plunged Ash's heart into painfully warm emotions and forced his eyes to get wet. It had taken a while until you had been able to look so happy after he had quickly rescued you from all the evil waiting to devour you. The distress he had felt back then could never be put in words and no burns, knifes and broken bones had been able to make up for what you had been suffering under. Even now it remained as a anxiety deeply stuck in his heart. But looking at you now, smiling at him and not staring with wide eyes filled with fear at him, was worth much more than his whole life could ever repay you.

"I’m hugging you. It’s just that you always look so worried and stressed over my safety and never appear to take a rest. Just now you did as well so I thought this might help you a bit. A strong hug can be more worth than thousand words after all. That’s what my mother told me at least when I was younger.”, you replied softly, pressing your face deeper into his chest with a content look on your face.

There was nothing Ash could think of for a few moments, instead he seared the scene in front of him deep into his brain, how you were currently buried into his chest, looking so happy and peaceful. So stunning and precious.

Tears were quick to escape his eyes only seconds later, his insides stirring up with warmth that stung him and yet baked him with something he hadn’t felt in so long. Comfort and peace.

This was exactly why he had to protect you with his very own life, no one was allowed to snuff out the light you carried inside of you and that was able to even share it’s warmth with him. You possessed too much kindness to understand, but normal humans only destroyed what they touched, ruining it with their greed.

He wouldn’t let them do the same to you.

He would kill everyone who would even do as much as getting too close.

He just had to guarantee that you would live.

But first of all he had to calm himself down or otherwise he might worry you even more than he seemed to have done already. The tears were quickly wiped away with his sleeves before Ash was able to look at you again, still feeling like he wanted to continue crying. His heart felt like it might burst at any moment.

“You have so much warmth and love inside of you that I don’t think I deserve any of it. You shouldn’t even be concerned about me, I merely do what I have to do as your guardian. If you were to fall victim to this damned place, I would perish as well. What use is an angel who can’t even protect their chosen one?”

Pain was twisting his voice and face a bit when he dared to imagine how a world without you would be, a world filled with grief and darkness for him. Letting his guard down would be a fatal mistake, he had seen the worst of this world and the humans and he knew that it would happen again. That was why he had to be like this for you were his heart beating outside his chest. If something were to ever happen to you...

The angel hadn't even noticed that he had already started crying again, fist tightened and body shaking whilst getting lost in fears of losing the one good and bright thing this world had still left.

"But for me you're more than just a guardian angel. You're my angel and I want you to feel happy as well. I want you to feel loved as well. You do so much for me, but I feel like I only cause you stress and uneasiness. Shouldn't you be happy because of me?", you asked him in slight protest, feeling sadness whilst seeing the man you had come to love like this again because of you. You had never seen him truly relaxed nor had you ever been able to show him your feelings. He wouldn't let you, not thinking that he deserved you.

His reaction was instant, suddenly falling on his knees upon hearing from what you had said that he had disappointed you yet again, the visible look of your sorrow only stabbing his fear deeper into his very soul.

"I-I am so sorry! I didn't know that you felt this way only because I was so selfish to only think about myself like this! I don't deserve your forgiveness and accept any sort of-"

When he felt the soft sensation of your hands cupping his stained cheeks, he abruptly stopped his rambling, trying to not choke on his own breath that had gotten irregular.

"You don't have to apologize to me. I don't want to hear you saying such things about yourself. Don't you understand? I am unhappy whenever you are like this, seeing yourself as so worthless and not deserving of my love. That's what hurts me so much. You're rejecting my feelings. I love you, Ash. And I want to know if you do too. Because if you do, please stop talking like this and behave so distantly."

Your voice conveyed every bit emotion that was going on inside of you in that moment, something that Ash noticed with widened eyes as well.

Silence was cut short by him when he realized that you wanted something crucial from him which he would gladly give you. He had never considered that you would ever consider his love as something you wanted, consider him as someone you loved. When had been the last time someone had been truly kind to him and loved him? He couldn't remember anymore.

"Of course I do. You should never doubt my feelings for you. I love you more than you could ever imagine. It's impossible to function without you.", he managed to reply with a shaking voice as he grabbed both of your hands in his own.

"Then why are you acting like this? Everyone deserves someone who loves them. Without love it's a very painful life, isn't it? That's why I am hurting as well. Let me love you and I promise that you'll be able to feel peace as well.", you muttered slightly embarrassed out, leaning your head down so your forehead could rest against his own.

Slight sobs were starting to catch up to Ash as he was staring in pure awe at you.

"Thank you. I'll be better and make sure that I won't cause you sadness anymore.", he pressed out, tightening his grip on your hands only the slightest bit so he wouldn't hurt you.

"I'm glad to hear that.", you replied with a sincere smile on your face, joy stirring your heart up just by seeing that for the first time since he had abducted you, Ash was looking relieved and less tense. He just looked extremely grateful.

"May I ask you for a favor then?", you requested with a certain idea in mind.

"I'll do anything for you.", Ash replied, sounding very emotional.

"I want to do something for you for once since you normally do anything for me."

Hesitation and clear dislike instantly shadowed his face, the thought of him asking something from you going against Ash's belief in all the wrong ways. You shouldn't have to do him favors.

"It doesn't have to be something difficult. It can be a really simple thing. Just...something that I can do for you this once. Please.", you begged slightly, seeing the angel already struggling. You knew how he felt about such things, he hated letting you do something for him and he had never done it before either. Ash saw it only upon himself to serve you which was another thing that sometimes made you feel guilty. You wanted to do more for him as well.

"Can I...can I kiss you?"

Maybe that had been more a slip of his tongue, but he had been slightly panicking since hadn't want to sadden you again nor had he wanted you to do physical work for him. It was supposed to be the other way around.

So when he had stared for a moment at your face, eyes locked on your lips, he had considered somewhere deep in his mind possibilities which he had been fantasizing about a few times before, but hadn't thought that they would actually have a change of happening.

In his opinion they were still sinful, it would take a while for him to get used to the idea that you wanted to receive physical affection and love from him. The first impulse when he realized what he had said was instantly apologizing, only to be interrupted before he could even start saying anything.

You had already leaned down to fulfill him his wish before he could take it back again.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ash #yandere ash landers

124 notes · View notes

arrowflier · 3 years

Note

How about something with Mickey and Lip and their very strong stance that 'you don't beat women'/'guys that beat women they're bitches'. Both men have super short tempers, which is why they're always literally in each other's faces, but I'd like them to use that short temper while on the same side please!

Content Warning: mention of domestic violence

The bell over the door chimes as Cynthia walks into the salon, and four pairs of eyes focus on her immediately.

“Oh, um…” she says, caught off guard by their instant attention. “I just…” She looks back through the window of the waiting room, into the semi-darkened parking lot.

“Can I stay in here a bit?” she asks finally, sounding sheepish.

“Uh…I’m kind of the only one in right now,” the stylist answers, hands currently full of thick red hair, the woman in front of her raising expressive eyebrows at the interruption. “Did you have an appointment or something?”

Cynthia shakes her head, lips twisting.

“No,” she admits easily. “But I do have a crazy ex that’s been following me for two blocks, and I’d love not to deal with that right now.”

The stylist softens.

“Oh,” she says. “Okay, whatever.” she turns back the woman in the chair, using her head to gesture to an empty spot in the waiting area. “Take a seat, we’ll be here for a bit anyway.”

Cynthia does as she’s bid, sitting gingerly on a red-cushioned armchair near the door. Two men stare at her as she does, and she remembers the other two people in the room. They’re sitting as far apart as they can without leaving, but they obviously know each other; it’s all in the little look they share when she turns their way.

“Got a nice shiner goin’ there,” one of the men says, the one with the sleepy eyes and close-cropped hair. “Something happen?”

Cynthia repressed the urge to touch her bruised eye.

The other man leans forward, elbows on knees exposed through strategically torn black jeans. He cracks his knuckles, and her eyes are drawn to the crude words written there.

“Crazy ex do that?” he asks, sounding as if he understands. “You got shit taste in partners if they did.”

And despite herself, Cynthia laughs.

“You can say that again,” she says, and relaxes for the first time since she noticed Sam following her.

As her laughter fades, she notices the stylist watching her again; or at least watching her reflection in the mirror. Cynthia smiles—I’m okay, it says, really—and the woman smiles back.

“I’m Tami, by the way,” she introduces herself, though she doesn’t turn from her task. She runs a silver comb through red hair as she adds, “and these goons are my family, but let that influence what you think of me.”

“Hey,” the thin man says, frowning, “I’m the father of your child, you’re not supposed to be embarrassed by me.”

The other man snorts.

“Kind of hard not to be, Phillip,” he mutters, and ducks when Tami throws a comb at him without looking.

“Be nice to my boyfriend, Mickey,” she orders, “or I’ll mess up your cut.”

Blue eyes narrow.

“You wouldn’t. I’m your best fucking friend.”

“So?”

The tough one, Mickey, grins.

“And you’d have to deal with Ian’s sad face,” he adds, and Tami sighs.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But still, play nice.”

Cynthia relaxes further as they banter around her. It’s like being at home, her sisters all arguing while braiding each other’s hair with tender hands. She smiles wider, then winces when it pulls at her black eye.

“Hey,” Mickey says from across the little room. “Lady.”

Cynthia looks at him. His brows are furrowed.

“You never answered,” he says. “Your ex do that to your face?”

Cynthia bites her lip. Looks to the others. With the exception of Tami, they’re all looking at her expectantly, even the woman in the middle of her cut and style.

“Uh, yeah,” she admits, feeling silly as she confesses it to strangers. “I mean, we just broke up yesterday, and it…”

She blinked. Swallowed. Forced a laugh.

“Well, it didn’t go well.”

Silence, for a moment, as Cynthia avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. Then:

“And you said that fucker followed you here?” Mickey asks, already half-rising. “That’s good. Means I can fuck an asshole up.”

She isn’t that surprised. Maybe she should be—someone with those tattoos may not be what most people would expect of someone against domestic violence—but there a certain air about him, a protectiveness, that told her this wasn’t the first time he had intervened in this kind of situation.

She was more surprised when Phillip rose with him.

“Only a fucking coward hits a woman,” he spit out, face already twisted from her confirmation. “Little bitch needs to learn a lesson.”

“Lip,” Tami warns from her station. “Take it easy.”

Mickey is the one to reply.

“Nah,” he says, rubbing his upper lip. “For once your baby-daddy’s right, Tamietti. We gotta go give this dude a beatdown he ain’t gonna forget.”

Oh. Oops.

“Actually,” Cynthia says, hesitant, “Sam is—”

The door swings open, the little bell on top going wild.

“Cynthia,” Sam growls from the opening. “Are you fucking hiding from me?”

Fuck.

“Of course I am,” Cynthia says, standing. She feels better being on her feet with Sam so close. “You hit me, you bitch, you think I want to see you?”

Someone coughs behind her. Cynthia looks, just for a second, as long as she can stand to take her eyes away from Sam.

Mickey is staring at them, wide-eyed, fists clenched but not raised. Phillip’s mouth is open like a fish.

“What are you looking at them for?” Sam asks, angry. “These your new boyfriends or somethin’?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cynthia mutters, and flushes. “I don’t even know them.”

Sam smirks.

“They look like pussies anyway.”

Cynthia waits for someone to do something. But for all their talk, Mickey and Phillip are silent, but for the frantic whispers they exchange behind her back.

“Should we…” Mickey wonders.

“No way,” Phillip hisses back. “We can’t—”

“But she—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” comes a new voice, cutting right across them.

Cynthia barely comprehends it when the woman from the chair storms past her in a wave of red hair and flower-scented shampoo. Then Sam is going down, victim of a wicked right hook to the temple, and the woman is shaking out her hand while standing over the prone body of Cynthia’s abusive ex-girlfriend.

Phillip and Mickey gape, and Cynthia gapes right along with them. Then the woman flips her hair, holds out the hand that just dealt divine punishment, and says:

“Hi, I’m Debbie. Wanna go out sometime?”

#hope you don't mind that taking a turn!#daily speedwrite #shameless #outsider POV #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #debbie gallagher #tami tamietti #fanfic #tw: domestic violence

103 notes · View notes

sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

You’ve Got a Friend in Me

Summary: You deserve to be my brother.

Author’s Note: I won’t go on a rant here many of you have already done so and much more eloquently than I can, Han Seo deserved to live and I think it would have been so much more original and refreshing if they didn’t kill the victimized character who was finally getting a second lease on life with his new family. If any of you read BMTL you know that I have a weak spot for abused characters and when they are treated this way I can’t stand for it. So join me here in this alternate reality where puppy does not die and instead he gets the love and rebirth that he deserves.

Everything is white hot pain, and he wonders if this is what death feels like and if so why must this suffering follow him even into death? When will he finally be free from agony if not now? There are a flurry of sounds surrounding him but nothing decipherable until he hears, “Clear!” a voice shouts in the distance but he doesn’t know who that is, where exactly would someone like him go after death? Surely he hasn’t atoned enough for his sin of compliance to be granted a passage to pearly gates or a gracious omnipresent presence, there is only one place for someone like him. Hell.

It doesn’t scare him, not with the life that he has lived. His hell started a long time ago, with a father that couldn’t be bothered with him no matter how many bruises and cuts littered his prepubescent body. Those very marks put there by the one person he desperately wanted to please, his hyung. That has been hell, a long enduring and never-ending hell and almost demonically poetic that was the cause of his very demise. The bullet through his ribs was nothing compared to every day of his life, up until he met Vincenzo and saw what living was supposed to be like. He had never truly lived before and the very moment he had started that had been snatched from his bloody hands.

Fuck it all. He was ready to go.

But regardless of his acceptance the pain sears on and he can see the ghastly face of Vincenzo peering down at him, eyes red rimmed and those words that he had longed to hear since he was born into his world and realized that there was someone whom he was supposed to call brother.

You deserve to be my brother.

“We’re losing him! Let’s do it again, clear!”

Electricity floods his body and its nothing like anything he has ever felt before and he can feel his consciousness fading away, his thoughts drifting away until there is nothing left behind, just silence and regrets.

Beep...Beep....Beep....Beep....

The constant sound jars him from his slumber and once again pain resurges in his body winding him before he can even bring himself to peel his heavy eyelids open, that battle almost enough to defeat him but he can feel a presence beside him and an unexplainable desperation forces him to see who it is. It feels like his very life depends on it.

Little by little, he starts to peer his eyes open feeling the strain as he tenses and squirms under the pressure and finally they are open and his vision swirls unfocused and dizzy, staring at a painfully white ceiling and one single yellow tinted light. His brain supplies his location, the hospital. And then it takes a longer moment to realize the implications of his whereabouts, but after a moment’s pause he gasps feeling the dryness of his tongue and the cracks on his lips. Everything hurts, every fiber of his being is in insufferable agony but he almost weeps because that only means he’s alive. Somehow he had survived.

With the minor strength he has he turns his head towards the figure next to him and his breath comes out in a shocked huff when he sees the dark figure in the chair, they had said their final goodbyes already and he had accepted that the only true brother that he’d had was taken from him, punishment for being born in this family. Yet, Vincenzo sits there sleeping looking pained even in his slumber a grimace across his face and his brows furrowed in distress. immediately he thinks about Ms. Hong, the blood staining her shirt and her body crumpling to the ground as she took a bullet for the man she loved. If Vincenzo was here with him looking like that did that mean she was...?

No. It couldn’t be. His brother had already taken away Vincenzo’s mother he couldn’t have stolen the woman he loved too. That was simply too cruel a fate for the man. But why else would the man be here? This thought drives him to move, only able to move his hand but it’s enough to knock the consigliere from his peace less rest, he wakes as if he was not sleeping in the first place eyes immediately blinking open and hyper focused. He vaguely wonders if that is a survival skill of all members of the Mafia?

They stare wordlessly at each other and before he can say a word Vincenzo is reaching across the small space and embracing him, his arms are ever gentle as they pull him in and his head is stuffed into the other man’s neck. He lays frozen unprepared for the sudden show of affection and still not used to hands on his body without the purpose of harming him but then his brain swirls to life and he pushes past the pain to reach up and clutch at the smooth material of Vincenzo’s suit jacket. At the first press of his fingers the other man grips him tighter, almost crushing him into his chest and it hurts, puts too much pressure on his wound but he won’t say anything doesn’t dare. This is the first time someone has hurt him because they cared about him. He wants to hold on to this precious moment forever.

“I’m so happy you’re okay. You lost so much blood and I really thought--”

“How’s Miss Hong? She is....Is that why you’re here? Please don’t tell me he really did it...Did he really kill her?”

He starts shaking at the notion, tears pooling in his eyes imagining the woman’s dead cold body.

It should have been me instead.

As carefully he held him Vincenzo releases him, those large gentle hands warm and soothing on his trembling shoulders.

“She’s fine. She’s in the room next to you. It’s all thanks to you, I can never thank you enough.”

Relief washes over him like a wave, he’s too weak to do anything but fall back into the plush bed beneath him.

She was okay. Thank goodness.

“What are you doing here? You should be with her. Go now, I’m not as important.” He means every word, he has never been anyone’s priority, no that’s for others he is nothing more than a nuisance and a punching bag.

“What are you saying? Do you remember what I said to you before you fainted?

He does. How could he forget? But that was merely something said in the heat of the moment. Or so he had thought but that thought was enough for him to welcome the hands of death.

“I see you remember. You are important to me. You’re my brother Han Seo-ah.”

He can’t fight the smile that tentatively crawls across his face, “You meant it? it wasn’t just because I was dying?” He asks sheepishly and he squeaks in pain when a finger flicks his across the nose, looking up affronted but giddy with the possibilities.

“I wouldn’t lie to someone on their death bed, I have principles you know.” Vincenzo huffs at him, striding across the room to pour a glass of water and he watches the liquid earnestly. When the older man pushes the tempting beverage in his direction he desperately wants to grab it but he finds that he can’t his body refusing to move.

“Can you help me drink it?” He watches the older man stare back at him, an eyebrow raised as he looks at him and peers back helplessly, “Please Hyung,” and surprisingly enough that’s all it takes for the Vincenzo to carefully cup his head and tilt the glass on his mouth, allowing the glorious nectar to soothe his parched throat. A dribble leaks out of the side of his mouth and he’s further floored when the other man wipes it away with a napkin, guiding him back against his pillows.

He tries to school his face into something less pathethic and pitiful but he knows that he’s not doing a great job, he can’t help it there has never been anyone like this for him. Never anyone who cared about him as Han Seo, not a pawn or someone to use or abuse, it’d enough to make everything he has gone through worth while.

He can’t contain his joy watching his brother tug up his sheet and tell him to get some rest, he’s never fallen asleep so easily and without a care in the world. He has nothing to fear, now that he has Vincenzo.

He gets more visitors.

People from the plaza that used to look at him with distrustful eyes, now they bring him food and one time when he needs to use the bathroom the lady from the pawnshop singlehandedly lifts him and carries him to the toilet, his cheeks hurt from blushing and he makes everyone in the room promise to never mention it again.

They mention it at least four times a visit.

Sometimes even re-enacting it for the people who weren’t there on the day.

Ms. Hong laughs the loudly, ignoring Vincenzo’s helicoptering and warnings of her opening her wound, none of it stops her and he watches with soft eyes as the woman easily rests her head on his shoulder when she starts to feel lightheaded.

They are so sickening obvious sometimes.

He gets used to the company so days later when he finds himself alone, his insecurities rear their ugly heads. Telling him that they’ve forgotten him and they were only being kind because of Vincenzo and Ms. Hong, they didn’t really care about him or like him and those thoughts muffle his awareness preventing him from hearing the door slide open or the almost unperceivable footsteps that follow.

“You look better than I expected.”

He freezes at the voice, staring at his fingers because he’s not yet ready to face her.

He tried not to notice that she never came with the others, but that was futile and the hole in his chest stretched wider and wider each time they would show up and her glowing figure was missing.

“Did you hurt your mouth?”

He smarts at the comment, hurt by her seemingly dismissive attitude to him laying in a hospital bed.

“Like you care. You never visited before.”

Instantly he regrets the comment, she owes him nothing. They are nothing after all, barely even acquaintances. This crush is unrequited and he has no right taking out his frustrations on her, he was being too greedy.

He opens his mouth to apologize.

“I....... don’t like hospitals. They feel too much like the end.”

He stills at her chilling words, mouth slightly gaped.

Was she worried about him? Enough so that seeing him in a hospital bed was too jarring?

That couldn’t be it.

Could it?

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. I always asked about you.”

A frown is etched into her pretty face and he can’t stand it so much that he blurts out, “ The pawn shop lady carried me to the bathroom once! I have never been so embarrassed, why is she so strong?!”

She stares at him blankly before a beatific smile dances across her pale pink lips, and he hears her laughter for the first time.

It is melodic, like keys ringing on a piano and the sound is captivating enough to fill his entire room and he wishes he could bottle it up and listen to it whenever he wanted to.

She stays.

Longer than he expected and he tries not to smile too large but it’s hard when she’s shooting him that contagious smile. They watch game shows on a laptop that she pulls out of thin air and he laughs nervously as she explains how she once hacked and ruined the life of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer when she was a waitress at a bar.

She’s scary, like most people at the plaza but he’s dangerously attracted to her like a fly to a light.

He doesn’t recall falling asleep but he mumbles contentedly when he feels her tuck the blanket tighter around his body, soft deft fingers running across his fringe before he succumbs to the pull of unconsciousness.

“Good night puppy.”

He doesn’t mean to overhear, wasn’t trying to eavesdrop at all but he saw the light on in Miss Hong’s room and immediately the worst came to mind.

Han Seok is here to finish the job.

So he races to the door, ready to defend her by any means even if that means putting his life at risk, again. His hand is on the door knob twisting and silently he pushes the door open, stepping in before realizing there is no danger.

At least not to them, he can’t say the same for the victims of his brother.

Vincenzo looks tired, achingly so.

He feels a pang in his own chest watching the sunken face of the other man as he watches Miss Hong, her eyelashes fluttering wildly in her sleep. He makes to exit the room but the low rumble of Vincenzo’s voice halts him in his track, he has never heard the other man sound so forlorn.

“This is all my fault. You would have been safe if you never met me.”

He blinks, taken back at the heartbreaking confession.

Did Vincenzo truly believe that? That they would have been safer without him? It’s the biggest lie he’s ever heard and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from responding to the fallacy.

“You deserve better than me. I am a scum and you....you’re different Cha-young ah.”

He has never heard the older man call her that before.

“I should just disappear out of your life, that’s the best gift I could give to you. Leaving you alone and letting you live your life.”

No. He wants to scream listening to this and he realizes that these words remind him of someone, someone who has had all these thoughts before.

I am useless. Nobody wants me. It would be better if I disappeared.

Vincenzo sounds like all of his darkest thoughts, said aloud. He has to grip the door to stop himself from running over to the man and pulling him into a tight hug. He can feel his pain all the way across the room.

“That would be best for you. But I can’t,” his voice cracks, “Every time I think about leaving you, it hurts. It hurts Cha-young. I want to stay with you. I want to be the one who makes you smile,” He watches his brother gently pick up her limp hand, sandwiching it between both of his. It’s such a tender moment, he should leave.

“Everyone I loves dies, that’s my fate. My punishment. I had accepted that...before you and Han Seo and my...mom. Now I’m greedy and I don’t want to lose anyone. I don’t want to lose you, please...stay with me.” Vincenzo crumples at the side of the bed, his ungelled hair blocking his eyes now as he lays his head on Ms. Hong’s hand pleading with her and finally he pulls the door open and steps back into the hallway, he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he slips back into his bed.

When the knock sounds at his door, he calls out with no idea of who could be visiting him, a certain pretty pianist flashes in his mind but he pushes that desire to the back of his mind.

He sits up at the sight of Ms. Hong shakily entering his room, Vincenzo’s disapproving face flashing in his mind.

“Ms. Hong you shouldn’t be moving around, hyung would be upset if he saw you.”

She stares at him with wide eyes and he stares back placidly before realizing what he just said. He slaps a hand over his mouth, remorseful and ashamed. He has never called Vincenzo that in front of anyone else, too embarrassed to see the question on their face and terrified that the other man would deny him in front of others. Maybe Vincenzo wanted to keep this as a secret? Why would he want a needy idiot like him following him around and embarrassing him? His cheeks burn and he brings his gaze to the floor.

“Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking stop. He calls you his brother too, you are brothers now. Don’t doubt that Vincenzo always keeps his word.”

He feels naked beneath her stare, shocked at how easily she can see through him. Was he really that obvious?

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He gulps nervously, watching at the older women wobbles across the room before gracelessly falling into the chair beside his bed, he reaches out to help her smiling back when she grins at him, he tries not to blush when she pats his cheek in gratitude, the movement all too motherly.

“What did I do wrong?” He replies, and there is deafening silence before she answers, “You poor thing. Life must have been so hard before, you must have struggled so much.”

He is completely and utterly unprepared for the words and he cannot stop the tears that well up and collapse at her genuine concern.

“It's okay. You have us now and we’ll never let him hurt you again.”

He cries, harder than he ever has before. Longer than he has ever allowed himself to cry, he cries for his youth, for his innocence, for the young Han Seo who just wanted to be loved. His body shakes from the tremors of his sorrow, liquid pain streaming down his face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it. You did well, you did so well. I am so proud of you.”

When she runs a tentative hand across his brow, he chokes on his tears sinking deeper into the bed.

“I wanted you to know that you are my family too. You saved us both and I can never thank you enough, I would be honored if you considered me a sister too.”

He lays in disbelief, unable to fathom how he has gained a brother and a sister in such a short expanse of time. There are no words, he nods quickly. Letting his tears continue to fall.

She lets him cry, a serene smile on her face as he shakes apart in front of her. Softly whispering, “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.” Over and over again, tattooing it into his skin.

Words he has never heard before.

Words he has longed for all his life.

Time ticks by and before he knows it, it is nearing midnight. They had simply sat together in solace for hours.

“You should go get some rest,” he states quietly and for once she doesn’t argue nodding in agreement before squeezing his hand and standing up, only a little wobbly this time.

“You too. Sleep well Han Seo-ah.” He nods, watching her retreating form as she nears the door and impulsively he calls out, “Noona!” and it feels strange on his tongue, even newer than hyung but his heart warms at the brilliant smile she sends his way, turning back at his outcry, “Hmm?” she replies tilting her head curiously at him.

“You know don’t you?”

She stares, head tilting further and he knows she knows exactly what he means.

“You weren’t sleeping. You heard everything.”

She doesn’t bother looking surprised, he’s grateful for the lack of charades.

“You know how he feels. You feel the same. Why won’t you confront him?”

She stares at the ceiling before locking eyes with him again, “He’s been hurt before, he had a brother once before you know. He tried to kill him.”

He didn’t know. it’s too familiar. It's the last thing he wished they had in common.

“He doesn’t let people in because it’s too scary when they leave. You two aren’t so different, he just does a better job of hiding it.”

He has no comment, there are so many different layers to Vincenzo and he doubts he will never truly understand the enigmatic man.

“So this is enough for you? You don’t want more?”

He thinks of Miri and all the baggage that he’s carrying, he has no right to place that on her. It’s better if he stops this thing before it starts right? He has no idea what he can give to another person, is he even capable of love?

“Yes. This is enough. He is enough, every moment with him is enough.”

The wind stutters from his lungs, this is the second time he has heard a confession meant for another.

“What about me? Do you think I can be enough for someone too? Could I someday find someone who cares for me like you care for hyung?” He doesn’t know what has come over him but he waits anxiously for her response, every atom of his body shivering in anticipation.

“Silly boy,” his heart drops, “You already have someone like that. She comes to see you everyday even though she’s terrified of hospitals.”

“Wha--what?” He stutters out feeling all the blood race to his face, she only smiles broadly in reply mimicking fingers dancing across a piano before sauntering out of his room with a loud chuckle.

This isn’t over yet. Han Seok is still at large and more people could get hurt but he has never felt safer in his life. He has a family now, one that he fought for with more passion that he thought he had and he has no plans of letting that go, for anyone.

#vincenzo #jang han seo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #fix it #this is now my canon #I rebuke everything else #Miseo the crack ship I accidentally jumped on #this is where I live now #not edited yet so just ignore any typos for now

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cathedreal · 3 years

Text

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔽𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 ℂ.ℍ

ೄྀ࿐Corpse x Female Reader ೄྀ࿐Genre: Dark Academia ೄྀ࿐Warnings: Mention of: blood, knife + small wounds inflicted, alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, a toxic relationship (not with Corpse) ೄྀ࿐Word count: 3.1K+ ೄྀ࿐Summary: Willow Creek Academy is full of mysteries, or so you find out when you are unwillingly iniated into a secret society with none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Corpse. Secrets are kept, tensions rise high, and you are in the middle of it all. Together with Corpse, you have to find a way to leave the society and make it out alive while staying under the radar when you find yourselves the primary suspects in a murder case.

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AUTUMN, SEMESTER 1

“Where the fuck am I?” you mumble, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Warm skin brushes against your own. It makes you shiver. A blindfold is tightly wound around your eyes and your arms are restrained in front of you, trying to move doesn’t help so you stay seated on your knees.

The air is stifling and you wonder if it’s because of your panicked state or because of the dustiness of the room itself. It smells like spilled wine, cigarette smoke, books collecting dust on the shelves. You wonder if you’re in the academy’s library but you doubt it. The librarian would have never agreed to holding hostages in there, the books were too precious to risk ruination.

Your boyfriend, James, had invited you to meet him under the big oak tree on the campus’ edge in the late evening. You often study there, a red pen between your teeth for taking notes, the grass pricking into your thighs familiarly. James rarely sits with you there to study; he finds the grass stains not worth the peacefulness of the rustling of the wind through the leaves, the birds happily chirping in the background to keep you company. He rather studies elsewhere and you wonder if this was the place he frequents.

You should have realised that when James asked you to meet him there, it was suspicious behaviour. But you had trusted him wholly and now you’re here, on your knees, another person next to you in probably the same position. You wonder if James had something to do with this. You don’t have to wonder for long. The blindfold is ripped away from your eyes and you blink rapidly to get rid of the spots that float in front of them. You don’t see much but hooded figures looming over you dangerously, objects in hand that you can’t quite make out. You glance to the side then and make out curly hair, a collared shirt with a chain dangling against the brown sweater layered above. It glints in the light of the candles surrounding you.

“Sol Omnia Regit.”

“What is happening?” you ask, thrashing around a little in your restraints. A hooded figure suddenly leans close and shushes you. There is a split second where you think you recognise the figure’s eyes but then the person is moving away again, leaving you with a pounding heart.

Someone leans forward again, sticking out a hand behind themselves to signal something. An object is pressed into their hand and then held out to you. For second, you think it’s a knife or a gun, something to kill you with. There was no other explanation for why you were here but some crazy ritual that you fell victim to. But then...

"Drink," the person tells you and a crystal glass filled with a dark liquid is pressed to your lips. Blood? you think but when it’s finally pushed past your lips and tilted so you can’t do anything but drink, it proves to be wine. The bitter taste doesn’t leave your mouth even though the glass does.

Another figure crouches down in front of you then, something long glinting in the candlelight. It takes you a few seconds to recognise the object but it’s unmistakably a knife and it’s inching closer to your bound hands. You look up to the hooded figure in panic and the familiar eyes are back, this time they’re closer than before and you can place them easily. “James?” you whisper, your voice hoarse and shaking. James would never hurt you, right? He is your boyfriend, he loves you…

Does he?

Did he ever?

Your mind races as your hands are tugged up so your wrists can rest in the familiar hand which you hold daily. It usually doesn’t feel quite as malicious, sometimes it does, never with other people around.

The person next to you, Corpse, you’re guessing, is holding his breath when you hold it. He can probably see the knife too, twisting expertly in James’ hand. Without deigning you with a response, James cuts into the palm of your hand and you hiss at the sting, You want to say that it is stupid to cut someone there, the palm of a hand has too many nerve endings and you could do a lot of damage but the deed has already been done.

Your palm is pressed against a sheet of paper with writing that you can’t quite make out and you realise that it is a contract. It’s unethical, you try to protest, you can’t make someone sign something they haven’t read, but you’re pushed back again and Corpse sucks in his breath next to you.

"Welcome to Sol Regnum, Y/N and Corpse. You have completed your initiation."

The lights are turned on and you squint against the sudden brightness blinding you. It takes you a few moments before you can finally look around again, the figures clad fully in black with golden threads running through the mantels they’re wearing finally take off their hoods and James is smirking down at you both.

“My girlfriend and best friend, finally initiated,” he says, opening his arms as if he has just won the greatest victory. It feels nothing like that.

You exchange a look with Corpse, one filled with confusion and worry, before you let your eyes wander around the room. Heavy curtains hang in front of the tall windows, blocking out every possible source of light from the outside. Even the moon can’t shine through. The room is cast in shadows from the now dulled lighting. Your eyes are used to the light again and it is not as bright as it was when someone had snapped them on. The lights have a yellow cast over them, making everyone look just a little bit sick. There are books strewn around the room, the bookcases, which run along one big wall, are all stuffed full so the makeshift piles of books in the corners are there not for aesthetic purposes, but for necessity. Broken busts sit on the floor sadly, some missing a nose, other half of their head. You wonder if it’s a metaphor for something, if the busts represent the brokenness of the secret society you were now initiated in.

Everything is starting to make sense now. How James had often disappeared at night, leaving you alone in his bed, wondering if he was with another girl. How there were whispers in the hallway wherever you went as of late, something you had blamed on your own insecurities haunting you rather than real people doing so. How James had looked at you in a way that sent shivers down your spine and not in a good way. It had felt malicious, like there was something waiting for you that you didn’t know anything about. But he did, he probably planned the whole thing.

Corpse is back up on his feet before you are and he rounds up on James, pulling him into a corner of the room with a firm hand. You blindly follow, avoiding the glances that the other members of this society throw you. It feels like they’re evaluating you even past your initiation. You want to scream at them that you never asked for this, that you didn’t even want to be initiated in a society that you know nothing about. You were forced here but you doubt they would care.

“No warning, nothing,” you hear from the corner. Corpse’s hand is still pressing into James’ shoulder, his other hand drumming restlessly on his thigh. There is a lone cigarette sticking out from Corpse’s curly hair, balancing dangerously on his ear. You step closer, take your place next to Corpse where it usually was next to James. You’re on Corpse’s side in this matter, though, and James can know that, no matter what the repercussions were.

You shake your head at James as he laughs good-naturedly. He is the star of the university, the golden boy, the popular guy everyone wants to either have or be friends with. After a year or so of being in a relationship with him, however, you know better than to trust his charismatic laugh, the crinkle in the skin next to his eyes that solidifies his position as the good guy. There was danger in his smile, a certain sense of disingenuousness in the sound of his laughter.

You step closer to Corpse.

“I agree, James. What were you thinking? You never even ask-”

“Why would I?” James asks and steps closer to you, the shadows casting over his face are making him look like he is the villain of a big play, ready to kill the main character.

Corpse, cast as the hero, places himself in front of you, half-shielding you with his body. Corpse’s hands are shaking next to his sides but he’s still there, back straight, shoulders down, his head raised which gives him the advantage of a few inches over James.

“She’s right, you should have asked if we even wanted this.”

“It’s the opportunity of a life-time! This society will ensure that you will have a good future, something to pass down to your children.”

You let a hollow laugh escape and the both of them turn to you. “We’re rich, James. All of us are. There was no need for a fucking society, we’re ensured a good future whether we even graduate or not.”

James shrugs and your hands clench into fists at his nonchalance. You gasp softly when you feel the wound in the palm of your hand. When you open it again, blood rolls from your fingers and drips onto the carpet, just barely missing your shoes. “I’m going back to the dorms,” you say, desperate to get away from the claustrophobic feeling this room gives you. James shakes his head, though, and you stay in place, waiting for him to come up with one good reason for you to stay.

“The party is just getting started,” he says and music begins playing. It sounds as if it is played from an old record, the scratchiness that you would appreciate in other situations doing nothing but grating your ears. James pushes past you and Corpse both and returns with three glasses of the same wine you were forced to drink just minutes ago. It’s pushed into your hands before you can protest. The other members raise their glasses, their eyes on you and Corpse who twitches uncomfortably next to you. It’s a toast but it feels more like a warning of what is to come.

“Come on, Y/N,” James says and wraps an arm around your waist. You shy away from the touch a little but his grip is hard, his fingertips possibly pressing bruises into your skin. “Corpse?” he adds, waiting for Corpse to hesitantly fall in line next to him. You briefly wish he was on your side instead of James’ but shake it off again. There were more important things to focus on.

James insists that they meet the others but every person you meet is not the type of person you would want to be friends with. Arrogance and coldness roll off of them in waves, sending you the clear message that you’re not wanted here. From the way Corpse barely answers the few questions they have for you both, you realise that he feels the same.

You met Corpse when you started dating James. He is James’ best friend after all, or was, depending on how Corpse feels about this all. He was a little shy when you met him, didn’t say a lot but when he opened up a little, he was charming, funny. Most notably, his voice is low, something that is whispered about in the hallways of Willow Creek Academy. Despite what others say about his voice, to you it’s not weird or unusual, it’s soothing, like melted chocolate. A balm for the soul.

Minutes pass by and as the alcohol flows freely, the inhibitions of people are lowered. There is a couple making out on the couch next to you, hands roaming each other’s body in a way that seems too private to be doing in front of a room full of people but nobody even bats an eye.

Corpse is nowhere to be found for a little while but eventually comes back to the loveseat you’re sitting on, pointedly taking James’s place next to you. “When can we leave?” he asks, sipping his wine. You wonder how many he had but you can’t fault him for drinking. You wish you could stomach it yourself.

“I don’t know, soon, I hope,” you answer and look around. There are people dancing to imaginary music that doesn’t match the one playing, people laughing in corners, hands pulling others behind furniture so they are just barely out of sight.

You hear Corpse curse and when your eyes meet his again, they look slightly panicked. There are manicured hands roaming down his chest for a second before Corpse is standing again, holding out his hand to you in a clear message that you happily read correctly.

Corpse helps you up and let’s go right away, something you unconsciously mourn. You would have liked to have Corpse’s hand in your own for a little bit longer. The touch of someone semi-familiar in a room filled with strange people would keep you from freaking out as you wade through the partying people.

Something in this all reminds you of a bacchanal; wine, freedom, ecstasy. It seems to live in the various people here, even James isn’t untouched as his tie is halfway down his chest when you find him, his body moving close with someone else.

You rarely get jealous but something about this leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“We’re going,” Corpse announces and tries to pull away when James reaches out to catch his arm, he’s too slow. James whispers something to Corpse and you watch as his expression changes. You don’t dare to ask when you are led back outside. Corpse’s expression is thunderous and it only relaxes when he pulls out his cigarette from behind his ear with shaky fingers and lits it.

You watch as the smoke bellows and floats up to the sky in figures you try to form recognisable shapes out of. Corpse passes his cigarette to you and you happily take it, feeling the pressure of an impending migraine disappear a little.

“That was… Something,” you say for a lack of better words. Corpse nods but doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. You both know that it was insane what happened, you’re both scared for what this secret society will bring in the future, you both worry about the contract you couldn’t read in the privacy of your own minds.

Corpse passes the house which holds the male dorms and keeps walking next to you to the other end of the campus. You thank him softly, he nods in recognition. No place is safe for a woman to walk alone and with Corpse you feel strangely safe.

The early autumn leaves crunch under your shoes when you walk, your footsteps loud in the quiet of the evening. Your pace matches Corpse’s, though you feel like he’s letting you set the pace so you can keep up with each other.

The building of the women’s dorm is becoming more and more visible the further you walk down the path. It’s sitting stately behind a lush garden you often tend to in your free time, as do the other girls in the building. It brings liveliness into the place which is made solely out of brick outside of it. It’s an old building, you don’t know for sure what it was before it became a campus but you think it must have been a guest house on the castle grounds.

Corpse walks you to the door and takes a step back when you retrieve your key. You almost invite him up to take care of his hand. Instead you make him promise to take care of it himself.

“What do we do about the society thing?” you ask, stalling a little. You’re scared to be left alone with your thoughts right now. Corpse seems to guess it and leans against the pillar that holds up the front of the house, making no movement to leave.

He shrugs a little and looks off into the distance. You follow his gaze but there is nothing there. “Not much we can do. The contract, though… We need to know what was on there. Maybe we can get out of it.” “I doubt it,” you laugh humourlessly but you nod anyways. “I’d rather see it first than give up immediately. I’m just not sure how to get to it.”

“We could ditch class,” Corpse suggests, a smirk now growing on his face. You know already that Corpse didn’t attend half of the classes that he should but you laugh a little anyways, this time it’s genuine.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble and Corpse’s smirk grows wider, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A smart one, though. I don’t think any of them will skip classes, even after a party like tonight.”

“What can I say? I’m a mastermind,” Corpse jokes and pulls out his phone, handing it to you demonstratively. You put in your number on automatic pilot. “Text me when you wake up, we’ll decide on a class together then.”

You accidentally leave a smear of blood behind on Corpse’s phone but he either hasn’t seen it or doesn’t care enough to mention it. “I’ll text you,” you promise and open the door fully now.

There is still laughter in the hallways, soft voices that make you relax a little. You suddenly feel bone tired now that you’re in a place that signifies comfort and rest. Corpse notices and waves you inside.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Take care of your wound.”

You watch Corpse walk away and become one with the darkness before you finally step inside. You sluggishly climb the stairs and make your way to your dorm room, an action that takes longer than it should have. You shrug off your coat and drop it somewhere, you’d care about the crinkles you put in it in the morning. You find your first aid kit in the bathroom and pour some alcohol on the wound. It makes tears spring in your eyes but it’s necessary so you get through it on pure willpower alone. After bandaging the wound, you shed most of your clothes and finally climb into bed. You don’t even have the energy to put out the light before you fall asleep, nightmares dragging you down with them.

𝕋𝔸𝔾𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋 𝕆ℙ𝔼ℕ:

@headcannonsforlife @katyasrussianaccent @boiled-onionrings @satanhauntedourcats @ravennightingaleandavatempus

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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

Text

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part. I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

Tag List:

@chellybear98 @destiny-tsukino @wanniiieeee @sweetiecake180 @vampiracontessa @weexinling @spaghetti-dad187 @hothskies @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @mac99martin @clairedragonessbaker @cecemariee7302 @halloweenwithreid @megans-txmblr @theoldestguard @purpledragonturtles @chazubagi @frogrrylovebot @agentaaronhotass @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @mcntsee @ssagube @softhetixx @kenzies-mr-j @peachyotps @cat11-2 @prettylittlemoonlight @ravenmoore14 @gubs-boobs @spencerreidsoulmate @joyclubie

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon: If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not.

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward.

“What?”

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?”

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand.

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved.

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations.

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?”

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works.

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move.

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering.

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs.

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

#whump #recovery whump #referenced pet whump #recovering whumpee #wru #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #masochism tw #condtioning #deconditioning #jameson bb #dr. berger #trauma recovery #noncon survivor navigating consensual spice #referenced consensual spice #referenced noncon #internalized victim-blaming #whumpees in therapy

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nomadthor · 3 years

Text

PROTECTOR - II - BUCKY BARNES

this is part two! click here to read the first part

prompt: the reader and bucky try to escape a sticky situation, bucky protects the reader at every available opportunity words: 1734 warnings: mentions of death, violence/gunfights, blood, angst, hurt/comfort notes: gender neutral reader

if you have any ideas or requests please send them to my ask so I can write them!

What you judged to be approximately a quarter of an hour, you apprehensively sat with Bucky’s hand cradling yours: you both awaited in strained quietude until you presumed the coast was clear after a stretch of secure silence. Despite his hesitant and disquieting demeanour, he seemed indifferent yet the elusive curl in the corner of his flushed lips told you the contrary. “We should get going now,” Bucky hoarsely commanded as he let your grip slip from his before he toiled to stand on and support his own body weight but he contrived with a throaty growl nonetheless. He briefly glanced at his bullet-ridden phone as its technical innards blistered from the globular apertures which still had fragments of the shrapnel embedded in the splintered plastic; how if only luck would have been on your side you could’ve called for help.

“Do you need a hand?” He softly questioned with delicate eyes as he presented his hand once more, you’d be being dishonest to yourself if you affirmed that you didn’t relish his solicitous, protective and balmy hands that made you feel secure and rid most of the anxiety and fret. You felt guilty and disinclined to acknowledge these feelings since ultimately you were just coworkers. “I’m good,” you muttered and heaved yourself from the floor, abruptly being reminded of the absence of room as the pair of you were now rubbing shoulders. The close proximity you both shared both filled you with satisfaction and compunction as you were anticipating the early arrival of sprouting feelings that would soon doubtlessly become unrequited; it was bittersweet. Something changed in that room and you don’t know what it was.

Frailly, he twisted the knob of the door and cautiously pulled it towards you both after becoming a human blockade as he shoehorned himself between you and the expanse of dubiety. He carefully peered around the corner with an attentive survey making sure to detect any almost imperceptible movements. With a swift flex of his head, he motioned for you to follow him as the set of you immediately scanned the conflict tarnished building for any means of self-defence: crimson stains and defunct cadavers besmirched the shattered debris rooted floor. Bucky trounced the pain from his laceration as his stagger shifted into a succinct strut with an acute limp. He hurriedly strode towards an adrift pistol with scarlet blemishes coating the finish before he checked the magazine to authenticate the unconsumed ammunition. “Take this,” he instructed unwittingly appearing abrasive but you were habituated to his inflexion and his adventitious gesture of compassion countermanded his sternness.

Hesitantly you took the weapon from his hand unsure whether you should have been first priority due to the circumstance of you not having profound wounds daubing your limbs. Bucky quickly discerned your concerned delay before he reassured you, “I’m a super soldier, I can manage,” he dryly quipped with a minute grin as he failed to find another weapon with any bullets left before he lead the way down the unsettled and dismal corridor, “besides, I trust you more than I trust myself.” Evidently, he was being sincere but you were taken aback by his forthright commendation as your conversations were plainly incisive and condensed; he was slowly unravelling to become exceedingly personable, he was just restricting this part from you whether it was deliberate or not.

He continued to escort you throughout the building acting as a human shield to protect you from any unexpected oncoming bombardment, although you didn’t refrain from keeping a close eye on your six. Bucky regularly and consistently checked on you throughout the whole ordeal and although admittedly, it was growing to become increasingly irritating it made you surge with appreciation and feel deeply indebted towards his consonant trouble. “I can handle myself,” you jested lightheartedly as you both approached a doorway and began to descend the concrete steps. “I know, that’s why I gave you the gun.” He retorted wittily as his heavy lumbering footsteps echoed through the towering washed-out stairwell. The descent was unnerving, to say the least, it put you at a monumental disadvantage due to anyone who would waylay from the upper floors would have a quality vantage point; they would metaphorically and quite literally have the higher ground. Despite this, your venture was thankfully undisturbed and you set forth to the final few rooms before you could evacuate the building and retreat to definite safety.

As you approached the final room a rogue bullet whizzed past your head, the brisk air skimming your head. The crack of the bullet as it became lodged in the wall beside you was devastatingly loud as it immediately pummeled your eardrums inevitably causing them to ring overwhelmingly. Bucky grabbed your arm and impulsively pulled you behind a counter for cover, unintentionally yanking too hard albeit with good intention. Nevertheless, you had worse things to worry about. “Where was that from?” You questioned as you clasped the gun firmly in your hands ready to tug the trigger if need be. The pair of you winced at the bullets that proceeded to soar just inches above your head as they became fixed in the now splintering walls, plastering chipping off and sinking to the floor. “On our six.” Bucky relayed as the gunfire paused which signified they’d either taken cover or needed to reload their magazine. You took this chance to peer over the ceramic tile countertop as you just barely caught the glimpse of a figure before the appearance and the shine of a metallic assault rifle instinctively cause you to duck before the bullets continued to rain once more.

The incapacitating sound of the bullets pummeling the walls and any surrounding surface ceased just about any communication as you couldn’t hear his voice over the resounding extermination. Systematically the gunshots stopped periodically as you peeked once more to return the fire which ultimately led to a drawn-out scrimmage where the winner was the one who eventually could land a shot. Alas, your gun eventually dry-fired as it choked due to the preordained fact it had run out of bullets. All that left your mouth were a string of curses as you angrily threw the futile firearm to the ground out of frustration. Your attention soon turned to Bucky who impetuously looked you up and down with dismayed eyes.

Dense and prolonged footsteps traipsed closer, sending jolts of panic through your body with every step. You couldn’t help but just stare at each other out of sheer panic and confessedly the thought of him being there with you was comforting and slightly eased the tension. He nervously bit his lip as he pondered, scrambling to think of a plan so you didn’t both become victims of the barrel of the gun that was leisurely parading closer. Bucky was already incapacitated with an injured leg so this was a major disadvantage but coming face to face with sudden death: anything was worth a try. He gave you a final longing look before hoisting himself above the counter with a struggle and promptly hurling hefty punches as the opponent made triumphant attempts at blocking them before powerfully pressing the butt of the gun between his eyes. Bucky’s neck contorted backwards as his whole body painfully and forcefully propelled to the floor headfirst with a belligerent thump. What could’ve easily knocked someone unconscious merely left him with obscured vision as he crawled backwards towards you.

The vermillion began to seep from his head as it left a sizeable gash on his eyebrow. Bucky’s head swayed as he barricaded himself between you and the formidable stranger who was glancing down the iron sight with a wicked grin, only doing it to savour the fear and panic, he elongated the process. Bucky looked absolutely woeful presumably thinking you were disappointed and displeased with his final efforts. The eye contact you made was beyond intimate and familiar. It was too late to do anything with the barrel of the gun pointed right at you, any sudden movements and you were unmistakenly dead. Bucky hopelessly and desperately embraced you as he used his hand to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. Exposed to all danger, his back was facing the gunman as he was willing to catch any bullets for you.

A sudden bang caused you to jump in your skin but was attenuated by Bucky’s secure and caring clutch. Staying nestled for a few seconds longer, the quietude became eerily bemusing as you pulled back from his embrace but arms still lingering on you. His eyes were wide and bewildered but relieved, they immediately scanned your body for any punctures before he even gazed down at his own body. He swivelled his cricked neck to witness the gunman face down and a bullet wound centred in his chest. A thud of a door being booted open as it slammed against the wall with force, you’d never felt so grateful in your life to see the familiar face of Sam who examined the room, panic-stricken, to find you both. He stared for a while at your clutched bodies, “come on love birds we’ve got to go,” he jested completely destroying the tension and morbidity in the air. Bucky gently turned his gaze back to you as he examined your face looking for any reaction out of Sam’s statement. Maybe he was looking for your revulsion or a snide remark but your silence spoke volumes as you slipped out of his arms and helped him up.

“Let’s get you patched up,” Sam composedly stated in regards to Bucky’s blood-engulfed leg, and the streak of red that flowed down his forehead. “How did you find us?” Bucky confusedly questioned as he approached Sam, bolstering his neck which probably was going to accompany an agonising concussion. “I traced your signal before it went offline, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Sam apologised as the pair continued to the exit of the building as you followed, lingering just behind. Completely ignoring the words that were being spoken to him from Sam, Bucky turned around and shot you a gentle gaze, his eyes soft and tender as he tried to analyse you again. Ambiguous as to whatever he was looking for he surely was going to get his answer sooner or later. What brings people closer than desperately hugging each other at death’s door?

= masterlist =

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ivyyreid · 3 years

Text

stars in your eyes

2 description: reader is tortured, spencer tries and save her.

category: definetly angst, maybe a teeny tiny bit of fluff?

tw: death, mentions of cuts, burns, kidnapping, words like ‘whore’, knives.

masterlist

spencer’s pov:

the team sits around the table, at the sacramento police department conference room. well, everyone but y/n. y/n is also the reason the team is in the conference room.

while the team was tracking down an unsub, y/n was kidnapped, drugged, and taken to who knows where.

at 27, she’s the youngest member of the team so everyone is protective of her. but it’s not just because of her age. it’s because she’s just herself. funny, sarcastic, bubbly, bold, gorgeous, and affectionate. even her flaws are lovable.

we all sit at the round table, discussing where she could be. the only thing we know, is that she was taken as leverage, or as a warning. all our other theories on where she could be are a bit too far-fetched.

our unsub is a woman named coleen robbins. she’s been kidnapping, torturing, and killing girls in their 20s who resemble the girl her boyfriend cheated on her with. y/n fit the description exactly. y/h/c hair, y/e/c eyes, and freckles. we didn’t notice until it was too late.

garcia's been on facetime with us for the past two hours, helping us trace pointless leads, or trying her best to track coleen. none of our efforts are working though. y/n’s phone is off, and coleen hasn’t used her credit card or anything. we’re at a loss.

hotch is pacing back and forth by the whiteboard, rossi is staring out the window, emily and jj are looking at every other victim’s file together, derek has his head in his hands, and I’m just sitting here. This is one of the only times where my brain is of no use to the team.

“hey guys?” Garcia’s voice is wobbly, somethings wrong. “i just got emailed a link. you’re gonna want to see this. i’m sending it to you now.” i’m racking my brain trying to think of what the link could be. i have nothing. that is, until a live feed pops up on the television. everyone gasps, and i feel all the blood rush from my face.

y/n is tied to a chair, in the middle of a dark room. there are burns, cuts and bruises all over her body. coleen stands behind her, twisting a knife in between her fingers.

“oh my god,” hotch mutters, and everyone else just stares at the television in stunned silence. “go on, you little whore. say your goodbyes,” coleen’s icy voice slips through the speakers in the room, and I hold back the urge to punch the tv screen.

y/n looks up, her face illuminated by a single light bulb. she smiles weakly. she’s the only person I know who would focus on others feelings in a situation like this.

“hey guys,” she says, her voice wobbling a bit. for some reason she’s smiling a bit. “i wish i could say bye in person, but this is the best i can do i guess,” she laughs weakly, and plays with her fingers; her nervous habit.

“rossi,” she starts, and he looks up at the screen, his eyes brimming with tears. “oh my god I’m going to miss you so much. you’re the only person I know who brings instant pasta in their suitcase, and you can always make me smile. just, keep being yourself, don’t change.”

“hotch, you’re like the strict, loving father I never had” her voice breaks, and she laughs a bit. no one else does. “you were always there for me, for my first dead body, my first case, everything. you’re the reason that i didn’t quit after my first case. you helped me get through it, and you can always keep me on track. i’ll miss you so much.” hotch tries to maintain a normal, serious expression but I can see the pain in his eyes.

“emily, you’re so funny and sarcastic and beautiful and amazing. i’m always wishing i knew more about you, you’re just so interesting! i still can’t tell if you were joking when you said you worked at a strip club or not,” a tear spills out of Emilys eye, and she mumbles something to the tv screen. “i love you endlessly, please please never change,” y/n says, and i see her blink away a tear or two through the screen.

“penelope, you’re probably one of the most unique, amazing people i’ve ever met. i remember on my first day i was so scared and nervous, and you just gave me a huge hug when i walked in, and I knew everything would be fine. i love your hair, and your outfits, and the way you greet the phone. i love you so much, never ever change or I will rise from the dead and perform some satanistic ritual on you” I hear penelope cry through the facetime video.

“derek. you’re just so great, and it will always amaze me how you always have a girl on your arm. i loved every second of getting drunk with you, even when you would force me to do karaoke. please do me a favor and marry penelope.” derek puts his hand on his head, and stays silent. i can see the emotion on his face.

“and jj, I don’t know how to thank you for being my first real best friend. i never really had people i could trust, but then i met you and i knew, i knew we would be friends until the end. you’re so gorgeous, i’ve spent hours wishing i was you. i’ll miss our saturday girl’s breakfasts, and our movie nights, and even you calling me at four am to say we have a case. love you forever.”

jj sobs, but everyone else is too upset to comfort her. i know it’s my turn for the goodbyes. but i can’t do it. i want to run out of the room, punch a wall, i can’t do this. i can’t watch her say bye to me, while i think about everything i never said, everything i should have said. i should have said it when we sat on the roof and watched the stars. i should have said it when we sat in the car and ate ice cream and listened to 90s music. i should have said it everytime we sat in the cafe and drank coffee with way too much sugar. i should have said it. but i didn’t. and now it’s too late.

“spencer.” y/n’s voice comes in through the tv, and i bring myself to look up. she has a sad smile on her face, and she’s holding back tears. “spencer, my best friend. not even my best friend. best friend was just too generic, you were so much more than a best friend. we were the type of people who would look at the stars together, and talk about constellations, and the theory of the universe together. we were the type of people who would come over to each others apartments at three am and watch movies or lay in bed and stare at each other and just talk. we were the type of people who would sit in the parked car, eating ice cream and forcing each other to listen to nineties music or beethoven. we would sit together in the police department for hours, drinking coffee to keep us awake while we tried to solve a case. we would laugh at each others jokes that no one else understood, and compare our opinions on classic novels. i remember the first day i met you, when i spilled coffee all over you in the elevator, and you told me this crazy fact about how meeting someone for the first time when you’re embarrassed strengthens a relationship. and then i remember i took you out for coffee because i felt bad, and then you accidentally spilled it on me. i remember getting home and laughing for hours. we were the type of people who were happier when we were with each other. and whatever star I was born under, you were born under it too. we’re not best friends spencer, we’re soulmates. and...and....I love you.” her voice breaks, and she looks at the camera with a nostalgic face, like she’s already gone.

i cry, i can’t help it. i just want to scream, ‘i love you too!’. i want her to hear me. but it’s too late. it will always be too late.

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

we’re all in the suvs. coleen gave us her location. i know i should be rejoicing, but it was what she said after she gave it. ‘now you’ll be able to watch her die.’ I yell at morgan to go faster, even though deep down i know he’s doing everything he can.

‘now you’ll be able to watch her die.’

after what feels like an eternity, we pull up to a small shed. everyone jumps out of the van, vests on, guns and flashlights in their hands. morgan kicks down the door, and we all run in. i hear hotch yell that he has coleen, but i don’t care. i need to find y/n. i run from room to room, panicking, until I reach a small porch at the back of the house. and y/n’s there.

she always seemed so large in life, but now, nearing her death, she seems so small. like a little girl. i hold back tears, i have to be strong for her. she’s lightly breathing, and watching the sky. when I reach her, i sit down, and cradle her head in my lap.

“i wanted to see the stars,” she whispered, and i nod, watching her face.

“remember that day…. that day in the park?” she says, tilting her head to look up at me.

of course i do. we had just gotten back from a long case, and y/n had me come to the park with her, to watch the sunset. we laid down in the grass, and watched the sky. i was still struggling with the case, and i was telling her about how awful it was, when she grabbed my hand, and pointed at the sky. look at how beautiful the world is, she had said. without hard cases, and ugliness, we wouldn’t be able to appreciate this. we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the beauty of everything, she told me, and I remember I had just stayed silent, watching the angelic-looking girl.

“of course,” I say, and she smiles up at me, blood dripping down her face.

“remember how pretty the sunset was? how beautiful everything was? you have to remember the beauty of that day, spencer. the sky was glowing, and trees were rustling, and birds were singing. the earth is beautiful. that was the day I knew i loved you. when I held your hand, and we just looked at the sky.” she brings a hand up, and touches my face gently. of course she’s the one who’s comforting me when she’s dying. i stay silent, cradling her head, and stroking her hair. she looks at me again, and i see pain in her eyes. “i don’t want to die, spencer” y/n whispers, her voice breaking a bit, “i don’t want to die like this. i don’t want to die, spence” a tear slips down her cheek, and i notice i’m crying a bit. “hey, hey, shhhhh” i comfort, wiping the tear off her face. she stares back at the stars. this is my chance to tell her. i know she’s going to die, and it’s completely pointless because she already knows, but I have to.

“i love you, y/n. i love you so much. i’ve loved you, and i don’t want you to go”. the girl turns and looks at me, a sad smile on her face. “i know, spence. and i love you too. so much”. I stroke her hair, wishing I could kiss her but i can’t. she looks at my red eyes, and my tear stained cheeks, and starts humming. humming a song. our favorite song. my head fills the lyrics in.

you’re a part time lover, and a full time friend.

the monkey on your back is the latest trend,

i don’t see what anyone can see,

in anyone else.

i kiss you on the brain in the shadow of the train,

i kiss you all starry eyed my bodies swayin’ from side to side

i don’t see what anyone can see,

in anyone else, but you.

here is the church, and here is the steeple,

we sure are cute for two ugly people,

i don’t see what anyone can see, in anyone else.

suddenly, she stops and turns and looks at me, and suddenly i realize this is it. “i can see the stars in your eyes, spence” she whispers, and i watch as the breath leaves her body. the way she sadly smiled, before her eyes glazed over to look at the sky, the way her lips parted. and it’s kind of beautiful. but there was something sad and terrible about it too. because it was death.

i can see the stars in your eyes, spencer.

132 notes · View notes

bubblyani · 3 years

Text

Mistletoe Scheme

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne/ Batman Christmas One Shot

Summary: Trapped in a Basement on Christmas Eve, an unexpected yet impactful conversation starts between Batman, and the civilian he was trying to rescue: You.

Word Count: 4.2k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mention of Blood.

Author’s Note: This idea came to me in an instant and never left my mind. Plus, this was a great chance to write more stuff for Bruce Wayne/Batman.I’m a sucker for dialogue. My last Bale Character fic for 2020. Started with Bruce, ending with Bruce heh. Can’t wait to treat you guys more next year. Enjoy y’all! And Merry Christmas!

Desperation. He held her tight with sheer desperation, for releasing was an option deemed non-viable. In fact, he did not wish to. He did not hope to. Not for anything.

If the end of days had dawned, he simply xwould not perceive. If danger lightly tapped him on the shoulder, he simply would disregard. Even if his head dared to crack open, he would simply let it do so. His hold on her was ironclad, and it was final.

Yet his hands, they were nowhere close to the famished, passionate nature as his lips. Those lips, that were willfully enslaved to hers, forming a strong bond that nature never dared to birth before. Sheer Desire certainly displayed its true colors tonight, and two souls were evidently responsible. Thus, he held her, in every manner possible. All in the desperate need to know her, to feel her. To make up for lost time.

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

(An hour Earlier)

The snow fall outdoors seemed barely visible when the fluorescent light flickered with speed indoors. Even the infusion of Sleigh Bells and the joyous Seasonal Music blasting out of speakers all around the city, seemed barely audible. Certainly they all would be, when one was caught in the midst of nowhere.

The beeping of the timer was continuous, until it finally halted, resulting in a deafening blast.

BANG!

The door being the pitiful victim, broke open in an instant. However, instead of falling back down, the steel door remained at a 90 degree angle, revealing a thick layer of concrete standing right behind it. The Impact Mine was simply useless, leaving Batman full of regrets.

Upon the faith of his instincts, he pasted another explosive device on the broken door. And off went the continuous beeps. BANG! One more blast. Yet, all that awaited him was pure disappointment, when the door remained unmoved.

Running out of resources in his Utility Belt, it was evident he was forced to throw in the towel. He had to look upon the truthful face of bitter reality; Trapped in an underground Basement on the outskirts of Gotham city. With no way out. Not yet, at least. With a heavy sigh, frustration had caught up with the Dark Knight, and with a strange headache making its sudden appearance, he brimmed with the urge to curse out loud.

“DAMN IT!!”

Which she managed to do on his behalf.

Turning around slow, Batman watched the woman pace from one corner of the room to the other, her heels clicking out loud. And right then, he was reminded. How he was truly not trapped here alone.

“The signal’s no good…” she said, with the phone held against her ear, “...can’t get a hold of anyone...”

Batman nodded, “Wait here…” he replied in a hoarse tone, before making his away to the other corner of the basement. With the light brush of his fingers against ears of his cowl, a dial tone echoed within his mask. A call was made. The dial tone stopped as the caller finally answered.

“Alfred?” Batman began.

“Master Wayne-” The voice of Alfred Pennyworth reached his inner headset, “ I-trouble-hearing-”

Loud static noise attacked the line with confidence. And Batman began to grow restless. The headache grew even stronger.

“Alfred!” Batman growled, “Can you track my coordinates? Alfred?”

“-Sorr-Please wai-”

With one final static to spare, Alfred’s voice disappeared, leaving nothing but a pin drop silence in the room. The flickering of the lights paused, growing slightly dim in the process. Unwilling to display his own failure, the caped crusader inhaled deep.

“I’m afraid…we’re stuck indefinitely. But don’t worry…” He grunted, his eyes lingering on the empty wall, “We’re gonna make it out here alive”

However, the woman did not respond. Eyebrows furrowing underneath his cowl seemed inevitable for Batman. Would he possibly face eventual panic from her? A meltdown perhaps? He dreaded turning back.

Instead, he heard a soft chuckle.

“Well, bet you never had to go through this before, huh?”

He spun around upon her light hearted reply, and her seemingly friendly demeanor. His eyebrows furrowed once more.

She certainly was unexpected.

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

Never in this life did her lips taste passion at such degree. However, then again, never in this life did her lips meet his own until then. Was pure frustration to blame? Was it the fuel that strengthened this flame? Or could this encounter be worthy of the term “Fateful”? “Destined” ?

She indulged it, the manner in which his lips enveloped in with hers. She was simply the hand, finally uniting with him, who simply was the glove with the perfect fit.

With her fingers lingering in his hair with the utmost care, her other hand clung onto his strong neck. She pulled him close, until any distance between them proved non existent. For the first time, she was certain of what she longed for. More importantly, who she longed for.

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

(Half and hour earlier)

Any man, woman or child that managed to encounter Batman, let alone catch the mere sight of the man, would certainly be aware of a few special traits: His swiftness, paired up with his sense of utmost mystery. The traits that shield him when his arrival was far from expected, and his exit practically invisible. Camouflaged into the darkness of the night.

However, the mere concept of getting trapped in a confined space with him, was simply mind boggling. Even for you. Therefore, your query did not appear to be a ludicrous one. Was it not?

“Well, bet you never had to go through this before, huh?”

“You’d be surprised”

Batman responded, which threw you off guard.

“Oh! really?” You blurted, cheeks flushing, “I-I-”

“But yes…” he said, “…not like this…” He added, scanning the premises for possible clues. A sigh of relief left your lips. Rubbing your forearm, you felt yourself sinking down to the dusty floor. You could not help but trace a hint of awkwardness in the air. At least in your part. You may know of Batman, but you certainly did not have the privilege of knowing him. Thus, there you both were: Two strangers trapped together.

“Guess...” you began soft, “...there’s nothing to do but-WAIT!!!”

Your cry managed to send tremors through the room. Enough for the caped crusader to spin around and freeze.

“Batman…” you breathed, wide eyed, “Are-Are you bleeding?” Perplex was evident when Batman’s lips pursed. But the moment a thin line of red trickled down through his cowl towards his lips, he finally believed your query. And it frightened you.

“I …uh..” He struggled, rubbing it off with his gloved hand. “Did you...get injured?” You inquired with concern. “No…” Taking his hand away, he dismissed quick, “...it’s nothing” “What?” Your eyes widened, ”That’s even crazier!” You exclaimed, stumbling as you rose up with your heels, “ We gotta get that checked” “No, its fine…” “No, its not…” Your instant yet commanding response was surprising, even for yourself, “Your head might be injured, so we need to-” You paused, “ Oh!” A few seconds passed, while bitter realization coursed through your veins, “…but that...that would mean-” Batman nodded, “…taking the cowl off, yes” “Crap…”

You muttered with a sigh.With your hands resting on your waist, you were nothing but remorseful. What you requested from the Dark Knight seemed far worse than the most dire physical challenge. Simply worse than leaping into a pit of fire, or diving into the oceans deep. Compromising his identity, it was a Cardinal Rule that must not be broken.

However, your concern seemed to have overpowered it all. Obstinate, you were not intending to bow down so easy. But why? Could it be perhaps, in your eyes he was the Guardian that Gotham needed? Could it be perhaps, he was a man you always had admired? And could it possibly be that you did not hope for him to die unexpected, all in the sole attempt of rescuing you?

“Okay, how about this?”

You began, “How about you turn around, and take your cowl off-Just hear me out!” You pleaded when he attempted to interject, “If...the wound is in the BACK of your head, let ME clean it up. If not…YOU do it. Seems fair, right?”

Batman stared at you with a blank expression. You assumed his silence for the worst. “No wound or cut should be left untreated. Not even yours” the insistence in your tone was shocking. What had changed you, it simply was difficult to comprehend.

Batman remained quiet. You suddenly were regretful. Certainly you were blinded with obstinacy, and did not know your place.

“Fine…” A grunt left Batman’s lips, leaving you wide eyed and relieved. His cape swished with grace as he turned away from you to sit, “You a doctor?”

“Oh no!” You let out a nervous chuckle, “…my friend is…” you added, kneeling behind, watching him remove his mask, “I’m actually in Publishing… I’m a Literary Publicist. But…that does NOT mean I can’t be a Good Samaritan right- Ah! See?” You cried out, “It IS in the back of your-Oh my!”

Silence shushed you with judgement. And you did not care, especially when blood bubbled out slow from what appeared to be a cut already stitched in the back of his head, full of luscious, brunette locks.

A firm punch landed in your heart. For you could not help but wonder: How far must his body go, in order to save this godforsaken city?

“Everything alright?”

His query woke you from your thoughts. Without the mask on, slight clarity was present in his voice, yet the gruff remained. As he was on a futile attempt to mask his sound. You cleared your throat: “Yeah…Anyways, Let me…” you muttered, pulling the silk scarf that left your neck in a smooth motion. Though your neck immediately shivered upon meeting the chilly air, it did not seem as important as this. Folding it to the thickest layer, you placed the scarf over the wound with care.

The howling wind outside reached your ears with clarity as the silence seeped in the Basement once more. A Christmas Carol involuntarily landed on your lips as you began to hum it. “Angels We Have Heard on High”, to be quite specific. Why that exactly? You simply did not know. And given the silence shown by the other party, it seemed Batman did not mind your humming.

The longer you stared, the stronger your fascination grew for his hair. For there it was, Batman’s actual hair. And you were just a mere turn away from his real identity. Was it idiotic to be starstruck by that fact? Fascination merged with curiosity when you wondered of his face. Could it be possible he was actually handsome? With those beautiful lips he bore, you were not mad to assume as such.

You shook your head all the sudden with an embarrassed smile. For ethics grabbed your superficiality by the ear with disappointment. How dare you even objectify him as such? He is a hero, not Mr. Handsome. And more importantly, why must you think so fondly of his lips?

“If you don’t mind me asking…” you began, attempting to change thoughts, “What the hell happened tonight, Batman?” You inquired, “And who…the hell…was that guy?”

“Dino Maroni…” Batman answered, his voice raised a bit higher than before. Your eyebrows furrowed. “Maroni?” You repeated, “Like…‘Sal Maroni’ Maroni? The Mob boss?” “Dino is his distant nephew…” he explained, “…estranged, from what we’re guessing. Could be that he is trying to earn a place back in the Family” “Huh…” confusion was rife in you. “…He tried to kill Harvey Dent tonight” “HE WHAT?” “Ow!” “Sorry….” You whispered, when you realized your passionate response forced you to press on his wound hard, “….So, that’s why you were on his tail…” you understood, “Until he met me-…” “-kidnapped you, more like…”

Batman was right. Tonight was filled with unexpected events. You knew fully well when you accidentally bumped into a man who seemed to be running across the street. The sight of the passerby’s panic, confused you at first. But when the sweating man grabbed you by the shoulder and placed a pistol on your right temple, the panic seemed justified. The image of Dino spitting out threats to end you, especially at Batman, remained clear as day. No one dared to intervene, which gave him the leverage to flee, with you as hostage. Batman certainly did not take long to find you. Except he met with the unfortunate fate of being trapped alongside you when Dino and his men sealed the door.

“I know Harvey Dent is not exactly ....Mother Teresa to Organized Crime in Gotham, but...” you paused, only to present an annoyed expression, “...on Christmas Eve? Seriously? When will those jerks give YOU A BREAK?”

A hearty laugh leaped out of Batman, surprising you. Amused, you laughed along. “Good point” He replied in mid laugh, hand reaching back to take hold of the scarf instead. The gruff in his voice had vanished, leaving his laughter to ring in your ears with pleasure.

Your own laughter faded as you leaned against the concrete pillar behind you. It was a wonderful surprise indeed. And with that, the luxurious desire for know more about him was birthed. Given the number of times excitement sparked in you the form of mini fireworks, it was evident your fascination for him had grown. More importantly, your attraction.

“I’m guessing you had plans...” he began. You tilted your head with wide eyes. “...before they eventually got ruined by Dino?” He finished, his voice heavy on smoothness all the sudden. Looking down at yourself, you chuckled. “Yeah…Office..Christmas...Party” you enunciated with dramatic energy, your hand smoothing the material of your grey belted robe coat. The robe coat that concealed the beautiful navy blue velvet cocktail dress you wore underneath it, along with pantyhose and heels, “Normally I never show up. But, tonight was supposed to be …” you paused, “...special”

“Hmmm?”

Chuckling again at his inquisitive hum, your eyes remained on your coat, “It’s silly…” you said with embarrassment , “I…I rather not talk about it”

“Hmmm…”

With a hum of acknowledgement, he maintained his silence. You smiled, looking at the back of his head. You sensed consideration in him, you sensed safety in him. But simultaneously, you sensed fear, in you. Fear that this would be the end of a possibly entertaining conversation. Your heart was proof, pacing quick, tapping you on the shoulder with impatience.

“Actually-” you began in softness.

“So you DO rather talk about it…” He amused, voice now almost of a velvet quality, and simply irresistible.

“Guess you ARE good at…making people talk…” you smirked, laughter erupting from you both.

“But anyways…” you added mid-laugh, “…there’s this guy…I’ve had my eye on…” you said, looking up. Batman’s laughter vanished right then.

“I mean…” you paused, with a sigh, “…he seems nice and all…I don’t know” shrugging, you continued, “I kinda thought maybe tonight I’d…I don't know…” you shrugged once again, “…make a move? Let him know I…like him? ” The second those words left your lips, a sourness remained.

“How long have you known him?”

“I don't know…6 months?” You answered so casually, “I’d see him in meetings, always around our colleagues, we never met in private…I don’t know…he’s fine” you stated, “ Seems like the proper guy, ya know?”

“So, what?” Batman teased, “You’re gonna meet him by the punch bowl, and tell him how you feel?”

“What do you think this is? Senior prom?” You giggled, where you heard him snigger in return, “And I believe there WILL be a Punch Fountain…A Champagne Fountain actually-Anyways” you said, before you lost your train of thought, “NO!…my plan actually had more CLASS than that, just so you know…” you added with pride, crossing your arms, “There’s this lovely balcony on that floor and…” your voice growing soft, “I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be a Mistletoe there”

“Are you su-”

“I AM sure! ” You interrupted him, laughter following suite. Joy was quite evident in your tone, “So hopefully, if everything goes right, I’d have him find me there, I don’t know…” you smirked, “…maybe accidentally trip, let him catch me and Voila!…that will be the moment…where our eyes would meet…and then our lips…leading up to the most…gentle first kiss ever…”

You finished with a sigh, your heart evidently immersed in the depths and the beauty of your own haven, your very own fairytale.

“Wow…heh” Batman’s voice shook you awake, “Your planning is really making the criminals look bad…” he remarked, with added laughter. To which you smiled.

“NOW I know you’re teasing…” you replied with a mischievous smile, “ I mean, come on! I could NEVER plan THIS…” looking around the chilly basement, your tone brimmed with sarcasm. Especially when you realized how you jested about the horrid disposition you both were facing.

“Well, you know…maybe with a little hard work…”

 “Oh, don’t you dare, mister!” You guffawed, “Besides, I really wouldn’t wanna see your bad side if I did”

With the laugher dying down once again, you both took in deep breaths. It certainly felt lovely.

“You really thought this through, huh?” Batman inquired with earnest. Shrugging, your eyes continued to familiarize with his hair :

“I guess…” you said, rubbing your shoulders all of the sudden, “Maybe if we’re lucky and we get out of here on time, I’ll still have a chance, But… I don’t know…”  To your disappointment, silence took centerstage once again with a smug look, ready to begin its haughty performance. Until Batman cleared his throat:

“ I know I’m a guy you just met but…” He began, “…should you even go through with it?” His query, forced your eyebrows to rise in unison. Once more, that beating of your heart began to quicken.

“What makes you say that?” You inquired, to which he shrugged his own broad and strong shoulders.  “Well, you said ‘I don't know’ 5 times already, and you barely told me anything about him”

With your mouth agape, You froze. Waves of realization crashed against the sand of your conscious. Did it take Batman, the greatest detective to deduce your hidden doubt? And did he, by any chance, rescue you from a possible regret?

“Touché” You nodded in slow motion, a few seconds later. “Wow…” You chuckled, “..I was actually gonna go through with it, with just one foot in the water, huh? Damn!” Shaking your head, you exhaled with great depth. Along with your exhalation, there exited your blindness.

“To be honest, I don’t even know if I like him. I just…” Pausing, your hands clasped together, “ I was in love with the concept OF HIM” you said, grateful of how the truth had revealed itself to you, “But at the same time…Did I just miss my only chance? To finding someone?” You inquired, heart suddenly growing heavy. Countless nights of your fervent prayer for someone to love you, flashed before your eyes, causing you to feel sheer pity, “ I mean…” your chuckle grew sad, “I’m not getting any younger…And this job ain’t easy…oh!-I’m sorry” you said, involuntary sniffing as your nose grew itchy, “I’m blabbering here…”

“No need to apologize…” A soft, and empathizing reply exited Batman, “It’s not like I can’t relate to that”

With shining eyes, you beamed at the back of his head. It did not take long for a rush of warmth to embrace your soul. The number of times you laughed at comfort, with the help of this man for a few minutes, were simply more than what you would experience within 24 hours.  “I hope he wasn’t as understanding as you…” You said, "Cause if he was, then I missed a great guy”

“On the contrary, I think HE was the one who missed big tonight…” Batman replied, his velvet voice never failing to comfort you. His kindness was brimming, yet you did not mind being soaked by it.

“Thank you-Oh!…has it stopped?” Your eyes widened, the moment he took the scarf away from the head. He nodded. Excitement danced within you as you crawled towards him.

“Great, now we can finally clean this up…” Enthusiasm was rife, while you stood on your knees,“Ugh! I wish we had some saline-”

“No, really it’s alright”

The stitches have finally dried out, even faster thanks to the cold. The need to pat him on the head, or even run your fingers through his locks grew strong. However, that need retracted itself a few seconds later. You shook your head. What on earth was going on with you?

“I do have a bandaid though…” you stated with confidence, bending to your left to reach out for your purse, “…its in here somewhere-Oh Oh no..Agh!”

The unfortunate loss of balance, forced you to gravitate to your left, falling in the process with speed. You were certain your heart would fall out of your chest. But to your relief, your face nor your heart did not meet its fate with the cemented ground. Instead, you were caught by Batman himself. Right before him. Revealing his face.

His face. Your eyes widened. His face.

With a quick gasp, you closed your eyes shut with immediate fear within a split second.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” you whimpered. However, to your surprise, you heard him chuckle.

“Don’t apologize…” he assured, as his voice grew softer. Unlike his powerful demeanor, the man behind the mask seemed gentler than expected, persuading you to open your eyes with care. And once you finally did, your eyes indulged the sight before you. The face that simply stared at you.

Around your age, he was blessed with handsome features, that left you breathless. With the black paint that surrounded his eyes, it was a daunting task to trace the beautiful hazel green eyes he possessed.

“I won’t tell a soul…I swear” you found yourself whispering with sincerity. To which he nodded:

“I know…” he breathed.

The manner in which those eyes sparkled, his concern for his identity had vanished. And at last, all seemed clear to you. Bravery kept you calm, as you took one of his hands, placing it over your chest. All that, in order to confirm your suspicions. To confirm that the lightning speed of your beating heart was no hallucination. The stomach acting up with tickles, your overwhelming concern, your indiscriminate joy, amidst the danger. It was evident that Magic had stumbled into you. Finally. That very moment you had dreamed of.

Moving from your heaving chest, Batman’s hand proceeded to cup your face instead. Your breath could not help but hitch. And his touch was to blame, even with the presence of his gloves.

“That Mistletoe Scheme of yours…” He began in a low voice,“…You really upset that it got sabotaged tonight?”

“Honestly…” you paused, “…now that I think of it…it wasn’t that great. So…”

“Good”

Low but pleased, his response brimmed with the power to push you towards insanity. And it engulfed you whole, the moment he leaned forward, and kissed you.

No Christmas gift would ever succeed in providing the magic as his kiss did. If your body was akin to a Christmas tree, then his kiss was simply the electric switch, setting all bulbs alit. Those delicious lips were generous, offering you all that you longed for: Gentle. It simply was the word, with his lips pressed against yours with the softness of actual feathers, awakening every inch of stimulus in your system to life. Gentle was what he promised, as your lips and his, both embarking on their own pilgrimage, to heal one another. And to spark the magic you both had missed for simply too long in life.

Pulling away, your foreheads rested on one another, releasing one long, shaky breath. And all the sudden, his face began to grow very familiar in your eyes. However, you could not place his name. Who was he?

“Bruce Wayne…” he breathed, answering your silent query, “Nice to meet you”

With a dropped jaw, you uttered your own name in reply. This was certainly unexpected. However in all honesty, it did not matter either. Especially when his sheer humanity, and his lips won your heart over already.

Loud, static noise reemerged from his removed mask, causing both of you to jump. The voice of an elderly man followed soon after:

“Sir! Master Wayne!” He said, “I finally received your coordinates! Are you alright? We’re on our way”

Relieved beyond all measure, you both shared sighs and huge smiles.

“Merry Christmas! Bruce” you wished.

“Merry Christmas!”

With his shining eyes, Bruce swooped you in for a kiss once more. Infused with gusto, Impatience had replaced Calm, while Passion had replaced Gentle. Yet, you did not mind. Not at all. Especially when you shared his sentiments to the very core.

Trapped you may have been underground, smothered with the cold. And even so, no form of anger lingered in you towards Dino Maroni. Not any longer. For once in your life, you were ecstatic for a plan to have failed miserably. For this may have been Fate’s real plan after all.

——————————————————

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squiggledrop · 3 years

Text

I’m Sorry - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reid gets shot on a case and is in the hospital. But him and Reader have so much left they want to do. So, living on borrowed time, Reader does all they can do.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Allusions to death, hospitals, references to major injuries, mentions of a god

Note: Could be read as a part 2 to Your Other Half, but doesn’t have to be. But you should go read that if you haven’t👀👀. Also, the italics are “Spencer”, but are kind of up for interpretation. Also, I’m like ✨struggling✨ so I just kind of wrote this and figured I’d share, but I promise I’ll have some actual fics soon. Also, just saying this so it’s said, but, this is literally just me ranting and believe whatever you want to believe because it is 100% valid and should always be respected. Last thing, title should be read in John Mulaney’s voice because every time I read it that’s all I can hear in my head, so I think you should too. “I’m SoOOoRy”

“Hey Spence.” Your hushed voice broke through the unbearable silence in the room, only mediated by the monotonous beeping of the countless machines hooked up to Spencer.

“We’re in the hospital right now. You had surgery and they were able to fix the bullet wound. But, the doctor said that your injury caused swelling in your brain, and if it doesn’t stop soon, there won’t be much they can do.” Your breathing stuttered as you blinked back tears. “So, I’m going to need you to try and stop it okay?”

You gripped his hand in yours, resting it against your forehead as tears poured down your cheek.

“We always knew you had a big, genius brain. I guess we just never thought about what would happen when it got a little too big.” You let out a slight laugh through your nose, blinking away the tears in your eyes. “I always knew you were too amazing to be bound by something so nominal as a human body. Normally, every room you occupy is consumed by your warmth and filled with your laughter.” You forced a weak smile as his comforting laugh replayed in your mind. With a sigh, you looked around the sterile room. The fluorescent lights were too bright. They would give Spencer a headache.

“But not this one,” you choked out, turning back towards his unconscious form. “I miss your beautiful smile and gentle eyes because, right now, you feel so small. Your hand is in mine, but it just doesn’t feel right.” You cautiously stroked the back of his hand, examining the foreign feeling. “It’s too bony and fragile. Your hands are normally soft and warm, but right now they’re just so cold.” You placed a kiss on the middle of his palm before resting your cheek in it. The chilling of his hand burned your inflamed cheeks.

“I asked the nurse to get you another blanket because I know how much you hate the cold. She gave me that look we give victims' families when we have to tell them their loved one is dead,” you scoffed. “Sometimes it really sucks to always know what people are thinking.” You tried to calm yourself down, rolling your lips between your teeth, but it was no use.

“I really need you to hang on okay, baby? I hope you aren't in any pain, but I need you to hang on.” Despite your best efforts, desperation bled through every word you spoke. “I-I know it’s selfish, but I can't do this without you Spence.” With every second that past your throat constricted even more. “I know it’s selfish, but I need you. God, Spence, please come back to me,” you cried.

I always found that to be such an interesting term: “praying to a god you don’t believe in”. You closed your eyes, relishing in the sound of his voice. You knew it wasn’t real, but for now, it was good enough. It is used in literature and in modern music so often, and rightly so, but is never given the weight it truly possesses. Despite everything you know, all of the scientific explanations you have that can explain the world around you, when you are that desperate, you throw it all out the window in a split second. You don’t believe in a god. Yet, when faced with a difficult situation, and you have nothing else to hold onto, you immediately pray to something that you know holds no validity.

“Because it’s all I can do.”

You are so desperate and helpless to the extent that you are praying to something that you know logically is not real, yet with every fiber of your being you are praying for its help.

“Isn’t it just human nature?”

Well, some may say it’s humanizing. I would disagree. I think it is the least human thing you can do. It’s human nature to be curious and want explanations for the phenomena around you. That’s why, out of all species on earth, humans are the most advanced. They are the only species to change their environment to fit their needs. They have no natural predators, despite having absolutely no defense mechanisms. They have survived and evolved based on their thirst for knowledge and answers. But, when faced with some of the toughest situations in life, yet some of the most natural, they disregard everything they know to be true, and blindly beg for the help of some mythological deity.

Death is a natural progression of life. We know how and why it happens, and we have formulas and data to predict when it will come.

“But when it’s someone you know, someone you love, despite knowing everyone’s time will one day come, you can’t help but to beg for it not to be the case,” you pointed out.

You ask something you don’t believe in, something you know to not be true, to change the inevitable. You ask something you don’t believe in to change precedent. You ask for some miracle, that you already know the minuscule probability of.

“Is it avoidance?”, you genuinely asked out loud, missing the way Spencer was always there with an answer for everything.

Well, you know the science and statistics behind it. You know the odds are not in your favor. So, rather than acknowledge that and live with the truth, you abandon everything you hold to be true, and instead conjure some faith in a god you know isn’t there. I mean, is it better to have blind hope or just accept the facts?

“Isn’t there something to be said for being optimistic?” you countered.

Of course. One of the amazing laws of our natural world is that nothing is impossible. Sure, if you keep shoving your hand at the wall enough times, statistically speaking, eventually your hand will have the exact orientation to go between all the atoms perfectly, and your hand will go through the wall. But, if I were to ask you to believe that I could do it, would you?

“No,” you replied.

Of course not. Because it’s illogical. So then, why is your immediate reaction to devastating information to refuse it and do something illogical?

“Is it to feel useful?”

You know the statistics. Realistically, you know there is nothing you can do to change the outcome. But, it is human nature to try and come up with solutions to our problems. After having exhausted all other possibilities and coming up empty, you persist. You don’t give up. Even if you know it’s nonsensical, you still need to feel as though you are trying. But that’s the operative part: feel as though. Is it human inclination to want to try and solve the problem and contribute positively to the situation? Or is it a selfish need to not feel powerless?

“There is nothing worse than feeling as though you have no control. When everything you love has been taken from you, and you are desperate for any solution to your problem, it makes sense that one would try all their options, no matter how unlikely, because you still have to at least try.”

But, it’s important to remember that no matter how many times you shove your hand at the wall, you will always end up hurt before it goes through. You let out a small smile, pondering his words.

“Is it a reminder, that despite how much we claim to know and understand about the universe, that we know practically nothing?”

Ah, therein lies the beauty of science. Every time a question is answered, it introduces a plethora of others to be figured out. Despite knowing the facts, you are reminded about how much you do not know. There is so much uncertainty in everyday life, and no matter how much you may try, life does not take place in a laboratory. You cannot control for all the confounding variables life has to offer. You don’t get to test your hypothesis over and over, tweaking your experiment as you go. You are granted one life. You must use it to its fullest extent.

“Did you?” you abruptly asked.

I wouldn’t have changed anything, because it brought me to you. And you are my greatest accomplishment. You nodded your head, wiping away the tears that pooled in your eyes.

“Look, I may not believe in this supposed god I’m praying to. But, if she actually is out there, what’s the harm in praying she lets my hand make it through the wall? The worst that could happen is she doesn’t listen and I end up with a few bruises and a broken bone. Because, in the grand scheme, what’s a broken bone compared to your life?” There was silence, and you didn’t feel like waiting for a response.

“You are the kindest, gentlest, most generous person I know. Everyone has been through so much. I-it’s too soon. That's how I know there isn’t a god, because she wouldn’t be this cruel. She wouldn’t take you from us too.” In your mind, all of the losses you two had suffered over the years replayed. All of the lost lives, lost friends. “I always tried so hard to be strong for you. I tried to be there, and for the most part I was. I held you in my arms. I kissed the top of your head. I let you know you are so loved, that I was there and I would never let go, because that’s what you do for the ones you love-

I know

“-but for every ounce of strength I gave, I lost a part of me. I still remember the day it happened. I remember the day we said goodbye, and I remember the endless months of hurt. But, what are you supposed to do when someone loses someone like that?”

Well, you hold them in your arms and let them know they are loved.

“But I can’t do it again,” you practically shouted. “I can’t,” you gasped.

I know

“I can’t go through that again-”

I know

“-my arms are too tired and weak-”

I know

“-my eyes have lost enough tears-”

I know

“I-I can’t be strong for anyone anymore.”

I know baby, I’m sorry

You let your head collapse in front of you, hugging Spencer’s limp arm into your chest.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur between broken sobs. “I need someone to hold me-”

I know

“-and I need someone to tell me it’s okay, because I know it’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

I know

“God, would you just shut up? Just for once Spencer!” Your breathing heaved as you lifted your head, looking down at the lifeless body in front of you. “I know you know, okay? I know you know everything.” Your own voice bounced around the room, ringing in your ears. “You can claim that you have a formula for any problem, and sure, you can rattle off any statistic. But, for the love of god Spencer, don’t forget, mathematics was invented,” you spat. “It is a made up world that people use to quantify the incomprehensible. It’s a tool that was made to try and make sense of the chaotic world that surrounds us.” The volume of your voice shattered, and you broke down again, cursing yourself for screaming at your unconscious husband.

But, you heard his soft, knowing voice that you missed so much, try as we might, the law of entropy prevails, and with every negative delta g we descended further and further into disorder. One variable that does not have a differential equation to solve is emotions. That’s what makes us different. We care for one another. That is human nature. We try to help those in need and even if we can never fully understand the working of the universe, at least we can make a slightly more positive place. Yes, you can calculate the probability of every known outcome, but you are not a robot. We have survived because of our inclination to help others. We work together for a common goal. We love. We hate. We get scared. We get excited. We are shy and outgoing. We are happy and we are sad. But, no matter what we are, we do it with passion. We love so intensely that it physically hurts. We can feel such joy that it feels as though it is bursting out of us. We are empathetic. We can feel others’ emotions as if they were our own.

“But, we can also hurt,” you chided. “We can hurt so bad that it feels debilitating. We can hurt so bad that it's easier to just shut off and not think.” You looked over his stoic face, desperately trying to picture his golden eyes through his ashen eyelids. “Yes, that means losing your humanity, but when it’s at the cost of feeling your world crumble before you, suffocating you with it, being a robot begins to have its appeals.”

I guess. You could hear the slight smirk in his voice. It depends on your point of view. You can have a reductionist mind set, and see the world for what it is: a bunch of chemicals interacting. Or, you can take a more philosophical approach and contemplate the meaning of life. But one cannot exist without the other. There is a nuanced duality that must be maintained, or there is no point to either.

You cupped his jaw in your hand, running your thumb over cheek.

“Every time I see your face I smile. When you tell me you love me my heart feels so full.” You swallowed thickly, picturing all of the morning you woke up next to Spencer, never really knowing which one would be your last. “When I hug you, I feel safe. Yeah, we may just be a sack of chemicals, but I was lucky enough that our atoms came together in this specific combination at the same point in time.” Your voice squeezed as you tried to continue speaking, “And I know the probability of that happening is minuscule, so why can’t this be too?” you pleaded. “I know it’s unlikely, but if I was so lucky to have you in my life, why can’t I be just as lucky and get my hand through the wall on the first try?”

Because you are human, whatever that means. He spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world. No matter how hard we may try, we are controlled by our emotions. I love you, and you love me, and it’s as simple and complicated as that.

“I know that every moment you are alive is a second of gifted time, but it’s still never enough. I don’t want to say goodbye. We have so much more to do. We have plans, and promises that still need to be fulfilled”

I don’t want to say goodbye either

“This isn’t fair, we are supposed to have more time.”

I know, but I need you to be strong, for me.

“But I don’t know what to do.”

I need you to try.

“No, Spence, I-I’m letting you know now that I won’t be able to do it. I can't be strong again. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.” You cried into his chest, savoring the sound of his faint heartbeat.

“I’m sorry.”

You waited for a response, desperate to hear his voice for as long as you could. But, it never came.

“Hey, you doing okay?” You gasped, lifting your head and looking around the room. Your eyes fell on Derek in the doorway. “I thought I heard you talking, are you okay?” Concern laced his brow as he looked at you.

“Y-yeah, I’m as fine as I can be,” you reassured, wiping your eyes. He nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile. You watched as he turned to leave, going back to the others in the waiting room. You let out a helpless breath, your eyes falling back onto the man that lay beside you.

Yes, you are human. And as tears roll down your face, and helplessness courses through your veins, you will continue to pray to a god you don’t believe in, because what else are you supposed to do?

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