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stormxpadme · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 No. 26 - "You look awful."

Scogan Bingo challenge Sex In The Shower/Tub

"You look awful."

Scott tried bravely, making it sound like an amused teasing, but Logan didn’t need to be able to see behind the usual glasses covering eyes to know that they were filled with both shock and worry.

"Yeah, well, next time I get to seduce the rich bitch, and you take the detour through the toxic waste drain." Logan regarded the unconscious Weapon X cell leader on the ground with a pointed glance, not missing that the expensive tight dress wasn’t hugging the blond woman's sinewy shape half as proper anymore and that she had a couple of hickeys on her neck. Necessary fraternizing to get a mission done wasn’t anything you could get jealous about, not in their line of work … Still, this was not exactly how Logan had imagined this evening of Scott's and his anniversary to go. Still grumbling, he turned away to slam the shut of the walk-in vault shut, not least to spare Scott further staring at where Logan's healing factor was still busy, not letting his skin and flesh look like a burned pizza anymore. That, too, hurt like a motherfucker, but it could be helped just as little as Scott having to flirt his way into this room undercover at that military ball tonight, to give them a kind of access to this underground safe that wouldn’t sound any alarm. If they didn’t manage to find some highly dangerous formula for a new mutant cure in the limited time window before their enemies would notice the destroyed cameras in the corners, they were not only looking at another unpleasant confrontation but then this whole thing would have been in vain, too. "Got anything yet?"

"I was just starting to look. Been a little busy too far, trying to keep her from getting into my pants." Someone not as close to Scott as Logan had gotten in the years after their joint grief over a certain redhead of their team dying on them at Alkali Lake for the first time, might not have noticed the slightly strained tone in Scott's warm, deep voice, or might have put it onto the stress of the situation.

Logan who'd seen his team leader entirely unfazed in the face of even the most lethal threats in the field before didn’t need his enhanced senses to know that these feigned intimate scenes a moment ago had gotten to his partner. Scott hated Logan babying him just as much as it was the other way around, so he arduously kept back until they passed each other by casually while systematically checking every box, every smaller vault, every drawer in this damn room. Only then, cautiously reaching out for Scott's wrist, he slightly raised his brows at him. By now, Logan was not looking so kebabed anymore, fortunately, and could move again without groaning out from trying to use muscles that had just been chemically burned to particles. So Scott would hopefully be able to tell from the knowing, composed expression on his face that Logan wasn’t trying to go mother hen on him about something that they'd both been able to go through with more than once, ever since Logan had joined this peculiar team of probably clinically insane people back at Liberty Island. Ever since then he'd just grown far too damn fond of this stubborn asshole to want to see him run into the next best bullet on the way out because his focus was off.

"It's fine. Just a couple of kisses and a bit of groping. I've regretted some drunk New Year's Eve hookups more than this," Scott assured him with a grin that for all its crooked character seemed sincere. "That's not it. Notice something?" Scrunching his nose a little, he nodded down at the figure on the ground that he'd taken out with a fast-working narcotic, hidden in a needle on some swanky ring on his thumb.

At first, Logan didn’t, mostly because he was smelling like a damn cesspool. But the airtight room was ventilated so badly and so sterile that when he focused on his senses consciously, he could finally pick up on the sweetish-flowery fragrance that was coming both from the enemy and inevitably from Scott's body now, too. Last Logan had been allowed to scent that certain note of freshly bloomed roses, that had been when Jean and he had almost gotten up to something incredibly stupid in the night before Alkali Lake. There were certain subjects for which even after almost two years, there were still no words offering the necessary comfort. And right now, cuddling for a few hours, and a bit of erotic adrenaline to get the flood of memories of the woman they'd both loved out of their system, was obviously off the table, too. So Logan had to do with long, gentle squeeze of Scott's hand and a fleeting kiss to the side of his neck to show him, he knew exactly what was going on before continuing the search for their target object even faster now. The sooner they got out of here and back to Mutant High for some badly needed downtime, the better.

But it was Scott, having a lot more accuracy with these kinds of things by nature, who dug up what was probably the document cartridge in question from the bottom of some vault in the very back of the room a minute later. "Looks good." With a relieved sigh, he replaced his glasses with the VISOR that Logan had brought for him for a lack of other options, grimacing at the stench of waste even clinging to the device. Then he shot the ridiculously small and simple lock on the box to pieces.

Only a split second too premature, just when Logan's senses had suddenly noticed an almost inaudibly faint ticking and hum coming from that damn thing so that he didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth for a warning. All he could do, if he didn’t want to watch his partner bite it right before his eyes, was jumping him with a headless little shout, throwing Scott to the ground, covering him with his smaller but larger body as well as possible before a fortunately small explosion sounded through the room. One that might easily have taken off Scott's head or some limbs anyway. As it was, they were getting away from their dumb carelessness with just their clothes ripped to pieces, being half-deaf for an hour or so, and with a couple of minor burns from where Logan hadn’t been able to push Scott far away enough in time from that box. But that was enough, in combination with the valuable information they'd been supposed to retrieve here gone, to ruin their mood for good. Not to mention that they'd have to hurry the fuck up now if they wanted to leave this cellar just as inconspicuously as they'd entered unless they were to run into a whole hostile squad.

Scott let Logan help him up with a pained little grimace, no doubt already feeling what would be a whole myriad of bruises from the impact, taking just a second to look down at his now entirely ruined Armani suit, checking for any serious damage. For some mysterious reason, a weak grin curled on his lips. "At least now we both smell like shit."

Logan rolled his eyes at him dramatically and pulled him towards the door.

******

It was a major annoyance, having to start this whole operation all over, but on the way home, they somehow managed to push that frustration away for now. Wasn’t the first setback, wouldn’t be the last. Getting this fucking formula on the first try already would have been sheer luck, honestly. When these particular bastards were involved, the X-Men always had to be glad to get out of any kind of crisis with all their bones somewhat intact. Since they still were both carrying far too many traces of this little adventure though, they let the others know via a brief phone call that they'd not drive through the night for a mission debriefing that could easily wait until tomorrow but chose the next best dubious motel on the road, once they could be sufficiently sure, they were not being followed. The receptionist eyed their lousy appearance and Scott's glasses with narrow eyes but when Scott slipped her an extra dollar note and opted for one of the more expensive rooms, they got their keys. Having takeout and a new set of clothes hastily enquired on the road on them, a couple of hours of silence sounded like the best damn idea right now.

To their surprise, the run-down place had actually bothered to equip their better rooms with a bathtub instead of a shower, large enough even for Scott's ridiculous height to be somewhat comfortable. So after Logan had hastily devoured the most necessary carbs to get his energy back up after the extensive healing earlier and Scott had dully picked at his chicken salad for minutes, they quickly found themselves naked in the hot water. Snuggled closely together, with Scott nestled against Logan's body back to stomach, their legs intertwined, their breathing quickly started to go in a synchronized rhythm as the last of agitation and adrenaline started to ebb away. "Could have lost you earlier," Logan finally murmured into his lover's ear, tightening his hold on those long, strong thighs instinctively as he recalled that moment of panic earlier. "You need to watch your stupid thin ass better. Someday, I might not be there to push you out of the way, you know."

"I'm usually not making the same mistake twice. So, not gonna happen again." Scott squeezed his hand and turned his head for a quick kiss to Logan's temple but he didn’t give him a promise. They rarely did. For that, they both knew far too well how quickly this job could end badly thanks to something entirely out of their control. "I'm more pissed about fucking up. If Weapon X goes through with this … I don't exactly have great memories of the last time someone came up with a so-called Cure, you know."

A night when they were both already weary was not a time to reminisce on the whole clusterfuck that had been Jean's short-term rebirth and Scott's own death and resurrection, not to mention how barely their race had scraped by extinction and full-blown war back then. So Logan only rested two fingertips on Scott's chin to turn his lover's head back to him for a proper kiss. He could still taste ash, a bit of copper from a small cut on Scott's lip from that fall, and the tartness of the cheap wine Scott still had half a glass of in his hand, the latter being another worrisome sign that the day had taken a bigger toll on his lover than Scott was trying to show. "We're not gonna let it get to that again, Slim. And we still got time. The one good thing about me being these people's lab rat before? I know them. If they had anything that actually worked yet, we'd already know. Whatever shit they'll try to stir at some point, I got no problems wading through that, too, if I have to."

"We will," Scott corrected him, the almost painful tension in his back having slipped away at least a little, the smile on his lips looking grateful now instead of bitter, and a good deal tired. "As soon as I'm no longer that beat, we'll make a list of possible headquarters of these assholes nearby. If we're lucky, they got another lab within reach to search. Not tonight though," he emphasized when Logan frowned skeptically. "A very wise guy once told me, overworking myself to the point of passing out only fucks up the results in the long run."

"Dunno about the being smart part but you should definitely listen to the dude more often," Logan agreed with a small grin on his own, still annoyed about how close this whole thing had been earlier. That was something he didn’t care for dwelling on any longer either right now though, or later in a new version of his nightmares about losing either himself or people close to him in an ocean of blood. Laying down was out of the question as long as his mind was still a mess of restlessness and dark emotions. And Scott wouldn’t be faring any better. "Like when he tells you, we can both use a sleeping pill that leaves less of a headache than this brew you're choking down there."

Scott's smirk definitely sported a wolfish touch now as Logan's fingertips started to wander on his thighs, moving to the inside and higher. "Is that so? You think you can dissuade me from numbing my thoughts with booze with a couple of excess hormones?" He demonstratively raised his glass to his lips again, his other hand unmoving on the tub edge but let out a suspicious gasp when Logan's knuckles brushed his already hardening cock, feather-light.

Well, that was a game two could play. "Who said anything about hormones? Just making sure you get sufficiently clean." Logan reached for the bottle with soap on the tub edge with his free hand and squirted a generous amount of the thick fluid, faintly smelling of coconut, on his palm. When Scott shuddered a little and squirmed back against him, he rested his legs over his lover's longer ones, easily keeping him in place thanks to his superior strength, and lowered his head to nibble on the shell of Scott's ear, knowing all his lover's most sensitive spots perfectly after all this time. Gladly watching Scott tense and curse under Logan's exquisitely slow caresses underwater, everywhere he could reach, without ever coming close to certain most sensitive areas though, he took his sweet time, railing his lover up, only letting out a suppressed groan every now and then when Scott writhing back against him stimulated his own erection more or less accidentally. The quickly building want in his lower body far too intense to ignore for long thanks to the peculiarities of his feral mutation, Logan gave up on restraint the second, he'd cleaned his lover's skin off those last traces of the explosion and a certain rose perfume. He was yearning far too much to hear Scott enjoy himself loudly and shamelessly right now for endless foreplay. So he brought his hands from where they had been so patiently stroking every of his lover's firm, attractive pecs and abs, of his hips, his attractive legs, to Scott's dark, pebbled nibbles, a harsh first tweak promptly making his lover groan out and try to squirm against the hold of his legs once more, his hips thrusting into nowhere. "That glass of yours still looks awfully full … What happened to that numbing-your-mind deal?"

Scott let out a defeated growl and put that thing quickly away before starting yet another attempt to break free of Logan's hold and turn around to him properly, to no avail not least thanks to a couple of strained muscles from their stunt earlier. "I could get of something far more delicious to taste right now."

"I'm sure you do." Logan ignored the not-exactly-subtle innuendo as there would be more than enough time for that later, giving Scott's reddening nipples another few harsh twists and tugs. On nights like this, when they were both prone to melancholy and self-doubt, more than it was healthy in their line of work, the additional adrenaline of a little bit of pain and loving humiliation was necessary for Scott in particular to lose himself entirely to the needs of his body. Reveling in every of his lover's moans, every startle of pure lust twitching through that tall, lean body, Logan only reluctantly let go to reach for that soap bottle again, acquiring a far bigger dollop of the grey-white mass this time. "Don't think so, Slim," he muttered warningly against Scott's ear when Scott thrust his hips up wantonly, kissing away the goose-bump on his lover's neck that this certain deep, slow tone in his voice in such moments always caused. "For that big mouth you got on you, you don’t get a reward so easily. Don't make me say it again if you don’t want to spend the night in restraints," he added sharply when a defiant flash of red sparked behind Scott's glasses and his lover tried to reach for his throbbing cock underwater himself. "Legs up."

A pout on his lips, Scott seemed to consider rebelling against that uncompromising order for a moment but with Logan's lips back on his ear, the tip of Logan's tongue thrusting inside a couple of times, his resistance melted away at once. A deep sigh on his lips, he leaned back even more heavily against Logan's body which in turn had Logan's untouched cock jerk in need, and rested his lower legs on the tub edge, presenting his most vulnerable spots willingly for Logan for the taking, something that Logan didn’t think would ever leave him cold with someone acting so distanced, so cautious about not physically getting too close to people otherwise.

Not wanting to ruin the intimate moment with more words, Logan left another soft kiss on the side of Scott's neck and then finally got his hand underwater, spreading the fluid quickly and thoroughly enough where it needed to go so it wouldn’t get washed away, then softly eased a first slick finger into his lover's tight opening. For a moment, he feared, Scott would be too wound up after today for the necessary relaxation when an almost painful clench of muscles followed.

But then Scott turned his head to the side with something almost close to a needy sob, burying his face against Logan's shoulder. His hands only clenched down harder where they'd reached back for Logan's hips, a silent invitation.

One Logan was glad to follow, slowly exploring that tight heat with shallow thrust, only going deeper when this instinctive first resistance had melted away.

By the time, he was playfully nudging a certain rough spot deep inside, Scott was moaning out and trembling in his arms, his untouched cock starting to dribble small drops of white into the water. A second and then a third finger added with exciting ease, Logan had his lover thrust down against him within minutes, back to writhing mindlessly and moaning his name, knuckles protruding white from where he was holding on, his strong, flat stomach concaving again and again as his stretched hole clenched up firmly, lustfully around the quickly working digits. "Need you, Logan …" By that time, Scott's voice was only a hoarse whisper, his hand reaching up to clench so tightly in Logan's hair it almost hurt, his whole body tensing up as Logan fucked into him deeply another time, aiming right for his prostate once more, his balls drawing up closely to his body.

Logan decided that waiting for his eager lover to beg would still be early enough in round 2 or 3 and carefully pulled back, with a soothing kiss to Scott's shoulder when he whined. "Up." He only loosed the grip of his leg muscles long enough for his lover to follow the new command before firmly grabbing those slim, attractive hips, pulling Scott against him at a different angle this time, groaning out loudly himself as his raging hard on slipped into that oiled, hot channel with ridiculous ease. "Jesus, Slim, I swear one day you'll gonna kill me personally."

"Less. Talking." Scott firmly planted his feet on the bottom of the tub, his hands back on the edge as he moved his hips in a first tentative roll, slowed down by the water, and shuddered out another moan, feeling every single inch of pulsating hardness so deeply buried inside of him albeit not in the very best angle. "Fuck …"

"No cheating," Logan reminded him sternly before Scott had made as much as one move to reach down again. Tensing his own hip muscles for a firm thrust, he grinned in satisfaction at the helpless keen from his lover's lips. "You're gonna come on my cock only tonight, Slim, so might want to put your back into it."

"You're gonna get that back, just so we're clear," Scott grumbled, a threat hardly even being one, not with how much they both enjoyed being on the receiving end of such alluring little games from time to time. And then his lover was very quick to go nonverbal again because Logan thrusted up into him again, even harder this time, the water almost splashing over the edge, and the moan of pure, bone-deep want on Scott's lips almost made Logan come on the spot himself.

With how much more salty, delicious fluid was starting to stain the water, with no orgasm anywhere in sight yet though, somehow, Logan was beginning to suspect they'd have to continue right with a long, good shower after their bath if they wanted to get even close to being clean at any point this night …

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

#no.26 #you look awful #x men #fic #nsfwhump #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #x men movies #fanfiction #stormys fanfics #scott summers #wolverine #cyclops #scott x logan #scogan #scoganbingo #nsft #whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023

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storiesofsvu · 1 year

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Iowa Chill

Heather Dunbar x Jackie Sharp. Warnings: language, hurt comfort, political crap. Covers the hurt/comfort square for @resanoona 3k bingo. Anon requested: "[ jaw ] - for receiver to place leisurely kisses along sender's jaw for the duckie couple?" and I took it in a completely different direction cause I needed some hurt today. Set directly after the Iowa debate.

The air in Iowa was thick with many things tonight, but the one Jackie was currently feeling down to her bones was the cold. Getting the cold shoulder from Heather certainly wasn’t helping. Then again, that was her own doing and she knew it.

She knew she was crossing the line during the debate, that there was no doubt Heather would be upset about the other woman dragging her kids into things. She hadn’t meant to, the topic just opened up and the words slipped from her lips before she’d really even realized. She’d felt the coldness from Heather’s eyes instantly, knowing that she’d fucked up. That was the problem being political opponents while also harbouring a very secretive relationship.

They’d taken separate cars back to the hotel for obvious reasons, and Jackie was more than ever thankful for the fact that Heather had a full suite booked, it was easy for the other woman to disappear into the office and leave Jackie to fend for herself. Jackie tried to stay out of the way, tail between her legs as she attempted to warm herself up with a shower, wrapping herself in warm pyjamas as she moved through the bedroom. She let out a huff, dropping onto the bed, fingers fiddling with the exorbitant diamond on her finger. Her eyes drifted from the tv to the ring and she rolled her eyes, tugging it off and tossing it to the bedside table with a groan before she collapsed back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Both of their marriages were shams, but there was always something gnawing at Jackie knowing that Heather’s used to actually mean something. The only reason she stayed with Rob was the exact same reason Jackie married Allan, appearances. Both of the men knew what was going on with their wives, they had been open and upfront about everything from the start and they’d settled into the roles they needed to play with ease. It was exhausting, the constant playing pretend when the person you actually loved was across the table from you instead and this election was making everything feel like it was at a breaking point, there were more than a few days that Jackie felt like getting in the car driving away from it all, never wanting to set foot in Washington ever again.

Today was certainly starting to feel like one of those days.

Jackie curled around herself, shifting so she was at least partially under the covers and her eyes stared blankly at the television, not absorbing a single ounce of what was playing as her thoughts took over. She must have dozed off because the next thing she remembered was her phone buzzing on the bed next to her, ripping her from her dreamless sleep. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking a few times as she sat up against the headboard, swiping through notifications until she found the most recent, a text from Remy, the only person in the workplace she’d confided to about her true relationship.

‘How’d she take the kid thing?’

Jackie let out a weary sigh, her eyes flitting to the time displayed on the screen and realized it was already nearing eleven thirty. Her brow furrowed, wondering if Heather was still working, or if she was simply avoiding sleeping in the same bed as her. She tugged her lip into her mouth, chewing on it for a moment as she thought, her ears perking up to any noise coming from the other parts of the suite. Heather knew she would have to take a few digs at her, especially during the debate, hell, they’d even gone over subjects together, helped each other run through mock arguments in preparation. The only problem being that Underwood had done the same with Jackie, planting seeds in her words that would hopefully tip Heather off balance enough to be buried. She cursed herself for even getting on that plane in the first place, she should’ve known better than to align herself with the devil.

Pocketing her phone she slipped from under the covers, shivering at the chill running through the air as she began to move through the suite. A lamp was on in the living room, the tv on low volume, the evening news still covering the election, but it was the light coming from the second room Heather had made into an office that piqued her interest. Knowing how terse the other woman could get, she hung back in the doorway, softly knocking on the frame to not interrupt or annoy. Heather glanced up, her head tilting at Jackie wrapped around herself.

“I thought you’d gone to bed?”

“Too fucking cold to sleep.” She murmured, staying frozen on the spot, “can… I come in?”

Heather nodded, pulling off her glasses to set them on the desk in front of her as she pushed her chair back a bit, giving Jackie the permission and space to settle on her lap. The younger woman was nearly hesitant as she approached, but over the years the two of them had become very effective in non verbal communication, and she knew she was welcomed. She curled herself on Heather’s lap, head coming to rest on her shoulder, feeling Heather’s arm wind around her waist as she nuzzled into the embrace. Silence took over the room, even with Heather’s hand softly playing with Jackie’s hair, the buzz of awkwardness was floating through the cool air, neither of them quite sure where to start, neither of them having energy to even try to bicker much less fight. As always, it was Heather that broke the silence, knowing that Jackie had relinquished all control, any power she had held during her cold remarks during the debate vanishing into thin air the moment they retreated to their hotel suite.

“Do you really think I’m a terrible mother?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and if Jackie had been listening harder she would have heard the slight tremble hiding behind her words.

“You know I don’t.” Jackie murmured, her head shifting so she could press gentle kisses to the other woman’s jaw between her words, “but I do think it’s about time to stop lying to them.”

“I wouldn’t classify this as lying.” Heather nearly scoffed.

“They’re going to figure it out eventually. You and Rob don’t sleep in the same room, and I’m over for dinner more nights than not.”

“You’re their godmother.” Heather let out a small hum at the feeling of Jackie’s lips meeting her jawline once again.

“Pretty sure that technically means I’m the caregiver if something happens to the two of you, not that I need to have weekly sleepovers.”

“Hmph.”

A silence fell over them again, the elephant in the room creeping closer and closer as they continued to avoid the topic. Finally Jackie spoke, ever the wounded bird, wanting to make sure she hadn’t damaged things too terribly, that she hadn’t sacrificed her love for political gain.

“I’m sorry about what I said during the debate.” She murmured, leaving a soft kiss just under Heather’s ear, “Underwood wanted me to play an angle… I didn’t want to, but the door opened and I ran with things without even thinking. I didn’t mean to bring the kids into things.”

“Your apology is accepted.” Heather replied softly, her lips finally meeting Jackie’s temple and the younger woman let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I’m sorry I fired back about your own kids.”

“But they’re not.” Jackie muttered, sighing softly, “they’re Allan’s, and I barely know them. I watched yours grow up…”

Heather took a breath, taking a moment to untangle all of her thoughts from the day, her hand softly ghosting up and down Jackie’s back.

“If we keep up like this… neither of us is going to win.”

“What do you mean?” Jackie felt her heart leap into her throat, her pulse skyrocketing as she pulled her head up from the crook of Heather’s neck, her eyes wide as she met her gaze.

“The election…” the older woman chuckled softly, recognizing her love’s panic, her hand stroking at her cheek gently. “You said it yourself; we can’t be on the same ticket; we need a southerner with a penis.”

“So?”

“Take Underwood’s offer.” Heather urged, “as long as you trust him enough to put you on the ticket, you drop out and endorse him.”

“And what about you?” Jackie’s blue eyes swam with worry as she gazed across at the other woman, her had coming up to cup her cheek and Heather simply shrugged.

“He wants me out of the race anyways. I can meet with him, tell him I want to take the chief justice position, put in a stipulation that I’m only stepping down if he puts you on the ticket, get the deal in writing.”

“What… about us?” She asked and this time Heather could feel the sadness weighing on the other woman’s shoulders, the way the misting in her eyes increased, scared that this was no longer what they started with, that she was about to be left on the steps of the White House like an abandoned puppy. Heather let out a weary sigh, her gaze dropping for a moment as she played with Jackie’s hand in her lap, not missing the fact that the other woman had taken off her wedding ring.

“Well… if you win… then it’s at least another four years of secrecy.” She finally looked back up at her, “there’s no way you’re going to win office and keep it while going through a divorce scandal, never mind coming out.”

“But I love you…” Jackie’s voice cracked, ducking her gaze before Heather tapped at her chin, tilting her head back up to hers.

“I know you do.” She leant in, leaving a feather light kiss on her lips, “and I love you just as much.”

“Then why can’t we just run away and forget about all of this?” She asked and Heather chuckled.

“Because I want you to succeed, you deserve a chance at this. And don’t you remember those silver spoon fed children of mine? I can’t just up and leave them before either of them have left for college, I’ve got a couple of years at best.” Jackie huffed a laugh, a smile finally breaking free on her lips at the teasing in Heather’s voice and she glanced up at the woman, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as she noticed the amount of adoration flowing from her hazel eyes.

“You’re not upset with me?” She asked meekly and Heather shook her head, tilting her gaze up to hers once more.

“No. Not anymore.” She let out a soft sigh, leaning back in her chair, “I’ll admit the moment you said it I felt betrayed, I turned things on full force to rebuttal. But after a bit of reflecting I remembered that we agreed this was going to be tricky. It already was but throwing a political race into things made everything even messier, and I am willing to step out of the race to make sure we don’t hurt each other and damage our political relationship thus drowning our personal one.” Jackie paused for a moment, her fingers daintily playing with Heather’s hand in hers while she digested what she had said.

“You… you would do that for me?”

“It wasn’t my first thought… and I still want this as much as ever, but I also love you…”

“So why not fight?”

“Because fighting for you is far more worth it.” Heather admitted, the warmth blooming in her chest and she knew Jackie felt the same, a small smile on her lips when she finally looked up at her once again. She let out a huff of a laugh, swiping away a tear from the corner of her sapphire eyes.

“I don’t want this the same way you do.” She admitted with a sniffle, “I kinda got swept up in the excitement of it all, I was merely a pawn for Underwood to do with as he pleased.”

“What’re you saying?” Heather raised a curious brow, her hand softly running up and down Jackie’s back.

“I’ll talk to him when we get home, say this isn’t going in the direction I wanted, that I’m dropping and want nothing to do with him.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.” Jackie replied instantly, “always and forever you, and only you.” Her hand cupped Heather’s cheek, kissing her softly, “take the justice job. We can be somewhat out of the spotlight and finally actually be together. If…. If that’s what you want.” Her timidness always made Heather chuckle softly, pinching at her chin when she dared to duck her gaze.

“You know that’s I want that.” She leant up to steal a kiss, “I’ll talk to Rob and the kids when we get home, I’m sure it won’t be an issue. Pretty sure they’ve figured it out already anyways.”

“I told you!” Jackie laughed, this time for real, the smile reaching her eyes as she leant in for another kiss, humming happily against Heather’s lips. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Yes.” She beamed up at her, “I adore you, I love you, as much as taking the Oval would please me the only thing I really, truly want is a future with you. All this political bullshit has done nothing but drive wedges between us, make us walk on eggshells around each other only to come back to each other at the end of a long day. We’ve always searched for each other, found peace with one another and found forgiveness… and that’s something I never want to let go of.”

“Good. Because I love you more than anything in the entire world.”

“Good.” Heather kissed the tip of her nose, “now how about we get you back to bed, from what I hear it’s a little chilly and you could use some cuddles.”

Jackie laughed softly, a little squeak leaving her lips as Heather nudged her off her lap, nearly toppling her to the floor in the process. Heather pressed a kiss to her temple, squeezing at her waist a little tighter to remind her just how much she was loved, how no matter what went down in the work day, in the political field, that she was more important than any of that crap. That the show they put on was exactly that, a show, and it was what took place behind closed doors that actually mattered. Because that was where the two women were allowed to show off their affection, where they were allowed to be soft and gentle together and that truly was what they both adored the most.

_______ @svulife-rl @naturalxselection @clarawatson @yesterdaysgone @hbkpop @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @daddy-heather-dunbarr @borg-queer

#house of cards #heather dunbar #jackie sharp #duckie #heather dunbar x jackie sharp #resa.3kfiestabingo

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every-marveler-ever · 2 years

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Game Day Experience

Flufftober Day 9: Game Day (Sports)

😒 TONY STARK BINGO MARK VI - R1) On Opposing Sides

🎖️ SAM STEVE BINGO 2022 - Rivals

masterlist

(Ao3 Link)

A/N: I apologise in advance I know nothing about American football, I am not American and I barely know enough about my own AFL culture in Australia. I’ve tried to do a lot of research on teams, the ability, and how the game plays but honestly, I have no clue, so just be steady with me. Enjoy!

PAIRING(S): Sam Wilson/Steve Rogers

RATING: Teen

WARNING(S): Football, NFL

flufftober 2022 | tsb 😒 mark vi | ssb 🎖️ 2022

At Superbowl LIX, people are calling this the game of the century as they watch married man Sam Wilson play for New Orleans Saints against his very own husband Steve Rogers playing for the New York Giants.

“And we are live!” The lady smiles into the camera lens, she’s bright and bubbly just the way female sports news anchors are supposed to be. Her smile only widens as she continues to talk “hello today we are live at the Superbowl LIX, and people are calling this the game of the century as we watch married man Sam Wilson play for New Orleans Saints against his very own husband Steve Rogers playing for the New York Giants. We can't wait to see how this game plays out.”

As the camera cuts to show the excitement from the fans Natasha Romanoff finds herself back in her normal state away from the bubbly blonde mess that she pretends to be on camera. Nodding her head towards the changerooms her cameraman Clint understands just what she's saying and packs up his camera away and walks with her.

This isn’t either of their first Superbowl and hopefully won’t be either of their last, “it really is a different atmosphere this year,” clint produces taking a gulp of water before continuing, “I mean the teams are basically rivals and yet they’re like married to each other, how crazy is that?” Clint is not wrong it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that they have a married couple playing against each other at the Superbowl.

Natasha laughs along, “Sam and Steve are best friends but I know for a fact that they not letting either of them get in the way of a victory.” Having known Steve for as long as Natasha has she knows the competitive spirit that he has doesn’t extend to just Sam it goes way past that, they’re wedding was a whole competition, their whole life together has always been a competition. She smiles thinking about college, and how much easier it once was, “the only time they’ve been on the same team in college, since joining the NFL for some reason people are too scared to put together a power couple, something to do with an unfair advantage,” she shrugs, showing off her prior knowledge and the reason why she has her job in the first place.

In the change rooms, it’s a mess of players half dressed and loud crowds of screaming and excitement about the upcoming match they are about to play, it’s brilliant footage that Clint is capturing. For the first time in history, the two opposing teams are in connected change rooms, all together and mingling. Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson can be seen on a bench with arms around each other. Steve screams above all the others over at Natasha, “well if it isn’t my favourite journalist,” he yells departing from Sam and making his way to hug the female in question.

Laughing they hold onto each other before having to get back to their own respective jobs in the field. Steve pulls Sam along to join their interview, “hello we are back and we are talking with the famous couple on everyone’s mind tonight, how are you both feeling? Is there some competitive love in the air tonight?”

Sam knows where Natasha is going with this and so he responds for the both of them, “I feel like there would be if this teddy bear would let go of me to actually be with my team,” he smiles jokingly. Knowing that this moment will be in youtube compilations of them together for centuries on, they really did make a rift in the NFL culture when both came out as boyfriends and then Steve engaged with his Superbowl ring in the middle of training one day, they made history with ever walking step.

“It’s a tactic,” Steve shrugs holding onto Sam tighter this time, “we are on opposing sides and all that.” Sam rolls his eyes at his husband's insufferable tendencies. He loves him anyway.

Natasha on the other hand knows that she’ll be commentating on next year’s Super Bowl from this interaction alone. If only it was like college instead.

Cards: @flufftober @samstevebingo2022 @tonystarkbingo

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little-diable · 2 years

Text

Love Me Tonight - Stucky x fem!reader (smut)

2/3 imagines for my Valentine's bingo by @venomsilk Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Bucky and the reader try to enjoy their last few days together before he leaves for the war. But one night, as Steve stays over, the two are a bit too loud behind closed doors, luring their friend into their bedroom.

Warnings: 18+, mutual masturbation (f and m), blowjob, threesome, degrading, dom!Bucky, sub!reader, sub!Steve, unprotected sex, p in v, slight breeding kink

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader, Steve x fem!reader

Squares filled: mutual masturbation x first love x exhibitionism (2.5k words)

Header by @hidingsikki

“You look gorgeous, doll.” Bucky was standing behind (y/n), dressed in his uniform, wearing his signature smile. Their eyes met in the mirror as they kept studying one another for a few moments before (y/n) reached for his hand.

“I love you, James.” Their sweet moment was short lived, interrupted by the sound of somebody impatiently knocking on their front door. With a kiss pressed to her cheek, he left their bedroom, greeting Steve who had been pacing in front of their door for a few minutes now.

In a few days time Bucky would leave his home behind, he was praying at night that he’d make it back to her, a return of victory. Tonight they’ll celebrate together, their love, their friendship, and the better days to come. Tonight they’ll give into their emotions, clinging to one another as alcohol buzzes through their veins.

The night was cold, forcing (y/n) closer to her lover, intently listening to the words Steve and Bucky exchanged, talks about the war and weapons, politics she tried to follow. Somewhere along the way (y/n) found her attention slipping, thoughts circling around Bucky and their relationship.

He was her first love, the first man she had kissed, the first man she had allowed to step into her bedroom, clinging together with sweaty bodies and racing hearts. He was her first and would hopefully be her last - if he’d return from the war.

“You’re awfully quiet, doll.” Bucky squeezed her waist, ripping her out of her thoughts with a frown tugging on his features. He knew well enough that she was worried, about him and his life, about the war and the lives lost at the front. Worries that clouded her thoughts with every rising of another day.

“Don’t worry about me.” She pressed a kiss to his lips before they stepped into the small diner, finding comfort in a quiet corner. Whenever her eyes would flicker to Steve's he’d try to turn from her with blushing cheeks, still not used to having her around, after all those years.

Even though (y/n) and Bucky had been dating for a while, Steve had always struggled to adjust to her, he was averting his gaze with red tinted cheeks and sweaty palms. He’d never talk to her, would change the topic whenever tried to ask him something, anything to keep their conversation going. And even though (y/n) had tried to ignore his awkward behaviour, she couldn’t help but wonder why he was desperately trying to avoid having to share a single word with her.

“Steve,” his name rolled off her tongue before she could stop herself. Both Steve and Bucky fell quiet, eyes focused on (y/n). “What did I do to you? Why do you keep ignoring me?”

For a second an awfully tense silence engulfed the three, drowning out the sounds of the busy diner. But before Steve could part his lips with his wide eyes set on (y/n), Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling his lover closer with his raspy laughter rumbling through him, “You see, doll. Steve here has a small crush on you. Nothing to worry about.”

She could only watch how the young man sank lower in his seat, eyes trying to burn a hole into the ground that could swallow him whole. Her hand reached for Steve's, she squeezed it with a soft smile thrown his way, silently apologising for asking about his off behaviour towards her. And with Bucky pushing their conversation into another direction, the evening kept on passing by.

-----

“Are you sure Steve should sleep on the couch? It’s so uncomfortable.” With a groan spilling from his lips, Bucky rose from his position, lips no longer pressed against her naked chest. He was clearly annoyed, not expecting Steve’s name to roll off her tongue as he was kissing his way down her body.

“What? Should he join us?” Sarcasm dripped from his words, lips searching hers to shut the frowning woman up. His touch seemed to have its effect on her, distracting her from the thought of Steve, who was sleeping in the room next to theirs. (Y/n)'s moans fell from her lips as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Bucky started to grind his bare cock against her still clothed heat, coaxing the sweetest sounds from her parted lips.

“My perfect girl, fuck, I’ll miss you, I'll miss you so much.” For a moment they held still, eyes connected, just like their racing hearts. Slowly Bucky’s hand disappeared between her thighs, he pulled her underwear down her legs, fingertips teasing her arousal covered folds. He could listen to her moans for the rest of his days, the sweetest tune to guide him through the moments where he felt lost, not knowing where to turn to. A song sung in the quiet night, engulfing him like a hug of a long lost lover.

“Don’t tease me, please. I need you.” (Y/n) tried to reach for his hand, but he didn’t give in, at least not for another moment or so.

Bucky pulled his hand away from her heat, smirking at the desperate groan that rumbled through her, already missing his touch. “Touch yourself for me, doll.”

She didn’t dare speak up, watched him with wide eyes as he sat down vis-a-vis her, hand reaching for his hard cock. Slowly, almost carefully, her fingers began to wander, she had her thighs spread for him, eyes wanting to flutter close, to relish in the relief that would flush through her any moment now, emotions flooding like a dark river. (Y/n) couldn’t put her emotions into words, she struggled to sort through the different sensations that were keeping her body hostage.

With her heat exposed to his twinkling eyes, she pushed two fingers into her heat, not able to stop the heavy moan rolling off her tongue, not stopping her head from falling back. He kept his gaze focused on her, Bucky's hand was pumping his cock, trying to match the rhythm of her fingers, wanting to keep up with (y/n) and the sounds bleeding from her lips.

“Can you do another one? Show me how you’d stretch around my cock.” His words guided her, begging her to use another finger. Another heavy moan left the panting woman, desperately trying to imagine what his cock would feel like, buried inside her cunt with his lips pressed against hers.

But before James could say another word, to guide her through her arising high, the door to their bedroom was pushed open, exposing Steve and the panicked expression that had tugged on his features. He was frozen, with his eyes set on the two naked lovers. Steve didn’t dare move, not even as (y/n) reached for the blanket, covering her goosebump covered body.

“I, uhm, I thought you were hurt.” Steve’s cheeks were burning, more red than they have ever been before. His feet kept him frozen on the spot, not knowing where to turn to as Bucky’s laughter echoed through the bedroom.

Of course this would happen, of course Steve would think that one of them was hurt.

“Come here, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes flickered to (y/n), a smile began to tug on her lips, full of excitement. The two of them had always wanted to experiment behind closed doors, wanting to invite somebody else into their home, somebody to share the night with, limbs tangled, sweat covered bodies pushed together. And even though Steve didn’t have any experience, they couldn’t help but wonder what they could turn him into.

“I, I don’t think I should.” But with another wave of his hand, Bucky forced his sweating friend to step closer, smirking as Steve took another step and another, coming to a halt next to the bench placed on the foot of their bed. Without another word spluttering from his chapped lips, he sank down on the bench, eyes finding (y/n)’s.

“Pull away the blanket, dove.” Teasingly (y/n) exposed her naked body to Steve and Bucky, smirking in victory as the small man began to shuffle around, trying to hide his growing bulge from the couple - though without any luck. “C’mon, touch yourself for us, doll.”

As if they hadn’t been interrupted by Steve, (y/n)’s fingers found their way back to her heat, circling her clit with her moans burning on her tongue. Steve had a hard time concentrating, not knowing if he should keep on watching (y/n) or Bucky. The couple found pleasure in knowing what they were doing to Steve, teasing the frowning man with their moans and groans falling freely from their lips.

“What do you say. Should we allow Steve to join?” Sweat pearled on Steve’s forehead, frozen on the bench as the words rumbled through Bucky. He had never touched a woman before, let alone another man, he would feel awfully lost between both lovers. But just the thought of feeling (y/n)’s naked body beneath his hands coaxed a small whimper out of Steve.

“Only if he can keep up with us.” She crawled towards Bucky, eyes set on Steve as she grasped her lover’s cock. A string of saliva connected her mouth and his red tip, tongue dancing up his length with a smirk tugging on her lips. Steve didn’t need to hear another command, slowly he rose from the bench, found his way to their bed.

(Y/n) reached for his hand, she pulled Steve towards her to cup his hard cock through his trousers. Their moans were getting tangled, forming unfamiliar sounds they would dream of in the upcoming nights.

“I want to taste him, can I, please?” Bucky could only chuckle at her desperation, without another warning he flipped her onto her front, palm coming down onto her behind. Steve could no longer tell if he was dreaming or not - but even if he was stuck in his imagination, he could only pray that he wouldn’t be woken from this.

“Come closer, Steve.” Positioned on all fours she waited for Steve to settle in front of her, he freed his cock from his loose pants, not knowing what he should do next. Helpless as one can be, Steve waited for (y/n) to touch him, eyes set on her lips and her twinkling eyes. Her tongue wandered along her lower lip, mouth watering at the sight of his bare cock.

“It’s okay, just let me touch you.” She tried to reassure him, slowly easing him into the rough waters his boat had found itself stuck in, not knowing where to turn to, lost like Odysseus. The moment her hand found his cock, Steve found himself fading into the nothingness, no longer could he think straight, forced to lay his trust in her.

For a moment (y/n) had to let go of Steve, hands firmly pressed into the mattress as Bucky pushed into her heat from behind. Her moans were sweeter than the singing angels, sweeter than the candy one would eat on Valentine’s day, sweeter than the love shared between her and Bucky.

Steve could stay right there, with his eyes focused on the two - the sight alone would be enough to push him over the edge. But (y/n) desperately wanted to touch him again, she wrapped her lips around his tip, eyes set on his as he moaned at the unfamiliar touch.

“Isn’t she perfect? Wish I could take her with me, I bet she’d love to be stuffed full by all the other soldiers.” Bucky's words coaxed a moan out of (y/n) and Steve, both were long gone, focused on their pleasure and the arousal flooding through their veins like poison. Forever would they remember this night, forever would they be reminded of the excitement buzzing through them as they got lost in the night.

She bobbed her head on Steve's cock, tried to swallow him whole as Bucky kept fucking her from behind, eyes meeting Steve’s every now and then. He kept on smirking, loved sharing her with his friend, loved to watch her take care of the trembling man while he sunk deeper into her heat. Her walls clamped down on Bucky's cock whenever he’d ferociously thrust against her behind, hoping to push her over the edge with his cock rubbing against her swollen spot.

“Fuck, I-, feels so good.” Steve had a hard time articulating his feelings, lost in the moment. (Y/n) choked around him as he jerked his hips, forcing his cock further down his throat. Her glassy eyes were still full of excitement, vocal cords burning from the moans she tried to hold back.

"I could get used to this, what do you say, doll?" But she couldn't reply, had two holes stuffed to the brim with tears rolling down her cheeks. Fuck, what a sight to see. So raw, so sinful, yet so perfect. "Bet you didn't think this would happen tonight, did you, Steve?"

Steve's eyes met Bucky's teasing ones, he could only shake his head, lost in the feeling of (y/n)'s lips wrapped around his cock. Her moans shot up his spine like lighting striking the night. His head rolled back as (y/n) pulled away, desperate to catch her breath as her orgasm began to tingle through her.

It would only take a few more thrusts till she'd tumble over the edge, body held hostage by her orgasm and the feeling of both men using her body for their own release. With a heavy breath sucked into her lungs she opened her mouth once again, allowed Steve's cock to rest on her tongue. He twitched, was just as close as her, would probably cum at the same time as (y/n).

"I can feel you clenching my cock, give in, make me proud, doll." With a cry clawing through her, (y/n) gave into her orgasm. Just the sound alone was enough to pull Steve down the edge with her. His cum painted her warm cheeks, leaving his stains as desperate whines rolled off his tongue.

Steve stayed right there, placed on hiss knees with (y/n) smirking at him. Bucky was still fucking her, he was chasing his high with his fingernails digging into her skin. She hoped that he'd fill her, that he'd give in with his cock twitching inside her heat. And he did. Bucky came with a groan, he imprinted himself on her walls, heat shooting through her like an arrow being released from the tight hold.

All three collapsed on the bed with racing hearts and sweaty bodies. There was no need to share any words, at least not for a while, not till morning would rise, not till the day would come where she'd left behind on her own.

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

Use this link to join the taglist

#Bucky Barnes smut #Steve Rorgers smut #valentinesbingo #chi‘s lemon

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Mr. Winchester

Summary: The reader’s weekend hookup takes a turn when when he turns out to be much more than just a pretty face...

Pairing: Teacher!Dean x reader

Square: Quote C “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Word Count: 816

Warnings: language, implied past smut

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo

_____

“Mr. Winchester,” you said, walking into his kitchen wearing little more than his dress shirt. “I take it last night’s lesson sunk in?”

“You know I just don’t think I have it quite yet. Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Yes and oh really?” He handed you a cup of coffee and you leaned back against his counter. “Are you requesting yet another private lesson?”

“What can I say, I’m dedicated to learning.” You laughed into your coffee, Dean giggling quietly. “You want to hang out again tonight?”

“Don’t you have-“ He groaned, throwing his head back. “Looking forward to Open House tonight I see.”

“It’s like Hell on earth,” he said. “Fuck those nut jobs are gonna keep me there all night.”

“Well I hope not all night. That’s my time.”

“Rain check for tomorrow?”

“Sure.” You pecked a kiss on his cheek and smiled.

“Y/N,” he said, catching your hand when you headed upstairs to change. “Do you want to…you know…date? This weekend was fun. I know you said you were looking for something casual but…”

“I wouldn’t have stayed until the morning if I didn’t like you Dean. I definitely wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t really like you. I was supposed to be apartment hunting and you just had to come in with that little adorable face and yeah, we can date. You sure you want that though?”

“The fact you have a three year old doesn’t bother me.”

“That’s what the last two guys said and then they met her.”

“I teach first grade to twenty psychopaths every day. One three year old doesn’t scare me.”

“Yeah but she meets mommy’s friend and she…gets attached and then they go away.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t view the fact you have a kid as a negative. Is it harder? Sure. But if we don’t work out it’s going to be because we don’t fit, not that me and your daughter don’t.”

“I don’t want to get her hopes up.”

“Then let’s just be friends and then all I’ll ever be is mommy’s friend and she doesn’t have to get hurt and neither do you.”

“What?”

“Let’s just hang out, without the screwing. I like you Y/N. You’re…I like you is all. Friends?”

“Okay,” you said softly. “Friends.”

“Mr. Winchester,” you said that night, Dean’s head popping up from his desk. “Oh your classroom is so cute! I love the little forest theme.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, grabbing the filled out forms on the kids desks.

“I heard Riverbrook has the best daycare and pre K program in town. I didn’t know you taught at a private school.”

“They uh, they pay for my student loan for me…and they pay pretty well…and they had an issue with a lack of male staff so there’s that.”

“Must be fun being the hot guy,” you teased. “So. Is it worth the money to send a kid here?”

“Maybe. Depends on the kid. Not every one of them is meant to be a straight A student and a doctor or lawyer.”

“My father dropped out of high school. He owns a multimillion dollar business now. School certainly isn’t everything.”

“You just casually drop into conversation you’re wealthy normally?” he chuckled.

“Only to my boyfriend,” you said, Dean turning as he set the papers on his desk. “See this friends only thing ain’t gonna work for me. We’ll be friends for sure. Hopefully best friends. But I want the other stuff too.”

“Why’d you change your mind?”

“Cause you put a little girl you’ve never met before yourself and what you want. That’s kinda extremely attractive.”

“I didn’t do it to be attractive,” he said, sitting back on top of the desk.

“I know which makes it attractive.” You walked over in front of him, giving him a smile. “You did it because you’re a good guy.”

“You still both might get hurt and this is a great school. If things don’t work out I don’t want to make it awkward.”

“You eat dinner yet?”

“No. Y/N-”

“Want to grab a bite?” you asked.

“Y/N.”

“I think it’ll work out,” you said. “Last chance for some alone time before my parents drop her off with me tomorrow.”

“Alright. But only if I can take you ladies out to dinner tomorrow night.”

“You really want to take a 3 year old on a date?”

“I think that little girl hasn’t seen her mommy in 3 whole days and is going to be bouncing off the wall to see her. She comes or no date. That’s my deal.”

“Just gotta be a nice guy, don’t you Mr. Winchester.”

“I aim to please,” he said, flashing a wink. “So we doing this?”

“Yeah, we’re doing this. Meet me in the parking lot when you’re all done? I have to sign the munchkin up for daycare. They said it’d only take fifteen minutes.”

“See you soon sweetheart.”

________

#tell me a story bingo #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic

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weeinterpreter · 2 years

Note

Okay, about the trope bingo: “So proud of you” has to be a moment between Artemis and Butler, right? Just a nice ‘father-figure-to-the-redeemed-antihero’-moment, maybe after Artemis did something (god forbid) selfless?

I’m a bit scared to go too much into detail because if you really manage to get all of this into one single fic, that would be epic and I wouldn’t want to ruin that.

I feel like every piece I have written so far is only the first part of two. So,... apologies for not yet meeting your expectations. But hopefully, the appearance of a blonde spy will make up for the moment. Happy birthday! (And sorry for nothing more exciting!)

What's a Trope Bingo?

What's the Evil Association of Evil Villains?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5][Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Part 4. Only one Copy

Alex Rider sat hunched over the book in front of him, brooding over the letters on the page. The book was in English, but it could have been written in a dead language. It made as much sense. He glanced at the notes he had written so far. The afternoon had passed by quickly, and his comments had made sense back then. He had thought this would be so easy. A walk in the park. He groaned, running his hands through his hair. Couldn't a mission be straightforward for once? He checked his phone. The library would be open for another two hours, but he considered just packing up. There was no chance he'd crack the code today.

"Are you done with this book?"

Alex' head shot up, zoning in one the boy that could have stepped out of a Charles Dickens's novel. He shot a glance at the bookshelves, then back to the pale boy. His suit was remarkably modern, and very expensive. So probably not an apparition from the Victorian Era. When the boy gave him an expectant look, Alex blinked.

"Sorry, what?"

"The book. Are you finished with it?"

"Yes... No!" Alex rubbed his hands on his trousers. "Sorry, I'm, uh, working on an essay. It's due tomorrow."

The boy sat down across from him, tapping his fingers on the table.

"What's your essay about?"

Alex couldn't decide if he found those icy blue eyes wicked or bewitching. He decided they were both.

"Well, it's for my... history class. And... it's... about..."

Sparta? Athens? They talked about this in history, or rather his classmates had, while he had fought off an oil magnate in Berlin, almost losing a leg in the aftermath.

The other boy smiled. "Do you want me to have a look at your notes?"

Alex scrambled to push his papers together, heat creeping up his neck.

"That's okay. I'll just put something together tonight," he said, trying to come up with something clever. Come on, Alex, say something. You are an extraordinary spy for the MI6, get your act together.

"Do you want to grab a bite? I mean, if you have nothing else planned...?"

The boy blinked, at a loss for words.

"I thought you needed to write your essay?" he eventually asked.

"Yes... yeah, right," Alex mumbled, hiding his face in the book. "No, yeah. I do. You can have the book tomorrow. Sorry."

Refusing to glance the boy's way until he had left, Alex cursed everything and everyone, but above all that annoying boy with his annoying blue eyes and annoying obliviousness. He grabbed his pen and carved meaningless letters into his notebook.

***

Butler waited on the stairs. His eyebrows lifted when Artemis came back with no book.

"Have you not found what you were looking for, Artemis?"

Artemis shook his head. "Someone else was working on the book we need."

Butler was quiet for a moment, oddly moved by the boy's admission. He cleared his throat and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"That's very mature of you, Artemis. I'm proud of you for-"

"What are you talking about?" Artemis asked with a frown. "We'll come back tonight and get the book, then."

He shook his head, murmuring about the confusing behaviour of people today, while Butler watched him stride out of the library, his hand hovering in the air for a forlorn moment. Then the moment was over, and Butler's stoic mask was back in place. He hurried after his charge.

To be continued.

#artemis fowl fanfic #artemis fowl #fowldom #alexmis #domovoi butler #wee's writing workshop #humour #writeblr #x #alex rider #artemis fowl ii

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 3 years

Text

So. I decided to make my second @identity-reveal-bingo submission a mini-fic. That means that this one is less than 1000 words!

Also, since I don't really write major character d-eath... I may have stretched the 'deathbed confession' prompt just a bit. 😅 so rather than any actual d-eath, you get 991 words of Peter being throughly concussed and extremely dramatic.

Happy Reading!

___

Peter woke up in a hospital with an oxygen tube below his nose and several wires attached to his body. He could hear the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and smell the sickly combination of blood and disinfectant. Then, suddenly aware of the pain radiating from his neck to the front of his skull, he gasped. He reached up to touch the place where the throbbing was the worst but was prevented from doing so. When he looked up, Tony was hovering above him, holding tightly to his wrist.

“Easy, Kiddo. You’re not supposed to be awake. Your head got pretty banged up tonight,” Tony said, moving his grasp to the kid’s hand and then giving it a gentle squeeze. “How do you feel?”

After some thought, Peter withdrew his hand and rubbed his eyes. “Am I dying?” he asked, because his mind was fuzzy and he’d never had a headache quite like the one he was currently experiencing. The pressure was excruciating.

“No, Buddy. Not dying,” Tony replied with a tight smile. The memory of placing the kid’s limp body onto a gurney was still fresh, causing anxiety to creep up his spine. “Dr. Banner worked entirely too hard to stabilize you, for you to die now.”

“Am I dying later?” Peter asked. But then his attention was stolen by the various sounds that were floating around the room. They sounded vaguely ominous, making him shiver. “The beeping is- is beeping. Like in sad movies.”

“That’s your heart-monitor. It’s beeping because you’re not dying,” Tony returned, with a roll of his eyes.

Peter took a few breaths and swallowed hard. “Feels bad, Mr. Stark. Like my head is going to-” he began, but the word he required seemed to be lost somewhere in the mush his brain had become. So he mimicked the sound of an explosion while flailing his hands for emphasis instead. “That kills people. I’m definitely going to die.”

With a deep sigh, Tony ran a hand down his face. “Would you please stop talking about dying? You’re going to give me a panic attack,” he said, dropping tiredly into the chair beside the bed.

“It hurts,” Peter whined while turning his head to the side. As he did so, he had to squint his eyes against the blinding light that was beside him. “And there’s a light. Should I go into the light?”

“Pete. It’s a lamp,” Tony started, cracking a smile as he reached over to turn it off. “See? No heavenly light. You’re fine. You just have one hell of a concussion.”

The room grew quiet as Peter tried to sluggishly process what he’d been told. But by the time he’d sorted through the first part, the rest was fairly muddled. “A confession?” he asked out of confusion that was followed by a wide-eyed realization. “I have a confession!”

“No, not a-” Tony chuckled before curiosity took over. “Wait. You have a confession? As in, you want to confess something?” he asked, arching a brow in interest. And when Peter nodded his head, he encouraged him to continue.

“You’re gonna be mad, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his lip sticking out in a small pout.

“I won’t be mad, Kid,” Tony promised, despite the fact that he had no idea what the kid was about to admit to.

“Not mad. Disappointed. So disappointed,” Peter tearily mumbled. “But- but since I’m on my deathbed, I think you should know. I want you to know.”

Then, all at once, Tony’s interest morphed into dread. If the kid genuinely believed he was dying, then whatever he was about to confess was going to be a doozy. “Know what, Buddy?” he questioned, preparing himself for the worst.

After biting frettingly at his lip, Peter blinked up at his mentor. “I’m Spider-man,” he whispered.

Tony released a breath but before he could say anything, Peter had already broken into tears.

“-You’re always telling me to stay safe and then I go out and fight bad guys behind your back,” Peter sobbed. “And now I’m dying and- I’m so sorry,”

“Pete. Kiddo. Underoos, I need you to understand. You’re not dying,” Tony firmly asserted and then smiled. “Also. I know you’re Spider-man.”

“You do?” Peter asked. Because he thought he’d done a pretty good job of keeping his identity obscured. “How?”

Abruptly realizing exactly how hard the kid had hit his head, Tony sighed and tapped a finger against his temple. “Genius. Remember?”

“Did you tell Aunt May!” Peter asked with such upset that Tony had to place a hand on his chest to prevent him from bolting upright.

“Tell Aunt May what?” May asked, having walked into the room just in time to hear the outburst.

“That he’s Spider-man” Tony smirked.

Peter looked from his mentor to his aunt and whimpered painfully. “I wanted to tell her. Don’t want to die with secrets,” he mumbled just clearly enough for both adults to hear.

“Sweetie, I already know you’re Spider-man,” May replied, kissing the only part of Peter’s forehead that wasn’t bruised. “But you’re not dying. I promise,”

“Are you sure? I feel very-” Peter said, pausing in an attempt to find his words. “Death-y. Death-like?”

“I’m positive, Sweetie,” May giggled.

“I’ve been trying to tell the dramatic little shit the same thing for the last fifteen minutes,” Tony exclaimed with a frustrated flourish of his hand. “But Bruce is on his way with more drugs. Hopefully stronger ones,” he added, his voice softening as he spoke.

“Yeah. Someone needs a nap,” May whispered, watching as her nephew’s eyes flutter closed only to snap back open again.

“A death-nap,” Peter grumbled, wishing desperately that the throbbing would stop.

Both Tony and May roll their eyes at the theatrics. Then, as if on cue, Bruce walked into the room ready to administer a new round of medication. And from there it didn’t take long for Peter to drift off. Sleeping like the dead.

___

Feel free to send mini-fic prompts! I can't promise that I'll get to it right away but I love having the inspiration! ❤

#happyaspie mini fic #<- check out that tag #tony stark #peter parker #may parker #identityrevealbingo2021 #identity reveal bingo #irondad and spiderson #marvel #mcu #iron man #spider man #injured peter parker #tw head injury #humor #iron dad and spider son #spider-man #marvel fanfiction

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gaaavin · 3 years

Text

Edmund Lowry Jr.

Hiya! I've had another idea and wanted to write something for it, too. It’s inspired by / based on that serial killer in RDR2. Feel free to give me feedback or whatever you'd like. Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!reader

Words: 4.9 k

Summary: You thought it'd be an easy job with a nice prey at the end of the evening, until everything took the wrong turn.

Warnings: angst, mentions of torture but nothing too graphic, kidnapping, thoughts about death but with a happy ending

Finally, some green around you. That was your first thought, after you and the whole Van der Linde gang had arrived in Horseshoe Overlook. It was a lovely camp with a beautiful view. You sure could stay here for a longer period this time, hopefully. The constant moving took a toll on everyone just as much as the running from the law. Before finally settling into your current camp, all of you had to flee from Blackwater. A job there had gone terribly wrong and there was talk about Dutch losing control and shooting a woman. You hadn’t been there at that moment but you just couldn’t imagine that something like this would ever occur. The Dutch you knew would never harm any innocent folks. This escape resulted in an overhasty departure for the mountains – Colter had been the place of refuge up there. It was cold and you almost had no supplies. You generally liked the cold weather and snow but the storm up there you all had to endure was way too much to enjoy it at all. For now, though, you tried to push the negative thoughts away, instead concentrating on your new surroundings.

About a week after all things had been unpacked, you decided to go into the nearest town – Valentine. Dutch was right about all of you needing money urgently and you of course wanted to contribute, too. You saddled your mount up and rode out, but not before telling Karen where you wanted to go. “I’ll check, if I can find anything interesting in Valentine. Do you need something from the store while I’m in town?” you asked her. Her response coming promptly. “Some candies would be nice, would make these days here a lot more enjoyable.” As she concluded her answer, she winked at you earning her a small laugh on your part. After nodding, you spurred your horse and went into town.

The first thing you noticed was the smell, even before you entered the city at all. The second thing was the auction yard. Well, that explains it. No wonder it smells like horseshit everywhere around here, you thought as you entered the city. The people seemed friendly towards you, greeting you here and there. Although, you knew that you shouldn’t get on the town’s bad side. Some of the guys from your camp had caused trouble in the saloon some days ago and let’s just say that they aren’t as welcome in there anymore.

One of the boys was Arthur, your- well, you didn’t know what exactly the two of you were. Back in Blackwater your friendship slowly turned into something more intimidate, even romantic, with it peaking one drunken night around the campfire when you shared your first ever kiss. The sparks flew through the air and you felt like you were on cloud nine, being the happiest you had been in months. Since then, though, it felt like Arthur was avoiding you. Or maybe you were just imagining things. After all, you two hadn’t had much time after all the fighting, shed blood and the running after that. You had a special bond with Arthur like you’ve never had with anyone before – even before your relationship went to some sort of next level. You could communicate without words, understanding the other in more than one precarious situation. Currently, Arthur was away to get Sean back from those bounty hunters – that’s at least what John had told you earlier. You tried to push the thoughts of Arthur to the back of your head, trying to focus on the task at hand – find a lead or somebody to rob.

As you finally arrived at the saloon across the gunsmith, you hitched your horse and entered the facility. You were greeted with warm, liquor-filled air as you headed towards the bar, letting your eyes wander around. Drunk men were an easy prey. Before leaving camp, you had put on nice clothes, that were quite revealing. For you, that was the best way to gather information about anything or to rob someone. You mostly played either the damsel in distress or someone looking for some night company and most of the men fell for it every time, letting you close enough for you to relieve them of their valuables or information. Either was welcome.

After some time, your eyes landed on a stranger, that was looking directly at you. Bingo! You tried to approach him with your best smile. “Hey stranger.” You said, earning you a small smile from him. He had something odd to him. You couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but something about him put you off and gave you goosebumps all over. For now though, you tried to ignore your gut feeling. You were experienced in the things you did on an almost daily basis. Even if he could possibly be some sort of danger for you, you would definitely be able to defend yourself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time some drunk feller had inappropriate thoughts about you.

“Hey there.” He grinned at you. As you took a real first look at him, the thing you noticed right away were his eyes. You were a firm believer that the eyes displayed the door to the soul and his were just so… dark. Not just the color but also their aura. They had a strange glint to them and there was something deeper hiding behind them. Something bad maybe? Nonetheless, you offered him a drink and ignored your gut feeling again. After all, you wanted your camp members to have something to eat or rob in the future. “You seem lonely tonight. May I offer you a drink and maybe my company?” you asked him while fluttering your lashes. He seemed to think about his response for a moment, before finally saying. “Sure, that would be very kind of you. Thank you. Name’s Edmund Lowry Jr. May I ask yours?” You smiled innocently at him, before telling him a fake name.

Unfortunately, Mr. Lowry declined every further offer of you to buy him another drink. It would make things definitely more complicated if he didn’t want to get drunk. Quickly thinking of a plan B, you ultimately decided that you could just knock him out with the revolver hidden under your clothes if you’d be able to lead him to a more secluded area somewhere outside. He had told you earlier that he was a rich man and owned some land outside of Valentine, so the prey was too rewarding to not at least try to rob him. Although your plan was pretty dangerous, you put it into action by asking him if he’d mind joining you for a small walk outside. “The air in here is really getting to me and I think I need some fresh, new air.” He grinned almost devilish at you, before offering you his arm to lead you outside.

Taking a stroll in the streets, you tried to steer him towards the stables. This terrain was secluded enough for you to hit him and flee without causing much of a scene or getting caught. He guided you towards the fields in the back of the stables, let go of your arm and took a step forward, facing the wide area behind Valentine. This was your moment. With his back to you, you reached under your clothes to grab the revolver but just in that moment he turned rapidly around and pointed towards the theatre. Out of sheer shock your revolver slipped from your hand. Damnit! You tried to drown out the clattering of your weapon with an awkward cough. “My dear” he started and you turned around to follow the direction of his finger. You now stood one step ahead of him and couldn’t see him. “Would you like to visit a show with me?” In that moment you heard him shuffle behind you. Bewildered, you turned around and everything went black.

Arthur came back to camp after successfully rescuing Sean from those bounty hunters in Blackwater with Charles, Javier and Trelawny. He was dead tired and just wanted to eat something and go straight to bed. As he dismounted his horse, he went directly to get some stew and grab a bottle. Along his way, he was greeted with a well done here and there. Arthurs eyes wandered around camp, searching for you but you were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t strange for you to be absent; you often went to look for jobs and therefore were away for some days. Nevertheless, he was a bit disappointed to not be able to talk to you. The both of you hadn’t really had the chance to properly speak, especially not about your situation. He was so goddamn afraid of what was to come, of what you had done to him – he had opened his heart for you unwillingly and wasn’t sure if he could handle another proper relationship. What if you left him? What if one day you woke up and decided that he wasn’t what you wanted anymore. He couldn’t deal with another heart break.

After Arthur finished his stew, he went directly to bed. This night a welcome party for Sean was set to be celebrated and he just wanted to close his eyes a little bit before that. After some hours of more or less peaceful sleep – after all the party was being prepared and people were rummaging everywhere in camp – Arthur finally got up and let his eyes wander around camp in search for you again. “They aren’t here. Karen told me earlier.” Arthur looked to his left from where that characteristic voice came from. “Marston.” Arthur greeted him before John continued. “They went to scout for any leads in Valentine.” Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. Was it really that obvious to others? He decided to play dumb in hopes that he’d eventually be left alone. “I don’t know what you mean. Am not looking for anyone.” John smirked knowingly as he countered. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Don’t you dare to think I’m stupid. I have eyes, Morgan and I know you pretty well.” Arthur sighed, slightly nodding. “Yeah, whatever.”

The celebration was pretty fun. Almost the whole gang was gathered around the campfire, singing songs away happily. These were the times in which Arthur almost forgot that they were actually running from the law. Of course, they had done that before but it never seemed as bad as it was now. Blackwater left a stain on everyone in one way or another, Colter wasn’t much better for regaining strength. His rock, though, has always been you. Since he’s gotten to know you, you always were able to calm him down, ease his nerves and see right through him no matter how inaccessible he tried to appear. You weaseled your way right into his heart. Although your way of life was a dangerous one, he knew deep down that you two were somehow meant for each other – understanding each other on a level he’s never had with anyone before.

As the night went on, Arthur’s mind always wandered back to you. He just wasn’t able to get you out of his head for even one goddamn night. Soon, he said his goodbyes and went to his tent, writing down his thoughts first before finally retiring to bed. By midday the following day you still weren’t in camp and Arthur started to worry, a bad feeling creeping up on him. Should he go search for you? No one knew how long you’d be gone. But even if you were just at the saloon or wherever it wouldn’t hurt to check in on you. Maybe you two would even be able to spend some quality time together after everything that has happened.

Soon after, Arthur mounted his horse and rode off, shortly after arriving in Valentine. Where should he start to search for you? Maybe the saloon? After all, it was so to say the heart of the town. If here was going on anything, he’d find his answers in there. After arriving at the facility, he immediately recognized your horse. So, they’re here, he thought to himself. Relieved, he finally swung the doors open and headed towards the bar. His eyes roamed the room, but found you nowhere. That struck him odd. You wouldn’t ever leave your horse behind somewhere. Just as Arthur sat down at the bar, the bartender spoke up. “Oh no, not you again mister. I don’t want any more trouble in here.” Arthur sighed, before replying. “I’m not here to cause trouble mister. I’m actually looking for a friend of mine. Have you seen them?” Arthur gave the man behind the bar a brief description of you and looked at him expectantly after he finished. The bartender seemed to think about it for a moment, before saying “Oh my memory isn’t the best, Mister. Maybe a little tip of yours could help it.” Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes while reaching in his bag to throw some coins towards the man behind the bar, adding “Now spit it” with gritted teeth. “Thank you. Well, I have indeed seen them in here. Yesterday they spoke to a man, seemed pretty cozied up, flirting the whole night. They left together, too. Seemed to go towards the hotel.” “Anything else?” Arthur asked. “No, not really. It’s just… That man that was with them yesterday seemed fairly strange. I didn’t have a good feeling with him. I can’t explain it really, but he was rather sinister.” Arthur thanked the man, before heading outside to try and track your footprints. He knew that you wouldn’t go with a man into his hotel room just like that, at least not to actually engage with him. You just weren’t the type for something like this. Hopefully, Arthur could track you down quickly. He didn’t have a good feeling in this.

As you slowly came back to your senses, your head practically screamed at you. It hurt like hell. What happened? You forced your eyes open and although the room was dimly lit, you tried to take in your environment. Where am I? So many questions came crushing down on you all at once as you tried to comprehend what you were seeing around you. While examining your surroundings, your eyes landed on the wall. There were many reports of missing persons. Where the hell am I? Letting your eyes travel further, the next thing they saw was blood. A whole lot of blood. Everywhere. And was that… a corpse in the corner? I need to get out of here immediately. You thought terrified and tried to move, but didn’t get away. You were tied up. God damn it! Your movements seemed to attract the attention of something or someone else in there. So, I’m not alone in here. You didn’t know whether that soothed your nerves or made everything worse. Just in that moment a voice from somewhere near sounded. “Oh good, you’re finally awake.”

Arthur finally arrived near the stables where your tracks ended, your horse in tow as well. Hmm, seems like someone was dragged from here to a horse. He examined the surrounding ground as he suddenly saw something shiny near one of the barrels. As he got closer to the object, his mouth fell slightly agape while his brows furrowed simultaneously. It was your revolver, he recognized it immediately. It had a special engraving he bought you while out in Blackwater. You two had to grab some ammunition for a job beforehand and as you saw the engraving you were thrilled. It looked so pretty. Seeing you all excited, Arthur wanted you to have something nice reminding you of him that you always took with you – no matter where you went. So, it was even more concerning finding it laying here with you nowhere in sight. What happened to you?

You knew that voice. This couldn’t be… Or could it be the man from the saloon? Just as you tried to recall the events from the night before, the man came into sight. You turned your head to look at him, letting your eyes wander from his face further down to his hands. They held something shiny in them. Finally recognizing that it was a huge knife, your eyes widened in shock and you gulped audibly, starring at him blankly. “Lowry.” You managed to get out between gritted teeth, your voice sounding too hoarse to really sound mad. “Welcome to my most favorite place in the world. Save yourself thinking what is about to happen. Now, I’m not going to lie. It’s not going to be nice… and fun. I mean, it will be fun for me, but it won’t be nice for you. At least, no one’s found it nice so far. Maybe you’ll be the first.” Lowry laughed maniacally, before he continued. “Do you like pain? Is it your friend? It’s about to become your very close friend. Very close. But when it’s over…release. Glorious release. Now, there’s no point fighting. You might as well try and relax a little bit.” Lowry approached you slowly, looking almost peaceful while you wanted to scream, scratch his eyes out, just do anythingto escape the upcoming hell awaiting you. As Lowry moved the huge knife slowly closer and closer towards your torso, a thought came to your mind. It was one single thought that hadn’t occurred to you up until now; you weren’t going to make it out alive of here and you wouldn’t ever see your family or Arthur ever again. You were tied up too strong to escape. As the realization hit you, you let your desperate tears fall freely – hopefully he wouldn’t stretch it out too long and you didn’t have to suffer too much.

Arthur had a bad feeling, a really bad feeling about this. Something just wasn’t right. Things weren’t adding up. You’d never leave your two most precious things somewhere voluntarily. Something had happened to you and Arthur was determined to find out what that was, to find you above all. Hopefully alive. He thought to himself but pushed that thought away quickly. He couldn’t stand to think something like this. After all, you could handle yourself pretty well, right? Arthur had seen you many times shoot yourself out of a dicey situation. You were smart, not taking too many risks. But no matter what he knew about you, he knew just as certainly that this time something went the wrong way. He tried to track the hoofbeats up to a door on the ground. Maybe an entrance to a cellar? He thought to himself with his stomach dropping to the floor.

Arthur examined the door closely, eventually discovering the locket on it. He took a steadying breath, before attempting to crack it. His hands were shaking, he was so afraid of what he’d find behind that damn door. Just as he leaned closer towards the door and the lock to start cracking it, he heard a bloodcurdling scream from inside the cellar. Was that your voice? Oh damn, yes, that sounded definitely like you. His first thought was that he’d kill that bastard causing these sounds to escape from your lips. His second thought, though, was Thank God, you’re alive. As he finally was able to enter the room, he could hear heavy panting. He didn’t waste any time looking around, heading straight towards the source of the sounds. As you saw him, your eyes widened, shaking your head frantically. Your mouth was stuffed with some sort of white cloth, so you couldn’t speak to him. This is a trap! You wanted to scream at him. Arthur looked at you with a deep sadness in his eyes – and adoration. You looked like a complete mess. Everywhere on you was blood. Lowry cut along your torso and beat you, resulting in a black eye and a burst open lip. But nonetheless, Arthur had that look on him that he just gave you – a special soft one. It let the tears well up in you even more than before, now crying desperately.

Arthur couldn’t believe it. You were alive, but only barely. You looked like you went through hell and you probably been there for the last hours. How long have you been down here? At that thought, guilt overcame him completely. While he was in camp sleeping, partying with his family, you were being tortured and bearing unspeakable torment. How could he have been so dumb? He should’ve listened to his gut feeling, searching for you earlier. He sprinted towards you and wanted to free you from your bonds, beginning with your mouth. “Are you alright?” He asked you concerned, before looking you up and down for any deep wounds. “It’s- It’s a-“ you tried to answer him, but your throat was sore from all the screaming and the lack of fluids.

Arthur heard something behind him, a slight movement, but enough to cause him to turn around pretty quickly. Too quickly for Lowry, who hadn’t expected that. Lowry stumbled slightly back, hitting the wall with his back. Arthur took advantage of the confusion of his opposer and hit him hard, once, twice. Arthur was so furious. How dare that man to do something like this to you? How dare he touch you at all? All these thoughts were crushing down on him, altogether with his guilt about not being able to protect you. He beat him up, again and again and again. It was almost as if his fists moved alone by now. “Arthur, stop!” He heard your raspy voice, breaking with every syllable and it brought him back to reality. Lowry was knocked out and didn’t move anymore. Arthur shook his head as if shaking all those thoughts off for now. He tied Lowry up quickly, before rushing to you to finally free you for good. As you were finally free, you basically fell in Arthurs arms and just started to cry. It was a mixture of everything – pain, fear, but also relief and gratitude. Arthur helped you up the stairs and lifted you up on his horse. After that he sprinted back to get Lowry and loaded him on your horse and finally mounted behind you in his horse.

The way to the Sherriff’s office was quiet. No one said a word. You were sniffling and resting against Arthurs body with your eyes closed, while he soothingly rubbed circles and held you close so that you wouldn’t slip off his mount. “I’m gonna bring him in and tell the Sheriff where to find that damn cellar and after that, I’ll finally bring you home. Just wait here a second. I’ll be back in a moment.” You nodded slightly, hoping it wouldn’t take too much time. You just wanted to head back to camp and sleep it all off.

After a short time, you heard a shot from the office. Your eyes widened in shock and your heart started to thump heavy in your chest. What was happening in there? After a few moments, Arthur finally came out again. “That bastard tried to kill the Sheriff. I had to shoot him.” You just nodded, sighing relieved, while looking him up and down for any injuries. “I’m fine. Now, let’s get you back home.”

The last few days have gone by in a blur. After you arrived back in camp, Ms. Grimshaw tended to your wounds and you were on a good way. Arthur hadn’t left your side all this time – bringing you stew, a coffee or just keeping you company. He wouldn’t even sleep in his own tent, always staying with you on a chair next to your kot. Today was the first time in days that you felt like you could walk around a bit – and you desperately needed it. Being trapped all those days in camp was making you go crazy. “Arthur, would you mind taking a walk with me?” you asked him. He seemed to contemplate for a moment. Shouldn’t you go easy a few more days and rest? “Arthur, please. I’m gonna go mad if I have to stay here for another day. Just a small walk along the shore. You’re with me, so what could possibly happen to me?” That question stung a bit. He couldn’t protect you before, why were you still feeling so safe with him? Nonetheless, Arthur finally agreed, offering you his arm to support you just in case you felt weaker again.

As the two of you arrived at the little beach, you held tightly onto his arm. You never wanted to let go. Coming to a halt, you two turned to watch the water. So peaceful. “You know...” you started, breathing in and out. “When I was trapped back there in that cellar, I really thought I wouldn’t make it. I thought that the last things I’d ever see would be blood on the walls and that bastards face with that devilish grin. I was so mad at myself for not listening to my gut feeling, for being so goddamn stupid, that I kinda felt like I deserved it. I thought that the last thing I’d hear would be that maniac’s laugh or my own screams. I thought that I’d never see daylight again, flowers, my family or you. Before that happened, I thought you were avoiding me or that you maybe thought that this kiss back in Blackwater was a mistake.” At that his head snapped towards you, watching you intently before you continued. “And I had regrets. Not about the kiss, of course, but about not telling you how I truly felt about you Arthur. I love you; I really do. I couldn’t bear not seeing you again. It broke my heart.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought back to your personal hell, Lowry’s most favorite place as he called it. This thought struck a nerve inside you, his voice echoing those exact words. Your tears started to fall freely by now and a chocked sound escaped your mouth. “I really thought I lost you, Arthur. I thought I lost against him. After all this time running, it would be a failed lead that had the power to end me.” You cried and just couldn’t stop. Arthur embraced you, pulling you tightly against him as if he never wanted to let you go again. While holding you like this, he said. “When I came back from rescuing Sean, I was disappointed you weren’t in camp. When you weren’t there for the welcome party I started to worry. But when I saw your horse outside of the saloon and you weren’t nowhere in sight, I panicked and freaked out. I knew you’d never leave him behind. I was so desperate to find you and just so goddamn afraid. Afraid, I’d never see you again. That I’d lost you while I was back at camp relaxing. I wasn’t able to protect you, eating and sleeping while you were being tortured. That image of you tied up, covered in blood just won’t leave my mind. Maybe if I went to look for you earlier, you didn’t have to endure all this. I couldn’t protect you and I’ll never forgive myself for that and I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

You slightly leaned back to look him in the eyes that were filled with so much sorrow and guilt, it made your heart ache. “Arthur” you began, while cupping his cheek with your hand, the other still holding tightly onto him. “This wasn’t your fault, do you hear me? There isn’t any chance in the world you could’ve prevented this. You know I normally can handle myself; it was a job gone terribly wrong. If anything, you saved me. You saved my life – I owe you my life, Arthur. Don’t you dare put this burden on your shoulders. I never asked you to come along with me, I went alone and I knew that something could happen. Believe me, this wasn’t your fault, not at all. Lowry did kidnap me, not you. He mistreated me, not you. He used his knife to hurt me, not you. Even if you had been there earlier, he still would’ve had more than enough time with me alone. Please believe me when I say, that there is nothing I have to forgive you. And there isn’t anything you have to forgive yourself. You couldn’t have changed this in any way. I should’ve listened to my sentiment. He had something strange about him from the beginning. But he told me that he was rich so I went for it nonetheless. “

Arthur still wasn’t fully convinced, but seemed more at peace – at least for the moment. “I really thought I lost you and I never want to lose you again. Back in Blackwater, I was so damn afraid of what we had but now I can’t get into my head how foolish that was of me. I love you, too, so damn much. And if you’ll still have me, would you want to be mine?” You were smiling through your tears, as you nodded and finally kissed Arthur the second time in your life. This time, though, with more certainty than ever before.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x gn!reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #reader insert #mywriting #mine #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #edmund lowry jr.#rdr2 community #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fandom

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spacedikut · 4 years

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“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #garcia is watching everything through the security cameras btw #you think she'd do all this and NOT watch her hard work flourish?#think AGAIN

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

Text

Once Upon A Summer (Ch.7)

Tony didn't really remember going up to Peter's room, but that was where he found himself. Sitting in the darkened room as the boy napped and watched him sleep. He always treated Peter like his own kid, but now it was actually, biologically true. Now all he could think about were the what ifs. And did May know? She didn't give any indication that she did, and now Tony was going through the fifteen years of his son's life in the span of a few days because of a wonky spell.

He supposed it was fate's way of giving him another chance to be in his son's life from infancy. And Peter had been a complete angel so far. Tony was actually a little jealous that he wasn't there when he was born...but he could understand why he might not have been told. He was a notorious playboy back then.

But Tony knew now and he was even more determined to give Peter everything once his mind wrapped around the fact that the boy was really his. It still didn't feel real.

Everytime Peter seemed to fall asleep, he grew just a little bit more as the magic wore off, and now he was about eight years old if Tony had to guess. In fact, he looked surprisingly familiar. Like he had seen Peter like this before. It was an itch he couldn't quite scratch, but it was easily pushed to the back of his mind when Peter finally stirred. Sleepy brown eyes blink open and the boy yawns before pushing his blankets away and sitting up.

"Hey Underoos. How was your nap?" Tony asks after clearing his throat.

"Good. I'm hungry." Peter mumbles as he rubs his eyes.

"It's not quite dinner time yet. How about a snack to tide you over for now?"

"Cheese and crackers?" Peter asks hopefully.

Tony laughs. "Sure. I think we can do that. If not, I'll send Mom to the store."

"I heard that!" Stephen calls from downstairs.

"He knows everything." Tony stage whispers, making Peter laugh.

Peter gets out of bed and Tony immediately stops him and looks down at his...diaper. It didn't grow with him this time and looked more than snug on the boy. Uncomfortable to say the least.

"Hang on kiddo. Let's get you out of that." Tony says, leading Peter to the master bedroom. "Friday, order something for Pete to wear. One outfit should be fine since he'll grow out of it tonight." He requests as he looks through his dresser.

"Yes Boss."

"Does he have his regular clothes here?" Stephen asks from the doorway and Tony looks over.

"Hmm...I think there's a few things I bought for him." Tony answers. "He still needs underwear that fits him though doesn't he?"

"Just stick him in a pair of those and a t-shirt." The sorcerer shrugs.

"T-shirt for now until the Underoos come." Tony snickers and pulls out one of his band shirts and helps Peter into it.

It was big and slipped over his shoulder, but it covered him more than adequately and Peter must have agreed since he peeled out of the room shouting about cheese and crackers. Stephen chuckled as he watched the boy go and his smile dropped a little when he looked back at Tony. The older man must have had a look on his face if the sorcerer was concerned.

"You alright?" Stephen asks softly.

"As much as I can be." Tony sighs. "I get this bomb dropped on me and while part of me is ecstatic, another is terrified."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"...when he's back to normal. I just hope he's not disappointed or thinks I abandoned him." Tony heaves another sigh and rubs his eyes.

"I've only seen the two of you interact for a few days, but I think it's safe to say that he adores you." Stephen assures. "And I'm not talking about idolization. He sees you as a father figure. Even proved it by calling you his father."

"He called Mom-" Tony smirks and Stephen rolls his eyes.

"We're not talking about me."

"Maybe we should." Tony says abruptly.

Stephen looks at him in confusion and Tony steps closer. This was a long time coming right? This talk? Or maybe he was mistaken and these feelings he formed were one sided? He wasn't one to question himself though. Tony didn't test the waters...he just jumped right in. So why was it different this time? Was this what it was like to be serious about someone? He only knew Stephen for a few days but he wanted to know more. He wanted to know if the sorcerer slept on his side, or if he snored (something told him there was no chance of that), or if he was the type to watch medical shows just to nitpick at the inaccuracies.

Tony would bet half his company that he was.

"What's there to talk about?" Stephen asks carefully.

"First of all, you stuck around. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I expected you to only check in once a day...but here you are. Vacationing with us."

"As you pointed out, it was because I'm the one versed in magic and-"

"You know what I meant." Tony interrupts and steps a little closer. "Point two...Peter called you Mom and you didn't nip it in the bud." Stephen opens his mouth but Tony continues. "He was old enough to understand if you didn't want him to call you that. So why?"

Stephen swallows and Tony watches as the younger man's throat bobs with the motion. "I…"

"Point three…" Tony says, leaning closer. "You didn't send me to some weird dimension for doing this--" Tony pinches Stephen's ass and the sorcerer jumps. "--earlier. So either you didn't have the energy to care or...the curiosity isn't one sided."

Though it was brief, Tony saw Stephen's eyes widen for a split second before his face fell into neutrality again. Bingo. Tony's hopes flew to the heavens because Stephen was interested too. But he knew this wasn't just anyone else. He couldn't buy dinner and then expect to fall into bed with Stephen. Besides, he'd already done that the past few days. No, Tony wanted to properly woo the sorcerer. Make sure Stephen didn't feel like another one of his conquests... because he wasn't.

Tony could see a long future with him.

"Are you gonna kiss?"

Both Tony and Stephen startle and look down to find Peter standing by them and staring curiously up at them. When Tony saw how close he and Stephen ended up, he couldn't blame Peter for asking because he was so close to the younger man that if he hiccuped, he would have found himself lip-locked with the sorcerer. Tony was actually a little exasperated with Peter's ill timing but he did promise a snack for him. Who knew how long he and Stephen had been standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

"How about we get you some crackers?" Tony deflects and leads Peter back down to the kitchen.

"And cheese!" The boy declares, successfully distracted from his earlier question.

Tony looked over his shoulder at Stephen, who was descending the stairs behind them, and winked. The blush that adorned the younger man's cheeks was proof enough that his earlier assumption was correct and he really wanted to get back to that subject once Peter was properly occupied. Maybe a movie? No, it would probably have to be when the boy went to bed for the night. Tony still wanted to get every little bit of Peter's "childhood" while he could.

He decided to even make the lasagna he had mentioned earlier for dinner. While he got to work, Stephen helped Peter clean his shells and find a home for them. Even helped him get some underwear on when they arrived. Peter was given free reign of the tv until dinner was ready, which Tony was making the quick way, and Stephen sat on the couch to read. Tony would make the pasta from scratch another time, when he had time to prepare, but dried pasta would do for now. He, of course, took advantage of the sauce by asking Stephen to try it, and beamed when the sorcerer obliged him and was even impressed with the flavor.

When dinner was finally done, they all sat at the table with the lasagna and some garlic bread and Tony nearly laughed when Peter nearly inhaled a piece bigger than the flat of the spatula. The boy was suddenly growing quickly and Tony had to wonder if his mutant appetite was coming back. He would have to keep a closer eye on Peter.

"Enjoy dinner?" Tony asks Peter when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stephen had to grab a napkin to wipe his hands and face the right way, and made Peter grimace.

"It was yummy!"

"I'll make it even better next time." Tony promises as he gets up with his plate.

"I'd like to try it when you make the pasta yourself." Stephen admits. "But it was good."

"A dinner date? I accept." Tony smirks when Stephen blushes again and gets up with his plate as well as Peter's.

"Peter, go watch tv before it's time for a bath." Stephen says. "You need to get washed up before bed since we went to the beach."

"Okay!" Peter gets down from his chair and races back into the living room to watch a Disney movie.

Tony and Stephen cleaned up in the meantime, and Tony refrained from over flirting with Stephen. He'd already made the man blush at least twice in one day, but Tony would probably start up again once Peter was in bed. When everything was cleaned up, Tony herded the little boy up the stairs after his movie was over and ran a bubble bath for him which he helped Peter into once Tony helped him undress. To think just a few days ago, he would have been wildly uncomfortable with this situation. But now it didn't bother him. Maybe it was because Peter was actually his kid, or maybe it was because Tony had changed his diapers for the past week...or maybe it was both? Parenting wasn't easy by any means, but once he got into the groove of it, things didn't bother him as much.

"You alright by yourself while I go find you something to sleep in Underoos?" Tony asks after helping Peter into the tub.

"Uh-huh."

"Alright. Wash up." Tony leaves the bathroom to find another shirt and clean pair of underwear for Peter, content with the fact that Friday could tell him if anything happened in the couple of minutes he was gone.

Which was known to happen with kids. It admittedly made Tony nervous when he came across the potential accidents babies and kids could have while unsupervised. He had read that a baby could drown in a teaspoon of water and while he wasn't sure if that was accurate, he sure as hell didn't want to find out. He was glad for his AI for an entirely different reason.

"Alright Pete. Black Sabbath or Led Zeppelin?" Tony asks when he walks back to the bathroom with the two band t-shirts.

Peter looks over and tilts his head in thought. "Sabbath." He finally says.

"Good choice."

Tony helped him wash his hair, and Peter helped unplug the tub while Tony grabbed a towel to wrap him up in. The drying process was obnoxious and made the little boy giggle, and even Tony laughed when he pulled the towel away to find the mop of brown hair askew.

"Can I have a bedtime story?" Peter asks as Tony helps him get dressed.

"A bedtime story? What kind?"

Peter shrugs. "Dunno."

"Hmm…" Tony takes Peter to his room and helps him into bed. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Peter who went to bed. The end."

"That's a terrible story." Peter complains and Tony chuckles.

"How about the three little pigs? I think I can manage that." Tony offers and Peter nods and squirms under the blankets to get comfortable.

Peter was using the other guest bedroom since neither Tony nor Stephen expected him to grow back to normal like this. In all honesty, Tony thought he would just spring back to his teenage self, but it ended up being gradual. He didn't see the point of kicking Stephen out of Peter's actual room all of a sudden. They would deal with that tomorrow. At least an adult was still nearby in case Peter needed one of them.

Tony told him the fairytale of the three little pigs with his own spin since, in his own opinion, the original story was a yawn fest. By the time it was done, Peter was half asleep with his eyes almost closed and part of his face pressed into his pillow. Tony leaned forward to tuck him in and then kissed his forehead before moving away and standing. He quietly made his way to the door and turned off the light after making sure to keep a night light on, and as he started to slip out of the bedroom, he heard Peter talk.

"Love you Daddy."

Tony stops and looks back into the darkened room and smiles genuinely.

"Love you too Pete. Good night."

#supremefamily #stephen strange #ironstrange #tony stark #baby peter parker #peter parker

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alwaysachorusgirl · 3 years

Text

Blackout Blues

Pairing: ADA Sonny Carisi x Fem Reader

Word Count: 1,258

Prompt: The One With the Blackout for @thatesqcrush Friends Bingo

TW: none

A/N: So, this is my first time writing for Sonny. It's just a whole lot of fluff with a teensy bit of hurt/comfort. The only thing it really has in common with the episode is that there's a blackout. As always, if anyone wants to be tagged in a future fic post, please let me know!

Tags: @thatesqcrush, @madamsnape921, @itsjustmyfantasyroom, @prurientpuddlejumper, @welcometothemxdhouse, @teamsladsandgents

“Doll, do you really think we’re going to need all that? Come on, sit down, snuggle with me, please?” Sonny gave you his best puppy dog eyes and pouty face. He was already settled on the couch in a t-shirt and pajama pants, a soft fleece blanket draped over his lanky legs. You placed another battery powered lantern and two more flashlights on the coffee table next to all the other ones you had dug out of various drawers and closets. You tested the lantern and flashlights to make sure they worked and looked at your husband. It was Friday night and he had been in court all week. He’d won his case and been home early for dinner, and now you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his arms and fall asleep bingeing old episodes of “Beachfront Bargain Hunt.” But you heard the pounding of the rain intensify against the window, followed by a rumble of thunder, and sighed. Mother Nature clearly had other plans.

“They said on the news that this storm might be a bad one, Sonny. They even interviewed that guy from the power grid, and he said to be prepared for possible blackouts. Even the Super called everyone in building to make sure we all had emergency supplies.”

“Hey, I’m not knocking you for being prepared, but you know,” he sat up, taking your hand, and pulling you closer, “you look really good in those pajamas…and you love watching other people buying beautiful, yet ridiculously overpriced waterfront property…”

You giggled at that, cupping his face in your hands, and placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“Mmm… yes, I do, and I would certainly hope that I look good in these pajamas, you bought them for me.” The pajamas in question had been an impulse buy on a family outing to Target. You had gone in to get bedding for your daughter’s new bed. You had walked out with that, new pajamas for everyone, and a bunch of snacks that you really didn’t need, but Sonny had insisted otherwise.

“Well, I know how much you like soft, comfortable things. Come on, Doll, sit down, relax. You can use me as your pillow, you know I’m your favorite pillow…”

“Oh, I will definitely be doing just that, after I check on Lucy. Then I’m all yours, I promise.”

“Babe, she’s asleep. I read her three stories just to make sure.”

“I know, Sonny, but she’s two, and she’s just as scared of thunderstorms as I was when I was that little. And considering how it’s been since we moved her into a “Big Girl Bed” …”

“Babe, it’s only been a few weeks. She’s had some good nights, and some not-so-good nights. She’ll adjust, just give it time.”

You leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I know, Sonny, I know. How about, you start the show, and I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

“Okay, love you, Doll”

“Love you, too, Son-shine bear.”

You crept down the hall to the door of your daughter’s room and opened it as quietly as you could. The glow from the nightlight illuminated Lucy’s face and you smiled. She was, indeed, fast asleep, her little arms hugging her favorite Care Bear. Her faithful canine companion, Winnie, was curled up next to her, snoring her adorable Bulldog snore. Satisfied that she was okay, you softly shut the door and went back to the living room.

Sonny grinned mischievously as he saw you approach the couch. You lifted the blanket and made yourself comfortable next to him. Your back was to the TV, but you didn’t care as you placed your head on his chest and yawned. He wrapped his arms around you and placed soft kisses along your face. Your body relaxed and melted into his.

“So, she still asleep?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm, “you murmured. “Like an angel.”

“Good. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Sonny.” You felt him place a hand on your stomach, and you covered his with yours. “I’m okay, Son-shine Bear, we both are, just tired.”

“I know, Doll, I just worry about you. Any ideas on how we tell Lucy that she’s going to be a big sister?”

You opened your eyes and gazed up into his. “Not yet, let me get through this first trimester. Hopefully, I’ll have some ideas by then.”

Sonny chuckled at that and kissed your forehead. “Okay, Doll.”

There was an obnoxiously loud rumble of thunder and the lights flicked. You sat up like a shot, hand instinctively reaching towards the coffee table. It immediately connected with one of the flashlights, which you grabbed and switched on. You turned on a few more of the emergency lights, just in case.

“Doll, what are you—” Sonny was cut off by a clap of thunder so booming it shook the whole building. The lights flickered again, and this time, the living room went dark.

“MAMA! DADDY!”

“Lucy!” You and Sonny said in unison.

“Hang on, baby girl! We’re coming!” Sonny called back to her. You both jumped off the couch, grabbing as many lights as you could carry, and ran to your daughter’s room.

Sonny got there first. Lucy was sitting up in bed, terrified and bawling her eyes out. Winnie was trying to comfort her little human by licking the tears off her face, to no avail. Sonny dumped his lights on her bedside table and scooped up his daughter into arms while simultaneously plopping down on her bed.

“Daddy! Big boom! No like!” She wailed, holding onto him for dear life.

“I know, sweetie, I know. It’s okay, Mommy and Daddy are here. You’re okay we got you,” he desperately tried to reassure her, gently rocking her back and forth, and rubbing circles into her back.

You sat down next to them and embraced both of them. “We’re right here, baby, everything’s going to be okay. The thunder can’t hurt you; we won’t let it.”

Lucy sniffed and hiccuped. “Paw-mise?”

You smoothed her hair and placed a kiss on her head. “Promise; now, how about you sleep in the big bed with me and Daddy tonight? That sound good?” Lucy nodded, and you kissed her again. “Okay.” You looked down at Winnie, who was resting her head in your lap. “You too, Winnie, everyone in the big bed tonight.”

Winnie didn’t need to be told twice, getting up and jumping down to the floor. You grabbed Lucy’s security blanket and wrapped it around her tiny shoulders, then handed her her Care Bear. Lucy hugged it to her chest as Sonny kissed her forehead and stood up. You grabbed the flashlights and lanterns and led the way to the master bedroom.

You set up the lights around the room and Sonny got Lucy settled in your bed. Winnie made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed.

“Staw-ee Daddy?”

“Sure thing, baby girl.”

Sonny began reciting one of several Sesame Street books that he had committed to memory. You snuggled next to your husband, Lucy between you, hanging on her dad’s every word. As he neared the end she yawned, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Wuv you, Daddy.”

Sonny kissed her cheek. “Love you, too, Baby Girl.”

“Wuv you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.” You kissed her one more time, and then met your husband’s eyes and smiled. “I love you, Son-shine Bear.”

“I love you, too, Doll. Now get some sleep because I’m taking my favorite girls out to breakfast in the morning.”

#thatesqcrushfriends #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #svu #law and order svu #sonny carisi imagines #svu fanfiction

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writtenvisionary · 3 years

Text

Rooftop Riddles

Read on Ao3

WC: 5.1k

Summary: One riddle changes everything. Dramatic identity reveal, oneshot, ladynoir/adrienette | trigger warning - depression, self-harm, abuse/neglect

The breeze was nothing short of refreshing as she sat next to her partner in crime. He was silent for the time being, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he would start saying something stupid. So she took in her surroundings while there was still silence between them.

It was dark; street lights illuminated all of Paris. Shadows bounced from wall to wall as civilians took their nightly walks, either from work or just around the block to get some fresh, cool air before they go to sleep. There are also those pathetically trudging toward their place of employment for their overnight shifts, and Marinette felt for them. Being Ladybug was all too taxing on her, and she often felt like she worked 24 hours, but in reality it was just all of the extra exercise that made her so exhausted every day.

Looking over at Chat Noir, she takes in his appearance. His hunched back, drooped cat ears, slow breaths. He’s looking straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own train of thought. Her eyebrows furrow.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her partner beats her to it.

“Wanna hear a riddle?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Okay. What do you call a sad watermelon?”

Ladybug had to think. Biting her bottom lip, she pondered an answer.

“Um... I don’t know, what?”

“Melon-choly.”

A smile lit up her face.

“Oh!” She laughed.

“Here’s another. It’s kinda long, so get ready.”

She nods, shifting in her seat.

“A single father took care of his baby, and he was rich so the baby had a lot. Food, clothes, excessive stuff. What didn’tthe baby have?”

Marinette frowns, some weird feeling rushing through her veins. She sits up, narrowing her eyes at the boy clad in a black leather suit. He sits with his legs pulled up to his chest, looking straight forward. Not even a tiny upward lift of his lips, making her worry.

Something about the way he delivered that riddle was… ominous. It didn’t seem like he was disconnected from the story he was telling. It’s almost like he could relate.

She gulps.

“A mother?”

He nods, then hangs his head for a moment before pulling it back up and flashing an obviously fake smile in her direction.

“Bingo,” he says dryly.

Her frown deepens.

Why did that riddle sound like something personal? Is he rich?

That sounds like someone she knows. And the riddle boy’s mother was gone… that sounded like him too.

No, there’s no correlation. It’s just a random riddle.

“Alright, last one.”

“Okay,” she nods.

“I am twisted from what I was, to hold the weight of others. Yet tie a knot, and my use to this world is gone.”

Her heart plummets down into her stomach. She loses her breath and has to look back at the city of Paris to think.

If it was possible, this riddle sounded scarier than the last. Chat Noir must really be in a bad mood because normally he puns, not riddles, and the jokes he tells are stupid and funny. These are just... depressing. Her concern is growing by the minute.

She needs to give an answer.

Twisted… Hold the weight of others… Tie a knot… My use to this world is gone.

Tie a knot? What?

“I—“ she licks her lips and shakes her head.

“I’m at a loss. I don’t know.”

Chat hesitates before whispering the answer.

“A noose.”

Her eyes widen and she suddenly feels like she’s been punched in the face.

“Just kidding, it’s a paperclip.”

But he didn’t seem like he was kidding. She was officially scared.

“Chat, you’re worrying me.”

“What do you call a dead pine tree?”

“Chat.”

“A never-green.”

“Minou, I —“

“What do you call a broken pencil?”

“Chat Noir.”

“Pointless,” he laughs darkly.

“Chat Noir!”

Finally, he looks over at her and her mouth falls agape.

His complexion is so pale, lips are pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are glistening.

“What?” He asks, voice breaking on the word.

Carefully, she places her hands on either side of his face. She stares directly into his eyes.

“You’re worrying me,” her voice shakes. “Please tell me whatever’s making you upset so I can help.”

“… I-I’m not upset.”

“Kitty. You just told me a riddle about a noose.”

He shakes his head, scrunching his eyebrows.

“It was a paperclip, milady. Can’t you appreciate a good joke?”

“Chat, all of the jokes you’ve cracked tonight have been nothing short of depressing.”

Frowning, he pulls away from her hold, avoiding her gaze.

“So? New to dark humor?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “But that’s not normally the humor you have, Chaton.”

He’s quiet for a couple seconds before responding.

“Just wanted to try something different—“

“I’m not going to take these bullshit excuses, you know?”

Chat Noir raises an eyebrow, not used to such language coming from his lady.

“They’re not excuses—“

“YES they are!”

She softens her voice.

“Please,” she begs. “Talk to me.”

It’s almost as if she didn’t say anything, how he continues to stare into the distance, silently appreciating the view of Paris. She follows suit, not knowing what else to say. Instead, she decides to wait it out. Hopefully he’ll talk. Eventually.

And he does.

“My mother died about a year ago.”

Her jaw slackens, but she stays silent.

“Father has always been very… strict. But lately he’s been putting a lot on me. Stuff that… stuff that a normal, average sixteen-year old shouldn’t have to put up with,” he sighs.

He calls his dad father? The only other person who does that is…

Alarms go off in her head.

“He makes me take so many lessons beyond school. Chinese, fencing, piano— and he didn’t even let me go to public school until four months ago. I was homeschooled by my father’s assistant, I mean she’s a good family friend—“

Wait.

“And the only friend that was ever allowed over was the mayor’s daughter, and she’s snobby and hangs off of me like I’m her fucking property when I’m NOT and—“

Chloé?

“Father doesn’t even have dinner with me. I mean, maybe once every two months if I get lucky—“

Her eyes widen. He couldn’t be…

“But most of the time it’s just me and the family friend, and she’s not even eating! She’s looking over my schedule to make sure it’s as jam-packed as it was the day before. I swear I never get a break.

“Sometimes it feels like Father is always disappointed in me, no matter what I do. I feel like I’m trapped in his bubble, like I can’t get out. My house is like a fortress. Or a prison. Being Chat Noir is my escape but I just… It’s getting to be too much, milady.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

She feels like she lost her voice. Her brain is on overdrive.

If all the pieces are adding up, my akuma-fighting partner is also my crush who is also a world famous model and—

Focus, Marinette.

“It sounds stressful, A— uh, Chat.”

He intakes a sharp breath.

“Did I say too much?”

She bites her lip. Yes.

“No?”

It comes out as a question. He must suspect that she’s lying.

He tilts his head in admission, then looks down.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Um… I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?”

Slowly, Chat Noir—Adrien—meets her gaze once again.

His response was hesitant. “Yeah.”

She has to sigh; she doesn’t seem to be getting through to him.

“Minou, you are loved and wanted and I want to make sure you know that.”

Chat Noir chews his bottom lip.

“Thanks, bugaboo.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, just peering down at the streets of their city. She wants to ask him more questions because it seems like there’s more he’s not telling her, but decides against it. She doesn’t expect him to tell her everything, especially since opening up that much was already hard enough for him (and she really shouldn’t have been able to figure out his identity because danger! but she supposes she’ll forgive him since he’s literally the love of her life and he needs someone to be there for him either way).

A small movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks in Chat’s direction, noting how he’s holding a hand over his left wrist. Her frown deepens. It’s not like she wants him to notice that she’s staring, but she can’t look away. Warily, she watches his face twist in pain.

“Does your wrist hurt, kitty?”

He startles, but shakes his head.

“It’s good.”

“But,” she challenges, “you’re holding it. Looks like it hurts…”

Chat Noir clenches his teeth, turning to look at his lady with fire in his eyes.

“I said it’s good, Ladybug. Leave it.”

Marinette flinches at the use of her superhero name instead of one of his usual nicknames for her. His tone is uncharacteristically harsh, as well.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

The last thing she wants to do is upset him more.

She clears her throat, at a loss for words. The atmosphere had suddenly turned tense and she wasn’t fully enjoying his presence anymore. Of course, he wasn’t dangerous or anything, but she really didn’t want him to snap at her again.

Ladybug likes a happy kitten, not a bitter one.

She wishes she knew what to do.

“Well,” Chat speaks. “I gotta head out; get back home before my father’s assistant notices I’m gone and I get taken out of school.”

He stands, getting ready to extend his baton and hop from building to building for as long as possible in order to procrastinate his return to the large, lonely mansion where he resides.

Ladybug hops up so quickly that her head spins, but she ignores it in hope of saying one last thing before he leaves.

“Hey, Chaton?”

Said cat boy looks in her direction, letting her know that he’s listening.

Instead of speaking, she just leans forward to press her lips onto his cheek. When she pulls away, she offers a smile.

“You and me against the world.”

He plasters a (fake) grin onto his face, “Thanks, bugaboo. See you later.”

Then he bolts away, leaving his Lady alone on a rooftop.

Life had gone on as normal for both Adrien and Marinette. For the next two weeks, the superhero pair had not spoken about Chat’s home life or his internal struggles. She wanted to give him some space and he simply wanted to forget that he even showed so much vulnerability around her.

Granted, Adrien didn’t care that she knew. In fact, he was pretty happy that she had been willing to listen. Usually she never allowed rants from the either of them because she knew that it was easy to slip up and say something that could lead an unwarranted identity reveal.

Marinette wanted to talk to him, come to a mutual agreement, and then officially tell each other who they were. She knew it was unfair that she knew and wasn’t telling him, but in all honesty, she wasn’t even sure her suspicions are right.

(She’s ninety-nine percent sure).

Her eyes had been on Adrien for those two weeks, subtly checking to make sure that there weren’t bags under his eyes (there were), that his smiles weren’t forced (they were), and that he was eating enough (she had no way of knowing, but he hadn’t asked for a macaron in a few days and she was starting to get worried).

He was doing somewhat alright, from what she could tell. She didn’t expect to see anything different today.

Boy, was she wrong.

She had been passing out papers to the class regarding their next class trip, explaining that they needed a parent signature, as well as forty-two Euros by next Monday, in order to attend. When she reached Adrien, she paused.

He was rubbing at his left wrist — the same wrist that Chat had been holding in pain that night two weeks ago. His face was contorted painfully; familiarly. This brought about her worries.

Subtly, she placed down the papers in front of him, to which he looked up at her and sent an oh so fake smile in thanks.

As she walked away, Marinette just barely caught a glimpse of some red, scratch-like marks on his skin as he picked the paper up.

Her heart dropped.

She hadn’t realized that him holding his wrist earlier was a sign of self-harm. Apparently he was worse off than she thought. Now, it’s a whole different ball game — one that can’t have secret identities interfering with. She has no choice; she needs to stay in contact with him.

He needs to be okay.

Marinette tried to wait until patrol that night. Really, she did. But she couldn’t resist zipping over to his house and knocking at his window right after his fencing practice had ended.

He jumps at the sound, quickly ushering Plagg to hide in his shirt, before turning around to look at the super-heroine.

“Hi, Ladybug!” He greets with a smile. “Anything I can help you with today?”

She takes that as an invitation to leap into his room, then she allows her yoyo to snap close as she lands in front of him.

Her hands stay in fists as she brings them up to rest at either side of her waist. She grins brightly in his direction.

“Hi, kitty!”

It’s almost comical how his smile drops.

“What?”

In lieu of a response, she drops her arms to rest at her side. Then she takes a few steps forward so that she’s standing much closer to him.

“Your father is strict… he has an assistant… he makes you take piano, fencing, Chinese lessons…”

His eyes widen slowly as she speaks, his heart beating erratically.

Ladybug scoffs, “Honestly, Adrien? You couldn’t have been more obvious.”

He gulps in horror.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“How did you know that Adrien Agreste takes Chinese lessons? I’ve never once mentioned that in an interview…”

She stiffens.

“Uh. B-because you told me before.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“As Chat,” she supplies.

The model scoffs, “I’m not Chat Noir.”

Ladybug shrugs, beginning to stroll around his room.

“Okay. So why did I see you rub your wrist in class today, hm?”

Now it’s Adrien’s turn to stiffen.

“Y-y-you’re in my class? What?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes. I’m the class president.”

She says it so confidently that it scares her. He’s sure to figure it out by now. She can’t look at him as he comes to the realization.

“But my class president is Marinette— wait.”

He huffs, smirking.

“Are you Marinette?”

Finally she casts her gaze in his direction.

“In the flesh.”

She watches as his eyes light up. He approaches her with a smile.

“Oh my god. Wait, then I’m totally okay admitting I’m Chat Noir.”

Her eyebrow raises, “Oh yeah? And if I was, say, Chloé… would you have admitted it?”

He immediately shakes his head.

Ladybug doesn’t even try to stifle her laugh.

“Spots off.”

Adrien watches in amazement as a magical, pink light engulfs her entire body, leaving Marinette Dupain-Cheng standing in his bedroom.

When she’s out of the Miraculous, the first thing Tikki does is call Plagg.

“Plagg, get out here! I need to talk to you!”

Plagg phases through Adrien’s over-shirt and glares at his counterpart.

“Well hello to you too, Sugarcube!”

The other side of the room is then occupied by two magical creatures, allowing for Adrien and Marinette to have some time alone.

An awkward tension fills the air for the first couple moments, as the two recently-outed superheroes stare at each other, letting everything sink in.

Adrien is the first to speak.

“Wow, uh… wow.”

Marinette only nods, unable to comment on his reaction as she is overflowing with concern.

“Adrien, we have to talk.”

His eyes dim and his lips curve downwards. He nods, hanging his head.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “we do.”

He leads her over to the couch and gestures for her to sit down. Then he gets situated right next to her, positioning his hands on his knees. Marinette takes a deep breath.

“So… I saw the scars in class today.”

She shifts her eyes to his left wrist, uncovered and visibly scarred. He follows her eyes, frowning when he meets their destination.

Adrien simply hums, staring at the abused skin but not saying a word.

“Why?” Marinette whispers.

He shrugs.

“I’m fine. It’s just… Chat Noir gives me freedom, but sometimes it’s not enough. I promise I don’t do it that often.”

“The amount of times you do it doesn’t matter, kitty, it’s the fact that you do.”

“What do you care anyway?” He scoffs. “You weren’t paying me much attention before I was in a sour mood that day.”

“I’ve always cared, Adrien. Always. Just because I’m super level-headed doesn’t mean that I don’t pay attention. I notice when you’re sad. I do. This time you were really worrying me, though, so I spoke up.”

Adrien rolls his eyes, “And it didn’t occur to you that maybe I wanted you to ask how I was feeling all those other times I was sad?”

She quiets at that.

“I mean, I understand that you don’t want to get in my way, but I appreciate people caring, Marinette. It means a lot to me. I feel like, if I never gave away too much information, you would still be assuming things about me. Things like, oh he’s okay because he’s loud and cocky and cracks jokes all the time — maybe it’s just a bad day.”

He shakes his head, allowing a bitter laugh to escape his raw throat.

“Every day is a bad day, Mari. I’m just a good fucking actor.”

Marinette soaks in every word like a sponge, letting each and every one hit her right where it hurts, because it’s true. He is a good actor; she’s not good at understanding the script.

I’m sorry, she wants to say. The words dance on the tip of her tongue.

He’s not finished, though.

“I want the world to suffer some days, you know? I want everyone to feel just as pressured and exploited as I have been for basically my entire life. I want all my friends with a good family to see what it’s like to live in this large mansion, with their father closed away in his room, never to be seen again by his own son who just wants him to say I love you.”

When had he started crying?

Well, the tears are flowing and he can’t stop the river now. Not when he has more to say.

“I have the power of destruction wrapped around my finger, Marinette.”

His lip trembles.

“You should be glad that I haven’t tried to Cataclysm any houses, or street lights, or cars, or busses, or-or-or—“

He breaks.

He meant to keep going — to finish his sentence — but he breaks.

There’s not much more that Marinette can do, other than pull him into her arms and whisper soothing words of reassurance as he sobs uncontrollably.

She rubs his back, softly shh-ing him as he lets it all out of his system. She allows him to drown for the time being, all while reassuring that she’ll be there to pull him back to shore.

Each one of his sniffles was a subtle reminder that she was there for him; that no matter if his father comes around to finally paying him some attention, or not, he will always have her shoulder to cry on. Simultaneously, though, her heart twists at how unhealthily he’s been dealing with the trauma.

She had heard stories upon stories of teenagers resorting to self-harm because they had no other outlet, and she had been so thankful that no one she knew had taken those measures. Now, a statistic has become personal. She would be lying if she said that she knew how to handle it.

But she knew that no matter the circumstance, it had to be dealt with.

That meant getting her crush some professional help. A therapist, some medication, and plenty of cuddles. (Cuddles arescientifically proven to relieve anxiety, right? It’s a professional technique).

A quiet sniffle breaks her out of her thoughts. She glances down at Adrien as he slightly pulls away from her hold, eyes red and puffy.

Maybe that can all be dealt with later.

She ruffles his hair.

“Let’s go get some ice cream, yeah?”

Adrien peers up at her in confusion.

She just smiles and wriggles out of their position on his couch, then stands up with her hands on her hips.

“Ice cream always cheers me up. We definitely have to talk more about this later, among other things, but I can’t bear to see you sad any longer. So let’s go!”

The left corner of his mouth perks up, albeit only for a mere second.

“My father—“

“To hell with you father,” Marinette reaches down to grab his hand and hoists him up from the couch.

“We are going to get ice cream whether he likes it or not. You need to do what makes YOU happy, ‘kay?”

He concedes.

After ice cream, they return to the bakery and consult with Tom and Sabine. It had taken a lot of convincing on Marinette’s part to get Adrien to agree, but from there began the journey of his recovery.

They explained his home situation and mental health struggles in full, only leaving out the part about them fighting akumas. Both adults had immediately started searching for a good therapist (and lawyer) that would help Adrien get on the right track.

In the end, Adrien was glad that they had told her parents. Their concern for him and dedication to his cause filled his heart with long lost hope and parental love. It had been so long since he felt cared for. And now that he’s felt it once again, he’s not ready to let it go.

Thank goodness the Dupain-Chengs’ weren’t going to let him go so easily.

It was a unanimous decision that, until he feels comfortable going back to the mansion, he would stay. He didn’t want to burden them, but they insisted. So he had no choice but to accept the offer.

Before he even knew it, another two weeks had passed. A new routine was broken in by the members of the D.C. household — Marinette was getting real annoyed with Adrien’s constant comparisons of her last name initials to Marvel (her father had taken a liking to his puns, however, so now she just lived in constant pain) — and suddenly it was like he had always been there.

His first therapy session wasn’t great. He was riddled with anxiety (no pun intended) and Doctor Benson was too nice for his liking. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It was just so off-putting, considering he wasn’t used to being treated with such kindness even by his own father.

Doctor Benson told him that a lot of the things he’s been experiencing aren’t normal, but his response to that trauma is. At first he had been confused when he was told that his father was emotionally neglectful and verbally abusive. He didn’t understand what his father was doing wrong. Once Doctor Benson explained that, “Abuse is a violent, repetitive behavior that has a negative mental, emotional, and/or physical impact on the victim,” it became more clear.

It’s still a concept that he’s getting used to — that he’s a victim of abuse. The thought makes his skin crawl and a shiver run up his spine because he never considered himself to be part of a statistic. Now that he knows he is, he’s not sure what to do.

Marinette keeps telling him, “Even agreeing to go to therapy is a huge step in the right direction, and I’m so proud of you.” Then she goes on to tell him just how special he is to her and how important him and his life is and all of this crap about how he’s worth more than he thinks.

He has to believe her, too, because she’s the one that found him at his worst and instead of judging him, picked him off the ground and took initiative. She’s the one that brought him to her parents, helped him hide from his father, and even got him a part-time job at the bakery. It’s only temporary until he is able to access his earnings, but he will admit that he likes it way better than modeling; that had just been because his father wanted him to, anyways.

Everyone tells him time and time again that he should not be living for his father. He wants to disagree, because that’s what he’s been conditioned to do for so long, but he ultimately chooses not to. Because they’re right; he’s a young adult who should have the freedom to make his own decisions.

In the end, if he’s not happy, there’s always more opportunities. He knows that now.

And there’s no better way to figure out what he wants than to explore, and reach out for help.

A black cat and a ladybug sat atop a roof.

Marinette has her head tucked into the crook of her partner’s neck, eyes closed as she feels the wind blow past her. Adrien’s head lays on top of hers’ and eyes are trained on the full moon above them.

It had been a long day; one akuma attack and three tests, plus their friends wanted to hang out. Exhaustion had taken over hours before, and sleep was creeping up on them. They cherish the view of Paris at night while it lasts, before they have to go home and do it all again the next day.

When she lifts her head to look at her favorite kitty, she’s relieved to see a soft smile resting on his features.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

He glances at her before turning back to the stars, then hesitates.

“Can I tell you a riddle?”

Her face pales and stomach plummets.

“N-no, I don’t want to play this game again.”

“I promise its a good one, nothing too sad.”

They lock eyes. She can tell there is sincerity within those dark green orbs, so she reluctantly nods.

Adrien licks his lips, not breaking his gaze.

“I visit you every night, even if you don’t call me. I’m lost every day. What am I?”

Jokingly, she wants to say “Chat Noir” but their identities are known now, and she sees him every day (so, admittedly, it wouldn’t be that good of a joke). Then she looks up at the sky and she has her answer.

“The stars,” she whispers.

She’s not looking at him, but she can almost hear his smile widen. So she looks back to him, because she loves to see her kitty happy.

Sure enough, a grin — genuine, not forced — is playing on his lips. It’s human nature to copy social expressions, so she lets her mouth curve into a matching grin.

Then she leans in.

Their smiles fade as they inch closer, focused on the next task at hand. His gaze drops to her pink lips, and she stares into his eyes. She can see the thirst, the want, but she can also see his hesitance.

Experimentally, she pauses to see if he’ll close the gap, but he simply stops in accordance with her. She wants this so bad, but he’s very shy when it comes to romance; despite being so outwardly confident as Chat Noir.

He had told her that it was a mask to hide how scared he truly was. His advances towards her were genuine, although deep down, he was afraid of rejection (to which she will forever feel guilty for putting him through). He wanted to break his façade sometimes, but he chose not to for the sake of not worrying her. The media might have noticed his change in behavior, too; granted, he never cared what the public thought of him anyways.

So, to save them both the trouble, she takes the leap and closes the gap, capturing his lips in a fluid movement.

It’s pure ecstasy; electricity pulses through his veins, but at the same time… he’s calm. He’s not sure how to describe the feeling, in all honesty. It’s just perfect.

Well, not perfect, he corrects himself. Enjoyable, but not perfect.

They don’t move in perfect sync and his lips are chapped so she’s probably wondering why the heck are his lips so dry?and her mouth keeps opening and he isn’t sure if it’s a mistake or if he should do something but he’s not ready for the tongue yet, and so their heads are tilting at an awkward angle trying to make sense of the situation —

— but she smells like pastries and her lips are so soft and he can’t help but crack his eyes open because she is so beautiful in every single way oh my god I love her and nothing makes this better than cupping her face with his right hand and feeling just how smooth her skin is which calms him immensely and he just doesn’t want this to end.

When they finally pull away, with heavy breaths and big smiles, little giggles and red cheeks… he’s happy.

Maybe he’s not perfect. Neither is she. Nobody is, and Adrien is just starting to understand that.

Years of conditioning is hard to unlearn, but he is so grateful to have a support system he can count on. Marinette’s parents honorarily adopting him as one of their own, Doctor Benson offering coping mechanisms he hadn’t even known existed, his bodyguard protecting him from the father sperm donor he’s still afraid to talk to (one day soon, he’ll have to, but he’s planning on crossing that bridge when he gets there), Ms. Bustier’s unwavering faith in his abilities, and his friends’ insistence that he is more than enough — all of this support is overwhelming, to say the least, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Most importantly, there’s Marinette. She has been his rock for the past three years and it’s more true now than it ever was. She is family, in every sense of the word.

“Hey, Mari?” He says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Chaton?”

The nickname rolls off her tongue in a teasing manner, and he has to laugh.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #adrienette #ladynoir #ladynoir identity reveal #adrienette kiss #tw depression #hurt adrien agreste #adrien agreste needs a hug #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug and chat noir

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