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yougotthat-write · 3 years

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Tinder (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: Female reader, fluff, Rollisi shenanigans, cringey and inappropriate pick-up lines, potential PTSD for former/current users of dating apps and all the awkwardness that ensues from it :)

Summary: Amanda and Sonny try to find the perfect match for their uptight (and while he would never admit it - lonely) A.D.A.

Read on AO3 here!

It had started off as a joke, really.

Rafael Barba would never sign up onto a dating app if it wasn’t against his will. When he heard the snickering of Amanda and Sonny when he stopped by the 16th precinct, his feet couldn’t help themselves but bring him over to the two detectives.

Amanda bit her cheek to settle herself as the ADA’s polished shoes made their way over. Sonny’s ears turned pink at the tips, which gave Rafael the tell-tale sign that Sonny and Amanda were up to no good.

Hands in his pockets, Rafael quipped, “What?”

Amanda and Sonny exchanged glances. The silence between the two was not a normal thing but when Rafael asked a second time - more aggressive - Sonny held out a cell phone to the lawyer. Rafael’s brows went up in question but when Sonny motioned him to take it, Rafael grabbed it. Looking down at the device, the screen lit up and a plethora of information singed itself into his brain.

Rafael Barba, 37

Manhattan, NY

Assistant District Attorney

Oh baby, I’ll give you so much due process, standing will be the only issue.

Rafael’s eyes widened at the dumb pick-up line. His thumb swiped through the photos. One was of an appearance on the news - dressed up in a suit on the steps of the courthouse with a furrowed brow and serious look on his face. One was him at Forlini’s - scowling over the rim of his bourbon while sitting at the bar next to a grinning Sonny. He remembered when Amanda took this picture. It was the day he told Sonny he could be his second chair. Another picture showed him actually smiling - dressed in a Tom Ford tuxedo, champagne flute in one hand while the other was resting on the waist of his date for that night. She was an oil company lobbyist that he hooked up with sometimes when she wasn’t in D.C.

“What is this?” Rafael’s eyes hardened as he looked up at the two detectives. Sonny flinched at Rafael’s tone. Amanda simply blinked at Rafael. She wasn’t one to deal with attitude willingly but given how uptight Rafael could be sometimes, she was letting it slide. Rafael’s eyes went back down to the dating profile and he felt an annoyance bubble within him. “What the hell is this?”

“Calm down,” Amanda said as she grabbed the phone back with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just a dating profile.”

“Of me!” Rafael looked at Amanda like she was speaking some foreign, alien language. “Why does it exist?”

Sonny’s face seemed to become more pink. A hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it as his mentor for all intents and purposes became more annoyed. “We just thought it would be fun-”

“You thought it would be fun impersonating a Manhattan A.D.A.!” Rafael’s voice was raised. A few passing officers gave some glances to the group. Amanda waved a dismissive hand to one of them, letting them know that Rafael wasn’t someone to worry about when angry. “You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested.”

Amanda snorted, “We were going to tell you about it when we got you a date.”

“Yeah,” Sonny added, “we just thought you were stressed lately and needed someone to... ya know.”

If looks could kill, Rafael Barba would have murdered two very well-liked and very hard working detectives right then and there in a New York police precinct. He would have to tell Olivia that she would be short staffed for god knows how long.

Rafael’s fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, taking a hard breath before looking back at the detectives. “You think I need your help getting laid?”

Sonny’s mouth gaped like a goldfish, trying to find words but nothing seemed to make itself at home in his pretty little head. He looked over at Amanda with wide eyes, hoping for her to smooth over the situation. Amanda simply shrugged her shoulders, “It’s not that we think you can’t get laid, Counselor,” she paused, eyes almost sympathetic and it made Rafael’s nostrils flare, “you just haven’t had… anyone around… long-term, you know?”

“I’m struggling to find where this is any of your concern,” Rafael pointed a finger at the two of them, “or why you would think I would find it on a dating app.” Rafael’s mind was flooding with things to make the lives of these two detectives a living hell. Maybe if he pulled some strings with Olivia, she’d put them on desk duty for a few weeks. “I want it deleted - get rid of it!”

Amanda held the device out of the prosecutor’s reach, giving him a few nods of understanding but she needed to tell him of one important thing, “But before we do that, you should know that there’s someone who matched with you-” Sonny nodded enthusiastically, “and she messaged you - us? - back.”

“It’s why we were laughing,” Sonny’s smile faltered when met with the fiery gaze of Rafael. He cleared his throat before continuing, “we found the dumb pick-up line on the internet and she shot back with one of her own.”

Rafael’s fire was lessened with the mention of a match. And she happened to message him? Amanda stepped closer to Rafael, finger mindlessly swiping from one screen and to another. There Rafael had seen the actual large amount of messages he was getting. “Seems like more than one match.” He muttered under his breath. And while this whole ordeal wasn’t something he necessarily wanted, the temporary boost of his ego made his shoulders straighten and his tongue dart over his lower lip.

“You’re very popular, Counselor,” Amanda’s brows wagged.

“But we like her the most,” Sonny said, “she seems fun!”

Rafael’s eyes rolled, before they settled on Amanda’s phone.

Are you the Court of Appeals because I’m tryna get overturned.

After he read the message, he couldn’t help the snicker. Back in his Harvard days, Rafael had heard just about every dumb pick-up line you could think of that was in the realm of lawyers. He may have even used a few of them but could you blame the guy. Rafael watched Amanda switch over to your profile.

Rafael swallowed. And then he grabbed the phone out of Amanda's hands. She let out a protest but Rafael had taken a few steps away and studied your profile like it was a law book and he had a final the next day.

It stated your name and your age. Then the same location as Rafael - Manhattan, NY. Your job was stated simply as a lawyer. Huh. That certainly piqued Rafael’s interest. In your bio, you had:

What better alibi could you have than spending the night with me?

He swiped through your photos. One was of you at the Central Park Zoo, scowling at a monkey who was seemingly doing the same thing back at you. Another was of you at a bar or a club - one arm thrown over the shoulder of another woman and a fruity drink held in your free hand. Your attention was focused on your drink rather than your friend or the person taking the picture. The last photo was of you at a brunch of some kind. You held up a mimosa with a wide smile and a large sun hat atop your head.

“Did you say anything back?” Rafael asked. Amanda shook her head with a smirk. You were certainly attractive and if you had taken the time to message Rafael on the cursed app then you must have thought that he was attractive too. He went back to the message you sent and swallowed again. “W-what should I say?”

Amanda’s smirk didn’t falter as she stepped over to Rafael, plucking the phone out of his frozen hands. Rafael heard the speedy tapping of the blonde woman’s fingers, tapping out a message quickly. Sonny stepped over, peeking down over Amanda’s shoulder. Rafael watched Sonny’s face as it went from curiosity to what Amanda was writing and to a lopsided smile, essentially giving his approval of the message.

Rafael didn’t like the idea of Sonny approving anything of his - especially if it came to how he got a date but he patiently waited until a swoosh noise came from the phone. Rafael stepped over to see what she had written but Amanda’s fingers were quick with logging out of the app and swiftly deleting it off her phone.

“Hey-” Rafael couldn’t stop the protest from his lips, brows furrowed. Amanda ignored him, grabbing a sticky note and a pen. She scrawled the login information for the account and slapped it onto his chest.

“I don’t want it on my phone if that conversation starts to get dirty,” Amanda said. Sonny chuckled.

“I think it started out pretty fiery.”

Rafael held the sticky note in his fingers. He could feel his phone in his suit pocket. It felt hot and electric against him, even through all the layers of clothes he wore. “Nevertheless, I’m deleting the account,” he looked over the two detectives with a hard gaze, “and you are to never to do this again. Or else I will be put in jail for voluntary manslaughter.” Amanda swiftly ignored Rafael’s threat whereas Sonny seemed to take it more seriously. The lanky man gave a nod before settling himself at his desk.

Rafael stepped away from the detectives’ desks and dug his phone out from his pocket. His fingers twitched and he felt this wave of embarrassment wash over him as he searched the app’s name and watched it download onto his phone. It seemed to take hours for the dumb thing to fully be situated onto his device. He tapped it, used the sticky note information to log in and was greeted with new profiles to swipe across. He ignored them and went to his messages to see what the pesky blonde detective had said. He hoped it wasn’t something too inappropriate. The last thing Rafael needed was headlines of him sexually harassing women over social media.

He hesitated for a second before tapping on the messages with you. He took a deep breath. He felt nervous. Was it because of the potential can of worms that Amanda could have unleashed? Was it because he found you attractive? Was it because the two detectives were right and it had been a while since he’s had anyone around? While Rafael was capable of finding a temporary suitor to share his bed, he couldn’t find anyone to become something more permanent.

His eyes searched the screen, brain trying to quickly decipher the jumble of letters on his screen. “Ay Dios mío,” Rafael muttered under his breath and the grip on his phone tightened. Rafael thought he read the message a dozen times, just over and over again, trying to really see if Amanda truly did send this to you. He tapped various spaces on his phone, trying to see if there was an undo button but to no avail, the message taunted him.

Something something dictum. Sleep with me.

Rafael was caught off guard by Olivia who called his name from her office door. Rafael cleared his throat, slid his phone back into his pocket with one hand and slid the other down his chest, smoothing out any wrinkles in his shirt. Rafael finally remembered why he was there at the precinct. He needed to do his job and watch a line-up be conducted. Olivia had sounded very confident over the phone, so he figured he had a simple day.

He had spent the rest of his day watching various victims come forward to pick out their attacker confidently. When the defense lawyer monotonously asked to speak with his client after the lineups were done, Rafael felt his phone buzz. For a brief moment, Rafael had forgotten the dating app debacle. He wondered if it was Carmen, telling him of more paperwork and messages that needed to be signed and answered.

But no, it wasn’t Carmen.

It was a notification from the stupid app.

You have a new message!

Rafael bit down on his bottom lip, finger hovering over the notification. He took a breath and tapped his phone. God, what is wrong with me? Grow some cojones, Barba. Rafael watched the screen load and then plaster your message into his line of vision.

Ah, this definitely is a catfish account because there’s no way an ADA would use a line like that.

Rafael smirked. Took a moment to think and then started to type.

The DA has very low standards these days.

You messaged back quickly.

If they’re hiring based on looks, then I’d say they have very high standards, Counselor.

Rafael’s hand lifted to scratch at his jaw, a smile breaking across his face. His eyes widened at another message from you.

Does the prosecution want to rest at my place later tonight?

The forwardness from you made Rafael’s smile turn into a smirk. If Olivia or Sonny had seen him, they would even consider to call it a cocky smirk.

Would you want to meet for drinks first or just take this back to chambers?

I suppose I could side-bar for some drinks.

Great!

He paused before sending another message.

Let’s just agree to not use any more lawyer puns.

Objection!

After setting up a time to meet up at a swanky bar later that night, Rafael entered the bullpen again but with an air of confidence about him. Amanda noticed the shift in energy within the counselor. The corner of her mouth ticked up, fingers fiddling with a pen as she leaned back in her chair, side-eyeing Rafael. “Line-up went well?”

Rafael picked a piece of nonexistent lint off his suit jacket. “It went great, Rollins.” She hummed quietly, eyes studying every inch of his face with amusement.

“We’re heading to Forlini’s tonight,” Amanda stated, “would you like to come?” At the mention of Forlini’s, Sonny peeked over at the two of them from his laptop.

Rafael gave one curt shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.” And with that, Rafael had turned and exited the bullpen and towards the elevator. Even though he hated it in theory of what Amanda and Sonny did, Rafael couldn’t deny that he didn’t not like the outcome of it.

#rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fluff #rafael barba #raul esparza #raúl esparza #law and order fanfiction #law and order #law and order svu #svu #svu fic #rollisi #amanda rollins #sonny carisi #esparz-uh

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highsviolets · 3 years

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waterfall inquiry: javier peña x reader

pairing: javier peña x young analyst!reader

summary: words should not make you feel so much.

warnings: age gap. kissing. and - the worst of all - f e e l i n g s. (soft ones)

a/n: [edited 10 June ‘21] this was supposed to be three parts...and now there’s more. I regret nothing :)

[next] [series masterlist] [main masterlist] * gif: @anakin-skywalker

“Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name”

“as kingfishers catch fire” | gerard manley hopkins

Neither of you should be here. Strictly speaking, at least.

The Embassy maintains regulations about these sorts of things, you’ve heard in jagged claims that coat the walls in a sickly iridescent sheen. Not the pretty kind that makes glitter sparkle. No, it’s the perverse shine — pyrite and oil spills on tepid water and those cheap kaleidoscopes they sell at county fairs.

Everything, it seems, is whispered here. Here at the Embassy, anyway; Colombia itself is a messy, irreverent place. A dreamlike people, an altered state where God acts as the intermediary between man and demons, not angels.

Perhaps that is why the Embassy is always quiet. The shrill clang of a phone ringing makes everyone start, fearful of keeping demons at bay. Even the PR reps speak in hushed tones, the words soft and soothing like cotton balls dipped in baby oil gliding across skin — crafting press releases each word slotted for a specific purpose, hand-picked with evolutionary precision.

It harasses you, stinging pricks drawing blood from beneath the surface of your bronze skin. Words should move freely, you believe. Like the way the Mississippi runs in during the spring melt: coarse, unimpeded, roiling in caught light, caressing the riverbanks as it soaks up all the world gives it — thrusting forward after a winter fraught in immobility, reveling in flinty purpose.

There’s a difference between words of fabrication and phrases of culled authenticity — the ones that stream from bleeding hearts, bound tightly by shoves and glares and hands that can’t keep still. Hands that grasp for something tangible. Anfractuous reminders of why they must be so careful, why they must keep the truth of themselves limited to brief instances of throwing back light or heat.

There is one man, you know, who thinks like you do — and he laughs at the fact that your jobs depend upon other people being careless with their words. Bandying about locations, codenames, numerals, what to buy at the grocery store. You can almost hear him, that marmalade voice spreading over you, eyes gleaming in smoke and fervor: yeah, carelessness gives us both a job. But it hurts, too.

Tonight, though. When you both are here when you really shouldn’t, you really fucking shouldn’t, not when you’ve been dreaming about him for…for how long? How long have you been in this country that makes a mockery of verisimilitude? Long enough, apparently, for everything else to blur when you look at him, for you to have memorized the way his shirts pull tight over his back when he’s leaned over his desk.

Eyes climb up the length of his torso, the slope of it heightened by the way he’s bracing his weight on his hands. His palms are spread wide and god as much as you think you want to stop the way your mouth runs dry at the sight his large palm, you can’t.

A sigh leaks out. The man in question spares a glance your way, matching the twist of his neck to the cigarette he brings to his lips. “You alright?” he mumbles around the thing, and you grip the desk’s edge a little harder at the sound, at the sight, of him in his element. His exhale — a finely tuned purse of the lips, discreetly directed away from your work — should feel the same as your sigh, but it doesn’t. It washes over you instead, and you rock in the way his existence ebbs and flows in and out of your person. Easy. Like breathing. Like all you have to do is breathe, and he’ll be there.

There are stories about him. When you had been sent down to Columbia as a junior analyst after the death of Escobar, you had quickly dived into the mythos the man. How could you not, when he was everywhere, the scent and swagger of him drawing eyes from every corner of the barricaded building?

The others — the replacements, someone had once termed the batch of new personnel flooding the country to fight Cali — had told you the stories; where they had heard them, you weren’t sure. Huddled over tepid drinks in the bar after work, blazers shrugged off and shirtsleeves rolled up, you had let them regale you of how he fought for years to bring down Escobar, only to be in Miami when his partner did the deed. How he fucks his informants; although, one of them admitted with a sigh, he hadn’t been known to do that in a while. How he was ruthless in the pursuit of justice. A fucking legend, man, someone had crowed about the older man, tongue loose with overpriced alcohol.

And through it all, there was you, eyeing the man himself across the bar. The embrace of his hands against the whiskey glass, the way he barely shuddered at the consuming burn of the stuff when he tossed it back in a behavioral gesture. He seems sad, is what you had thought. Whatever opposite of sad existed in this opulent measure of time by which you both abided — that’s what you wanted to do for him. To make him not-sad. He is aged, perhaps, but not old, rather like someone who could be young if they could shed the pallid skin of responsibility.

But you can’t play God in this country of fallen beings. Being consumes you instead, devolving into an obsession, hanging onto the ledge of yourself — gripping humanity and slicing rocks and graphite that stains your skin even as it slides away, too smooth to be held in hands that ache, swollen, from typing up reports detailing the tumbled-gravel sins of humanity.

He likes you. You think he might, anyway. He consults you before any of the others, and once or twice he’s dragged some Columbian officer into your tiny workspace, asking you to confirm the intelligence on whatever operation he’s desperate to get approved so he can do something. He asks with words that curl up and over themselves like whitecaps, one hand resting on his hip as he nods along to your recitation.

But it’s really his eyes you watch in these moments, aching in fluttering hope whenever they rest on yours. Javier Peña’s eyes when he visits you in your workspace are pleading thermoses of life under sterile fluorescent lights. He likes to send you a half-smile and a nod when you’re finished, tossing them over his shoulder as he escorts the man back to the Ambassador’s office. You are both too good at your job not to love it in some sick & twisted way, and he knows.

Other times he simply drops by. Leaning against your cubicle, he fiddles with a cigarette and chats with you as you work, asking questions that he knows he’s the only one examining.

Talk to me about the families of la cartel de Cali, he mutters, the hoarse sound deep and aching in your gut. About their mothers, daughters, sons, cousins, in-laws. Is anyone sick? Do they want to go on vacation? What’s the drama of the week, no, don’t laugh, — he smiles, here, barely, the delicate minutiae of the expression an external revelation of his magnetism — there always is in families. They’re human just like us. And that’s when he sighs, and looks across the hall, where in his office there’s a diagram of the Cali bosses splayed over the wall. Yeah...they’re like us.

Javier makes a slowly forms a habit of it, of stopping by your cubical and wrapping you in currents of charisma and truth. He does you a solid, too, bringing you to the attention of your superiors when he mentions your diligence. And you repay him in kind, taking care to slip into his office with new intelligence before the brass gets word. You tell yourself it’s simple mentorship. Mere patronage. He’s paying it forward, helping the young analyst get ahead in their career. These meetings are nothing to him, and they ought to be equally as empty to yourself. It’s just exchanges of information. Conversation between colleagues.

Of course, that doesn’t explain why you look forward to his fingers touching yours when you lend him a pen, or, when he makes some half-whispered joke in Spanish, it makes you shiver. Or the pride that blossoms in your chest, embracing you all soft and balmy, when he considers your words. He handles them like he does his favorite cigarettes, rolling them between his fingers, palming their weight, letting the texture seep into his skin before he lights them on fire.

You drop your pen a lot; he brings a finger to his mouth in thought. You don’t see the way he smiles when you do that, grinning at the muttered curse and roll of your eyes. And he decides that he likes the way you laugh about it; poking fun at your own mistakes, the skin that matches his own gleaming in the warm sun.

He can never do that. Perhaps he should? But he doesn’t make mistakes like that, toss-away interruptions of intended action. The mistakes he makes get people killed. All the more reason to keep checking with you, he reasons, to double-insure the intelligence. Can’t have another mess. And he likes to hear your laugh. Nothing wrong with that, he says. Nothing wrong with something that makes his heart stir and entices the eyes hidden behind yellow aviators to trace the length of your neck a little longer than strictly necessary when you throw your head back in unmarked joy.

And tonight, in his office? Tonight he seems melancholic again, like the first time you saw him across the bar. He keeps shifting his weight, one hand on his hip, and then on the table, and then shrugging off both his jacket and his tie and tossing them unceremoniously onto the couch, limbs extending listlessly. It’s as close to careless as he gets.

Or maybe it’s just the exhaustion fusing into you both. You feel slow and hazy, torn between staring at him and bleary eyes glaring at the map beneath his fingers. if you just look at it longer, you think, you can will it all to fall into place. and maybe if you did he would kiss you, and maybe he would kiss you the way he has always wanted to live.

Maybe if you traced your tongue along his exposed collarbone, penning of licks of hope in the space where his words seem to get caught, where his perpetually open collar leaves him defenseless to an onslaught of physical impressions…maybe then, he’d exhale in blessed adoration, taken outside of himself for just one moment.

He’s asking you a question. You alright? He does that a lot, you realize. Checks in with you. When you answer, he laughs — those delightful eyes seeping warmth into your weary bones as they crinkle in a smile — and he reminds you to call him Javier. He — Javier — has rebuked you at least three times tonight alone, but you’ve yet to oblige his request. If you do, if you let your tongue caress his sacred name and rest in its life-sodden weight, you fear…

you do not know what you fear. you do not know how saying his name will shift the tides in your life. but you know that you will remain forever anchored to him, tethered to his lunar opacity.

“What’s this?” you ask instead, shifting to rest against the desk. You’re beside him now, hip adjacent to his as you look up at him. Latent smoke hovers overhead, and locks of his hair have come undone after the long hours of work and now rest over his forehead small waves. It looks like it aches, being so out of place, and yet so distinctly him. Caught. Destined to arch over his tanned skin, all the while lingering in a place where it should not. Not here, anyway. Not tonight, in his office, far after everyone else has gone home.

“What’s what?” Javier rejoins, distracted, still bent over the desk, still bracing his weight on those fingers.

Rustling papers catch his attention, and he twists to meet your gaze. “This.” You point to the unfamiliar word, stamped out in standard font. “My Spanish is decent, but I’ve never seen this word before.”

The wrinkles behind the shield of his fallen hair press together as he cranes his neck, adjusting his stance to read the word on the paper you thrust in his direction. It clears rapidly though — the visage sailing and unfurling itself when he absorbs the story hidden in-between letters on a page.

He repeats the word back to you, leaning into the sound the way he leans into you, inching closer in his explanation. You stare at his lips, completely captivated — his tongue catching between his teeth — the purse of his lips — the rearrangement of his jaw as it conforms to the aerodynamics of structured syllables.

“Strictly speaking,” he says, eyes roving your face, deep and dark, “it means elf, or spirit. Something ethereal. It’s used in stories a lot.” The words are smooth, smokey, whiskey-like as you let them drip down your skin, the insides of your thighs. “Entiendes?”

Your body temperature rises. You can feel it — the way your mouth’s run dry and the paper’s slippery in your grip. Did his voice drop lower when he used the familiar form of the verb, not the formal? You think it did. Oh god, he’s so close, he could just extend a hand across your body and it could rest on your hip. You had never really noticed his height either, always in heels. Tonight, though, the heels are in the corner with his jacket and tie and you realize that he’s inches above you, yet somehow still within reach.

“What’s” — you swallow thickly, desperate to remain professional despite your wide eyes, the tongue tracing your lower lip — “what’s the non-strict definition of the word?”

He gives you one of his trademark smirks. “It can also mean,” he says, “enchanting. Charming. For someone or something to be magical.”

Nodding slowly, you drop your eyes down to the paper again, desperate to avoid his gaze. It follows you, watching your eyes hide even as you adjust to be ever-closer, a bare foot extending outward and brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Say it,” you hear him urge, your head bolting up, incredulous. And you try, you really do, but it’s so new and unfamiliar and you’re so goddamn nervous with him looking at you, that you fuck it up. Words are but the vessels by which emotions themselves are expressed, so maybe the act of speaking should not make you feel all by itself. But it does — oh, god, it does, and you feel like you’ve shrunk in the process, dwarfed by this man with rolled up shirt sleeves wrapped around muscular forearms, who grins impishly around his cigarette.

“Not quite.” He stubs out the thing, and to your surprise, brings hand to your jaw, cupping your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again.”

“No, I can’t; I..“ you protest, and for what? because you don’t want him near you? no, that’s not it, but you’re being branded by his touch all the same.

“Say it again,” he commands again, more gently this time, his words accompanied by an encouraging nod.

You comply readily, sounding out the syllables. His strong fingers manipulate your movements, guiding you in pronouncing the difficult phrase. It’s forceful and noble, a tender yet compelling influence that teaches you how to wrap yourself in the meaning of the word as much the word itself. You’re tingling; is it from the thrill of achieving or from his sturdy hand against your bare skin?

He doesn’t back away when you’re finished speaking, but holds your stare. Dimly, you register the steady crescendo in your breathing. He’s not immune to your proximity either: his Adam’s apple bobs as he pushes down the deficit of hope flooding oppressive maxim of his presence. Times stretches as you remain caught in his hold, coursing through you, carrying you downstream in brash, coarse recklessness. Are the emotions you swim in those eyes yours, or his, or some measure of both?

The pads of his fingers migrate, drifting to rest along your cheek and tumble into his touch like a moth to flame, or fish to water, or whatever trite phrase people use to make sense of such profound belonging.

Javier is mesmerized with the way his fingertips trace your cheekbones, the shell of your ear, along your jaw, returning to outline your lips.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice scrapes along your bliss, and you force your eyes open to see that he’s moved even closer, closer-than-close, so tight against you that you’re nearly leaning back over the desk.

“Do you want me to?” His eyes are dark and still now, but for the way they’re trained on yours as you whisper fate into existence.

“No — fuck — I shouldn’t, I —“ his jaw shifts again, this time in agitation, but it is you who does the deed, cutting him off, reaching out to tug on his collar. The action pulls him forward, pressing himself against you, caging you between the desk and the broadness of his firm chest. And you do know it’s firm now, at last slipping your hands underneath that truant fabric and gliding along his smooth skin. His hands find your waist, gripping your hips as he meets your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

He — Javier, now — kisses you a single-minded intent, letting his lips slide over yours lazily, over and over, memorizing the imprint of you against his mouth. One hand drifts upward again, cupping your cheek as he tilts your head slightly, letting his tongue delve into your mouth and trace your teeth. It makes you gasp, and you retaliate with a gentle nip to his lower lip, silently begging for more. Javier moans into your mouth, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Javier lifts you, placing you firmly on the desk, feet dangling a few inches from the floor. You know what he wants before he even has to ask and you give it him readily, wrapping your legs around his waist. Javier’s weight conforms to your own, molding against your body as you press into him, back arching in your submersion to his touch.

He is so eager; his kisses drench you in a deluge of incubated affection interspersed with need. Grasping at his shoulder, you pull him even closer, your other hand anxiously fiddling with his buttons as you sigh, reveling in the storm of his attention. Slowly, painstakingly, driven by a clamoring need for oxygen, he drags himself away from you, parting slowly, ever-loth to break the kiss.

You can’t help the shy smile that dances around your lips when you look up at him, standing above you. His chest is heaving, out of breath, hair somehow even more mussed than it was before. You suppose you can touch it now, so you do, two fingers brushing aside the fringe on his forehead.

Time, and space, and whatever else this stuff is made of have prevented from this alternate reality. until now. it has broken through the dam and caught you up in its awakening, broad and unrepentant.

Javier captures your hand as it lowers, pressing a kiss to the side of your palm. He’s so tender it makes you ache, and you wonder if this is why he stopped fucking his CIs. He requires something more intangible than what they could give him. “Javier,” you whisper.

He hums a question, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he watches you consider him, emotion lapping at the shores of unkempt eyes.

“You asked me to use your name. Earlier, I mean.” Should you feel embarrassed? Kissing a man several years your senior? Maybe you should. But you don’t. There’s a cordial warmth spreading through you, bolstered by his gentle touch, the outward connection of him and you that’s been built through months of inanimate remembrances.

“I know.” Javier nods and leans in again, his breath rippling across your skin. “Can you say it one more time, princesa? They say you need to do something three times” — a kiss to your cheek — “to make sure you really —“ a kiss to your forehead — “understand” — a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The words fall out of your mouth, splashes of unrestrained affection dappling each letter. “Duende, Javier,” you murmur against his lips. “Duende.”

javi tags: @frannyzooey @yespolkadotkitty @rentskenobi @goldenkenobi @goldafterglow @teaofpeach @justrunamok @huliabitch @cri-me-a-river @littlevodika @catsnkooks @themarvelousbear @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @ladytrashbird @princessxkenobi @roxypeanut @dracos-jedi-marvel @a-seeker-of-imagination // taglist link in bio!

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ladyfogg · 3 years

Text

Black Sea

Fic Summary: James has been tense for days, trying to wrangle the hotel’s undead residents while preparing for the upcoming historical landmark accreditation. Thankfully for your husband, you know exactly what he needs to make him relax. Bruises & Bitemarks Masterpost. The Evans Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: Black Sea by Natasha Blume

Pairing: James Patrick March/Serial Killer Female Reader

Warnings: Seriously guys, 18+ for real. Explicit Smut, Pegging, Rimming, Dom/Sub, Oral Sex, Face-sitting, language, Praise kink, and probably more.

Married life suits you quite well.

After the decades of wanting James Patrick March, he’s finally in your grasp and your bed and you couldn’t be happier. Shortly after the wedding, the Countess asks to meet with you where she showers you with gifts and assures you there are no hard feelings. While you do have a few choice words for her over her treatment of James, it’s all water under the bridge. Your husband is thoroughly yours and his ex-wife no longer poses any sort of threat.

Your marital suite is now yours and James’s inner sanctum. No matter what is going on at the hotel, your space is untouchable. The moment the two of you enter the room, everything else gets left behind.

At least, that’s how it usually is.

Lately, James is having a difficult time letting go. The threat of the Cortez being torn down in the future was always minimal. However, as time progresses and wealthy philanthropists try to buy the building, the need to achieve historical status becomes a necessity. Of course, that means no more killings or disappearances. For someone like James, it’s a hard habit to break but he’s willing to make the change if it means keeping his home.

Most of his frustrations come out in the bedroom, which you thoroughly enjoy. The trunk of sex toys you have has gotten quite a bit of use during your marriage. Mostly on you. But when James arrives late one evening, fuming with anger, you have a feeling he’ll need a little something extra to take his mind off his troubles.

“Idiots, the lot of them,” he grumbles in a huff as he walks through the wall. “I do not know how they expect to keep themselves anchored to this mortal plane with no hotel. You would think the threat of absolute extinction would be enough to sate their blood lust.”

“Rough day, darling?” you ask, sliding off the bed where you had been lounging as you waited.

“Is it that obvious?” he sneers.

You pout and slink over to him, letting the sash of your silk black robe fall open so he can see your naked body, still covered in bruises and bite marks from the previous evening’s festivities. “Don’t snap at me because the others can’t follow the rules. I haven’t murdered anyone in years.”

He sighs heavily as you wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re right, my dear. Apologies.”

You lay a trail of hot kisses up his neck. “I know exactly what you need to take your mind off it.”

James grabs your upper arms and pushes you back, not too rough but rough enough for you to stop. “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for our little games tonight. I’d be more than happy to watch you take care of yourself should you feel so inclined.”

“Darling, I think you are the one who needs to be taken care of.”

James quirks an eyebrow but does not argue. As he studies your gaze, he recognizes the same mischievous cunning he’s come to associate with pleasurable experiences. “Why do I have the sense that you have some tricks up your sleeves?”

“Because you know me so well.” You kiss him roughly, teeth biting down on his lower lip.

James grunts when you do, his arms snaking around your waist so he can pull you flush against his chest. “What are your plans with me, Mrs. March?”

“Get on the bed.”

Your tone is low and stern, leaving no room for argument. As you slip out of his grasp, James excitedly slips his suit jacket off, watching you cross the room. Against the far wall, your trunk of treasures sits on an antique chest of drawers, flanked by two red candles. The moment you light them, you hear the bed springs as James takes a seat.

“So what is it tonight, darling?” he asks in an almost bored tone. “Whips? Chains? Handcuffs? Gags?”

“No, no, none of that,” you say, casting a look over your shoulder. “Well, unless you’re a bad boy.”

James has slipped off his shoes and is in the process of unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. While he certainly looks interested, there’s also a sardonic smirk on his face, as if he’s doubting your ability to take his mind off his troubles.

Which is incredibly laughable since you have proven yourself to be a delightful distraction over the years.

“This is something new,” you say, opening the trunk. Inside, all manner of provocative and sinful toys sit posed and ready for use. A fair number of them have been used already. But tonight, you have a special item that you’ve been eyeing for some time. One you know James will love. “Take your clothes off.”

“You’re being so mysterious. You have me intrigued.”

“That’s the point.”

You glance over, watching as he meticulously removes his clothes until he’s down to nothing. The sight of his naked body always thrills you and you take time to admire it. James notices, raising his eyebrow.

“You look like you wish to devour me,” he says.

“I do. Now, close your eyes.”

James humors you and does as he’s told. Once you’re sure he’s not looking, you get yourself ready. You can see him tilting his head in your direction, listening to the sounds as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re doing. Ready, you secure your robe once more before slinking over to stand in front of him. You study his handsome face, reaching out to stroke his cheek before you gently tilt his chin up and lean down for a kiss.

James responds instantly, his hand coming up to seize the back of your head and grip it tight. In retaliation, you slip your hand around his throat and squeeze. He gasps in delight, eyes rolling back in his head when you forcibly break the kiss.

“We’re going to do a little role reversal tonight, my love,” you say, thumb pressing into his windpipe. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll make you come so hard you’ll blackout. If you’re bad, well…” You lick the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder. “That can be fun too.”

You ease up on his throat and James growls at you with a smirk. “Color me intrigued. What did you grab from our little treasure chest?”

You don’t answer his question. With a firm hand on his chest, you push him onto his back, leaving his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. A wink and a coy smile are all you offer before leaving a trail of precious kisses and bitemarks down his chest, towards his cock, which is already swelling in anticipation. James hums with approval, tucking one hand behind his head as a cushion while he watches your movements.

Your hand wraps around his cock, leisurely stroking his length while your lips continue to kiss his pale skin. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve marked and claimed him, leaving red irritated skin in your wake. That primal urge wants to come out, but you hold it at bay. Not now. Not yet.

Gently, you lavish the head of cock with attention as your hand drops from his shaft to stroke his thigh. You hear his breathing hitch, see the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his saliva. His eyes close for a moment as he simply enjoys your attention, the tension and stress starting to melt away. You squeeze both thighs hard as you take him further into your mouth. Not all the way, which you know he wants. Just enough to tease him with what he likes.

When his eyes flutter back open, they’re hooded with desire. “I must say, I truly enjoy you at this angle,” he says, peering down the front of your robe which has started to slip open. “It’s a particularly erotic visual—what the fuck are you doing?”

Without warning, you seize the backs of his thighs and push his legs up so that his knees touch his chest, leaving him far more exposed than he’s ever been in your presence. You let his cock slide out of your mouth as you straighten your stance, the thin sash of your robe falling away so James can see the flesh-colored dildo hanging between your legs, firmly secured to your hips by a leather harness.

“Helping you relax, darling,” you say in a falsely innocent tone, your hand stroking his thigh. “You’ve had me in this position. It’s only fair that I have you.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but whatever retort he prepared never reaches your ears because a split second later, you kneel by the edge of the bed, running your tongue across his tight ring of muscles. What you do manage to hear is something between a gasp and a moan, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

James loves to be dominant. Always has. And while most of the time that suits you just fine, there are others when you’ve taken the reins. During those particular times, you’ve noticed James’s excitement seems to grow. The idea of being overpowered by the woman he loves thrills him. You can tell by the look in his eyes, the delight and surprise at the turn of events, and the way his body molds to your whims.

Even now his hips arch upward, seeking more friction than what you’re currently providing. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and giving it a rough squeeze.

James thrashes against the bed. “Your mouth is truly a godsend.”

“Obviously not if you’re still stringing words together.” You jerk him off roughly, wrapping your lips around his pucker and sucking.

James throws his head back with a loud gasp, fists twisting the sheets. Empowered by his response, can’t help but keep your eyes on his face, the way his eyebrows knit together and his teeth dig into his bottom lip…if either of you showed up on camera you’d be recording him. His movements push him further up on the bed and you eagerly follow, kneeling between his legs on the soft mattress.

As you continue to loosen him with your tongue, you take your hand off his cock so you can reach for the bottle of lube in the pocket of your robe.

“You’re being an exceptionally good boy, my dear husband,” you coo, laying a bite on the round cheek in front of you.

Taking your hand off him, you uncap the bottle and let the cool liquid drip onto his overheated skin. James hisses only to moan when you start to spread the lube around his waiting hole.

“Darling, please.”

You pause, glancing up at him. “Is that begging I hear? Already?”

His cheeks are flush red which has traveled down to his chest. A chest that’s moving rapidly with each heavy breath. It’s a gorgeous visual that you’ll never get out of your head.

He is shameless in his need, reaching down to fist his cock. “You wouldn’t hear begging if you’d get on with it.”

Quick as a flash, straddle his body so you can grab the bindings attached to the headboard. “I told you to be good,” you scold, seizing his wrists and binding them. “That means, listening to me and not touching yourself. Also, don’t be an ass. I’m doing you a favor you know.”

“Is that so?” Once his hands are secured, he bucks up against you, again seeking the friction you deny.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, James. If you’re going to be rude about it, I’d much rather gag you. Is that what you want? To be gagged? Because that’s not all it’ll be. I’ll gag you and then go fuck off for a few hours, leaving you here, naked, and begging for me. Is that what you want?”

To your delight, James purses his lips and doesn’t speak. With a grin, you wrap your hands around his throat and give it a loving squeeze as you bend down to steal a kiss. It’s quick, just enough for him to want more before you shimmy down his body, back to the space between his legs. Shoving his knees up again, you swirl the lube around the loosening muscles with your thumb, watching with delight at the way James closes his eyes and throws his head back.

The sounds coming from your husband are positively sinful and you can’t get enough. His voice even climbs several octaves when you push a lubed-up butt plug in past his prepped muscles. His body shifts and clamps down around the toy, keeping it inside him.

“W-What did you do?” he asks, fingers digging into the bindings around his wrists.

“Just used something to help get you ready for me,” you purr, stroking his thighs again. “In the meantime…”

You slide his cock back into your mouth, causing James to exhale a string of obscenities. God you love the way he fills your mouth, not to mention the way he moans every time you suck him off. To have such a powerful man like James at your mercy sends a rush of pride through you. This man, this titan of industry and murder, is reduced to a sweating, shaking mass of limbs just by your mouth and hands. It’s empowering and addicting.

You pull your mouth off him, lewdly sticking out your tongue to lick the underside of him. “Such a beautiful sight,” you say, hand still wrapped tightly around him. “I look forward to seeing you on all fours.”

“Please…”

“Keep begging, darling. It turns me on.”

You lose yourself in the taste of your husband, sucking on his cock with practiced skill and precision. His body constantly moves under you, thrashing and flexing, trying to set the pace even when you have his hips pinned to the bed by your upper body. He really can’t help trying to take control even when he’s completely at your mercy.

You can feel he’s close but it’s not time yet. There’s no way you’re going to let him come without fucking him first.

Letting him slip from your mouth, you pull back, heart slamming against your ribcage as you see tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“I was so damn close!” he whines.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there.”

Grabbing his hips, you flip him onto his stomach, forcing the bindings to twist. You maneuver him onto his knees, admiring the visual for a second: muscled and scarred back with taut muscles, perfectly round ass with a plug begging for you to replace with something bigger. You hook your finger through the ring and pull it out, listening to the shaky breath James exhales.

He’s so ready for you.

You let the robe slip from your frame as you kneel behind him.

“Gorgeous. Just gorgeous. You look so ready for me,” you tease, lubing up the dildo with one hand as you run the other hand down his backside.

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Please what, James?”

He doesn’t respond right away. You can feel him clinging to that last bit of control, which definitely won’t do. Fisting his dark hair, you yank his head back.

“Please what, James?” you repeat. “If I have to ask again, I’ll just leave you here. Hard and open, waiting…”

“Please have your wicked way with me.”

With a smirk, you push into him. Between the toy and your prep, it’s almost a smooth thrust. Keyword: almost. Instinctively, his body tenses, forcing him to clamp down around the head of your toy.

You drape yourself along his back, licking and sucking on his shoulder. “Relax, baby boy. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

You feel his shaking body exhale and the toy slides further in, more and more until you bottom out, your thighs snuggly tucked against his.

“There,” you say, stroking his hip. “That’s a good boy.”

You pull out and thrust back in. James throws his head back and lets out the most guttural moan you’ve ever heard. You do it again, thrilled by his visceral reaction. You take him roughly, thrusting in and out at a steady pace, loving the way his body moves under yours. You get why he loves to fuck you this way.

Holding this power over someone is addicting and you know you and your husband will be playing this little game for centuries to come.

Your mouth keeps busy, sucking and biting at James’s throat, marking the pale flesh. His noises are to die for. Moans and grunts, occasionally broken by swears and your name.

“Fuck, darling. Fucking hell, yes!”

“Do you like it, husband?” you coo in his ear. “Do you like your wife taking you from behind?”

“Yes!”

“Such a good boy taking my cock like this,” you groan, reveling in the sounds of his pleas and your hips slapping against his. “Such a good boy, letting me take care of you.”

“My dear, please. Please!”

“Please what?”

You see his hands flex in his bindings as he clenches them. “I’m close, dear. I need to come.”

“If you insist.”

When you pull out of him, he all but howls in disappointment. But he doesn’t need to worry. As quick as you did before, you flip him onto his back, shoving his legs up before pushing back into him. Now you can see the expression on his face, watch his mouth fall open as his head falls back against the pillows.

His rock-hard cock bounces against his stomach, leaving trails of precum in its path. When you wrap your hand around his length, it’s hot to the touch.

All you need to do is stroke him once and then he’s coming with a shout, jets of white painting his flexing stomach as he chants your name.

Your own neglected arousal is nearly painful at this point. Ignoring it for much longer is not possible. Without removing the toy from your shuddering husband, you release yourself from the harness and crawl up his body.

He opens his eyes just in time for you to sit on his face, forcing him to taste you. If his moan is any indication, he doesn’t mind in the slightest. Now you’re groaning, clutching fistfuls of his hair as you grind yourself along with his tongue.

“Yes, James, yes. Such a good boy.”

Your praise is punctuated with groans, his eyes closed as he sucks on your swollen folds. You’re too wound up yourself to hold back or prologue your pleasure. When you come, your body locks in place, nails digging into his scalp until the last waves of pleasure recede and you collapse next to him.

Both of you pant harshly. James tugs on his bindings. “Untie me,” he orders.

You do as he says, only to find yourself pinned beneath him, his mouth attacking yours in a biting onslaught of kisses. It makes you smile.

“Relaxed now, darling?” you tease when he finally draws back.

James yanks the toy out of himself with a wince, tossing it to the side. “You certainly know how to help a man take his mind off his troubles.”

“I live to serve, darling,” you say with a smirk. “As do you apparently. You did a marvelous job.”

James grunts before kissing you again, his seed now spread across your chest as he holds you flush against him.

“As did you, my love. Tell me, what other toys have you been dying to try?” he asks.

All you do is offer him a coy smirk. “A lady never reveals her secrets. All in good time, dear husband. All in good time.”

---

Fic Taglist:

@lejardinfleur @kitwalker64 @tatestripedsweater @milly-louise @kitwalker02 @xmaximoffic

#james march #james patrick march #james march x reader #james march x you #evan peters #bruises & bitemarks

178 notes · View notes

itsallyscorner · 3 years

Note

Hey Ally idk if you are taking requests at the moment but if you are could you write something really fluffy with either Sebastian or Bucky! I am just not having a good time right now and would really appreciate anything you got! If you need a more specific idea i can come up with one just let me know and obviously no rush ♥️

Hiya hun! I hope this brightens your day/night and gets your spirits up💛 Sending all my love and good energy to you, happy reading!

💌.

Flowers and Nutella

Your body felt as if it were glued to the bed. The warm covers you’ve been wrapped in all night brought you comfort and served as a protection from the cold of the harsh world. Today had been one of those days. You know those days, the ones where you wake up and it seems like the world is out to ruin you. You didn’t want to get out of bed because it was like you were dreading of going through with the day.

The past week had been difficult. A failed mission; false leads that ended up being a mouse trap. You were put in charge of Peter, it had been one of the few Avengers mission he was allowed to come along on. You lot were supposed to collect data about an ex SHIELD agent selling alien weapons to different buyers, including Hydra members. The whole thing turned out to be a trapped, long story short, it ended up with Peter getting shot in the shoulder by one of the weapons. Thankfully, Banner and Dr.Cho knew how to patch it up so he was safe, back to the energetic bright eyed puppy he was.

The week had just been hard to get through completely. The affects of those events had finally taken its toll on you and decided to pile up on you during this gloomy morning. You didn’t plan on leaving your room. All you wanted was to watch things on Netflix, eat, and just stay in your safe haven. Your room.

You had been watching Gossip Girl once again when a knock was heard from your door. You didn’t feel like interacting with anyone so you didn’t answer it. A few minutes pass and the door slowly creeks.

Outside Bucky was dressed in gym shorts and a loose gray shirt. His hair was twisted up in a bun, something he had learned from you and grown to love. It was Saturday and the two of you usually had training sessions together in the morning. When you didn’t respond to your door he grew concerned. Usually you were up and going, bouncing on the balls of your feet as your pony tail swayed side to side.

His head peeks behind your door and the sight in front of him makes him furrow his brows. You were far from ready, barely even close. You were in bed, wrapped in your blankets, eyes heavy as you watched some show on your tv.

“(Y/n)? Doll?” He calls out to you, slowly entering your room. The atmosphere was heavy as he took in the darkness and chilling temperature in your room.

Your hair rustled against your pillow as you move your head to look at him. You squint at him as the light from the window poured into your room. Bucky had pulled open the curtains and turned up the thermostat in your room.

“Buck? Hey, what are you doing here?” You eye his attire and groan.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot we had training today.” You apologized squeezing your eyes shut. It was as if you couldn’t do anything right lately.

Bucky waved you off settling himself beside your legs on your bed. He nudges your thigh with his elbow, “No worries. But are you okay? You never forget our training days and you’re usually bouncing from wall to wall by now.” His soft voice fills your room flowing like honey. You feel a swell in your chest at how comforting his voice was.

“What’s going on, darling?” He looks at you, eyes full of concern as they plead you to tell him what’s wrong. You sigh and push your cheek against your pillow. One of your arms curling underneath the cushion while the other gripped to your blanket.

You shrug the shadow of a smile on your chapped lips, “I don’t know. Just don’t feel up for anything today. I just want to lay here and rest.”

Bucky sends you a comforting smile as his large hand comes to rub the small of your back, “It’s alright, sometimes we need breaks from the outside world.”

A small smile forms on your lips, though it didn’t bring that crinkle by your eyes, a sign that you were genuinely happy.

He looks around before his sparkling blue eyes come to land on you again. “D’ya need anything before I head to the gym?”

You hum shaking your head, “Nope, thank you though.”

Bucky nods and claps his hands against his thigh. Getting up and leans forwards to poke your nose, “Alright. Give me a call if you need anything, I’ll be here.” You let out a simple, “mmk” as he turns to leave your room.

The door shuts behind him as he presses his back onto it. Screw the gym, he thought to himself. You were clearly upset and there was a voice in his head telling him to go fix it. You probably didn’t want him prodding in on your rest day but he just wanted to see a smile on your face.

His long legs take him to the kitchen where Wanda, Nat, and Sam were. “Ladies.” He greets them, nodding his head. A silent look was sent to him by Nat, probably because she hadn’t had her coffee yet. Wanda sends him a smile as she uses her powers to cook multiple dishes for breakfast.

“Sam.” He greets his friend who responds to him with a grunt. Bucky shoves himself to a stool at the counter as he tries to come up of ways to cheer you up.

Wanda glances at him, “I don’t think she would enjoy a picnic outside, she likes to stay in her room when she wants a break.”

Bucky’s eyes move from the marbled counters to the back of Wanda’s auburn hair. “Well what do you think she would like right now? I walked in and and she just looked so out of it.”

Natasha sighed as he inhaled the rich smell of coffee, “Barnes just leave her alone, she’s had a rough week, let her get some rest.”

Bucky grumbled a frown on his face, “But she looked so sad, I can’t just leave her like that.”

The elevator dings as the doors slide open. All heads turn towards the hall as they see Peter come out from the elevator. His backpack was slung over his shoulder as greeted all of them with a boyish grin.

“Hey guys!” A round of “mornings” is heard amongst the group as Peter enters the kitchen. He looks over Wanda’s shoulder as his hand reaches under her arm to grab a piece of bacon.

The witch rolls her eyes as she swats his back, “You could’ve burned your fingers, Pete.” She scolded him motherly.

“I’m fine, what’s up guys?” Peter answers with the strip of bacon hanging from his mouth. He places his backpack on the floor and joins the others at the counter. Bucky glances at the boy. Maybe he would know a way to cheer you up. The both of you had been hanging out together a lot since you were his mentor, besides Tony, of course.

“Parker, what’s something that’ll get (y/n) to cheer up?” The boy perks up at your name.

“Flowers and a jar of Nutella.” He answers almost immediately, a proud grin on his face. His quick answer earned him some looks from his older team mates.

“How would you know that, Parker?” Nat asks him, sitting in the stool beside him. Peter fiddles with his fingers as he adjusts himself in his seat. His mouth opens to answer but Sam interrupts him.

“Someone gotta crush on (y/n)?” Sam teases the teenager. Peter’s eyes widen as his cheeks turn rosy, a clutter of stutters coming out his out.

“N-No! I mean— she’s pretty, really pretty. Beautiful in fact, but no, I don’t—I don’t have a crush on Ms. (y/n).” He manages to defend himself. A poor attempt of a defense in Sam’s opinion. Sam shakes his head at the boy, “Buck, looks like you’ve got competition.”

Peter’s eyes almost fall out their sockets at the mention of Bucky. The boy stares at the metal arm that could choke and kill him in an instant. “No! You don’t have any competition Mr. Barnes, sir, I swear.”

Nat smirks from beside him as Wanda chimes from behind them, “I could read minds, Peter!” She sang.

“How do you even know she likes flowers and Nutella?” Natasha asks him.

“Um—I asked her to go to prom with me, remember? She said she’ll only go with me if I buy her flowers and a jar of Nutella.” Peter answers. Bucky was up at his feet at an instant, patting his shorts for his wallet. When he felt the bulky object he glanced at the elevator. Walking behind Peter, he pats the boy’s back with his metal hand. Peter jumps almost yelping in his seat.

“Thanks, Parker.” Bucky chuckles then walks to the elevator.

He takes a train to get around the city. He ends up at the nearest retail store, looking through the shelves for Nutella and other things you might like. Once he had two bags full of treats and gifts he approaches the man outside the store who had a cart full of flowers. He didn’t know if you had a preference, but he chose the brightest out of the bunch. To him it represented your personality and the effect you had on his life.

He rushes back to the compound, bags in each hand and a bouquet of flowers under each arm. The sight of him might’ve been funny, a large bulky man with arms full of colorful flowers, a teddy bear, and all the cheesy pick me up gifts. He enters the kitchen not bothering to greet the others. Though he stops to take out two spoons from the drawers. Steve looks at him curiously while Sam nods at him in approval.

He heads straight to your room, excited to give you all the gifts he’s gotten you. He knocks on the door with the top of his foot, “I’m coming in!” He struggles to twist the knob of the door but he somehow manages to get it to open.

He slams the door shut with his back and greets you with a wide smile. Your eyes widen at him in shock.

“Surprise!” He yells happily. You feel your lips tug themselves upwards at him. You shuffle around in your bed, moving the blankets out the way.

“What’s all this?” You ask him trying to peer into the bags. He places them on the floor, gesturing for you to sit back.

“Alright, first off, here’s some flowers.” He grins handing you the two colorful bouquets. A giggle erupts from you as you take them from him. You take a whiff of the flowers, the floral smell entering your senses.

He digs through the bag and pulls out a large jar of Nutella. You gasp as Bucky presents it to you with a golden spoon from the kitchen. He hands them to you then bends back down to go through the bag.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted some snacks, so I got some cookies, your favorite chips, crackers, some wine. I didn’t bother getting a cup, just chug the bottle.” He explains placing each item onto your bed.

“I also got you a teddy bear. But they had too many and I didn’t know which one you’d like so I got the bear, a llama, and a dog.” He chuckles bopping your face with the llama’s snout. You laugh as you try to hold all of them in your arms.

“Oh yeah, and here’s some candy.” He places at least five boxes of different kinds of candy onto your lap. You look at him in awe, the joy bursting in your chest at his lovely gesture. The happiness soon became too much and your eyes began to water. The proud smile on Bucky’s face falters, his shoulders slumping. He crouches in front of you, hands beside your legs.

“No! Doll, what’s wrong? Was it the candy? Do you not like skittles? Or is it the Hershey’s kisses? I could take them back! Do you not like the llama?” Questions began to roll off his tongue as he stared up at you. His thumbs came up to wipe stray tear from your face. A laugh bubbles from your chest, your free hand gripping onto his wrist.

“No, Bucky, this is just—no one’s really done this for me before. Thank you.” You smile at him through your tears. “Thank you, I really really appreciate it. You didn’t have to do all of this honestly.” You sniffled fiddling with the plush llama’s fur.

“It’s fine doll, honestly. Anything to see that smile on your face.” He grins up at you, happy with himself that he got to bring the smile that formed crinkles to the side of your eyes. You giggle once again and place all the gifts on your bed, you leans towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face into his neck. Bucky sighs in content, his metal hand coming up to stroke circles onto your back.

“Thank you, Buck.” You whisper against the skin of his neck. Bucky presses a kiss to your temple, “Anytime darling.”

You pull away and organize the things on your bed. You sit against the headboard did your bed and motion for him to join you.

“I’m gonna need help eating all of this.” You tease him. He settles beside you, arm around your shoulder. He reaches for a pack of Reese’s and rips it open with his teeth.

“Well good thing I’m a super soldier.” He chuckles tuning into the movie on your tv. You get curious and look at him.

“How did you know about the flowers and Nutella though?” You question him with a raised brow.

“Spider-boy.” He answers mouth full of the peanut butter cups. You laugh and lean back into his arm. You reach for the jar of Nutella and twist it open, pealing of the gold seal. Your spoon dips into the chocolate, breaking the smooth surface.

Bucky glances at you, “Feelin’ better?”

The spoon hangs from the corner of your mouth, savoring the delicious spread, “Much better.”

#marvel #mcu #avengers #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes headcanon #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #winter solider #ally’s requests

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simonsrosebud · 3 years

Text

the one where someone doesn’t know who kevin day is, pt. 3

part one two four five

kevin has a talk with them the next morning before practice. or more of just him storming into the lounge and going off. the four freshman are there, too, but he doesn’t quite care.

“dalton isn’t fucked up like the rest of us! there’s a reason i didn’t want any of you meeting or even knowing about him and it’s not because i hadn’t fucking come out yet. he’s not a fox, and he’s not even thea. he’s not involved with exy, he doesn’t know about riko and me and the moriyama’s and the rest! there’s a lot of shit he doesn’t know about yet and none of you had the right throwing it all out in the air last night just to have a fucking laugh. tell me, was it funny? was it fucking funny getting him shitfaced just to get some answers and take the piss?!”

dan stands, and kevin holds a hand out. she looks to andrew, but his silence sides him with kevin. “kevin, we were just trying to-“

“you have no excuses, dan. none of you do. you were trying to make a fool of me and my boyfriend for nothing. and now, i have to go cure his curiosity of the things you all said.” and he storms out.

wymack doesn’t stop him. if anything, he looks mad at those left. “the fuck did you do to him to make him skip practice?! you realize that’s never happened so long as he’s lived, right?! we don’t have protocol for the day kevin skips exy.”

meanwhile, dalton doesn’t actually have that many questions. the numbing of alcohol for a face tattoo is understandable, especially knowing that kevin’s sober and therefore must have had a problem. the cracker dust he asks about just because he doesn’t know what it is- he doesn’t like it, but trusts kevin that he’s done with it. he’s seen the scar along kevin’s hand, he already assumed it was from a surgery. the edgar allen thing was too vague for him to be curious about, but he does ask- not about, the father comment, but if he’s okay about it. kevin tells him this much; that he transferred from edgar allen to palmetto because he’d known for a few years that wymack was his father, and that he didn’t have the courage to tell him until last year.

kevin thanks the gods that dalton doesn’t ask about or seem to remember any mention of the yakuza.

they’re at kevin’s suite because he knows they’ll have a few hours by themselves with everyone at the stadium, but only an hour in there’s knocking on the door. dalton has his lips on kevin’s- he’d just said how he likes having access to his “real smile”. “gonna get it?” kevin shakes his head. the knocking starts again.

“come on, kevin! we’re sorry! just open up for a second!”

kevin knows dalton likes when he speaks french, so he sighs and kisses him before whispering, “i hate them all.”

dan is at his door with matt and allison in tow. “what do you want?”

“to apologize.” kevin raises his eyebrows. “look, we take the piss a lot and you never seemed to be visibly affected by it, so we didn’t realize that last night was upsetting you until you left.”

“you said never have i ever seen kevin have a meltdown. why do you think you’ve seen that? because i’m a toddler? you know what i’ve had my reasons.” riko. the moriyamas.

“i know. look, we don’t want to give you excuses. i-i don’t have an explanation. you’ve always kind of let us take the piss without saying anything, and we took it too far, especially last night. andrew looked like he wanted to kill nicky for the yakuza comment, but neil talked to him about it before we went to the stadium this morning,” she whispers the last part because she’s not stupid, and kevin huffs.

matt jumps in. “we wanna make it up to you, man. you’ve obviously hid him from us for a reason and we proved you right.” kevin honestly wants to get back to dalton and he wants it to just be over with. “bring him to the winter banquet, we’ll be nice. if anyone says anything i’ll punch em. neil will chew em out.”

kevin grimaces. the ravens will be at the banquet. it’s in just over a month, the second week of december. he’ll have to tell dalton some things by then. and he might have to say something to the public.

he doesn’t tell him anything. not yet, at least. he still has three weeks until the banquet- he hasn’t even asked dalton yet. he starts to like away games a little more than before, though. he gets dalton a little postcard from every new state they go to. he tapes them all to one of the walls of his room.

he’s on the phone with dalton at an airport general store, even, when he gets interrupted by two girls. he puts on his press smile before he even notices. “hold on, d.”

he doesn’t love fan interactions.

when they leave, dalton asks him with amusement if he’s got fans now, and kevin kind of decides he should probably tell him some more about his life because jesus, does he have fans. he needs to tell him about he and riko. what they were, what they were to fans of exy, what kevin was to fans of exy. what kevin was to riko- without involving the yakuza.

but he doesn’t, because dalton never brings up the topic of “fans” again.

he doesn’t tell him until a week later, when he wakes up from a nightmare.

dalton’s leaning over him, speaking, but all kevin sees is riko riko riko. it takes all of two seconds for dalton to back off.

“hey, hey, it’s me, it’s dalton. you’re safe, you’re in my apartment. no one else is here, i promise.”

kevin’s breathing so hard, dalton flicks the lamp on and he just crumbles. he sits up and presses his hands over his eyes, “i’m sorry.”

“can i touch you?” he nods. dalton’s sitting at his side, cross legged, and gently pulls kevin’s hands off his eyes. “you don’t have to be sorry. i know there’s shit in here,” he lightly lifts his hands to hold kevin’s face and taps his temple with a finger, “i don’t need to know what it is, just know you don’t have to apologize for it, and know you’re safe.”

kevin nods and twists to hug him. and dalton wraps his arms securely around kevin’s back. he presses a kiss to the top of his head and mumbles “c’mere” to prompt kevin into climbing into his lap.

dalton slides his fingers through kevin’s hair and it’s just so soothing, it nearly puts him to sleep. and when dalton lays back down kevin stays wrapped around him with his cheek pressed to his chest.

when kevin wakes up it’s to find they’ve switched positions overnight. dalton’s got his arm lazily draped over kevin’s waist, almost holding him close like a pillow. his ankle is thrown over kevin’s, and his head is pressed into the back of kevin’s neck.

kevin doesn’t want to move. in fact, he stays so still so as to not wake dalton, that when he stirs kevin just shushes him and pulls dalton’s arm back around him. he holds his hand close to his chest.

dalton’s not stupid. he knows kevin’s awake and nuzzles himself closer. “you like being cuddled.”

“you’re the one doing it, not me.” but he definitely tilts further into the pillow to expose his neck when dalton starts kissing up the side.

“you like being the little spoon.” and pushes himself up over kevin. “you like when you’re on the bottom, kev.” he kisses him deep into the mattress despite morning breath, and noses down his neck. “i like it.”

kevin tugs at dalton’s hair. “and what… what about it?”

ahaha. aha. sex.

anyway.

he tells dalton everything afterwards. he leaves out the yakuza part, and the fact of neil’s past, because that’s another monster. but he tells him the rest. who his mother is and why he’s such a big deal in the exy world; why he really left edgar allen and came to the foxes; the tattoo that’s buried under his chess piece and what it meant. what his relationship with riko was really like, and everything about their past and the abuse he endured.

and he fills him in on what triggers him because of that: small pitch black rooms, confined spaces without an easy way out, holding his hand too tight, the mention of riko moriyama, a lot of other things.

and dalton stays.

so kevin asks him to the banquet. when he says yes, he asks wymack for help arranging an interview. there are enough people and press lingering outside the exy banquets, and he’d like to hold his boyfriend’s hand on the way in this year.

it’s scheduled to be live the morning before the banquet. it’s with sophie silletti for espn college exy, and she posts about it as soon as it’s booked.

kevin sits with her. it’s nothing like kathy ferdinand. they talk strictly about exy and eventually, with his pre-approved questions, she brings up thea’s team’s most recent game. “and forgive me if i’m wrong, but you and thea muldani split recently, yes?”

kevin nods. “back in may, i’d say. we’re still friendly, i have the utmost respect towards her. in the end it just didn’t work out.” i haven’t talked to her in months.

sophie nods. “everything happens for a reason, i’d like to think.”

“of course. it wouldn’t have led me elsewhere.”

“is that hinting at something? i feel we don’t normally talk about this, but does kevin day have someone new in his love life?”

kevin palms are sweating. he hopes his face isn’t red with nerves. “i do, actually. i won’t say anything about him for his own privacy” i don’t want the public’s prying eyes “but we’ve been together for a bit, now.”

sophie is grinning, she feigns surprise. “i heard you say him, did i not? anything else to tell us?”

he keeps his smile easy, but he can feel the worry in the back of his head telling himself they can see right through it. “if you’re asking, then sure. i’m a bisexual man, so yes, my partner is also a man. this is the first time i’ve ever announced it to the public, actually.” as if that wasn’t the whole point of today.

“at least your fangirls can keep their hopes up, then, yeah? still got a 50/50 shot! and i’ve got to say, i feel honored you trusted me and my show with a milestone like this. coming out certainly is a big deal, or at least nerve wracking! how do you feel?” she laughs. “is it like a weight lifted from your shoulders?”

“i was never too stressed about it.�� lies. “some will hate, sure, but my job is the game. if my fans are true then this won’t change that. speaking of,” and then it’s back to exy.

wymack drives them back to palmetto, and when they’re close enough he says, “i’m proud of you for doing that.”

“thanks.”

“where am i dropping you off?”

kevin knows andrew and neil probably watched the interview, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with whatever they’ve got to say about it. so wymack drops him at dalton’s who hugs him as soon as he opens the door.

“you watched?”

“of course.” he kisses his cheek.

all posts/updates relating to this au can be found in the “OC: dalton miller” tag!

extra content

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yourfavewriteress · 4 years

Text

pda | josh anderson

Teaser: “Don’t leave without saying bye, okay? I know you, and you better not.”

“Have you seen Josh yet?” April asked.

“No, but I haven’t really tried looking. We’ve been in here since we came.”

“Do you want to see him? You guys have been pretty close lately.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s just really affectionate with me, I didn’t expect it.”

“Why?”

“Cause we’re not official or anything. He doesn’t have to kiss me in front of his friends.”

“I think he really likes you,” She smiled. “And, I think you really like him.”

“He could be playing me.” April rolled her eyes, sliding me another drink. “He is a professional hockey player that has girls throwing themselves at him on the daily.”

“True, but like you said, he’s pretty affectionate with you and I don’t think I've ever seen him like that with anyone else.”

“I don’t know,” I pursed my lips. “I’m fine with just going at his pace.”

“I think you’ve been spotted,” She said, her eyes focused behind me.

“Josh?” She nodded just as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Josh mumbled into my ear, kissing my cheek in the process. “Hey, April.”

“Hey, Josh. I’m gonna use the bathroom really fast,” April responded, leaving us in the kitchen.

“Hi,” I said, turning around in Josh’s arms. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’m seeing you,” He smiled, pressing his lips to mine. I melted against his touch, holding his arm for balance. “When did you get here?”

“Like twenty minutes ago.”

“And, you didn’t come find me? How dare you,” He joked, looking down at me.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I responded. His eyes searched my face for a few seconds before he stood up straight, reminding me of our height difference and the fact that he was much larger, stronger, and definitely hotter than I was.

Josh and I had met three months prior, at one of his teammates’ parties. I was conflicted over which drink to make myself in the kitchen, and Josh was in a rush to get his own. He grabbed a beer, eyeing me carefully.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just trying to decide which drink I want next,” I smiled politely before turning my attention back to the options. It sounded as if the guy left for a few moments, before I heard his voice behind me again.

“What do you usually drink?”

“Uhm, I usually go for either a beer, or rum and coke. But, I’m not feeling either of those right now.”

“What about a Whiskey Sour?” He suggested.

“I’m flattered that you think I could make that from scratch.”

He laughed, “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I’m pretty experienced with Whiskey Sours.”

I watched as he opened the cabinet, pulling out a cup, mixer, and whatever else he needed from the fridge.

“You’re pretty comfortable in this house,” I commented.

“I’m here a lot,” He smiled.

“What’s your name again?” I asked.

His smile widened as he rinsed his hands, drying them with a towel quickly. He extended his hand out to me, “I’m Josh.”

“Y/N,” I responded, returning his handshake. He squeezed my hand gently, before pulling away to work on the drink.

“So, how did you end up here, Y/N?”

Josh and I talked that night for over an hour. Before I could leave, Josh made sure to ask for my number, saying that he wanted to hang out again. I didn’t believe him but I gave him my number regardless. He surprised me by texting the next morning, asking to go out later that week.

After agreeing, Josh and I began to spend a lot of time together. We were friends, of course, but Josh made it very clear that he was interested in something more. On our third “date,” Josh sealed the deal by kissing me good night when dropping me off at my apartment. Ever since that night, Josh kisses me every time he sees me, and every time he’s saying bye.

It’s cute, and flattering, but it’s been going on for over two months, with no progression in our actual relationship. We were still friends, just ones that really liked each other, or at least made it seem like they did. I truly like Josh, but I know his type and I know the women that want him. His lifestyle is nothing that I could ever compete with or even want to. But, the more I hung out with him, the more I liked him, and the more I believed that he liked me, too.

“How have you been?” He asked, changing the topic.

“Pretty good, busy,” I said.

“Not too busy for me, I hope,” He said. “What are you doing Sunday?”

“I’m not sure, why?”

“Do you want to hang out? Watch a movie or something?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure. But I’m picking since you picked last time,” I narrowed my eyes at him. He laughed.

“Whatever you want,” He kissed my forehead, making the butterflies in my stomach move around in circles. “Don’t leave without saying bye, okay? I know you, and you better not.”

“I won’t,” I rolled my eyes.

“Have fun,” He said.

“Wait, who are you with?”

“Just some of the guys, why?” He responded.

“Nothing, just wondering. So, I know where to find you if I’m leaving or anything,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, just the guys,” He smiled as if he knew what I was really asking. “I’m gonna come find you later though if that’s okay.”

“Sounds good.”

****“

“It’s so nice out here,” I said to April, pulling the blanket up over my hands.

“What kind of a party has people sitting out watching the stars,” She mumbled to me. “If I get bit by anything, I’m gonna kill someone.”

“You’re so dramatic,” I laughed. “It’s nice.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey,” I heard from above me. I looked up, locking eyes with Josh. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, join the gang,” April said.

Josh looked at me as if waiting for my approval. I moved over on the bench I was on, making room for Josh. He sat down next to me, putting his arm behind me.

“How’s hockey?” April asked.

“Not really playing so it’s sucks,” He said. I moved the blanket over his lap as he moved closer to me instinctively.

In the time that we’ve known each other, we physically act like a couple. Josh never shied away from PDA and I wondered if that was with everyone, or just me. I knew what this was from the start, so I let Josh do his thing and only focused on us and how he was with me, because I had my own options. But, now that I’m starting to have genuine feelings for him and completely stopped seeing other people, I hoped that we were on the same page. I obviously don’t expect him to be, but he was also giving me clues that this wasn’t one-sided.

“When do you think you’ll be good to go?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” He shrugged. “Just kind of taking it day by day.”

“Well, at least you’re improving.”

“True.”

“You’re probably still more active than Y/N.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, slapping her arm. “I’m active.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you do?”

“I walk,” I trailed off. “Around.”

“Yeah, your apartment. And, even then you’re still the laziest person I know.”

“I still get everything I need done so I can’t be that lazy.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“I’m not lazy,” I said, turning to Josh who was already looking at me. He smiled, nudging my leg with his.

“I know,” He responded. “You’re ‘active.’”

“You’re really gonna join in on chirping me?”

“I’m not,” He laughed.

“Hey, you can’t deny the truth,” April said.

“I’ll be back, I need a refill,” Josh kissed my cheek, moving the blanket off of his lap and onto mine.

“He was staring at you so hard when you were laughing,” April said once he was gone.

“What?”

“It was cute,” She smiled. “He was, like, admiring you.”

“Oh, my god,” I groaned. “I have no idea how to read him.”

“From what I see, he clearly likes you. I haven’t seen him with another girl since you guys met.”

“I feel like I’m just gonna ask where his head’s at and tell him how I feel. This is just too intense for me,” I said.

“Well, he’s coming back so now’s your chance.” Josh sighed, taking his spot back on the bench, this time much closer to me.

“I’m gonna go see if Boone wants to face me in beer pong.”

“Such children,” I said.

“Whatever,” April laughed, getting up. She walked away, leaving Josh and I alone. I looked over at him, turning so now my knee was on top of his thigh.

“Hi,” He smiled. “I finally get you alone.”

“You can get me alone anytime,” I said, mentally face-palming myself after. Josh raised his eyebrows and I blushed, “Not like that. I mean, you can pull me aside any time, it’s a party.”

“Yeah, but then I feel like April would hate me.”

“She wouldn’t,” I rolled my eyes.

“How have you been really?” He asked, pushing a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Feed it to me straight.”

“I’ve been thinking about something,” I said, looking down.

“I had a feeling,” He said. “What’s up?”

“I just want to know where your head’s at? With us?” I asked, looking back up into his eyes. “I know we’re not ‘together’ but sometimes I feel like we are and I don’t want to be confused so I felt like I should just ask.”

“Honestly,” He cleared his throat, looking around. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.”

“Yeah?” I said, trying to catch his attention again.

“Sorry,” He smiled sheepishly. “Just trying to get my words together.”

“That’s okay”

“Alright,” He said, looking back at me. “I really like you. Like more than I expected to. Not that I wasn’t expecting anything, just that, I really like you and I haven’t really liked anyone in a while.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I smiled.

“Because, I didn’t know how you felt. But, you never pulled away from me when I kissed you so I hoped you felt the same way.”

“I liked it,” I blushed. “I like it.”

He leaned in, kissing me while holding my neck in place. “I really like kissing you, don’t even get me started.”

I laughed against him, kissing him again. “You’re such a clown.”

“Let’s be exclusive, yeah?” He asked, pulling away slightly. “If you want.”

“Yes,” I said. “No more puck bunnies.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I knew that as soon as I met you.”

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sparkexplosive · 4 years

Text

Sentiment [Izuku Midoriya] ; 06

Precious Chapters in Sentiment [Izuku Midoriya] SERIES

Warning: Mental Health

Word Count: 2,010

Midoriya Izuku was standing in front of the invention room with his hero costume case because he broke his shoes once again. He is afraid to look at your face, but he needs to face you. Perhaps he isn’t ready to face you yet. He was about to turn around to walk away to ask Mei to fix his shoes instead. To only get startled by the sliding door opening to reveal Misaka.

“Oh! Midoriya. What may I help you?” Misaka calmly gave off the customer service voice along with a smile.

Midoriya couldn’t speak properly to the only rush through his word which leads it to be a scrambled mess.

Misaka’s eye twitches in annoyance. She could never really deal with his random rambles. She looks on both sides of the hallway before grabbing his collar and yanking him inside. Midoriya was about to fall on his face due to the sudden pull into the room. She walks away from him to sit down on her chair to continue working on Kirishima shoulder designs, after testing it would be sustainable enough against Kirishima unbreakable form without shattering into pieces from her previous prototypes.

She is just ignoring his presence until he learns how to speak. She is already irritated by him how Midoriya is not even standing up for (Name), her best friend. His friends are speaking to her best friend with hurtful words that would break anyone down especially under his watch is unacceptable. A screwdriver floats towards her which reminded him of his mother's quirk.

Midoriya gulps down his saliva, sensing tension in the air and looks over to your desk to find it surprisingly neat and cleaned as if it hasn’t been touched for a few days. It's an unusual sight to see it so organized compared to the times he has been in here. His eyes wander off to Misaka's side of the room to see her blueprints on the cardboard. He does recall that you did mention that Misaka switched with Hatsume Mei because her room was a lot closer to the inventory room.

The blueprints of her designs and items for Kirishima Eijirou upgraded costume pinned on the cardboard. She has a mannequin that was holding fabric that could be for his lower cape. In front of her were pauldrons blueprints with the design details. Misaka was adding the details on his pauldrons and messing with internal parts that seem to contain wires.

“It’s coming out very well, Misaka.” Midoriya tries to break the tension in the air, before speaking for the real reason for his trip here. “Could you perhaps fix my shoes?”

Misaka glances over to him and walks over to him to hastily take the case from him to evaluate the damage. She did catch his eyes looking over to your working station earlier.

“She is banned from using this room for fighting one of your fangirls along with damaged property.”

Misaka answers without him saying it out loud and takes the black metal shoes off his case to only collapse into different small pieces. Both of them just stare at the floor where the metal pieces collapsed into smaller pieces. “Well then. I could make a replica for you. It might be ready in the late afternoon tomorrow, b-”

Midoriya brims up at the news with a small smile instead of his usual big grins. “Thank you!”

She stops to turn to face him. “But!”

She stares closes the case hastily, before turning her blue eyes back into his green eyes. “Do you know about the rumors going around about (Name)?”

Midoriya was taken back at the question but narrowed his eyebrows. “I only know about the check, but it turns out to be true.”

Midoriya unconsciously flinches recalling the rumor was true and all the emotions that he has been pushing down resurface at once. She evacuates his body language and his eyes to see he is telling the truth. He seems to hang on by accepting the fact that your relationship was building on the bride.

“Well, your friends are belittling (name) by telling her. She is a whore to slut because of the rumors going around. They are getting dramatized and getting out of hand. The rumors are getting worse every passing day. Unless you set it straight. It would calm down the rumors.” She carefully watches his body language and his eyes.

From the dark lines underneath his eyes and more messy hair than usual. It seems he has been wrecked as well. The evidence is physical that he hasn’t been sleeping very well. Midoriya hasn't been able to sleep for the past couple of days due to getting nightmares repeatedly.

But from his expression, he didn’t know at all, filled with shock, and a mixture of surprise was written all over his face. His eyes were wide open and his mouth agape. Before he closes his mouth before licking them and gulping down his saliva. “I haven’t been paying attention of late.”

‘I have been in mind all day and night,’ He thought to himself.

His demons belittling why him and losing destroying himself confidence. The only time he can distract himself is by burying himself in schoolwork and training to quiet down that voice in his head. The other times, he unconsciously is blocking the world around him which makes his friends and classmates worry about him since he has been a less talkative and energetic ball of energy who is an excellent observer and analyzing at hand.

Aizawa asks him to go to the counselor's office today or tomorrow. He knows that Aizawa is worried about him to personally ask him to look for help.

His fingers fidget with the side of his tie as he licks his dry lips to confess.“I have mostly been in my world-”

“You have been in your mind. Midoriya. You are being your own worst enemy. Overthinking to thinking the worst possibilities. That's what you usually do.” Misaka interrupts him, before walking into your work station.

She opens a drawer to go through it to see your blueprint on what your design to offer to Midoriya. She stares at it for a second before taking it out and reaching underneath the table to pull out brown boxes that contain two metal cases with one of them has a red ribbon. She places the blueprint inside and holds out to him if only he wants to accept.

“[Name] might murder me for giving this to you. Its new equipment that they overworked themselves making sure this gift to you would be on time. But you know…. This would have been a future design blueprint. Just take a look and give those babies a try.”

Midoriya didn’t know what to say. His throats were dried up but his eyes landed on a red envelope attached to the metal case with red ribbon. It was possible the anniversary gift that she would have given him today. He forgot today was their anniversary before all this happened. They had plans but everything changed. He needed space and time to think. Y/N gave him the space that he asked and respected his decision.

But the curiosity is killing him wanting to know what they are inside those metal cases. He unconsciously reaches over to grab onto the box to find it surprising a little heavy.

“Take them and think would someone go through deep ends to create something so accurate for your liking and safety if they didn’t care about you. If you think you don’t want to accept it, you can go back and return them to me. I will have your replacements here waiting for you.” Misaka light heart comments.

Midoriya looks up from the box to look into her eyes. “Thank you.”

____________________________________

The day before getting emotional after school, surprisingly you had a wonderful time with the loudmouth student from Class A-3, Bakugou Katsuki. He had surprisingly cheered you up with some food and fun time at the arcade. It was memorable and the most fun you had ever experienced in an arcade. The two of you were being competitive trying to beat each other's scores.

You did realize in his way, he was distracting you from what happened the day before.

“Don’t let those extras get into your head. The only person you need to approve is yourself.” Bakugou advises while pointing at you with his chopsticks.

Your eyes had widened shows bewildered at his words as if he was speaking from experience, once his words sucked in which brought a wide grin on your lips.

“Thank you.” Your eyes were starting to shine like before the incident happened with the rumors. Your eyes are a portal to how you feel.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, “You should know this by now. Extra's opinions shouldn’t matter.”

He knew you were hurting inside while putting on a strong face in front of everyone. But everyone has their limits by putting on that armor to make people intimate from messing with you. He knows it very well.

As he refused for you to pay for the dinner bill to pay him back from playing in the arcade. You know arcades are not cheap but expensive. However, he beat you from paying by taking his credit card before you could.

“Save that money for your mouth-” He exclaims calmly.

“Bakugou, that's a lot of money. Let m-.” You tried to reason with him, but he continues to shoot you down.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Get it through your thick brain!” Bakugou slashing out, clearly getting irritated by you bugging him about paying him back. He clearly refuses to accept your money.

At the end of the day, you were conflicted about how to feel about Bakugou since you saw another side of Bakugou that you haven’t seen until now. It's like Kirishima said to you before when you asked for Bakugou help for the gloves that you created for Midoriya.

“He has a good heart, he just roughs around the edges. Give him time, he will get comfortable with you.”

You had witnessed what Kirishima was talking about yesterday. Bakugou has a different way of showing he cares. However what caught you off guard when he had walked you back to your dorms like your bodyguard intimidating any students from looking over to you.

You turn around in front of the steps of your dorm to thank him. “Thank you for everything. Bakugou.”

Bakugou simply nods, like typical behavior for him. When you were turning around to walk up the stairs. He had grasped your wrist stopping you at your tracks.

“You can call me. Katsuki, only if you want to... Have a nice night.” He lets go from your wrist.

You were shocked that Bakugou even suggested it, but knew it's a big deal for him to permit him to call him by his first name. It could mean numerous things, but that is the moment you thought. He trusts you.

Once you had sucked in his words, you only smiled back at him.

“I will be taking up that offer. Good night, Katsuki!”

Unknown to you, Bakugoug Katsuki could feel his heart skip a beat from hearing your voice calling him by his first name. He couldn’t explain it, but it makes him feel weird in a way that is not normal for him.

A small smile curls up to his lips while he was walking back to his dorms while recalling what happened that afternoon. He did have a lot of fun playing video games with you in an attempt to distract you from what is happening in school.

He does care about you but is unsure why he is feeling this sort of way ever since the two of you started working together for your project of gloves. He has gotten comfortable with your presence more than he would like to admit.

Perhaps, he has a crush on you….

It can’t be…, right?

______________________________

I would love to hear any predictions or theories, you guys have!

Feedback is appreciated!

Please be kind within the comments. I hope you are enjoying the story. Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors.

if anyone wishes to be tagged, either send me an ask or comment below this post! Taglist will be in the comments.

#Sentiment #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku x reader bnha #deku x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero fanfic

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chipper9906 · 3 years

Text

Carry On, Until You Find The Peace You Deserve

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 (EPISODE 02 ‘RAISING HELL’, EPISODE 18 ‘DESPAIR, EPISODE 19 ‘INHERIT THE EARTH’, EPISODE 20 ‘CARRY ON’)

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,059

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary/Preview:

“You gonna stay invisible back there the whole time Cas, or you gonna show yourself?”

Dean sees a flash of a tan trench-coat reflected in the rear-view mirror, blinking into existence with a rustle of wings that he’s not heard of in quite some time.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean lets himself smile again.

- - -

That finale killed me, so here we are I guess, four fics in the span of a month. Why do you do this to me, Supernatural. Why do you hate us all, CW.

LINK TO FIC

Click Below To Keep Reading

* * *

“Well...Cas helped.”

Three words. Three words, and all of a sudden the weight on Dean’s shoulders felt a hell of a lot lighter.

Which is ironic, since he’s dead. He shouldn’t have to carry that weight anymore.

But it’s because he’s dead that the weight was there.

Sacrifice. Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice, over and over again. It seemed like you weren’t a true Winchester until you had sacrificed yourself. Maybe for the fate of the universe, maybe for someone you loved. And more often than not, sacrificing yourself for one of those would end up putting the other in peril. How many times had they sacrificed themselves for the world, only to put one of them in danger? And, similarly, how many times had they sacrificed themselves for someone they loved, only to screw up the world? It was like a roundabout circus they could never escape from.

Well. Until now, anyway.

So long as Sammy didn’t do anything stupid, that is.

And Cas... he had sacrificed himself for him. For someone he loves. And there’s no skirting around that now. Cas had said it outright. No more implications, no more hidden meanings... Cas loved him.

Even now, he can’t quite wrap his head around it. He hadn’t realized, because... well, because he didn’t think it was possible. Castiel was an angel. Sure, he was very different from the other angels, and over the years his time down on Earth along with Sam's and his influence had made him... well, more human. But he wasn’t human. He was an angel.

And angels aren’t supposed to feel. They aren’t supposed to have emotions. They weren’t supposed to love. And yet, Cas did. Cas had fallen in love. And not just with anyone, no-no, with him.

And yeah, he always knew Cas loved him, but he didn’t think he loved him. Okay, maybe that doesn’t make much sense, but it does to him.

And then, he had to live with that. To know Cas had died because of... no, that’s not right, for him Cas had let himself be taken, just so he could have a chance of getting out of there alive. A chance to take on Chuck. A chance to live.

And he was gonna try. No matter how much Cas's loss left a hole in his life. He was gonna carry on. He was gonna pull himself out of bed, he was gonna greet Miracle every morning with the cuddles she deserves (along with leftover scraps that Sam didn't approve of but couldn’t seem to find within himself to scold Dean for), he was gonna get himself a job, a real, boring civilian job, and he was gonna live.

That had been the plan, anyway. Hell, he had even somehow managed to get himself one of those jobs. Had signed his name on the dotted line and everything. He had been dreading telling Sam. He was sure he’d understand, but he just didn’t know the right way to tell him. Guess he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.

‘But if we don’t keep livin’, then all that... sacrifice; it’ll be for nothing.’

And that’s why that weight had been there. Because he wanted Cas's sacrifice to mean something. To live, not just because Cas died for him to have the opportunity to, but because he wanted to. Because after all these years, of his whole life being written by the creator... they could finally live out their own story.

But he couldn’t stop himself. Another hunt, just like any other. Hell, he had gone into it thinking it might be his last hunt; if he finally gathered enough courage, grew a pair, and told Sam about the offer he had accepted.

Course, it had been his last hunt. Free from Chuck, free to start their own story... and it had ended just as quick as it had begun. Sammy was free for his story to continue, but theirs was over, and it came in the form of a rusted nail in his back.

Cas had died for him. Cas was trapped in that God awful place, for him, and how does he repay Cas for that sacrifice? He goes and gets himself killed not two weeks later.

But now? Now, he doesn’t have to think about that. He doesn’t have to torture himself with the image of Cas stuck in eternal darkness, living out his regrets while he stays cozy in heaven with his family and a beer in hand. Coz Cas was out. Cas was in heaven, here, somewhere.

He can see him again.

Bobby raises his brows at him, a brief knowing look before he turns away to chug down a gulp of completely average beer.

Dean lets himself smile.

“So, I guess the question is: what are you gonna do now, Dean?”

A perfectly placed stream of sunlight glints off the Impala’s sleek black metal top; not a scratch on her. He knows it's not really the Impala – the old license plate is proof of that. But it’s still his baby. Besides, he’s sure Sammy’s taking good care of the real girl down there. And he trusts that Sammy will pass her on to the right person when the times right.

That’s unless he wants to leave her to rust by herself in some random garage and risk Dean forcing himself out of heaven as a vengeful spirit to rip his little brother a new one.

Baby purrs just like she used to when Dean switches on the ignition. That deep rumble that emits from the engine, shakes her chassis and even now brings a smile to his face. That smile only grows when, out of curiously, he switches on the heat. He doesn’t need it of course - it’s a comfortably warm day - but the sound of the Legos rattling away in her vents is all he needed to hear. And when he cranes his neck around into the back seats, spotting the off-green army men figures crammed into the ashtray, he knows he’s going to have to wrap Jack up in a big old bear hug if ever shows his face around here.

Heaven wasn’t heaven because it was perfect. Neither was the Impala - her blemishes were what made her perfect in his eyes. His first beer with his dad wasn’t perfect because it was a masterpiece of brewing. Quite frankly it tasted like piss, but it was perfect because it was the first time he felt like his dad saw him as equal. As a man. A moment between father and son.

Those blemishes made heaven feel... real. More human. More like... the life you always wanted to live.

Maybe that’s why Jack had done it. Because Jack had experienced what it’s like to be one of them, to exist alongside humanity. He has rebuilt Heaven the way he thought humans deserved to have it.

And he made sure Cas was there to help, too.

Dean finally shuts off her ignition after pulling into a field off the side of the road. He pulls Baby into a small dirt side road that overlooked the growing crops, just taking a moment to watch the long green strands blowing peacefully in the gentle wind. The sun was still high in the sky, glinting off every shiny blade of grass nestled within the crops. The sky was that deep kind of blue where you could almost mistake it for the ocean. He wonders if Cas's eyes were Chuck's inspiration for the sky when he crafted it into existence.

“You gonna stay invisible back there the whole time Cas, or you gonna show yourself?”

Dean sees a flash of a tan trench-coat reflected in the rear-view mirror, blinking into existence with a rustle of wings that he’s not heard of in quite some time.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean lets himself smile again.

Dean doesn’t say anything at first. He swings the driver’s door open, stepping out and closing it gently behind him. When he gets to Baby’s trunk, the sight - or lack thereof - of no weapons is jarring. Instead, there's a cooler staring back at him. Perfect. He pulls two beers out from the cooler, holding both by the neck between his fingers as he closes the trunk with his free hand. He can still make out Cas's form sat in the back seat of the Impala as he walks back around her, hopping up on her hood and settling down.

The caps twist off easily, and they blink out of existence a few seconds after he chucks them down into the dirt. No littering in heaven, he supposed. He keeps one in his hand, the other he leaves resting next to him on the hood, a few beads of condensation slipping down the glass as the sun beats down on it. Dean takes a swig of his own beer, satisfied in the knowledge that drunk driving isn’t a thing he has to even consider anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before he hears the squeak of one of Baby’s door being opened. Only a few more after that until the hood dips down with an additional weight, the comforting presence of someone next to him. Dean keeps his gaze to the view in front of him as he picks the bottle next to him up, holding it out to the side. He feels the bottle slide out of his hands.

He takes another sip.

“How did you know I was there?” Cas is the first to break the silence. He’s not looking at Dean either just yet. Like Dean, his eyes are fixed on the field.

“I didn’t,” Dean’s honest with him. “Took a shot.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. It brings another smile to Dean’s face. They seemed to come easy here.

“What would you have done if I wasn’t there?” Cas asks, amusement clear in his voice.

Dean chuckles around the lip of the beer bottle. “Looked like an idiot talking to myself in Baby, I guess.”

Dean risks a glance over to Cas. He looks...well, like Cas. There’s a certain sense of peace to him now, though. He doesn’t look like he had been suffering in the Empty until Jack got him out. In fact, there’s a gentle smile on his face as he peers out into heaven.

“So, uh... I hear Jack fished you out of... y'know...”

“He did,” Cas confirms in a rumble. “The Empty wasn’t all too fond of letting me go, at first. But Jack argued that the work we could do together would help make things a lot quieter around... well, everywhere. The Empty likes the quiet.”

Dean nodded slowly; his head held low. “Cas, listen man... I hope you know I agonized over finding a way to get you out. I did. But all I could think about was how it would be another risk, y'know? Another entity to piss off, and... Christ, after... after what you did? Knowing you died for me? I didn’t wanna throw my life away and just... spit in the face of your sacrifice.”

Cas turns to him now, a frown etched across his features. “I never expected you to, Dean. I never wanted you to. I was the one who summoned the Empty, after all. I had accepted what had to be done. I was ready.”

“Yeah, well… doesn’t mean you deserved to go out that way, Cas,” Dean said miserably. “You deserved better than that.”

“And I got better,” Castiel assured him. “I… I wanted to return to you, first. But Jack needed my help, and when he told me his plan… I knew I would be of better use up here. Turning Heaven into a place you deserved to rest for eternity. The least of what you and your brother deserve.”

“You should be proud of yourself, Cas,” Dean tells him, the statement seemingly having taken Cas aback. “I’m proud of you. After everything you did, all that you’ve suffered… the second Jack yanks you out of that Hell, you come straight up here and get to work. For me, for Sam, for humanity… you deserve more, Cas. Hell, you deserve a damn break…”

Cas smiles softly down at the drink in his hand. “I’m not too sure what a break would even entail for me…”

“There a beach hidden somewhere in this place?” Dean asks, half-joking and half being dead serious. “Maybe we can finally go on that beach vacation, eh? Me, you and Sammy, swim trunks, sea, sun, and sand… or speedos – I don’t judge. Maybe we can even convince the kid to come down for it when Sammy gets up here?”

Cas’s smile grows even softer- if that’s even possible. “I think Jack might be busy for a while,” Castiel confesses. “But he’ll still be there, in a way-,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean cuts Castiel off with a roll of his eyes. “Coz he’s everywhere, right?”

“Well, he is.”

Dean grunts. “Yeah? Does that mean he was in the huge-ass nail that went through my back?”

The smile on Cas’s face waivers, eventually dropping from his face completely as the seconds tick by in silence. “That wasn’t the end I envisioned for you, Dean. You… you deserved to live the life you worked hard to secure.”

“Wasn’t the end I envisioned either, Cas. But it’s a risk me and Sammy took with every hunt we went on. I thought it’d be more… dramatic, you know? Maybe a little quicker. Shot to the head, knife to the throat, something like that… Man, I gotta tell ya’, dying slow? It sucks. Sure, gives you time to say what you want to say, but…” Dean’s voice catches, dropping his head down to his lap, picking absentmindedly at the corner of the golden label wrapped around his bottle. “I was scared, Cas. Couldn’t help it. I could feel it, feel it impaled in my heart, and… there’s something terrifying about knowing it’s comin’, but you can’t do anything about it. I just… I didn’t want to die alone, y’know? Sammy at least saved me from that…”

“Jack had to use his powers to restrain me.”

Dean’s head shoots up, whipping around to face Cas. He looked as tortured as his voice sounded. “Were you aware you were praying to me, Dean? Even… even though you thought I was dead, in that moment you were dying, you prayed to me… I could feel your panic. Your fear. Hear you calling out to me, your last desperate attempt… and I was going to go to you, without a second thought. I couldn’t stand to feel your pain like that, Dean.”

“I, uh… yeah, I know I prayed to you…” Dean found he couldn’t stand Cas’s gaze boring into him anymore, letting his gaze drop down to the ground. “Jack really stopped you?”

“He didn’t want to. He didn’t want this any more than me. But we both agreed that life should return back to the natural order of things. No more second chances, no more crossroad deals… The reapers are already having a tough time trying to readjust to all the changes that have happened recently, especially with how many The Empty disposed of when she was trying to get Billie’s attention… This way, Jack hopes that the Earth will become… more peaceful. Thankfully, Rowena has agreed to the terms in Hell. Crossroad deals are no more. The only souls headed to Hell are those that have been rightfully damned. And those that have lived a good life… they come up here.

“It made sense, at the time. I thought… well, I assumed we would have some time to rebuild Heaven more thoroughly, get everything done we wanted to achieve before you and your brother made your way up here. I had hoped for a good few decades at least… Then two Earth weeks later… I feel you dying.”

“Sorry for ruining your plans,” Dean delivers the line as deadpan as he possibly can. It gets a weird mix of a sigh and dry chuckle from Cas, so he guesses it’s mostly mission accomplished. “Seriously though, man? All this? This is a hell of an accomplishment in the time you and Jack had.”

“Thank you,” Cas said sincerely. “I’m just… I know it’s going to be hard for you, Dean. Waiting for Sam. Jack and I, we had… we had hoped you’d go together, peacefully, in your sleep.”

“I’ll be okay. Like Bobby said, he’ll be along eventually, right? I don’t want him up here too quick, y’know? He deserves that long, happy, human life. White picket fence and all that crap. But… shit, I know I ask too much of you already Cas, but… do you think you could just… check up on him every now and then? Make sure he’s doin’ alright… let him know I’m alright. If that ain't breaking Jack’s rules, of course…”

The corner of Cas’s lips twitched up just the slightest. “I think the rules can be… bent, for such an occasion.”

“Still the rebellious angel at heart, huh Cas?” Dean asked him with a grin.

“I have you to blame for that.”

“Thank. The word you’re looking for there is ‘Thank’, Cas. You have me to thank for that.”

“That I do, Dean Winchester. That I do.”

The silence they found themselves in was comfortable. Familiar. The beer in Dean’s hand was getting warmer, and while he knew he could cool it down again simply with a thought, he finds he rather prefers it this way.

“I can check on him now if you want,” Castiel offers after a few minutes had passed.

“What, like, now? You’re just gonna fly down there?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t need to. I can see him, from here, if I were to properly look.”

Something in Dean’s gut twisted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know of Sam’s state, knowing full well how much his brother would be grieving after his death.

“It’s a little soon, don’t you think? I… I don’t know if I could face seeing Sammy like that…”

“I think a part of Sam will always be grieving you, Dean. Whilst it true that time heals all wounds, those scars will still remain. But I think after these few years since, he’ll already be in a better place.”

“Whoa, wait, a few years?” Dean sputtered, nearly choking on the mouthful of beer in his mouth (even though he’s about ninety-nine percent sure he can’t choke in Heaven). “I haven’t been up here that long.”

“Time moves differently here, Dean. What feels like a few hours here translates to years passing back down on Earth.”

“Oh…” Dean is just about able to get out. He supposed the silver lining in that was that it really wouldn’t be long until he got to see Sammy again. “Uh, then, yeah. Sure, Cas - if you don’t mind doing that for me.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Castiel tells him moments before a wave of blankness washes across his face, eyes going dead in that ‘looking but not seeing’ way. Well, Dean knew he was looking in more ways than just looking.

When Cas seems to snap back into his own body, Dean is surprised to see the sheen of tears that appeared in his eyes and the quick, shocked little gasp he let out. Fear twisted inside Dean like a knife in his gut, waiting in tense anticipation for Cas to say something.

“Cas? Cas, what – Is Sammy okay?”

“He’s okay,” Cas is quick to assure him, and Dean feels the tension practically melt away from his body. “He’s more than okay, in fact.”

“Oh yeah? Kid finally scrap enough of his brains together and get his law degree?”

“I just watched Sam and Eileen welcome their son into the world.”

Dean’s heart freezes in his chest at the words. Tears spring into his eyes faster than he ever thought possible, the watery smile Cas was giving him only forcing the tears out faster.

“You serious? He – I’m an uncle?”

“You are,” Castiel’s confirmation make’s the realization sink in just a little more. “And as he cradled his son in his arms, I heard the name ‘Dean’ slip from his lips. Eileen was more than happy with the name.”

“Wow… what a cheesy dumbass,” Dean resolutely ignores the tear that escapes and slips down his face. “He’s gonna be a great Dad.”

“He will be.” Castiel agreed. “And I’m sure Sam will have many stories of Dean Jr. to share once he joins you here.”

“I’d say I can’t wait, but… you know what? I can. I can wait.” Castiel shoots him an inquisitive look. Dean grins brightly at him, bumping his shoulder into Cas’s. “I got my angel to keep me company. Sure, heaven ain't complete until I got Sammy, but Heaven wouldn’t be Heaven without you by my side, Cas.”

Castiel looks genuinely shocked by this statement, and it makes Dean’s heartache just a little. Damn… he really didn’t know, did he? But… but that didn’t make much sense… If he had heard the prayer, then…

“Cas… how much of my prayer did you hear?”

“I…” Cas paused, looking almost pained as he concentrated. “I… I suppose towards the end when Jack was restraining me, and when I… well, I suppose it’s possible I could no longer hear you through my… screams…”

“Your screams?” Dean blanched. “Was Jack hurting you?”

“No,” Cas spoke quietly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a physical pain, Dean…”

The realization makes Dean pale. “Oh… Jesus, Cas… I’m sorry for making you go through that… I know from experience it ain't fun watching someone you love die.”

Castiel freezes immediately. Dean isn’t even looking at Cas straight on, yet he can still sense Cas’s frame tensing up out of the corner of his eye. If he were more of an asshole, he’d probably laugh. Except, the conversation they’re about to have probably won’t be funny.

Probably…

“This would be a hell of a lot easier if you had heard my prayer… but then again, the point of it was that I regretted not being able to tell you in person.”

“I… I don’t understand?” Castiel is watching him warily, tiptoeing around him like prey that was about to spook. Dean understood why. He knows it’s easier to never put your hopes up, coz then that way it doesn’t hurt quite as much when they’re dashed quite so cruelly.

“When I was hanging on that nail… saying my goodbyes to Sammy, I was… I was fading damn quick, Cas. I suppose having a piece of metal shoved through your spine messes you up pretty bad, so… For a moment, I forgot… I forgot you were gone. I was looking around for you, man. I was trying to find you, coz… I never got to say goodbye. You got your goodbye, you know? You said a hell of a lot more than just goodbye, and… you deserved to hear so much more from me, more than just a goodbye, and I couldn’t even give you that.”

“Dean, it’s okay-,”

“No, Cas, it’s not,” Dean said firmly. “I couldn’t even think, let alone speak. It all felt… out of nowhere, y’know? I thought that that would be it, Billie would take both of us and that was our end, together. And then you… you were saying all this stuff about me, this… well, they were things I refused to believe about myself, until you made them some of your last words and then… it felt disrespectful to disagree after that…”

Cas ducks his head down with a breathy chuckle that surprises them both. Okay, maybe this conversation would be kinda funny.

“I wasn’t sure if you would take them to heart after,” Cas tells him. “I knew all I could do was… make sure you knew the way I saw you. Of the good man you truly are.”

“Even in your last moments… you were looking out for me,” Dean smiles weakly at Cas. “Guess mom was right, huh? I did have an angel watching over me.”

“Chuck had written our destinies. You were the righteous man, intended to bring about paradise on Earth under Michael’s command… And I was the angel intended to rescue you from Hell. To make sure you were ready for your fate.”

“And then I introduced you to free will and all Hell broke loose, huh?”

Cas hides his smile behind the bottle he brings to his lips. “Well, Chuck never intended for me to fall in love you with, that’s for sure. It was the only thing I truly knew was real…”

Dean bobs his head up and down as Cas’s words wash over him. He pauses, brows furrowing as he thinks back…

And then it hits him.

“We are…” Dean mumbles quietly under his breath. Cas glances over to him, cocking his head as he waits for Dean to elaborate.

“We’re… what?”

“We are… That’s what you said, wasn’t it? I asked what about our lives was real, and you said, ‘we are.’ Oh my God, you meant-,” Dean groans sharply, just barely resisting the urge to throw his head back against the windshield.

And then he laughs.

It wasn’t just a short, quick chuckle either. No, we’re talking full-on maniac laughing here. It starts off small and innocent enough, and then before he knows it he’s hunched over himself, an arm slung around his stomach and wheezing so hard he might just pass out from lack of oxygen. Cas at least had the decency to look concerned for his mental wellbeing for the first few seconds, shooting Dean a rather alarmed look as his laughter got louder and louder. Said laughter proved to be contagious however, and even through his mass confusion, Castiel found himself breaking out into deep rumbles of laughter, a peaceful warm lighted in his chest at the sound of Dean’s carefree laughter.

“How many signs did I miss?” Dean chokes out through his laughter. “How many years, Cas? How many ways did you find a way to tell me, to show me… and it wasn’t until you looked me dead in the eyes and said the words that I realized! Are we idiots? Are we both just dumbasses?”

This sets Cas off into a few more fits of laugher alongside him, beers long abandoned to avoid a classic spit take, resting haphazardly atop Baby’s hood between then.

“I thought the direct approach would be better this time. You know, with me dying and all.”

That’s not at all funny, but Dean doesn’t feel too bad about his ugly snorts when Cas was laughing about his own death, too.

“Christ, Cas… I love you so damn much, it’s not even funny.”

And apparently it wasn’t funny, because Cas stopped laughing pretty damn quick once he said that. His gaze was fixated on Dean’s still smiling face, eyes as wide as dinner plates as they scanned meticulously across Dean’s face, looking for any sign he was joking.

“You do?”

“Course I do, Cas. Only someone as stupid as me could fall in love with the one best friend in my life, and then be so terrified of messing up our friendship that I just… pretended those feelings weren’t there. Turn that love into a family type of love, coz… that was the kind of love I knew how to handle. But how could I not fall for you, Cas? I mean… it’s you.”

“You love… me? Me?”

“Yeah, Cas. You. I love you. I love the way you’re always trying to do the right thing. I love how you were willing to turn your back on your family, to help a couple of idiot brothers save humanity. I love how you became a part of our family. How much you loved the kid, and how you helped me to love him, too. I love how selfless you are, how much you give yourself to us, to me, even when you’ve gone through hell. I love how no matter what I did, you always came back home to me, even when I sure as hell didn’t deserve it. I love how you sneak glances at me when you think I’m not looking… or when you stare unabashedly into my eyes for much longer than is socially acceptable… I love you, you dorky, socially awkward, trench-coat clad angel. Because you’re you.”

Castiel stares blankly at him.

“You love me?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to be worried for Cas’s mental state. “Uh, you need a minute there, Cas? Listen, man - I get it. It takes some time to process something like this. Except, in my case, I kinda had to deal with the fact that you were dead on top of that, too. Well, I suppose I’m dead now too technically, but it’s not like I’m going to die again up here, so-,”

Castiel throws himself at Dean so fast that it sends the bottles of beer between them flying off the hood. Dean’s gasp of surprise is muffled by Cas’s mouth on his, brain short-circuiting as he very suddenly has a lap full of angel. Dean’s eyes flutter shut as he gives in to the addicting feel of Cas’s lips, sliding his fingers through Cas’s short strands of dark hair and giving it small sharp tugs that have Cas gasping into his mouth.

“Why-,” Cas pants into the space between them. “Did you wait until after you were dead to tell me this?”

Dean chuckles warmly, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Cas’s. “Technically I told you as I was dying. Same as you, so… kind of a hypocrite there, Cas.”

Cas huffs so hard that Dean can feel the exhaled puff of air wash across his face. Dean leans his head backward, another joke on the tip of his tongue when he freezes, mouth dropping open at the sight in front of him.

Wings. Huge, incredible, full wings.

“Cas… your wings,” Dean exclaims in disbelief, barely able to hold back from reaching out and giving the feathers a stroke.

They were… well, Dean doesn’t want to sound like a girl here, but ‘beautiful’ was the only word that came to mind. Sure, he’d seen the shadows of his wings back when they had first met, but it paled in comparison to truly seeing them. The feathers were a deep, ebony black, so dark it seemed like no light was being absorbed by them; the only exception being the sheen of bright colors reflecting off each individual feather, coming together to form a rainbow of colors that shone brightly as Heaven’s sunlight glinted off of them. It reminded Dean of… an oil spill. Those beautiful colors only revealed when exposed to the light of the sun.

“Hmm? Oh-,” Castiel glances back at the two massive appendages sprouting from his back, looking annoyed of all things at the sight of them. “Apologies, I only usually switch them over to this plane of existence when exerting my power… I think that, um… our interaction may have coaxed them out.”

“You saying this is the equivalent of an angel boner, Cas?” Dean jokes, getting an unimpressed look from Cas in response. “How’d you get them back? I thought you’d lost your wings?”

“Damaged, not lost.” Cas corrected him. “They were… they were in tatters after the fall. As were all the other angels cast down during the fall… It was the one gift Jack was able to bestow upon me once we had returned to heaven.”

“Aren’t my eyes supposed to be burning out of my sockets right now?” Dean asked cautiously, almost waiting for that exact thing to happen.

“No. Not now you’re in Heaven.”

“That’s good, coz… Holy crap, Cas – they’re gorgeous.” Dean asserted, torn between taking in every detail of Cas’s wings he can, or drinking in the bright red flush that spread across Cas’s face.

Cas shuffled back over to his side of the hood, and Dean found he immediately missed the warmth of Cas wrapped around him. “I’ve never been complimented on my wings before…”

“Never?” Dean found that hard to believe.

“Black wings are seen as an… omen. Most angels steered clear of me in Heaven, those under my command had to give me respect because of my position, but… they never truly respected me. It was mere formality than anything… And the, um… the sheen was found to be very distracting to others during flight.”

“Listen Cas, I know they’re your family and all, but they’re dumbasses. It’s their loss. Plain ol’ white fluffy wings are boring anyway. These? These are sleek, gorgeous… Just like Baby’s color,” Dean threw a wink in Cas’s direction, giving Baby a pat underneath them. “Black’s a good color on you, Cas. Don’t let them asshats tell you otherwise.”

“Thank you…” Castiel mumbled quietly, finding it quite hard to meet Dean’s gaze. “I never really took much notice of the other angel’s opinions, anyway… Yours is the only one I care about.”

“Don’t speak too soon, Cas. I’m gonna be gushing over your wings for eternity, so you might get sick of me pretty quick.”

Cas smiled tenderly. “Not possible.”

“You better be prepared for Sammy to nerd out over your wings, though. He’s gonna be asking you all about how they work.” Dean warmed him.

“I imagine Sam will have a lot of questions once he’s here.”

“Yeah, well – don’t be afraid to kick the kid out of our house when he gets a little too… y’know, Sam. We’ll let him mope with Eileen for a bit at the roadhouse until he remembers boundaries again.”

Cas went quiet for a bit, thinking over what he had just heard. “…Our house?”

Dean frowned at him, but there was an amused smile on his face, too. “Yeah, our house. You think I’m gonna mope around that place all by myself?”

“I… I assumed with Sam just down the road-,”

“Yeah, exactly, Sammy’s down the road. You can bet your ass I’m gonna be annoying the kid every day with unnecessary visits, but I still need my angel by my side.”

“Dean, I… I still have work to do, responsibilities to Heaven…”

“I get that, Cas. I do.” Dean assured him gently. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t come home at the end of every day, huh? Just like normal people do. Maybe take the weekends off, lazy Sundays with pancakes in bed?”

“…Heaven doesn’t have weekends. Or weekdays. Or days, really.”

“I’m trying to be cute here, Cas.”

“Oh…” Cas mumbled. “It’s… working?”

“C’mon, big picture here, Cas. We’ll do all the normal people stuff we missed out on. Maybe… God, it’s so cheesy, but uh… Date night, y’know? Watch some old movies together while we share a bowl of popcorn, I can whip up some of my world-famous burgers… maybe bake a pie?”

Cas’s smile grew warmer and warmer the more Dean spoke, ducking his head as Dean’s tone became more and more hopeful. “That… sounds nice.”

“And then… who knows where we go from there. But it’ll be our decision. Our story. And, y’know, maybe one day… maybe one day we’ll go door to door, Mom, and Dad, Bobby and Rufus, Ellen and Jo, and Ash, and Pamela, Charlie, and Kevin… and everyone else once they get here; Sammy and Eileen, Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex and Kaia, and then…”

“And then what?” Castiel inquires.

“And then they’ll see us finally get our shit together,” Dean answered with a grin. “And we’ll wave to them every morning with golden bands on our fingers.”

“…and you’re sure you want that with me?”

“When I said I need you? It’s because I need you. When I told you I loved you? It’s because I love you. So yeah, Cas. I wanna spend eternity with you.”

Castiel’s answering smile was as bright as the sun above them. “I’d like that, Dean Winchester.”

“Then I look forward to eternity with you, Castiel Winchester,” Dean places his hand over Cas’s, intertwining their fingers and giving it a tender squeeze. “Now come on - Sammy’s gonna be pissed if I’m not there for his welcoming party.”

#Destiel #destiel fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #destiel fic #castiel/dean winchester #CasDean #Dean Winchester/Castiel #fix it #fix it fic #fluff #the happiest ending I could think of that's still canon to the finale

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unstoppableforcce · 4 years

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the fight — part one

pairing: Poe Dameron x CMO! reader

how wonderful 1 2 3 4 5 | next part | masterlist

a/n: a short little series that I’ve had written for a while and will be posting in place of my regular posting this week bc of finals. as we all know, I love my how wonderful babies!!

“She’s not going to like it.”

As if he needed someone to tell him that. Especially, he glanced to his side to find the head of engineering, especially from people who had absolutely no business in his relationship. He scoffed louder than he intended to, just in case he didn’t already know he was overstepping, making sure to collide his shoulder with his as he moved around him.

“I mean you heard how she argued against the mission in the last strategy session—“

Poe kept walking, hoping he could avoid the conversation if he moved fast enough but clearly there was more vested determination in the boots of those who wanted in on his relationship than he anticipated as the head of engineering continued out of the council room right on his heels.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re right. Your girlfriend is just going to have to accept that—“

He stopped in his attempted escape, turning on his heel and placing his hands on his hips, stubbornly blocking the engineering head from following any closer. “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s the chief medical officer and whatever your problem is, I have no idea why you’re talking to me about it.”

The man scoffed, using the few inches he had on Poe to try his hand at intimidation, “she sleeps in your room, Dameron, the two of you aren’t fooling anyone—“

It didn’t work. “This conversation is over—“

“Good luck telling her about the mission you just approved.”

Poe considered punching him right there and then, but he glanced to his watch and saw he only had a few hours left before the mission was going to take place, until he needed to be in his X wing flying the mission. He couldn’t waste his time trying to mediate with someone he didn’t owe an explanation to, he needed to find you, even if that someone was right.

‘Not going to like it’ was the favorable reaction from you, something else was much more likely.

He continued down the hall into the greater command center and grabbed the first communications officer he could find and asked them to find out where you were.

“She just checked out of the med bay, I can check down at the mess for her or—“

“No, that’s okay, thank you.” He nodded, he knew you where you were if not in the med bay, and he headed there quickly.

But once he got the door, he hesitated. It was the door to his own room, and he was stuck outside of it, unable to type in his code as the sentiment of the previous meeting lingered in his mind. All morning the council had been locked in strategy meetings, trying to figure out what the best way was to do something that no one in the entire resistance wanted to do.

Intelligence said there was a First Order hold out on a moon on the other side of the galaxy. Intelligence said it had weapons, it had food supplies, and it had medical supplies, all the things a dwindling resistance desperately needed, but the intelligence was shaky at best and the resistance wasn’t in good enough shape for such a leap of faith like this.

The strategy meetings had two very distinct sides, Leia’s direct decision council split perfectly down the middle of the conference table. Half arguing that maintaining their current course was going to get them obliterated by the First Order, they needed supplies and they needed them now if they wanted any hope of keeping themselves alive to even see the next battle. Poe was unsurprisingly on that side. But the other side, not necessarily spearheaded by you, still had you arguing a little bit louder than the rest of the side. That side, your side, arguing that risking lives at this very vulnerable point for the resistance was idiotic at best, negligent at worst.

It only got worse when the argument was made that if a mission was happening, there would need to be medical staff on the mission to help figure out what supplies on this fantastical base were needed back home and which weren’t. That wasn’t where your issue was though, your issue was when they told you it couldn’t be you.

When he told you it couldn’t be you...

He typed in the code quickly, sliding the door open and stepping in to hear the sound of the shower running in the refresher off to the side, your clothes strewn around the floor of the room like you had stripped them off the second you got through the door. It was tempting to do the same, but he managed to just pull off his jacket, sling it over the back of the chair and move, still clothed, to the refresher.

Sliding open that door, he settled on the sink, considering speaking up to let you know he was there, but he was also pretty sure you already knew.

The sound of the water shutting off almost as soon as he entered was signal enough for that.

“Pass me my towel?” You asked, sticking your hand over the door and he quickly complied, grabbing it off the rack and passing it to you, allowing the silence to flood over the two of you easily as you dried yourself off, still separated by the shower door.

Your hair was stuck damp to your head, clinging to your skin as you stepped out, releasing a wave of steam alongside you, flooding the small room and fogging up the mirror behind him immediately. His stare traced down in tandem with the beads of water running down your face and arms, but eventually diverted away entirely, falling to the floor at your feet.

“The council decided?” You asked, reaching past him for your moisturizing cream and rubbing your hands together with it as you stood directly in front of him in the cramped space, towel wrapped tight around your body.

All he could do was nod until he settled his breath and raised his stare to meet yours, “we leave in a few hours.”

“Taking Rep for medical?” He nodded again and you released a sigh with more heat than the steam that still hung around in the small room. “This is a mistake.”

“You made that clear earlier.”

Now it was your turn to scoff, echoing your distaste around the room, “yeah, and then I got pulled out and a decision got made without me—“

“It would’ve been the same decision if you had been there, Ify and Ain switched sides once you left.”

You scoffed again, reaching past him to slide open the door but he caught your arm and held you in place in front of him. And you let him, sticking your face right in his, “I should be going.”

“You can’t—“

“But you can—“

“It’s different and you know it’s different—“

Moving out of his grip, you emerged back onto the main room and he quickly followed, moving to the bed while you moved to the drawers for fresh clothes. He wasn’t necessarily watching you get dressed just for the kriff of it, he was just waiting for you to fight back and so far, you were just pulling on your pants as if you hadn’t just raised you voice to him.

“Babe—“

You held up a hand, telling him no without so much as looking him way as you dug your hand into the drawer, reaching for a uniform shirt and pulling it on over your head. So he did as he was told, and he waited until you were dressed and turned back to him.

“Tell me you didn’t say no because of this,” you gestured between the two of you, taking a step up to him as he reluctantly stood from the bed.

“Because of us?” He had to stop himself from scoffing directly in your face.

“Tell me it’s not because of us—“

“It’s not.” He argued back, “tell me you know it’s not, you know that I would never make work about us—“

“Then tell me why I have to send my second in command in my place?” You took another step forward, pushing your finger into his chest and definitely pulling a scoff from his lips this time around.

“Because you’re important.” He threw his hands up from his sides, chuckling directly into your face, “because you’re chief medical officer and your second isn’t you.”

“You’re Commander Poe Dameron, head of all pilots, you’re not exactly replaceable but you get to lead the mission and I get benched—“ the sarcasm weaved it’s way into your tone and you made no attempt to stop it.

He couldn’t exactly say he minded however, he was shooting back just as aggressively. “You don’t want us going on the mission anyways—“

“Yeah because it’s a suicide mission—“

“One you’re so eager to be on even if—“

“You’re going to get yourself killed—“

“I’m a good pilot—“

“You’re one of our only pilots, we have dwindling forces—“

“And overworked medical staff—“

Your communicator beeped on the desk behind you and you both stopped your aggressive argument and pulled back. Your hands moved to brush you damp hair back away from your face and his hands went to do the exact same with his as he tried to get his breath back.

Grabbing the communicator, you read the message and let another exhausted sigh take over your body as you sat back on the desk and he sat back on the bed across from you, neither of you wanting to break the silence yet again.

The worst part was that you were probably right, he was 90% sure that leading the mission was the right thing for him to do, but he was also pretty sure you were right to be so cautious and he could never call you wrong when you were practically begging for your life to be the one on the line instead of your second... it was complicated, it was all too complicated. And he hated shouting at you, he hated arguing with you, he hated being on the opposite side of.

He wanted to be next you you.

“There’s a problem in surgery, they need me back.” You set your communicator down and grabbed a tie to throw your hair up and away from your face.

“Okay.” He nodded, rubbing over his mouth and huffing out a breath.

“How long until you leave?”

He glanced back to his watch, “a little over three hours, I need to get out to the hanger and begin pre-flight.”

You nodded, snapping the communicator onto your belt and stepping back into your boots. He watched you carefully as you did, trying to think of something to say, some way to not leave it like this but he had nothing and you could see that as you turned back to face him, your hands on your hips.

“Will you come and find me before you leave?” You asked with barely a breath above a whisper, rubbing over your eyes again.

He nodded, getting up and walking the few steps towards you, reaching out for you hand. “You’ll be in surgery?”

“I don’t know, maybe, they can pull me out if I am—“

“Yeah.”

Even as the heat boiled between the two of you, you stepped through it and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “come find me.”

He gave one last nod and you moved towards the door, but not before he could reach out and stop you one more time, his hand, rough callouses and all, catching yours and holding you in the threshold. His eyes searched yours for something, he wasn’t even sure what, but he held your stare anyways.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.” He sighed. “I don’t like this.”

“We’re both on the council, it was bound to happen at some point...”

“I know.” He just didn’t think it would happen like this, he thought it would be a fight, one of you would win and that would be that. He didn’t think he��d be leaving on a mission that you didn’t want to happen in the first place or a mission that you wanted to be on just to make sure no one else was there instead... he wanted it to be easy. He had no reason to ever think it would be in the time of war, but he didn’t like this.

He pressed a real kiss to your lips as you hesitated in front of him and lingered with his nose pressed to yours as neither of you wanted to move.

“We couldn’t send you, you know that...”

“I don’t want anyone to go at all...”

He nodded against you and you pressed another kiss to his lips before pulling back and opening the door.

“Come find me.”

“Yeah.”

He wanted to be mad, but all he felt was pain, a burning pain in his heart as he watched you heard down the hall and checked his watch again.

Three hours.

#star wars #star wars imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #angst #poe x reader #how wonderful series #cmo reader

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

chapter 34.5

When My Phone Turns Off

Doesn’t really go with chapter 34, but it happens before chapter 35, which will be posted soon! I couldn’t go without one last little piece. I hope you enjoy :’) (and again, sorry for any mistakes!) ❤️

Lucas wakes up on his back, which is the first odd thing he notices. The second is that there’s a weight on his chest, hovering over his body. The third is the mouth on his neck, slowly moving towards his chest. He sinks into the bed with a sigh, curling his hand in Jens’s hair. He feels Jens smile against his skin before his lips move back up to his jaw, trailing over his cheek, leaving a soft peck on his lips. “Morning,” he greets, voice still sleep husky, gravelly, as he nuzzles into Lucas’s neck.

Lucas blinks his eyes open and gazes up at him, smiling. “Morning. You’re awake before me.”

Jens kisses his nose before settling down atop his chest, cheek pressed to his skin as he wraps his arms around Lucas’s waist. “Yeah, that was always possible. I guess I was more interested in seeing you than sleeping.”

“That must be it,” Lucas hums, wrapping his arms around him in return, keeping him in place and ignoring the fact that the weight is a bit much. Today he plans to keep Jens as close as he can for as long as possible. “Do you have to go home today?”

“Well, no,” Jens says slowly. “Technically I don’t have to. But I think my parents would probably kill me if I don’t show up to school tomorrow and I can’t blame Robbe.”

Lucas groans, pressing his face to the top of Jens’s head. “This sucks.”

Jens squeezes his waist. “I know. But it won’t be like this forever.”

Lucas smiles. “You going to move in with me?”

Jens props his chin on his chest, trailing his hand down his side. He’s already gotten used to waking up to this sight, to this feeling. He doesn’t know how he’ll sleep without Jens’s warmth next to him. He wants to wake up to this every morning, without the building anxiety of knowing he’ll have to let it go soon. “Would you want me to?” Jens asks.

Lucas raises a brow. “What kind of stupid question is that? Having breakfast and dinner with you everyday, watching movies on the couch, kissing you whenever I want, having you in my bed every night…”

“Sounds perfect,” Jens agrees. He shimmies up to rest his head on the pillow next to Lucas’s, nosing at his cheek. “Maybe I’ll just have to do that.”

Lucas twists onto his side to look at him. “Do you think you’d do that? Move out of Antwerp.”

Jens shrugs. “Yeah, I think I would. Especially if it meant being with you.”

“Even if it meant having to travel to see your friends instead?”

“Even then. I spend more time texting you and wishing I could see you than hanging out with them as it is. I’d actually probably interact with them more if I had to miss them a little. If I didn’t have to think about missing you all the time.” Jens pokes his stomach. “What about you? Would you move to Antwerp?”

“In a heartbeat,” Lucas says honestly. Then he can’t help but add, “I’m not sure how your parents would feel about taking me in, though.”

Jens pokes his stomach again and makes a face at him, unimpressed. “We could go somewhere in between. So neither of us have to travel as much.”

Lucas thinks about it. Living with Jens. Having their own place. Coming home to him every day, not having to wonder when he’ll see him next, not having to feel that constant tightness in his chest caused by distance, not having to scroll through his Instagram for the millionth time late at night just to see him. He can’t believe Jens is talking about it with him and doesn’t sound like he’s joking. He’s casual and serious. As chill as ever, talking about making long term plans with Lucas. “Look at you, coming up with a compromise.”

“Well, we’ve always known I was the smart one,” he grins.

Lucas pushes his face away and flops onto his back again, laughing. “Fuck you.”

“If you want,” Jens says, cheeky, attaching his lips to his neck once more and sliding an arm over his waist.

“I’m beginning to think you have a neck fetish,” Lucas says, even as he turns his head to give him more space. He’s managed to stop him from leaving a mark so far, but if he keeps doing what he’s doing, Lucas knows that isn’t going to last.

Jens cups his cheek, drawing his head around to kiss him. “You’re the one who likes it. Maybe it’s you.”

“I happen to know you’re not particularly against it either.” Lucas runs his thumb over Jens’s pulse point for emphasis, smiling when it jumps under the touch. Jens takes a heavy breath and in one swift movement, Lucas is hovering over him, legs straddling his waist. He kisses his chin and smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi. What are you planning?” Lucas just grins, sliding his hands over Jens’s chest and leaning down to kiss him. Jens’s hands move over his back, pulling him against him, as Lucas toys with his waistband—

—and the door bangs open, Kes and Jayden’s loud voices filling the space and startling Lucas off of Jens. Jens rubs a hand over his face as Lucas pulls the duvet up to his neck, glaring at the idiots still stood in the doorway. Kes is biting back a smile and politely averting his gaze while Jayden smirks, raising his brows suggestively. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but we made breakfast so get your asses up.”

Lucas raises a brow as Jens furrows his. “You made breakfast?” Lucas asks. “What, are you trying to poison him before he leaves?”

“We’ve already tried it and we haven’t died,” Kes defends. “You need the energy so you can go back to your...activities.”

Jayden steps into the room and grabs Lucas’s foot, dragging him towards the end of the bed. Lucas latches on to Jens to keep himself in place and whacks Jayden with his pillow until he lets go. “Stop,” he pleads, trying not to laugh as Jens pulls him back up against his chest. “Get out. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Jayden tosses the pillow at them from where Lucas had dropped it at the end of the bed and bounds out of the room, pleased with himself. Kes points a finger at them as he steps into the hallway. “Ten minutes and we’ll be back. No time for funny business.” Jens and Lucas both flip him off as he winks and closes the door.

Lucas immediately turns towards Jens, cuddling into his chest with a groan. “I hate them.”

“They just wanna get the full share of their last day with me,” Jens argues. “They’re sweet. But I might have to kill them later.”

Lucas laughs and settles in for another round of kisses before they drag themselves out of bed.

~^~

Later in the day, when they’re all gathered in the living room and messing around, Kes pulls Jens aside. Lucas notices—of course he does—but simply gives them a nod. Jens follows Kes into the hallway and leans against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I take it this isn’t for a heartfelt goodbye,” Jens raises a brow.

Kes huffs a laugh. “No. I like you, man, don’t worry. It’s just...Lucas doesn’t have anyone else to do this for him. I mean, Jayden of course, and Liv and Ralph are great. But Luc and I have always been like family. I’m sure you already know he’s had a rough time of it lately.”

Jens nods. “He’s been more open the couple of times we’ve been together. I get the impression he doesn’t like talking about it much. But he does talk to me.”

At that, some of the tension seems to seep out of Kes. “Okay. That’s good. I know he’s kinda given you a hard time, too. He fucked up, even I told him that. But no one was more pissed at him for it than himself. He told us, a while before. He was already so gone for you, man. He didn’t wanna tell you because he was so scared you’d hate him. I know he’s already explained everything, but in case you still needed proof...Jayden and I were there. Luc, he’s the best person I know, and I’ve always hated seeing him have a hard time of it. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you, and I need to know you’re as serious as he is.”

“I’m completely serious,” Jens answers. “Things were shitty for a while, but I missed him more than I was ever mad at him. No one makes me happier than Luc. I love him too. I’m gonna do my best not to fuck it up. I promise.”

Kes sighs in relief. “I know you don’t need to, but it makes me feel better. It’s good to know he has someone else planning on taking care of him.”

Jens squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll try my best.”

“I’ll try my best to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up again. And that Jayden doesn’t scare you off.” Jens laughs. “You’re good for him, Jens. Really.”

“Thanks,” Jens grins. “Glad I have your approval.”

Kes slaps his back then reaches up to hook an arm around his neck, dragging him back into the room.

~^~

Lucas watches Jayden toss himself at Jens, arms flinging around his shoulders and clinging to his coat, and huffs a laugh. Jens only smiles, hugging him back tightly and ruffling his hair when they part. Lucas is a little surprised when Kes goes for a hug too, and finds himself a little amused that Jens has more inches on him than he realised.

They decide to wait outside while Lucas heads into the station with Jens, which they’re both grateful for. They find an emptier area off to the side and Jens turns to him, only to immediately be engulfed in a hug.

This is the hardest part.

It had almost killed Lucas to tear himself away from Jens last week, even with the other’s comforting kisses and reassurance. It feels worse, this time. He feels like he misses Jens already, even while holding him.

Jens kisses the top of his head and Lucas finds himself saying, “Would you really want to live with me?”

He tightens his hold when Jens pulls away, not really wanting the other boy to see his expression, to realise how much Lucas needs a good answer to this question. “I’d really love to live with you,” Jens says softly. “It’s part of my long term plan. I can’t see how it would work right now but...someday. I just need you to stay with me until then.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lucas squeezes him. He pulls his head back, tilts it up to look at him. “That kind of goes against our day by day deal, though.”

Jens shrugs, pursing his lips. “Sometimes a day is too much, and that doesn’t work. Even a minute can feel like forever if it’s a shitty one. So those times you can just remember...someday.”

Lucas smiles. “Sometimes I don’t know where these bits of wisdom come from.”

“It’s all the weed.”

Lucas laughs. “These are your high thoughts, then?” Jens nods, smirking. “That makes more sense.”

“Thanks,” Jens rolls his eyes. He rests his forehead against Lucas’s and says, “I mean it, though. Someday.” Lucas closes his eyes and nods, tucking his head into Jens’s shoulder one last time. “I love you.”

Lucas smiles, feeling the tightness is his chest ease. “I love you, too. Everyday.”

Jens laughs, then pulls him into a goodbye kiss. “Everyday,” he agrees.

#van der stoffels #vds #jens x lucas #wtfock #skam nl #when my phone turns off #wmpto

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anyu-blue · 3 years

Text

Hey I'm rambling about stuff in my own head again. Trigger warnings apply- specifically those dealing with therapy, dysphoria, self harm, relationships, and stuff like that. :T

I don't really understand it... For quite a while there I was fine. Content even to just let things slide. I think it was because I felt secure where I was (with Lon) and blocked out a lot that doing therapy has brought screaming to the front of my mind... But I could be wrong and I feel confused and conflicted again.

At one point (before Lon) I had settled down when my previous therapist basically gave me permission to call myself androgynous. She told me it was okay- if that's what I felt, then I could use it.... I felt very relieved and much less ruffled. There was still a nag in the back of my head, but it was quiet enough I buried it... For the most part...

Getting with Lon brought quite a few forward and I insisted he understand I am/was not a girl. He also seemed content and sweet and more than accepting... Until he wasn't.. looking back.. Lon said a LOT of weird or off things he either never came through with or downright switched on.. especially near the end. EVERYONE in his family and friend group assumed and pushed the 'girl' thing... And that nag got a little louder..I pushed back (gently) reminding Lon with little things here and there that I wasn't... But still 'she' and overwhelming compliments on my feminity buried me under them. In the end... I know it was driving me crazy (literally) and probably Contributed more to the mess than I understood at the time.

But it also wasn't a push even.. just the assumption.. I believe that because right now my hackles are raised so high every time someone says 'she' to or about me I BRISTLE. I want to yell or (depending on who it is) quietly tell whomever is doing it to stop.. tell them they're wrong... Most aren't doing it maliciously, I know.. it's just what they see. I feel pressured or pushed. It's really weird and extremely uncomfortable. It's confusing too because.. I don't know... I can't see how they don't see me as different than 'girl'... Or heaven forbid 'WOMAN.'

*shudders*

My therapist and I are exploring the feelings around when these things are said to me... And she's proposed doing something about my anger and frustration like squeezing Something or something or just outright accepting it... Basically ANYTHING other than telling people my business... But the problem is, I've told her... I want to BREAK things.. I mean I don't... But I feel the urge to. To hit. To yell. To scream. To cry. To crush. To run. But I don't. In some ways I can't.... Squeezing Something when I'm angry hurts me. My grip is incredibly weak (always has been no matter what I've tried) and everything pops painfully. Or it pinches my skin and hurts... So I've developed a reflex to do the opposite of squeeze or hit things (which certainly hasn't helped the weakness issue lol)... And even if I do try to do those things.... It's never enough. I can't go and go and go like I want to. It just makes me madder. More frustrated. It's never satisfying or as releasing as People tell me it should feel. I just want more. And more and more and more. And in the end I'm usually left a sobbing mess that's completely spent, but still so mad and frustrated... Feeling those feelings even more. Sure I'm tired enough to pass out.. but I wake up.. and everything is still there.. usually coupled with depression because it's STILL THERE... And I couldn't get it out. I don't feel better or lighter or more free.. I feel heavier.. sadder... Worse. I used all that energy and nothing came of it.

And I don't understand!! I really don't. Why I'm never satisfied... Why I've always always been so angry... I was told I was an extremely cruel child.. I remember a little too.. I always wanted to act, but was pushed down.. and even when I did, it never felt good or like it was enough.. I swear I could tear an entire house down by myself with nothing but my own two hands and I STILL would want to do more.

...

And I'm feeling all of these things with gender...

Tevs said to me she thinks I 'want to be a boy because our mother always wanted a boy and [I] always wanted her approval.' ... I can't deny that MAYBE it had an influence on me. MAYBE...

But... I don't WANT that witch's approval anymore. I don't care about her distain either. I don't want her ANYWHERE NEAR my life, it's MINE not hers.. and I'm really pissed off no one can seem to take the damn hint I am 110% DONE with her and anything to do with her. She HAS a son to raise now. And a loving husband who had her adopt him. And good friends and whatever else she has in her life. I am OUT of it. And I want to be out of it forever.

.. it feels demeaning when Tevs says that it's all from that to me.. she's done it more than once, and of course I'm upset by it every time.

... I just want to be me... And every time someone looks at me and tells me I am beautiful.. or pretty.. or a wonderful woman... I just want to cry... To go hide.. I feel so ashamed.

...

Here's the thing.. I AM attractive. I AM beautiful, hot, resilient, kind... Just about everything you'd associate a woman with... I was walking to another area in my workplace just tonight and caught a glimpse of myself as I did so in our big windows... The way I walk. My silhouette. Everything about me... Is envious.

I'm not saying these things because I'm vain.. I'm saying them because if I compare my body and gait and everything to the People alongside me- even the guests I see coming in- I can see it as clearly as everyone else who tells me I'm this pretty thing does... I'm not sickeningly skinny and I'm not fat. I'm not super tall nor short. I'm right in the middle with an ass and legs People tell me they'd kill to have... If I were to wear proper bras, I have a chest they'd love too- not too heavy and not unnoticeably small... But I wear ones that squish my chest so it looks like I have less (and that might be why I have such glaring problems with my ribcage sliding out of place all the time. I'm crushing everything XP).. take a guess as to why I started doing that...

I can't hide my hips... Nor my legs... I've got cute feet too. And hands... So dainty and fine- just enough bone and plump in the right places... It's no wonder I am the envy of my poor (adopted) cousin desperate to be a model and a star.. poor girl. She's beautiful in her own right, but her genes have made it so hard for her to fully dive into her confidence... My dad told me we are rivals and have always been... And my heart breaks for her because I'm not even trying... I want her to succeed!! To be the one in the spotlight!! I want to stay in the background so she can shine... But I always get pulled forward and somehow she's in my shadow (despite being taller than me).. and she can't stand to be near me.. even when I am trying my hardest to let her lead or to say things kindly or in her favor.. I can't seem to win... So I don't really have a relationship with her at all.. Though I really wanted to.

When I don't hide.. when I do 'dress up'... There's so many compliments. If I run into ANYONE from school when I do... *Gags* the compliments, disbelief, and shock... I remember EVERY prom... People not knowing who I was... Or being shocked if they did recognize me straight out. All 4 years... And it made the ostracization worse. My class was AFRAID of me. I was this shy/frumpy (also angry) little thing.. but I still remember being stared at changing after gym whenever there wasn't a stall for me to hide in.. I personally at the time thought it was because I was so ugly/fat they couldn't help themselves... Going through everything in therapy.. I realize it was because I was so skinny under all my baggy clothes.. and really pretty under the acne/hood/ugly glasses. I wasn't bullied just because I was smart/loved to learn... I was a threat and didn't even know it. The envy of my peers. And it's so sad.

I did wish to be like them.. so confident. So able to fake it. To do my makeup and wear cute things and to feel right somehow... But I never did. I tried.. but couldn't stand the clothes.. or the comments about my ass... Or all the things they focused on whenever I came close to succeeding. I couldn't seem to get it right. I just wanted to hide whenever I stood out... It never felt right.

It got to the point I was AFRAID to wear dresses and skirts. Terrified. Everything felt wrong with the world when I did. I felt like I was faking Something. Like I was purposefully being awful... Lying..

I wear some now because I was cheered up by the idea of genderqueer people and some men finding comfort in wearing them and in some ways them becoming more acceptable by all genders... Plus they're reeeally comfy sometimes. And it's nice to just be able to throw on a dress with built in pads during the summer heat wave than to worry about all those damn layers XP ... And I recognize that no one is going to question me or think I'm lying when I wear any... They don't see what I have in my head.

I do recognize that some of this stuff has trauma tied to it... And I'm confused because I don't know where the trauma ends and I (my own genuine thoughts) begin... I was not treated kindly at home- even outright being called ugly in a derogatory manner.. granted I now know those comments mostly came from a pedophile disinterested in me and the pedophile's own manipulation of my mother and her family's opinions (gaslighting and twisting to where I really was the horrible child in all ways) AND I know that I am not neurotypical which caused some other unfortunate treatments in and around my home.

I don't know where to go with it... Or why I'm so viscously against being called a girl or a woman. Why it's setting me off so bad right now. I just know that it is... And for some reason every time I'm alone or not really thinking of it... I don't think of myself as one. Not at all. And when I'm reminded.. I'm often startled by it and confused and need to process the information for a second... Despite 'being' one for all of my life... I've continually had the problem I don't expect what I see in the mirror either.. especially since puberty.

If I could show you what I think/feel most of the time... I think this would be the closest I could get- just make the chest straighter/flatter... It bugged me to no end to add that detail in and still does to this day, but I was going off the model (me lol). I don't feel like Anything... But I want to be something.. and that Something is... Not this. Not this...

But where do I go? What do I do?

I'm terrified of surgeries... I don't want massive scars (not that I mind scars- in fact I LOVE them. They're so cool!! But I don't want people to KNOW you know? Not that. Not Something that is such a private matter... I don't want to believe or go after something for it to be wrong too... And I don't feel I can afford any of it anyway 😞 even if I did want to try or actually found the right one... I would be so depressed to never be able to reach my goal.. and I feel I've held myself back due to that fear too...

I know another reason I haven't tried anything or spoken up or anything is because I have this strange desire to pass on my genetic legacy. It is such a powerful urge I am TERRIFIED of losing the ability... People tell me about adoption all the time as a great option, and it IS a great option for the children... Because I would do ANYTHING for my own... But it's this terrible terrible feeling I wouldn't feel I could claim them as my own and it would leave something still empty inside of me and I wouldn't be as loving because of it and that kills me... It sounds terrible too!!

I would do almost anything to have my own child... When it comes to pain tolerance or body changes I know I would have the hardest time than most if I were to get knocked up.. but I have that thought that it would be worth it because they are MINE.

I've thought about egg donation.. because I feel it would make me feel better to know I succeeded in passing on the line to someone better off and worthy of having children... But I feel I have too many genetic issues or would be an undesirable candidate or I'd feel terrible if the child died and then I didn't succeed...

Lol I think of things oddly... And that makes me think I don't deserve to have children or donate too... Never mind the actual process XP boy... Complicated~

So I've never tried... I am also quite poor and know I would struggle to raise a child. Even just one. And if I were to have twins (as I'm the generation that is supposed to)... I have even more worries... And I don't want a child or children to grow up with the struggles I had or worse than I had like they likely would if I just went for it.

...

I knew I felt more sure when I was with Lon because he apparently wanted/wants kids too... And it was in the plan (Maybe. Maybe not. It's possible he was the one messing with my medication alarms and trying, but also possible he just wanted sex... Because he told me before he left that he thought he was infertile for a long time (and there's some pretty strong evidence to suggest he's got weak swimmers lol but I'm not going to divulge what that stuff is) so it may have been a lie all along... But I didn't know and felt assured and safe with that path at the time)...

*sigh*

Idk what to do... I know I'm messed up about it all.. and I know my knee jerks and feelings... But I don't exactly trust myself or my memory or my reasons... I am only human... And I feel so lost.

I know what I envy... Very much.. and what I would choose if I could... But... Life just doesn't work that way... And science is so stunted it likely won't in my lifetime.

*snort*

I feel the worst thing that my dad ever said to me was when I told him and his wife that I wasn't a girl... I don't remember if I told them I was neither or would prefer to be a guy... But I do remember my dad's response... He told me 'go ahead and you do you, but I want you to know that no matter what, you're always going to be my little girl. I just can't think of you any other way, because you are. You're my little girl.'

And I just... It struck me so badly (obviously, I still think about it)... And made my heart so heavy. I... Understand... To the extent I can... And I don't want to... Lose him because I can't accept that... But.. I feel like it's only pushed me to lose myself... To.. just stay. Take the 'easy' route. To 'accept' it (except we can see how well THAT'S going).

*sigh*

I don't know...

The only thing I do know right now is I have this fantasy about... Going away for a while. More or less disappearing for 5 to 10 years... And coming back... How I want to be/see myself... And seeing what everyone would think...

Tevs thinks I only want it because of trauma. Dad thinks I'm always going to be his daughter. Everyone else is so sure I am a woman...

And maybe they're right... (I mean TECHNICALLY lol I can't exactly argue with that 😂)... And I would be trying to let my 'good looks' and all that 'go to waste'...

...

If I could trade someone... 100%... I would. I'm a pretty/beautiful/attractive looking body... (My face is debatable lol but whatever)... I wonder how come am I not happy about it...

#personal #random #ignore me #life in general #trigger warnings apply

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bexterbex · 4 years

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Masking the Heart | Ch. 6

A new galactic war was forming, and your star system needed to create an alliance. Your father, the king, made a deal with the First Order in a promise of protection for guaranteed trade. You are arranged to marry the Commander Kylo Ren, apprentice of the Supreme Leader. A man who is hidden behind his mask. Will your husband show you his heart? Or will it be forever hidden behind a mask?

No tag lists | Masterlist

*Note: The author of this work does not condone arranged marriage practices, domestic abuse, or non-con sexual encounters, this work is for fictional uses only.*

Chapter 6

You concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, but you finally managed to reach them. As you came up behind them Kylo violently whipped around to look at you, startling you, and causing you to falter. He then quickly turned back to face the Supreme Leader and you could see Hux assessing you and your condition. You supposed your condition was drastically different from what you looked like about an hour before.

You knelt down before the Supreme Leader, Kylo was standing to your right and the General to your left. You kept your head low as you could feel the holo projection of Snoke assessing you.

“Princess, I am glad to see that you could join us.” His voice was like the hiss of a snake, ground in gravel.

You braved to look up at him, “You requested my presence, who am I to deny that?” You were groveling, but you knew you needed his approval to do anything. Even if he terrified you to your core.

He sat back like a lion cornering its prey. “Yes, I did. I am under the impression that you have been asked by General Hux to be a face for the First Order and that your husband seemed to have a violent outburst because of this. Is this correct?”

You held your tongue, weighing your options. Did he already know the truth? Did he have the ability to read minds like others who have been able to use the Force? He was your husband’s master, his teacher, surely he was more powerful than him.

“Is this correct, Princess?” You could see in his eyes that it wasn’t so much a question as he just wanted you to confirm it. He already knew the truth, and that this was a test.

You could feel Kylo’s gaze burn into you as you barely managed to say, “Yes.” You shut your eyes, expecting your husband to land a blow at your admission. He has yet to hit you, but you still close your eyes in fear, expecting him to strike you.

“I see. May I ask why you were in this state when Lieutenant Mitaka was sent to get you? The Commander had been in my presence for 40 minutes before I gave the order to retrieve you. Why are you in this state?” You could see the long boney ghost fingers drum the armrest.

You did not want to answer him. To admit your own fault and fears. To admit your husband’s own abuse of you, his general violence towards you. His disregard for your humanity. You were vulnerable and exposed. Naked before them with only a sheet keeping your modesty. The mask that you had built was shattered as tears streamed down your face.

“You had called upon the Commander when we were indisposed. I remained like I am for I did not know when he would return, and what state he would be in when he did. I thought it would be best to remain undressed.” You could feel your own pain in your voice, you could hear it, it was evident. You knew the others could too.

You watched as the eyes of the Supreme analyzed your face; you didn’t dare look at your husband. You could feel the tension radiating off his body from where you were. His anger filled the air like dry static, only this could kill.

The Supreme Leader’s eyes narrowed at you, “I see. And would you say the Commander treats you fairly?” He was baiting you, you suspected that he knew the truth.

Your chest clenched, you were starting to sweat. You were silent again, not knowing how to answer him. More tears fell from your face, you might as well have been fully naked in front of them.

You heard a frustrated sigh come from the Supreme Leader, but his words were not what was spoken, Kylo’s were. “I treat her how I see fit. She is my wife, and I treat her..” but he got cut off.

“Silence,” roared the Supreme Leader who was now standing, his large figure dominating the room. You flinched as did the others. “I asked your wife a question Commander. A question she alone can answer. Do not forget your place, my apprentice. I am the leader of the First Order and I rule how I see fit. You will follow those orders as will she.” He sat back down and his voice softened, “Now, Princess does your husband treat you fairly?”

Your whole body shook before responding, “No, but I believe he is learning. Today was the first day I have witnessed the wrath of his anger, well witnessed the aftermath. We are still learning about each other.” He was gentler with you before his outburst. Today was the day you were actually truly terrified of him. Not that he wasn’t brutal before, but today was something truly horrifying.

You know the Supreme Leader was analyzing your response. He could probably tell that you were covering up for your husband. What you said wasn’t untrue, but it wasn’t the full truth. Did you really want to admit out loud that your husband forcefully took you every night or when he felt like it? Without any regard for your choice in the matter? No, you didn’t, you would not bring that up vocally to anyone. In a way, it felt like an invasion of privacy, something you did not have much of, but you wanted to protect what you had left.

The Supreme Leader folded his hands in front of his mouth before responding, “I see. Well, I have approved of General Hux’s decision to use you as a face for the First Order, despite the Commander’s wishes. It may just speed up his learning process. You may return to your chambers, Princess. The Commander will join you.” And with that, you were dismissed from the Supreme Leader’s presence.

Your husband approached you as you stood. You wondered what internal struggle he was going through. You couldn’t see behind his mask, you couldn’t read his thoughts, hell you could hardly speak to the man. He took your arm in his, a gesture that made you wonder if it was only for the Supreme Leader’s sake or if he was taking any of his words to heart. The man was an enigma. Like before the hallways were empty, it felt foreign. Now the modesty gesture felt as if it was stripping you of your chance to see other people, even if only briefly.

You wondered just how often the General would use you as a face for the First Order. Would you just be seeing him or would there be others as well? He had only mentioned posters and pre-recorded speeches, would this mean only yourself? Would you still be confined to your chambers while your face was being used across the galaxy as some sort of image for freedom and order?

You both entered your chambers, but he did not drop your arm, instead, he led you to your room. Once inside he let you go, you walked to the end of the bed. He didn’t leave; you guessed this meant that he wanted to pick up where you had both left off before you were interrupted. You kept your back to him as you allowed the sheets to slide off your body.

“Why did you lie?” His voice wasn’t very loud, almost as if he wasn’t really conscious of his own words.

You looked over your shoulder at him, “I didn’t lie, I did not tell the whole truth but I did not lie. He may be the Supreme Leader, but this is still my marriage and there are things about it that no one should know. It’s my marriage and I would like to keep it that way.” Your voice was calm but sure. If you weren’t allowed much privacy you at least wanted privacy in your marriage, keeping the prying eyes of the outside world out of it.

He moved into your space and gently turned you around, tilting your chin up and lightly crashing the mouthpiece of his helmet to your lips. A kiss in his own way. This was the most tender interaction you have shared with each other. Something about it made you close your eyes. You felt his arms across your back and behind your knees as he lifted you into the air. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He carried you to the side of the bed where he laid you down.

Your lips didn’t leave his as he set you down and as he crawled over you. Not only did this surprise you, but he started undressing himself first his gloves, then his belt, his outer armor, his gorget, his shirt, and so on. The last time he was naked before you was your wedding night, this time it didn’t seem like it was a chore to strip for you. Your ass was in his lap, your back to the bed, he was kneeling beneath you, but he didn’t move to fuck you. Instead, his hands roamed gently over your skin, caressing your curves and teasing your breasts.

The man who was in bed with you now was completely different than the one who left you naked and alone hours ago. But your brain made a stupid calculation as the words tumbled out of your mouth, “Why do you keep the helmet on? Do you need it?”

His touches stopped.

“It is a part of me.” His hand then trailed down to your cunt, even though he had said he wouldn’t prepare you this time was different all around it seemed. His touches were gentle but stimulating. His fingers entered you but your body welcomed them this time. His fingers curled inside you, your walls pushed against them, and as he continued to message you something happened.

You released a small stream of fluid, as your pelvis vibrated in excitement, This shocked you, but did not seem to bother Kylo one bit. “Someone is enjoying themselves.” It wasn’t a harsh snide comment though, it was something much lighter, almost affectionate.

You looked at him, “What was that?” Your body had never done anything like that before to your knowledge. You only had sexual experiences with your husband and they had been very limited in exposing you to different things. Your mother’s advice was to keep your eyes shut while your legs were open, so that wasn’t much help right now.

You could have sworn you heard a chuckle through his mask as his hands abandoned your cunt. Sliding his hands up your sides and bringing his mouthpiece to your lips. “You squirted. Its nothing to be alarmed at, just natural excitement.”

You then felt his hand travel back down over your stomach, causing your abdominal muscles to flinch. He was gently lining up his cock to your entrance, and slowly but steadily he pushed into you. This wasn’t like your previous experiences with him as he thrust in and out of you. No, this felt mutual, unlike the almost one-sided sexual encounters you’ve had before. His mouthpiece was still against your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

But then he changed angles, thrusting in deeper, but it was like before when he hit that spot just right. You saw stars, both of you moaning together along with the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. For the first time, his name left your lips in pleasure as a sort of chant. His hands were all over you this time, instead of forcefully holding your hips down, the were especially teasing your breasts. But as on went down to tease your clit you felt the ascend of your climax, and you threw your head back in pleasure. Doing so caused Your arms to force Kylo’s head against your breast, the cool metal was an oddly stimulating sensation. But as your walls convulsed around him, you could feel his seed spill into you. You had reached your peaches of nirvana together, slowly you felt him come to a stop in his thrusts.

But he didn’t pull out, he didn’t back away from you instead he brought his masked face up to yours and continued to ‘kiss’ you for a while. For the first time, it felt as if you had actually made love with him, mutually. You didn’t want this night to end. But after what seemed like a lifetime he pulled out and started to get off the bed. You reached out and grabbed his hand.

With all the courage still left in your heart, you begged him, “Please stay.” Your fingers tried to weave themselves into his. He stared at you and tried once more to leave. “Please, I want you to stay. Please stay with me. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t something I wanted.”

He paused but then continued to try to leave. You tried one last time, “Please can I just have this one night?” Tears were falling from your face. Your heart was readying itself to be torn to pieces.

You watched a picked up the sheet that you had stolen and worn, bringing it with him as he crawled back up onto the bed. Joining you and pulling you to his chest. “Alright,” was all he said. The weight shrouding your heart lifted. You laid your head against his chest listening to his heartbeat. Really, the first sign of humanity about him. You closed your eyes, hoping to stay in this moment forever.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #masking the heart #kylo ren x you #kylo x you #kylo x reader #star wars imagine #sw first order imagine #star wars first order

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tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 4 years

Text

Off Limits (Spencer Reid) #5

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Tag List: @on-my-way-to-erebor , @haileymorelikestupid

NOT MY GIF

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

(via GIPHY)

She woke up the next morning to a note by her pillow.

Went to get breakfast, I didn’t want to wake you. Xx

She smiled and fell back on the bed remembering the actions of last night. It had been amazing. The kissing, the touching… She heard her front door open and a soft voice, “is your mom up yet? Hmm smokie?” She giggled to herself and got up, slipping on her t shirt, before heading to the kitchen. Spencer was standing holding Smokie, softly petting her, “You hungry? I’m sure you are…let’s get you some wet food.” He looked around the kitchen, “I’m actually not sure where your wet food is.” He mumbled, setting smokie down. She leaned against the doorway, admiring him. He was having a full-on conversation with her cat and she loved him for it. He was adorable.

She crossed her arms over her chest, “You know you left a lady to wake up in her bed alone.” She pouted.

He looked up startled, thinking she was still in bed. He hadn’t even heard her walk in. He looked her over. She was in only a t shirt, her legs bare. He couldn’t tell if she had underwear on and just the thought of it excited him. She stalked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You looked so peaceful sleeping I didn’t want to wake you.” He slowly slipped his arms around her waist, dipping his head down to kiss her. She hummed into the kiss as his hands roamed down to her thighs, slipping under her t-shirt, “You’ll just have to make it up to me then,” she teased. His hands figured out she was bare under that t-shirt and he couldn’t help himself, “I’ll take that as a challenge.” He picked her up and set her on the counter, continuing the kiss while she wrapped her legs around him. They made love again that morning on the kitchen counter. He definitely made it up to her.

Monday morning. Ava groaned as she slipped out of bed to get ready for work. It had been such a great weekend with Spencer. They stayed cuddled on the couch watching movies all day yesterday. Now, she would have to get up and go to work. At least she would see him, but she remembered they would have to keep it a secret. Her phone dinged with a text from Spencer.

Good morning beautiful. Call me when you get up.

She smiled and got up to start getting ready, calling Spencer. They agreed to make sure no one knew about the relationship at work. They weren’t to give away any hints that they were dating. The group was a very observant one and would notice anything.

They had both walked into work at the same time, riding the elevator up. He couldn’t help himself. He backed her against the elevator wall and stole some kisses. They quickly pulled away from each other before they arrived at the BAU floor and straightened themselves up. This was going to be a hard day.

Ava was fixing her coffee in the kitchen when she felt hands slide around her waist, a body pressed against her. She immediately recognized Spencer’s cologne. “Spence… we got to be careful.” She warned. She quickly looked around to make sure no one had saw, then turned to face him. He smiled and fixed her hair behind her ear, “I know but I just needed a quick kiss.” She bit her lip and looked around again before standing on her tippy toes and giving him a quick kiss.

“Hmm thank you.”

“Now get back to work Dr. Reid.” She smirked, putting emphasis on the Dr. Reid. He loved hearing her call him that. She was teasing and he would get her back later. He groaned before heading out the door and back to his desk, hands in his pants pockets. What has this girl done to him?

Later around lunch time, Spencer made his way to Ava’s desk, “Do you want to go get lunch?”

“Yeah sure. I’m starving.” Just as she was about to stand Hotch exited his office and called the team in for a meeting. They had got a call about a case. Spencer looked at her apologetically, “Sorry.”

She nodded, understanding and continued to grab her purse. “I’m still going to get lunch though. Do you want me to grab you something anyways?”

He nodded, grateful, “Yes please. If you don’t mind.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her some cash. “Get yours too. On me.” He gave her a quick wink, then he headed to the briefing room.

When she arrived back from getting lunch, Spencer was at his desk, shutting everything down. She knew that sign. They were leaving for a case. She set his lunch on the desk causing him to look up. “Hey… we uh just got the call. We’re heading to Dallas, TX to work on a case.”

She had to admit, she was disappointed. They only had just become an item and had not even had two days to themselves. She hoped for more alone time tonight but guess not. She had to remember this was his job and if she was going to be with him, she would have to get use to this suddenly leaving for a case. She pushed her disappointment aside. It wasn’t going to make him stay or help the situation.

“I was craving a sandwich, so I grabbed Subway.” She pulled her sandwich out of the bag and slid the bag back to him. “There’s some napkins in the bag. Think you can find time to eat it before you get on the jet? You need to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Yeah I think I can find time.” He made sure no one was paying attention and whispered, “meet me in the kitchen for a minute.”

She went back to her desk and waited a minute before following him into the kitchen to not attract any attention. He grabbed her and kissed her as soon as she walked in. “I’m going to miss you.”

She smiled up at him and ran her fingers through his hair, “I’ll miss you too.”

He gently squeezed her hips and gave her another kiss. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She nodded hugging him, “go before we get caught.” She let go of him and gave him a small push. He looked back at her once more before walking out. He hated leaving her. Especially after they just took the next step in their relationship. She gave him a reassuring smile and blew him a kiss.

It had been a couple days since the team had left for Dallas. Spencer and Ava texted back and forth throughout the day when they got time. He had called every night when he would get back to the hotel, telling her about his day and the process of the case. He seemed confident that the case would be over soon.

Out in Dallas, Morgan and Reid were on their way to speak with a witness. Spencer had been on his phone the entire ride, smiling and chuckling every once and a while which made Morgan suspicious.

“Who’s got you so smitten, kid?” Morgan glanced over at him from the driver’s seat.

“Oh um no one.” Reid cleared his throat and put his phone away.

“It’s the new girl Ava. Isn’t it?”

Reid’s face went pink, “No. why would you think that?” He tried playing it off.

Morgan grunted in response, “Well you two can’t keep your eyes off each other while at work. And I saw the way you looked at her when she first arrived. You’ve been smiling and laughing at your phone since we left VA. Obviously, someone has you smitten.”

Busted. If Morgan had figured it out, had anyone else had the chance? Spencer contemplated whether he should continue his lie and play it off or come clean. Morgan would find out eventually though. Morgan and Spencer were close and he knew Reid well.

“Look you can’t say anything. You know Hotch wouldn’t approve.” Reid turned and looked at his friend with pleading eyes.

Morgan held his hands up in defense, “I won’t say anything. And you’re right Hotch wouldn’t approve. He would be pissed. Ever since what happened with Mary and Grayson, he’s been against dating within the work-place.”

Mary and Grayson had been agents in the BAU and had developed feelings for each other. At the time Hotch didn’t care, but it was when it interfered with work that it became an issue. The two eventually had broken up and the members of the team took sides, causing tension and a whole lot of problems. In the end, he had to fire his two best agents.

Spencer nodded, “I know. We’re trying to keep in on the down low. You really think Hotch would be that pissed? It’s not like she’s an agent… We won’t be working cases together.”

Morgan shrugged, “He seemed pretty pissed and stern that day he told everyone in the office no dating. No exceptions.” He tried to mimic Hotch’s voice when he said No Exceptions. “He doesn’t want to lose any more of his best agents.”

That night, Spencer told Ava that Morgan had figured it out and that they would have to be even more careful. He wasn’t the only one who found out about their relationship. Penelope had figured it out earlier that day.

Ava had come into Penelope’s office to sit for a while when Penelope received a call from Hotch. She was to hack into the system and receive records of a man they were looking for. It all happened so quick. The group had been talking with Penelope back and forth. She could hear Hotch, Morgan and Spencer’s voice over the phone when gunfire rang out. “He’s up on the roof!” There was more gunfire and shuffling. Ava’s heart dropped when she heard another shot and Morgan yell, “Reid!” “Shit! agent down! We need medics!” Then the line went dead.

“Oh god. Oh god. Penelope, he said Reid.” She stood quickly and started pacing, panicking. “He said Spencer was shot.” Slowly her eyes swelled with tears, her mind going to the worst. Spencer had been shot and he was probably dying on the ground. She would never see him again. They just started dating and now he’s done and got killed on a case.

“Ava, Ava it’s okay. Calm down.” Penelope gathered Ava in her arms in attempt to calm her.

“He said Reid was down…. He said they needed medics.”

“I know… it’s okay. I’m sure everything is fine. I’m sure Reid is fine.” After Penelope had calmed Ava down, they received a call from Morgan, “Reid took a hit, but the bullet hit his vest. He’s fine.”

Ava was still shaking and wiped her tears from her face. Penelope spun around in her chair and handed her a tissue, “You and Reid… you’re together now, aren’t you?”

Ava sniffled and nodded. Penelope sighed, “I figured. The way you panicked… That’s not just a co-worker worried for another. It was more than that.”

Two people now knew of their relationship and both had promised to keep their mouth shut. It wasn’t their place to tell Hotch. When the team finally arrived home Hotch invited everyone in the group out for drinks. Spencer wanted to invite Ava, but it might make Hotch suspicious.

Penelope asked Hotch when he called, “Why don’t we invite Ava? She helped me out on a few tasks while you guys were out.” Hotch didn’t see why not and told Penelope to mention it to Ava.

That night the group met at Mya’s Bar to have a round of drinks. Besides Penelope and Ava, the rest of the team had come straight from the jet to the bar. Ava would finally see Spencer but wouldn’t be able to show any affection with the group there. She would just have to hold back till later. Hotch, Gideon, Morgan, JJ, Emily, and Spencer were sitting at the large table in the back when Penelope and Ava walked in. Ava’s heart skipped when she saw him. She took a deep breath, knowing he was okay and didn’t have a scratch on him.

He saw her as soon as she walked in. It took everything he had not to run over to her and engulf her in a hugs and kisses. He noticed when she walked closer, her eyes were a little red and puffy, like she had been crying. He wondered if it was because of the scare earlier.

“There’s my baby girl!” Morgan exclaimed hugging Penelope. He then turned to Ava “and I guess now I have another baby girl. Penelope said you helped out on the case.” He smiled and held his arms out.

Ava laughed and hugged him, “I didn’t do much though.” She fixed her purse on her shoulder and looked at Spencer.

He gave her a small smile and nod before sliding over a little in the booth, making room for her. “Have a seat. It’s been a long day.”

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

Hope y’all enjoyed :)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #imagines #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds one shots #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid one shots #one shots

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xstarker · 3 years

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Since the beginning and until the end (Part Three)

Peter is immortal, reincarnation exists, and in every lifetime Peter has met and loved Tony, only for him to die. He’s hoping this time might be different.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Author’s Note: I put way more effort and detail into this chapter than was necessary, but hopefully it isn’t too much for you all. I really didn’t want to post it as two parts seeing as there is no mentions of Tony in this one and this is a Starker fic, but I felt like this chapter added to the story and Peter being immortal in a fun way.

That being said, this chapter is centered around the events of Captain America: The First Avenger.

Warnings: Mentions of canon character “death”, Nazis, War, etc. This chapter includes mentions of Stucky and Steggy.

Words: 4.4k

Peter has always tried to avoid going to the doctor whenever possible. He knows that if a doctor were to examine his reflexes or his strength too closely, or God forbid take his blood, that he could end up as someone’s lab experiment – or worse. That being said, he also hasn’t exactly been super cautious in the past either.

Over the years he’s made a habit of using his curse of immortality and the unique features that came with it, to help people. He ran in front of oncoming traffic to save little girls, retrieved cats from trees, caught someone who fell off a building, and even stopped a predator or two. He has never just been that person who stands by and lets bad things happen if he has the power to stop them.

That’s why he ends up sitting in a medical exam room, waiting for a doctor to come clear him to join the military. He never really wanted to be an army man, but he also never expected one world war let alone two, and he certainly couldn’t stand idly by.

“You are marvelously fit, Mr Parks.” A deep german accent draws Peter’s attention to the curtain, a gentleman in a suit in the process of pulling it back and entering the room, Peter’s file in hand.

“Almost miraculously. You don’t even seem to have any real medical history. Your doctor gave me the results of your physical examination but little else. My name is Dr Abraham Erskine.” Peter tenses. Here was exactly what he always feared. Maybe if he grabs his clothes and runs now-

“So, you want to kill Nazis?” Peter’s attention is drawn back to the doctor.

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I just know that I have the ability to help all of those men who are out there fighting to end all of the genocide.” Dr Erskine nods.

“I can offer you a spot on a project I am working on. There are others, all of them hoping to be picked to be the first test subject.”

“Test subject for what? I don’t really want to be a test subject.”

“I will be honest with you, if you are with me. Yes?” Peter nods in agreement, curious by the strange doctor.

“The project is a serum to create the perfect soldier. However, from what I can see of you, it won’t be needed. Why is that?”

Peter swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s kind of complicated, but essentially I was bit by a cursed spider which gave me certain… genetic enhancements.”

Dr Erskine raises his eyebrows and smiles warmly, and seeing as the man doesn’t make Peter’s instincts go haywire, he thinks trusting him might not be the worst decision.

“That sounds absolutely insane, but given that you seem relatively sane and the physical evidence thus far, I suppose I have no choice but to believe you. Though I do expect that I will see more of these genetic enhancements overseas.”

“That is very likely, should you approve me sir.”

“Get dressed. You’ll need to pack a bag. Pack light though.” Peter smiles and jumps up from his seat, rushing to put his clothes back on and follow Dr Erskine out of the room, where the man then stamps a bold black 1A on his file.

“Congratulations soldier.” The doctor says, passing the file over to Peter. “You’re the second man I’ve approved tonight.”

“The second?”

“You will meet him when you ship out tomorrow morning.” Dr Erskine gives him another small smile and walks away.

As it turns out, the other man he approved is Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. They talk on the way to base, and he learns Steve has lost both parents to the war, and that he has always wanted to join himself but was never able to due to all of his medical conditions. When he actually begins to list them all, Peter understands why. He thinks Dr Erskine must really see something in him in order to risk bringing him into the military.

At base, dressed in their new uniforms, Steve and Peter join the line of soldiers currently waiting to meet their commanding officer. A few of them talk amongst themselves, but Peter and Steve stand quietly now, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes the first day.

“Gentlemen, I am Agent Carter. I supervise all operations for this division.” The woman matching the voice walks around them from the right. Her voice is both soothing and authoritative, as is the way she carries herself. She is a woman who demands respect immediately, and also one of the most gorgeous ones Steve has ever laid eyes on.

“What’s with the accent Queen Victoria? I thought I was signin’ up for the US Army.” Comes a voice to the left of them. Immediately, Peter knows the man has made a mistake.

“What’s your name soldier?” Agent Carter’s face shows absolutely no amusement.

“Gilmore Hodge, your majesty.” He’s so snarky Peter can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Step forward Hodge.” The man obeys the order almost immediately, to the surprise of both Steve and Peter. “Put your right foot forward.”

“We gonna wrassle? Cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.” Peter knows the punch is coming before she does it, yet he still lets out a soft laugh. Carter makes eye contact with him and gives him the smallest smile, just as another man in uniform approaches.

“Agent Carter.” She straightens her blazer.

“Colonel Phillips.”

“I can see that you are breaking in the candidates. That’s good!” The man – Colonel Phillips - comes to a stop in front of Hodge. “Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention until someone comes and tells you what to do.”

Hodge hops up fast, immediately complying. “Yes sir.”

“General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men.” When he gets to ‘men’ Peter sees his eyes connect with Steve’s tiny form, and his statement suddenly sounds like more of a question. The colonel looks over at Erskine, his face doing nothing to hide the disappointment in his eyes.

“And because they are going to get better. Much better.”

The colonel goes on to explain the goal is to create the best army in history, and he says every army starts with one man. As it turned out, that one man would be chosen by the end of a week’s worth of tests. They do all of the basic things you would expect an army to do, everyone competing to get the best time or the most push-ups, the best score. Peter doesn’t really compete, but he doesn’t bother hiding his ability to do them all with ease either, knowing Erskine wanted to see what he could do in action. He ends up with the best scores in most of the tests, while Steve is dead last in nearly all of them. This doesn’t seem to disappoint Erskine in the slightest.

“Faster ladies! Come on. My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul.” They are all doing push-ups, next to him Steve struggles to barely do one. Peter feels bad for him, knowing he is struggling to do all of the tests but he’s still pushing himself as hard as he can.

“Please tell me you aren’t really thinking about picking Rogers.” Peter’s super hearing picks up on Colonel Phillips’ voice before he’s even finished walking over to the truck in front of the group.

“I’m more than just thinking about it. He is the clear choice.”

“When you brought a 90-pound asthmatic onto my army base, I let it slide. I thought ‘What the hell, maybe he’d be useful to you, like a gerbil.’ I never thought you’d pick him.” They come to a stop at the truck, and Agent Carter has the group switch to jumping jacks. Peter can hear the struggle in Steve’s lungs.

“You stick a needle in that kid’s arm, it’s gonna go right through him. Look at that, he’s making me cry.” Peter glances over at Steve, and really the sight is something pitiful.

“I am looking for qualities beyond the physical.” Erskine explains.

“Do you know how long it took to set up this project? All the groveling I had to do in front of Senator What’s-His-Name’s committees?”

“Brandt. Yes, I know. I am well aware of your efforts.”

“Then throw me a bone. Hodge and Parks both passed every test we gave them. They’re strong, they’re fast, they obey orders. They are soldiers.”

“Hodge is a bully. As for Parks, I have already told you he is not going to be receiving the serum. He does not need it.”

“You don’t win a war with niceness Doctor.” Peter’s eyes follow Colonel Phillips, watching as he grabs a grenade from the truck. “You win wars with guts.”

Peter watches him pull the pin and toss the grenade, not feeling the familiar tingle of danger run up his spine, he immediately knows the bomb is a dud. This was a test.

“Grenade!” He yells, and everyone begins jumping away, scared out of their minds. Peter steps back, but watches in fascination as Steve immediately moves to wrap his entire frail little body around it, planning to risk his own life to protect everyone else around him.

“Get away!” He yells. “Get back!”

Both Peter and Erskine smile. Peter gets it now, why Erskine wants Steve.

Peter and Steve are similar in a lot of ways, and had that been a real grenade, Peter knows he would have done the very same thing. He knows this is the kind of person who power belongs to, and he knows if anyone else had gotten the curse that he had, they wouldn’t have used the abilities the same way.

Well, anyone else but Steve Rogers.

That same day they tell Steve he’s been chosen to go first, and Erskine comes to talk to Peter alone, a bottle of Schnapps half empty in his hand. He tells him about Johann Schmidt, how he believes all the myths and legends, and that he believes a superior man is meant to wield hidden powers left in the Earth by the Gods. Peter knows this to be mostly true, but doesn’t say anything about it. The Doctor also tells him about how Schmidt was the first to take the serum, and how the serum amplifies what a person is like on the inside, having made Schmidt a monster both inside and out.

Once again, Peter understands his decision to take Steve.

“Peter, I am telling you this because it is very likely Schmidt will try something. Though we have many precautions in place, HYDRA has eyes and ears everywhere. He will find out. In case something should happen to me or to my research, I am asking you to help Steven in any way you can. Win this war for all of us.”

Peter nods, determination in his gaze. “I understand Doctor. Isn’t there any way I can be there tomorrow? Just in case?”

“I am afraid not. I have pulled as many strings as I can just to get Steven in that pod first. I am trusting you to do what needs to be done.”

“I won’t let you down.”

Peter gets word he is to ship out to London only an hour in advance. He doesn’t have much to pack anyways, but he does wish he could say goodbye to Steve. He wonders how the procedure went, and when he will see his friend as well as Dr Erskine again.

It’s the flight to London that he learns he won’t ever see the doctor again, but the procedure was successful.

“Sorry you had to hear it from me pal.”

“It’s not your fault Mr Stark.”

“Oh please, I’m barely older than you. Call me Howard.” There’s amusement in Howard’s voice, but none of their faces match it.

“Not that I am complaining, but why am I being sent to London? And where’s Steve?” Peter’s seated near the front of the plane, Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips talking in hushed tones near the rear. Peter tries to catch a few words, but the plane is so loud it is already making it hard enough to hear Howard less than ten feet from him.

“Dr Erskine knew something like this could happen. He had certain plans in place, which included leaving me a very detailed letter about his experience with you. I convinced the Colonel you would be useful on the front lines, and if I can manage to get you in my lab too, I wouldn’t exactly be disappointed.”

“That depends on what you mean by getting me in your lab.”

“Cursed spiders causing miraculous abilities aren’t exactly common Parks. As for where Rogers is, Senator Brandt talked him into doing propaganda shows since Phillips wasn’t exactly keen on him joining us in London.”

“What? I thought the serum was a success.”

“It was, but that doesn’t mean he wants an inexperienced science experiment running around with a gun. His words, not mine.”

Peter sighs. He knows Erskine would hate his work going to something as trivial as that. Peter hates it too.

“If I am going to be in your lab, it’s going to be to help you with your work. Not as another experiment.”

Peter helps Howard in the lab in-between missions. They throw playful banter back and forth while working, becoming quick friends. Howard continues to ask about the spider, and Peter does his best to answer questions, but refuses to be submitted to any tests, never wanting the military anywhere near his DNA, even if he does trust Howard to some extent.

On one particular mission in November of 1943, he’s sent with two hundred soldiers from the 107th to Austria. It’s on that mission that he briefly meets the man Steve can’t seem stop talking about whenever they see each other, Bucky Barnes. They try their best against the forces of HYDRA but in the end, Peter still returns with less than half of the men he left with, and Bucky is one of the unlucky souls that doesn’t return at all.

Peter lies awake that night, unable to sleep as guilt eats at him. The next day he tries to convince Colonel Phillips to let him go back to try and save the rest, but is given a firm no. The Colonel tells him it’s too risky, even if he were to go alone.

Steve comes to base for a show just a few days later, his audience the remaining members of the 107th. They don’t seem all that impressed by the propaganda, yelling and throwing things at Steve to get him off-stage. Peter understands their frustration, but he also doesn’t believe Steve really did anything to deserve that sort of treatment.

Peter goes to find Steve after the show, and sees Peggy has beat him to it. He is about to turn around and go wait for a better time to speak with Steve when he catches part of the conversation the pair are having.

“Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than half returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” He hears the panic in Steve’s voice, and then he is on his feet, rushing toward the base where Colonel Phillips sits under a tent planning their next move, Peggy behind him. Peter doesn’t need to hear the conversation to know where this is going. Instead, he decides to go wait in Steve’s tent with his bag packed, knowing he would be there soon to pack a bag himself.

When Steve does get to the tent less than ten minutes later, he looks surprised to see Peter. “Let me come with you.”

“What?” Steve’s already grabbing things and shoving them into his bag, anxiety clear on his face.

“I was with the 107th on that mission. I asked to go back out there, but Colonel Phillips wouldn’t let me. Please, let me help you.” He’s practically begging, but he would never forgive himself if he let Steve go alone to try and rescue the men which he should have been able to bring back safely himself.

“What exactly do the two of you plan to do? Walk to Austria?” Both men turn their heads to Peggy as she enters the tent.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“The Colonel is devising a strategy. If he detects that-” Steve interrupts her.

“By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” Steve throws his jacket on and grabs the metal shield he has been using as a prop for his shows, then exits the tent with both Peter and Peggy on his heels.

“You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?” The question is directed at Peggy. Peter puts his belongings in the car next to Steve’s and hops in the passenger seat.

“Every word.”

“Then you gotta let us go.”

“I can do more than that.”

Peggy comes back with one of the showgirl’s helmets, the letter A painted on the front, and Howard as their pilot.

Howard gets them almost all the way there, but bombs begin to go off all around them. Steve and Peter make the decision to jump before they get all the way in, urging Howard to turn around immediately.

Once on the ground they sneak onto one of the trucks coming into base, easily taking out the two HYDRA soldiers inside. They wait until the truck parks to sneak out, Steve leading the way onto the roof.

Inside the base it’s a lot more sneaking around, which Peter happens to be rather good at, and it turns out so is Steve. They pass a set of what looks like some sort of ammunition, except it glows a bright blue. Steve pockets one of the clips to bring back to base for Howard.

When they finally find the cells, they subdue the guard and begin unlocking them. Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve gives the men instructions on how to get out, and is immediately ready to go looking for Bucky again. He pauses on his exit to look at Peter.

“Are you coming?”

“Recusing Bucky is your mission. I think I should make sure the rest of these men get out of here in one piece. I owe them that.” Steve nods, then takes off out the door. Everyone else, including Peter, begin to make their exit, causing chaos all around the base.

In the end, Steve and Peter return to base with another hundred or so men, including Bucky, following close behind.

That night everyone goes out to a local bar for drinks. Steve goes around asking who wants to go back out with him and help wipe HYDRA off the map, and surprisingly a decent few say yes. Unsurprisingly, so does Bucky.

“What about you Peter? You came with me for the rescue, will you join us?” Peter gives Steve a smile.

“As if you could keep me away. I came out here to make a difference Steve, and there is no better place to do that then with you.” Peter doesn’t mention Erskine asking him to stay with Steve, because even if he hadn’t asked, Peter would still have agreed. This is where he was needed the most, he could feel it.

Howard makes Steve a shield after hearing that it seems to be the man’s preferred weapon. He makes the suit at Steve’s request. It looks good on him, making him look somewhat like a superhero while still being properly fitted for war. Peter almost asks Howard for one himself, but decides against it.

The Howling Commandos is what they end up calling their group of chaotic men. They wipe base after base off the map, the group all getting to know each other rather well during the missions.

Then on one particular mission, they ambush a train Dr Zola is said to be on, headed toward another base. A hole gets blown in the side during their fighting, and Bucky falls, assumingly to his death. Steve doesn’t take it well to say the least, because that night he sits alone in that same bar as before, attempting to drink his sorrows away, the bar in ruin around him thanks to the war.

Colonel Phillips interrogates Zola for hours, and the next day they have enough intel to send everyone out on another mission, as it turns out, the last one they would go on together.

Steve enters through the front, causing a scene and effectively getting himself kidnapped, which of course is just part of the plan. Peter and three others use grappling hooks to swing in through the window, clearing the room quickly. Schmidt makes a run for it in all of the chaos, so Steve runs after him, shield in hand. Peter follows, doing his best to clear the way of any HYDRA soldiers that get in Steve’s way.

They lose sight of each other after Steve follows Schmidt through a door that he manages to keep open with his shield just long enough to slip through, but Peter and Peggy are quick to find another way to catch up with him, stealing Schmidt’s car and speeding down the runway after him.

They make it just in time for Steve to jump onto the plane, Peter bringing the car to a stop just in time for one of the wheels to be hanging off, but not sending them over the edge. Right before he jumps, Peggy surprises them both by speaking up.

“Wait!” She pulls him down for what Peter is sure is their first kiss. “Good luck.”

Steve turns to look at Peter. “What? I’m not kissing you.” Peter can’t help but laugh, Steve smiling and making the jump to the plane without another word.

On the edge of the runway, Peter throws the car into reverse until the front two tires catch on the edge and finally, they are safely planted on the metal ground. He turns the car around, and drives full speed back toward the base.

The last time he speaks to Steve is with Peggy by his side, over the communications to Schmidt’s plane.

“Come in, this is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?” They both run to the seat at the same time, Morita already seated, having been waiting for any word to come through from the other side.

“Captain Rogers, where is your-?” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because with one shared look, Peggy and him are switching places and she is grabbing the intercom in her hand.

“Steve is that you? Are you alright?”

“Peggy, Schmidt’s dead!” That should be good news, so why did Steve sound so panicked?

“Steve what’s going on?”

“Peter? The plane’s rigged to blow.”

“Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Peter groans in frustration, anxiety building. If the plane was rigged to blow, there were very few options for a safe landing.

“I can try and force it down.”

“I-I can get Howard on the line. He’ll know that to do.” Peggy’s might be in worse shape than Peter, but no one could really be sure. Both of them are close to tears now, but Peter has never seen Peggy look so vulnerable.

“There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” A pause and then, “I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out.” Despite her trying to reassure him over the radio, Peter knows they don’t have nearly enough time.

“Steve is there any sort of emergency pod or autopilot you can reset? Anything to where you can set the plane to crash but get out safely?” He’s unsure how he manages to get the words out without his voice cracking, so many emotions flooding his senses all at once.

“Not from where I am sitting. I already tried overwriting the autopilot but it’s locked in place. I’d need a genius to overwrite it. Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer a whole lot of people are going to die.” Peter feels a tear roll down his face, and when he looks at Peggy, her face mirrors his own. They were both losing a loved one today, Peggy an almost lover, and Peter a brother, if only in war.

“This is my choice.” Steve speaks solemnly.

“Peggy.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.” Peter places a hand on her shoulder, she reaches her own up to hold his.

“Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?” She’s talking through tears now, but she manages to speak clearly despite that. Peter remains quiet, letting her talk Steve through this. He isn’t sure he could speak at this point if he tried.

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your-” The line goes dead.

“Steve?” Peggy lets out a sob. Peter clenches her hand a little tighter, releasing a shaky breath as the tears overflow.

“Steve?” It’s no use, they both know it’s too late, but she can’t help it. She has to try. Peter feels eyes on them, and turns, making eye contact with Colonel Phillips who at some point made his way here. Peter couldn’t be sure when, too distracted before to notice, but the Colonel’s face shows it was long enough that the man knows what happened. He turns and walks away, leaving the two of them to mourn alone together.

“Steve?”

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #starker wip #nova writes #since the beginning and until the end #immortal!peter parker

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

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Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 28

28. find what you love and let it kill you

Summary: lola gets back from boston and it gets worse.

Warnings: HEROIN

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @trpwthme @lovehelpmewrite @angelicjoonie23 @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @dramatique-moi @missqueeniewrites @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer

Doc has officially gotten over his guilt when Lola walks into rehearsals looking like she hadn't slept in a week, and asks her in front of the whole band, why someone matching her description, going by the name Lola Fields, was wanted in the state of Massachusetts for trespassing, and assault with a deadly weapon.

"I can't believe they pressed charges," Lola mutters under her breath, not even trying to play dumb to the situation, "and its not like I actually assaulted anyone, its just because I had a gun, I didn't even use it."

"Of course you didn't use it," Doc talks to her like she's an idiot, infuriated, "because otherwise you'd be wanted for murder, Lola!"

"No I wouldn't," Lola's hands are fidgeting, and she can't look anyone in the room in the eyes, "it would be arson, probably." She paused, shrugging, "but its not." Her gaze finally slides to meet Doc's, eyes red and hazy, "but they want Lola Fields, and that's not me, we're fine." She sniffs a little, averts her gaze, and shoulders past him.

"Lola-"

Lola and Tommy don't talk about what happened in Boston, not even to Nikki, though the worrying part is that they're barely speaking to each other.

Lola keeps the most irregular hours now; when she's with the band, she's barely cognizant of where she is, always high, and she goes out almost every night, comes back bruised and bloodied if she comes back at all. Nikki finds her asleep on a park bench on the way to the studio one morning, knuckles split and lip busted, and Nikki can't help but ask what the fuck is happening to her.

Lola shrugs.

"If none of these fucks press charges, why did my fuckin' mom?" Lola told him, not meeting his gaze.

"What the fuck are you trying to prove? That your mom's a cunt? Yeah, we know, Lo, we fucking know." Nikki wants to shake her, but he's afraid to touch her for the bruises and scrapes that litter her skin. Lola turns her deadpan expression to him.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Lola rolls her eyes as best she could, with one almost swollen shut. She doesn't elaborate, and the car ride is quiet, terse, and it's like Nikki can feel her slipping from his grasp. Trying desperately to figure out what triggered this, he asks Tommy, for what feels like the hundredth time, what happened in Boston.

"Not my place, dude, ask Lols," Tommy tells him, avoids his gaze and idly taps his snare in an effort to look busy.

"You know she won't fuckin' tell me shit about Boston; what the fuck happened to you two?" Nikki's demanding now, and Tommy swallows hard. "I'm over this bullshit secrecy; something fucking happened and now all she does is fight. She's gonna get herself killed."

Tommy doesn't know how to answer.

Tommy's different, but not in the same was as Lola, not nearly as noticeable. Outwardly, he's the same, excitable and hard partying, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes now, and he gets distracted in a way that's strangely out of character. He'll grin and shrug and pretend like his whole world hadn't been turned upside down in one night.

"She's not my problem anymore, dude," Tommy says blithely, though it has Nikki seeing red, blood boiling in his veins as he shoves Tommy from his drum stool.

"Your problem? Your fucking problem? If she gets herself killed, and you fucking stood by and watched, won't even tell me why, that's her blood on your fucking hands." Nikki snarls. They don't get much work done that day, or the day following, and Lola lands herself in the ER with broken ribs and a concussion. At least she's docile on the morphine.

Suddenly Boston didn't matter, and everything was good; bandages on her ribs and healing bruises. Morphine became the only thing that would get her out of bed, to get her through the day, and for a while, the weeks she was in recovery, she and Nikki lived in a manufactured state of bliss. For those weeks, Doc didn't care that the pair were abusing themselves if they got work done, and didn't fight.

But it didn't last, her prescription ran out quickly with both herself and Nikki abusing the substance, and Lola needed something new to fill her hollow soul, to make her forget that her purpose in life, her father's approval, was ripped away from her, and there was no way to get it back.

She fights to feel something, anything, that isn't just hollow nothing.

"I know you," she's looking for a fight, like most nights, jumpy and wild-eyed and hopped up on coke. Whipping around, she sees a surprisingly well dressed man leering at her, "you're Lola Gone, right?" And even now, years after her heyday on The Strip, her reputation precedes her.

She doesn't fuck strangers anymore, but he tells her he's not looking for a fuck - maybe head, but they'll see how things are going - but he needs someone to party with, someone that won't 'pussy out' as he tells her. A music executive taking a walk on the wild side, trying to see what all the fuss was about with someone who knows how to handle their highs, who won't think he's trying to get chummy, like his bands would if he went to them. She doesn't know him, but she doesn't have to to have a good time.

Heroin feels better than morphine, and Lola knows, feels, and doesn't fucking care, from the moment she takes her first hit, she'd sell whatever's left of her soul for it. Snorting it, it's like it hits the hollow spot in her heart in only minutes. For the first time in a very long time, she thinks she feels genuinely happy.

Morphine made her feel like she was floating, but now she feels like she's flying; the pain's gone, but it's replaced with the endorphins her mind hasn't been able to produce for years.

It's like she needs it. The moment she comes down, she needs it, needs to keep feeling good, because if she doesn't feel good, she feels fucking nothing, and the nothing is fucking killing her.

Nikki's on a weird cocktail of drugs and booze when Lola finally comes home, three days later, fucked out despite her best intentions, and the name of a dealer who had set up the exec. Nikki mentions, slurs his way through mentioning that he's got someone who can get them some more morphine, and Lola's grin is all teeth when she says she's got something better.

The outside world means nothing to Nikki and Lola when they have each other, and as much smack as they can snort. Time starts to blur together; Lola's pretty sure she spoke to Vince last week, but that was a month ago, and Sharise doesn't want her around anymore. Doc's tried to fire her on three separate occasions, but it hasn't stuck, and even if it had, it wouldn't matter. Nikki takes care of her, and she takes care of him, the way it's meant to be, they tell each other.

Nikki leaves for the studio and knows when he gets back that Lola will be waiting for him, smiling, at peace, high out of her mind, happy. All he wants is to see her happy, and smack works better than anything they've ever tried. She doesn't remember her mom, or what happened in Boston, but she'll mention her dad on occasion.

"He'd love you, Nikki," she murmurs, lips by his throat, pressing gentle kisses. She's so gentle now, gorgeously dreamy in her intoxication, "he loved rock and roll." And she bites gentle, leisurely, while Nikki smokes his way through another smack-laced joint.

"Mom would hate you," Nikki snorted, running his fingers through her hair, and Lola laughs a little at that, "hated anything that made me happy." Lola goes still at that and Nikki doesn't even realise what he's said. Lola will forget about it in an hour too, but for now, all she knows is that she needs Nikki to know that she loves him. More than anything. More than anyone.

They've always been too passionate for any sort of meaningful body worship, but now, in this dreamy unreality they've cocooned themselves in, Lola knows she's going to make him feel like a king or die trying.

After a session in the studio, Tommy comes back with Nikki, wondering after Lola after almost two full months of radio silence from her, comes to see what the fuck is up with them now.

Lola smiles like she's never known pain in her life.

It's all gentle touches, and encouraging words after he's throwing up in their bathroom after they drag him down to their level.

"The first time's hard for everyone," Nikki tells him with an almost alien sincerity, and Lola's rubbing his back, agreeing with Nikki quietly.

"What the fuck?" Tommy snarls, mouth tasting like bile, feeling woozy and high and terrible and great all at once. Stumbling from the bathroom, he all but flees from the house, angry, feeling betrayed.

But he's weak, so fucking weak, and all he tells Nikki, before the pair of them get high in the bathroom of the recording studio, is that he can't be around Lola anymore.

"What happened in Boston?" Nikki asks again, and only now does Tommy relent.

"Her mom has a new family." Tommy said, holding out the back of his hand for Nikki to tip some of the powder onto.

"Shit, really?" Nikki asks, eyes wide as he focuses on the drugs.

"White picket fence, dude, husband and kid, perfect little life," he paused, "did you know why she was really going?"

"Of course."

Tommy isn't quite sure why it stings, but then he's got smack up his nose, and all he can say is;

"She really fucking loves you, doesn't she?"

"She loves all of us," Nikki says easily, a truth he's become accustomed to, a truth he's accepted. Tommy's quiet about Lola after that, and Nikki doesn't think about it too hard.

Life becomes flashes of moments between highs; of dancing and drinking and partying; Lola's pretty sure she'd made up with Mick at some point, because she'll remember seeing him laying down at a party, and deciding to join him, to use his stomach as a pillow. He doesn't protest, he just pets her hair fondly.

"Do you feel left out that I never tried to fuck you?" She asked him once, in this hazy period of her life, and she thinks he laughs, low and gruff. They're both trying to nap in one of the various mansions the band has procured between the four of them, a party raging outside.

"That you remember," he corrects, and Lola flushes, "but no."

"I always just thought you had more self respect than that," Lola admits, and it's too honest for Mick who's definitely not drunk enough for Lola's heroin and coke induced honesty.

"Would you be offended if I said I did?" Mick tries to joke, but Lola, in complete seriousness, shakes her head. At this, Mick sighs, "girlie, you're like, like my..." and he can't bring himself to say the words, but Lola seems to get it.

"You're not my dad," she tells him flatly in response, and Mick laughs.

"I know, but if you got yourself hurt, I'd probably be sad about it," he tells her with a sweet sincerity, and Lola cracks a smile, "probably even sadder than I'd be about the rest of those chucklefucks."

Lola lays her head on his chest and he gives her a quiet hug.

"I'm sorry you're in pain." She says, so quiet he almost misses it.

"I'm always in pain, girlie," he tries to play it off, but Lola tucks herself closer to him.

"You don't deserve it." She'll tell him, and he'll never mention the exchange again, but he'll think about it often.

A month later, he watches her watch Tommy and Heather meet, and he'll see her heart quietly break. She's tucked up against Nikki, mostly out of it, and he's licking coke residue from a baggy, but all Lola can see how Tommy's smiling at that gorgeous blonde woman in a way she knew all too well.

"Girlie," Mick calls her, just as Vince announces he's off to get more drinks, and Razzle goes to accompany him. Lola looks to Mick, tears in her eyes. She doesn't even realise she's crying, "are you -?" Lola's gaze is already drifting back when he tries to ask her a question, and Nikki doesn't seem to notice her state.

"I'm fine," Lola says quietly, eyes wide, pupils dark and shiny, sniffling a little before she tears herself away, tapping Nikki's arm, "babe, where's the- the-" she won't say it out loud, but Nikki knows what she's after, and hands over a different baggy easily.

Lola passes out in the bathroom, Tommy falls in love, and Razzle doesn't come home.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #tommy lee #mick mars #tommy lee imagine #mick mars imagine #Vince Neil #the dirt #motley crue #motley crue imagine #the dirt imagine #drugs tw #heroin tw #the angry lizard writes

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