#bathtub counts as a chair because i say so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hauntedhokage · 6 months

Text

off the top

Nanami Kento/GN!Reader (no pronouns, no y/n)

word count: 2.1k

summary: Nanami needs a haircut but his usual stylist is booked for weeks. Good thing he has you, right?

note: i’m just obsessed with him and his hair. this can be read as either platonic or established romantic relationship.

“Y’know, I think I’ve had better ideas,” you mumble from where you’re seated on the edge of your bathtub, looking down at him as he leans back over the edge so you could wash his hair. “This doesn’t seem like a relaxing salon experience for you, Nanami.”

“This isn’t a salon.”

“Obviously, it’s my bathroom.” You let out a huff, and he finally cracks open an eye to see you pouting at the wall. So far the only thing you’d managed to get wet in your attempt at washing his hair was your legs, and he hated seeing you look so defeated over something that was so small. “Take your shirt and pants off.”

“Hm?”

“Just do it! Socks too!” You’re stepping out of the tub, leaving the detached shower head dangling from the wall to spray at the partially drawn curtain as he does what you’ve requested. Standing half naked in your bathroom wasn’t even the most abnormal thing to happen to him this week, but he understands your vision better when you return with one of the chairs from your dining table and set it down in your bathtub facing away from the shower head.

He takes his seat when you point, tilting his head back when you ask only to be surprised by the hot towel on his face.

“What’s this?”

“One, I know you relax better with your eyes covered and two, don’t they do this?”

“That’s more of a shaving thing.”

“Maybe we can do that next time,” you muse, finally bringing the shower head up to wet his hair. He will admit that it feels much better when someone else is washing his hair, but it’s more comfortable when it’s you. You smelled nice, and your fingers were gentle as they went through his hair to make sure it was thoroughly wet. Unlike a salon, you weren’t on a time crunch and knew he wasn’t either and clearly you intended on taking your time.

“So, Mr. Nanami, what do you do for a living?” you ask, and he can hear the smile on your face as you uncap the shampoo.

“I don’t normally talk to the stylist much.”

Clearly you didn’t care about that, because you only breathe out a chuckle before asking, “Do you work for a private company?”

“I work in a sector of public safety. A lot of it is confidential.”

“Like the secret agents in the movies?”

“Something like that.” You’re massaging the shampoo into his scalp, and he’s certain that he could fall asleep here if you’d let him. You probably wouldn’t even notice with the towel covering his eyes, but if you did he knew that you’d let him sleep. Maybe request that he move to your couch or bedroom so he wouldn’t injure his neck, but you always let him get his rest if he needed it. “What made you want to become a hairstylist?”

“My best friend was in a dilemma. His hair was growing out and he couldn’t get an appointment with his usual stylist for another month, so I had to step in and save the day.”

“You like taking care of other people?”

“I like taking care of him.” That’s not the answer he was expecting, even when he knows it to be true. You both naturally took care of each other, that’s what people who were close were supposed to do. But to hear you say it like that - to specify that it was him you liked to care for - that was different. “He works hard, and he’s very dear to me.”

“I’m sure you’re also dear to him.”

“Oh I know I am. We’ve been in each other's lives for so long, we’re almost in each other’s heads, so he can’t hide much from me.”

You’re rinsing his hair now, still treating it with a delicacy that he didn’t even show himself. The tune you’re humming is one he’d heard out of you many times, he didn’t know the words or even the title but he did know that it was one of your favorite songs and that was enough.

“Do you have plans for the day after this?”

“I’m spending the day with my best friend. We both have today off from work, so we’re going to watch a movie or two and go get dinner.”

“Fancy dinner?”

“No, not really our style. There’s a small restaurant that we’ve been going to for a few years, it’s their favorite place to eat.”

You hum your acknowledgement as your work the conditioner into his hair, and he knows you’re trying to figure out when dinner became part of the plan for the day but he also knows that you don’t mind it. As much as he liked being around you, you liked to spend time with him and would only shut it down if you had plans with Shoko - which he knew you didn't.

“You like to take care of your friend?”

“They take excellent care of me, and a lot of people we work with. I’m happy to be the one to take care of them even if they don’t think they need it.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it.” He knew that you did, but he’s grateful for the towel on his face that would hide his flushed cheeks and provide a reason for his cheeks to be so pink outside of this conversation. “I think they’re very lucky to have you as a friend.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that.” A lapse in the character makes him laugh a bit as you rinse out his hair for the final time, being mindful to get all of the product out before shutting the shower off and returning the head to its home on the wall. Your hands then carefully try to squeeze more water from his short locks, trying to be mindful not to pull too hard. “How was that?”

“I could have you wash my hair for the rest of my life and die a happy man, and you know I don’t say that lightly.”

“We can arrange that.” You’re draping a towel over his shoulders before you step out of the tub, and he watches as you go to your bathroom counter and open the case. “Bring your chair, Nanami.”

“Poor customer service,” he teases as he stands, bringing the chair with him and setting it down in front of the mirror. When he takes his seat you move to stand behind him, and he knows you’re watching an instructional video on how the clippers work.

“You trust me?”

It’s a loaded question that shouldn’t always have a simple answer. His immediate answer is yes, inexplicably without question did he trust you. You’d saved his life a time or two, and had always had his back since you were teenagers - of course he trusted you. But looking at you in the mirror, holding the electric hair clippers in one hand and your phone in the other, the answer doesn’t seem as simple as it was when discussing your ability to protect him as a sorcerer.

“I trust you with my life.”

“Your life and your personal image are two different things.”

He knew that, but despite your YouTube guided crash course on how to cut hair that you’d started this morning he still trusted you. If you didn’t think you could do it, you wouldn't have offered after noticing that he’d been fussing with his hair. You cared about him enough to not do a poor job, the way you took the time to carefully wash his hair showed that much - and it was just hair. It grew back. The only person who would dare comment on a bad haircut was Gojo, and considering his hair was always looking messy, that opinion did not matter to Nanami. This was just to get him by until his next hair appointment in a month.

“It’ll grow back, so I’m not worried. Just do your best.”

You nod, trading your phone for a comb so you could comb through his hair. The longer hairs are then pinned to the top of his head, fully exposing the overgrown undercut that needed attention. Then the clippers turn on, and he relaxes his shoulders as your hand not holding the clippers settles on the side of his neck.

“You said the number two guard, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Next time will you let me try to shave a pattern in here?”

“Let’s get through this cut first.”

“That’s not a no.” You’re finally putting the clippers to his head, your fingers pressing into his skin a bit with your own nerves at what you were doing. “What does this even feel like to you?”

“Just the vibration, really. Nothing else.”

You only hum at that, and he watches in the mirror at the absolute focus on what he could see of your face as you worked. After a moment your hold on him gets a bit looser, you’re more comfortable as you move to the left side of his head. The care you show around his ears is admirable, the look of pure focus on your face very cute as you try your best to not mess up his hairline or clip his ear.

When it comes time for the scissors you pause again, looking closely at his face in the mirror while trying to figure out how to best go about it. This was different than just simply shaving some hair away, so he could see why you hesitate with the scissors until he brings his own hand up to show you where you should cut.

“It’ll grow back,” he reminds, nodding when you do and watching as you move to stand in front of him. Your fingers are gentle in his hair as you find your line to cut at, and when you make the first cut he can feel the air shift with your instant tension. “I comb it back anyway, so I’m not worried.”

“Do you have any concerns?”

“Getting my eye poked.”

“You might trust me too much.” But you continue cutting, and he knows you’re trying to remember the one time you’d gone with him for a haircut to picture what his hairstylist had done. You’re thinking too hard, but he lets you continue since clearly it was making you a bit more confident with your cuts until finally you’re setting the scissors down and ruffling his hair a bit. He wasn’t going to say anything until you give the all clear, but he knows you’re not done just yet even if the scissors have been set down.

“Okay, now for styling so I know I did it right.” And he continues to sit as you pull your hair dryer out, continuing to watch you as you dry and comb through his hair in an attempt to get it in his usual style. It wouldn’t be perfect without his pomade, but you got it so close that he can’t help but smile when you’re finally pleased with your work. “How’s it look?”

“I might never have to go see my hairstylist again.” Was it perfect? No, but it was more than just good, and to see the way your face lights up at the praise has him feeling just as excited for you as you looked. “This is really good, truly. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It’s not until he stands that it clicks for the two of you that he was still wearing just his briefs, and you can only laugh as he comments on clearly being comfortable at your apartment. You knew each other too well to be flustered by something like that, but he does opt to leave his shirt off and just pull his pants on before he’s taking the chair back to your dining area before he returns with the broom.

“Let me clean up here, why don’t you go start a movie and I’ll join you in a couple minutes.”

And when he does join you his shirt is back on, and he sits on the floor in front of where you’re seated on the couch, commenting that he needed the harder surfaces for a while for the sake of his back after all the sitting he’d just done. Your hand is in his hair, and he can only smile to himself at the fact that you’d spent fifteen minutes trying to get his hair into his usual style only to mess it up by “enjoying your good work” in how well you washed it.

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

“No thanks needed,” you mumble, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head. “It’s what we do.”

#nanami kento fluff #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x gn!reader #gn reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami imagine #kento nanami x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you

226 notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Note

I wish you’d write a fic where Joel Miller gets to take a relaxing bubble bath while being showered with kisses. He deserves it 😌 ✨Steph ✨

STEPH! 💖💖💖 I know this was just supposed to be an ask game but I just had to write something because you are absolutely right 😌💜

𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍'

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre romance, smut, fluff

word count: 1k

summary: you convince joel to have a bubble bath with you.

warnings: established relationship, handjob, honestly this is just two people having a good time with each other, so there isn't really a dom/sub dynamic going on, but if we have to label it joel is definitely on the more submissive side, mild dirty talk

You’re already in the bathtub when you call out to him. You hear Joel’s footsteps as you slide further down the porcelain tub, moaning at the feeling of warm water engulfing you. The bubbles feel like fleeting velvet over your skin. It’s been a while since you had gotten the chance to relax. There was a lot to do in Jackson. A lot needed to be done. But thankfully, it was worth the ache in your bones.

A soft knock echoes and Joel cracks the door, peering inside. You motion for him to come in.

“Hey,” you say as he pulls a small stool with him and sits next to the tub. “How’s your day been?”

“Good, I guess,” he murmurs. “Much better now that I’m seein’ you in all your naked glory.”

“Hmm, I wish I could say the same but you’re layered.” smiling, you cradle his cheek with one hand, your thumb smooths over a cut that’s been long since faded. “Why don’t you join me?”

He looks unsure. You see the way his chin moves, left to right and then right to left. His eyes drop to the bubbles covering your chest. With a grin, you pull him by the collar and messily press your mouths together.

You feel Joel's soft and inviting lips against yours. His hands come to rest on your bare shoulders, his fingertips tracing a gentle pattern of circles on your skin. His tongue is warm and sweet as it explores your mouth. He nips your bottom lip, his hands slipping down your back and around to cup your waist. You let out a soft moan as his fingers delicately massage your curves.

His lips press harder against yours, and you pull away, grinning at him, albeit heavily flustered and dizzy.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” the smile he answers with warms your heart. “Join me.”

Joel strips efficiently and quickly. He places the dirty garments neatly over the chair, his back is tense, the scars like a star filled sky. You know them by heart—tracing them almost every night since the two of you came together. He turns, a little flushed, a little embarrassed. Your gaze drops to his half hard cock that hangs heavy between his legs. Your cheeks burn, your walls clenching around nothing at the sight.

“Uh…” he hovers around the edge of the tub awkwardly. “How do we do this? How do we fit?”

“Just lay on top of me. I want to feel your weight.” when he still looks unsure you add. “Let me pamper you, big boy.”

With a hesitant smile, Joel steps into the bathtub, the hot water enveloping him as he settles in between your legs. He slides towards you, your chest pressing against his back as you cradle him from behind. His body is tense, but you can feel his muscles relaxing as you run your hands over his chest, tracing light circles over the raised scars. You lean in and press a kiss to his neck, the heat of your breath against his skin sending shivers down his spine.

Your hands roam the contours of his body, mapping out every inch as you go. He sighs in contentment, his body melting into yours further. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, and your own heart mimics his rhythm, beating frantically.

Your lips never leave his skin. And your hands move lower, slipping beneath the water as you tease him. He moans softly, his head falling back against your shoulder. His cock pulses against you, and it grows harder with each stroke. You reach around, your fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft as you stroke him. His breathing grows shallow and his hips buck against your touch, seeking more pleasure.

“F-Fuck, darlin’,” he gasps. “If you told me you had this in mind i’d jump in sooner. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

“You like it?” you hum, pressing another kiss into the back og his neck. You taste him, dragging your tongue over the salty skin. “Tell me what you want?”

“Well, for starters, I’d want to feel your perfect pussy around my cock,” he lets out a flustered laugh, bucking into your hand. “But this works too.”

“That was the greatest non-answer I’ve ever heard,” you tut, squeezing the base. He hisses. Your fingers tremble as you move your hand to the front of his neck, tracing your thumb down the column of his neck. “Come on, tell me.”

“Just touch me,” he breathes out. “Kiss me. Touch me. It all feels so fuckin’ good darlin’. Like heaven.”

Upon hearing that, you continue to touch him, your fingers exploring his body as his breathing grows more erratic. You can feel him shaking with pleasure, and you know he's close. The water sloshes around you, some of it going over the tub. You press your tumb into the slit and his thighs spasm. You increase your pace, your fingers stroking him harder and faster. His head rolls to the side, the curve of his nose pressing into your neck. Your own arousal grows as he moans into your skin, biting and licking whatever his mouth can reach. You moan alongside him, your own hips starting to rock back and forth but it’s an unfruitful endevour.

But it’s worth it seeing him like this, hearing him. His orgasm rocks through him, his body shuddering against yours as he releases. You feel the throb of his cock under your palm. You greedily crash your lios into his, swallowing his groans and sucking his bottom lip between your teeth.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he comes down from his pleasure.

Your lips find his ear, “Pretty,” you murmur. “We should do this more often.”

Joel nods into your neck, nuzzling closer. He presses his lips right above the vein that maenders down your neck.

“We sure should. I feel like a cat in a sunbeam, could lay in here forever,” he drawls, eyes fluttering closed. “But,” he adds suddenly. “I think we should get out of this here tub and go to bed. I bet that pussy is soaked for me. Can't wait to taste you.”

You let out a sharp chuckle, “I mean…we are in water.”

“Don't play dumb darlin', you know what I mean,” he answers, his tone sounding annoyed but you can tell that he's just teasing. "Come on now. Don't keep me waitin'."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

837 notes · View notes

dawnoftime22 · 3 months

Text

"...because it feels like it will."

| W.M ( -> N.R )

Undeserving of a Love Like Yours, Chapter 4

Chapter Warnings: Staying underwater in a bathtub for a couple seconds, relationship problems, avoidance, distancing, alcohol, getting drunk.

Summary: Everything in your world starts to fall apart.

Series Summary: When you're stuck in a complete hole of confusion and hurt with the one you thought you loved most, a certain redhead finds her way into your life.

Word Count: 5.1k

Category: Angst. Full on aaaaangst.

A/N: this was...a lot. and unlike anything I've written before, but hooooo! I love how it turned out. I was a little late, but I hope you enjoy it <3

| Started on 19/01/2024, 2:28 PM |

| Finished on 05/02/2024, 8:18 PM |

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | N.R Masterlist

<- Chapter 3 Chapter 5 ->

"When did your heart stop beating as it once used to for me?"

|——————————— ᗢ ———————————|

Light broke through the window, dawn visiting the sky with the sun. The bed was empty of either of your bodies. Dust could be seen floating around in the sunlight that came in the room.

You were up and about, already having finished showering and wearing your clothes. Wanda on the other hand, had gotten out the house even before you awoke.

Your feet takes you to the kitchen, the dim lighting adding nothing but only sleepiness to your still low energy. Even though you got your rest and showered.

You open the pantry to grab two slices of bread, to then put in the toaster after making sure the timer was set right. The watch on your wrist tells that it was 7:43 AM. You still had time.

As you waited for your bread to toast, you went to make a drink in your mug. Your thoughts drift to the brunette as you do so, not being able to help it.

Wanda had slowly started to not be present. You could say it's work, you could say she's busy or tired, but it was starting to be unavoidable to think about.

With you starting up work again, it being a weekday once more, you weren't sure if you were glad or not. It'll either be a distraction to not thinking about her at all, or more time alone to yourself to only be thinking about her.

A sigh leaves your mouth and you gently shake your head, trying to rid the endless thoughts in your head. Your hands cup the freshly made drink held within the warm mug, letting it sit on the cold marble counters.

Soon enough, your bread pops up from the toaster, and it was nearly perfect aside from the slightly lesser toasted parts. You probably need a new toaster.

Not caring much about it though, you grab a plate and place it on there, making your sandwiches easily for a morning breakfast. The minutes were going by a little quicker with every second you spent eating, and honestly, time was starting to look like its going against you today.

After you rush to finish the last few bites and put the plate in the sink along with your now empty mug, you go to the front door, phone and keys already in your pockets.

The drive to your workplace was a blur, your eyes were focused on the roads and your mind was preoccupied with the thoughts of everything and nothing as you tried to distract yourself with music.

You arrived soon enough and walk through the building, passing by co-workers, and many other people you didn't take mind to put a name to or even know.

Your work was pretty boring, sitting down at a desk with a plastic chair-- Yes, plastic, as there weren't any that were comfortable around the building except for the one in the boss's office.

The only thing that wasn't boring with it was being able to fiddle around with some spotlights and having fun with the colors. Your fingers move around the control board as you set everything up.

As time went by, you finished it up and let the lights do whatever you set them to do. Now, you had a choice to either sit and do something else, or do paperwork.

Although that sounded awful, you went to work on them instead, not wanting to be sore from sitting in the same position for the next few hours on your chair watching whatever show you downloaded on your phone while working on the lights.

The time went by, and you finished up most of it all, until lunch came by and it was time to get a break. You get up from your chair and leave the pen you were holding in your hand to lay upon the papers, going off in search for some food.

You made sure your phone was still in your pocket as you made your way out, your car still waiting for you outside. But, seeing as the place was close, you could just walk there. The sun shone down on you, the heat obvious both from your body warming up, and the bright yellow sunlight across the concrete sidewalk and other buildings.

After you went in the nearby café, you started cooling down a bit, the ac within it easily helping you out. The place was starting to get packed, but you've always had a small little corner you're able to keep for yourself every lunch break.

You go up to the front counter, ordering a few things before you went to the empty table. Your order number was a bit far, but you didn't mind it as you stared out the window. Lucky the sun didn't filter in through the glass here, seeing as it was behind the building.

Your mind then drifted off, stuck on a certain thought ever since you saw the clock strike lunch time. You bit down on your bottom lip and your hand reached in your pocket to grab your phone.

As your fingers unlock it and go through the apps to then scroll in your contacts list, your mind reeled with every possible thing that could happen. You probably shouldn't. You know you shouldn't. But it's worth a try.

Your thumb hovers over her name for a short while, but you give in and tap on the contact, giving in. It switches to calling mode, and you put your phone to your ear, anticipation making your heart beat faster.

The dialing tone keeps sounding out, and you were starting to regret it, but hope lead on with every beep. You hoped it doesn't go to voicemail. And it doesn't.

"Hello?" Her voice comes through the phone clearly, and you let go of a breath you've been holding quietly, looking out the window, so your eyes don't just focus on the plain table. You gather your thoughts, turning them into words.

"Hey. Um, you have lunchtime free, right?" You ask, your eyes moving to the orders list. Your number was going up, but you had enough time to keep talking with her.

"I do...Why?" She asks, as if skeptical of something. Had she forgotten about lunch break? You didn't let the curious thought linger and instead fiddle with the paper in your hand of your order number.

"I was just...wondering, because I do, and well, do you wanna have lunch together?" You say casually, expecting a denial with the many times she has before.

"Sure. Sure, that sounds good." She says, and you raise your eyebrows in surprise. But your heart jumps at the agreement.

"Okay. I'll maybe..." You pause for a second, looking down at the time on your watch. It showed 1:15 PM. "...see you at 1:20 PM?"

"I can be there by 1:30 PM." Her voice elongates some words, probably also checking her own watch as she said it. You smile, happy with her answer nonetheless.

"Okay. See you here." You say quietly, trying your best to keep your cool, like anyone else in the café. Although, they're probably pretty calm at the moment and not getting excited about something.

"See you." She didn't say anything else, and all you heard after was an end call tone. You pull your phone away from your ear, and right when you do, you notice the order list moving to your number.

You stood up, and went to grab it, thanking the cashier. When you sat back, you took a sip of your drink, but nothing more, thinking of waiting for Wanda.

As you waited, and waited, checking the time, your meal was starting to get cold and you were getting hungry. You took a couple bites here and there, enjoying your lunch.

Soon enough it was now getting to 2:20 PM. Your lunch break was ending soon, and you finished up the last of it, but not with someone you were hoping to spend it with. You check your phone again, in case you had somehow missed something even with the past few minutes you looked.

hey, are you coming?

if you have to cancel that's okay, just say it

Sent at 2:00 PM.

Wanda?

Sent at 2:14 PM.

No reply. Your hope was running short, and the café was starting to empty out. You take another look at the empty seat in front of you, then to the window's view of the roads outside. There was no sign of the brunette you much so keep precious.

You sigh, and get up, holding your phone tightly in your hands before storing it back in your pocket. It wasn't much. She was starting to deny spending lunchtime with you, and today was the first in a while she accepted. But it's worse when you find some hope and it escapes from your hands.

You put on your headphones, playing some music as you walked back, knowing the rest of the day you had to just finish up work. Hours and hours passed by and you had to stretch so you wouldn't get sore. But you made it through the end. You always do. The sun was setting as you collected your stuff and exited the building, going to your car.

You soon enough get home, having driven on auto-pilot, which was quite dangerous, but you've made it back unscathed. Or, well, physically. Mentally? You weren't doing so well.

The lock of the front door clicks with the movement of your hands, that then glide off to let your legs be free of your shoes. The place was quiet. A usual greeting whenever you'd come home, but it's gotten quieter, an in between from that horrid silence and just the atmospheric quietness. A void that seemed to swallow you up whole within your mind, replacing the silence.

You sigh heavily, walking to the bedroom. Nothing else was in your mind to do but just to take a shower. Although with how draining a shower in of itself sounded to be, you had decided with another version; the bath.

Your bag and jacket was taken off and thrown gently on the bed as you went to search for some comfortable clothes in the closet. Shirt, another shirt, jacket...Wanda's jacket, hoodie, collared shirt, and then your hand lands on a comfy oversized shirt you'd wear at home.

Sweatpants was swiped off from another part of the closet and put on the bed, ready for you get into after you were done. You go into the bathroom, closing the door behind you and locking it, even though no one else was in the house. Habit, you supposed. Plus, safety.

You turn on the faucet at the bathtub, letting the water run hastily down. You made sure the drain hole was closed and the temperature was just right before turning it off, peeling off your clothes to then carefully climb in the tub.

The warm water eased your tense muscles, the gentle small ripples visiting your skin as you moved to get comfortable. The bathtub was cold as you placed your hands on the sides, a big range in the temperature difference with the water.

Sounds of water tapping from the sink or showerhead every now and then echoes, reverberating off the walls. It was nice. Something to keep you company here and there even if your mind was hazy with thoughts.

Your eyes focus on a part of the wall somewhere in the bathroom, spacing off. You try not to do it for too long, knowing you'll only dig yourself a digger hole with thinking. Slowly, you take a deep breath in and sink into the bathtub, holding your breath in the water while bubbles went to surface.

You can feel the pressure heavy on your head. The water devouring you as you stayed down. After a few seconds though, you pull yourself back up, letting air flow back into your lungs and wiping your hair off your face.

It made you feel more alive, oddly enough, for something that's dangerous. Rather concerning if you thought about it more, but you brush it off and started to do more things, such as cleaning yourself off with some soap, the familiar scent filling the bathroom and making your exhausted soul relax just for a while.

Soon enough, you get out and dry yourself up, making sure the bathtub was drained of any water too. The cold air that visits you when you step out the bathroom, although even with a towel wrapped around your body, still stings your skin.

Your legs take you over to the bed, your hands moving on their own as you wore your clothes, the fabric covering your body and warming you right up easily.

Once you got done, you were right about to drop onto the bed, but then you look around the empty room. You end up staring at the flowers you got her in the corner of the room, sitting atop her desk. You clench your jaw slightly, and walk over to it. But you didn't do anything, really. Only your hand went up to gently touch the soft petals. You take in a deep breath before letting it go, your hand going into a fist as you let out your breath.

You turn away from it and walk back to the bed, shaking your head at your own movements and thoughts. You sat on the bed, the sheets soft on your hand. You then slowly drop down to lay your back against the mattress, your eyes looking up at the blank ceiling while your legs dangles off the edge of the bed.

With the seconds that go by, just as you were about to finally move to the pillows and lay comfortably, your phone dings with a notification. Your heart skipped a beat, and you freeze, a dreading feeling overcoming you.

You think it over and hesitate, not wanting to feel any worse, but having a gnawing feeling to check. But then you prop yourself up with your hands and grab your phone, the screen lighting up with your lockscreen as you clicked the power button.

The time shows up and a few other notifications, but one thing stood out to you most. A message. By who? Well, of course the one that's been on your mind for all of today. Your heartrate speeds up and you read the message.

Hey, sorry, I forgot to tell you I couldn't make it.

I'll try to make it home before you sleep though. Love you.

Sent at 7:34 PM.

Your eyes falter with any spark of hope you had left, and you click the power button once more, turning your phone off and slightly dropping it on the bed, it making a soft thump against the soft mattress. Your phone was fine and safe with the drop, but your heart surely wasn't.

Your throat swells up, and you hold your tongue against your teeth, trying everything within you not to let it get to you, but you slide off the bed and go to sit on the floor, your back resting against the side of the bed now.

A sniffle comes from you and your eyes well up with tears. You didn't want to cry. But with everything-- your lungs do a sharp intake of breath, and you squeeze your eyes shut, pulling your legs up to your chest and hugging your legs with your arms.

Your tears soon leak from your eyes, down to your cheeks and sobs left your mouth. God, of course you were crying. It was just a small thing. Or well, that's what your mind wants you to think. She's never left you waiting just like that.

A few more couple of minutes went by, with you letting out your built up feelings until you calm down a little more. You wipe away the mixed tears that were both from your nose and your eyes, both the skin of your hand and your arm filled with it.

They dried off though as you pulled yourself up off the floor and got back on the bed, your teeth capturing your bottom lip. So many muscles working to keep yourself moving, even though they got a rest in the bathtub, they were kept going even after.

But now, you relax a bit, shuffling to lay your head on the pillow. It was cold, so you go to grab the covers first and pull it over you. You curl up under them, your nose red from the crying. But your body got to rest as your once heavy breaths went softer with every minute.

|——————————— ᗢ ———————————|

The next day you once more awoke to empty sheets. Again and again. You were starting to question what exactly was happening, because it all seemed to be something rather than just your mind playing tricks on you.

Nothing much happened in the day. You worked at home, doing stuff on your laptop. Once you were done, you laid around relaxing while all at the same time being anxious. While the sun went down, the skies got cloudy, and just as the moon started to glow brightly, rain starts pouring down.

It was getting cozy, with the dim lighting. You watched a show on the tv, but wasn't really waiting on much, just scared of what you'll have to soon face.

As an hour or two go by with you sitting on the couch, you start to get sleepy, your eyes heavy. But right as you shut off the tv and was about to get up, you hear keys clinking near the front door.

You kept your place on the couch, your eyes keeping watch of it, but when you hear a struggle with the keys going in and not unlocking, you stand up, going to go open it for her.

You turn the lock and open it, behind it revealing Wanda who had seemed like she just got up from crouching to grab her keys.

"Hi." She says with a small laugh, smiling sheepishly as she held her keys between her fingers, showing them to you. "Slippery hands."

You didn't react much, only your lips moved to form a straight line as you stepped aside to let her in. She goes in and kicks off her shoes while you closed the door behind her, locking it.

As Wanda went to take off her jacket too, you walk more to her front, your mind only focused on what had happened yesterday.

"You didn't show up yesterday," you say in a whisper, the words coming out of your mouth without much thought. She turns her head to look at you, her mouth open slightly as she took in a breath in surprise but as if moving to say something.

"I got caught up in doing stuff and I...forgot." She puts her keys in her pockets, turning fully to you. That was when she saw your face, how different you seemed than the soft look you'd usually look at her with.

"We had lunch break, Wands." The nickname slipped from your mouth easily, especially in the situation of the confrontation. Your voice was gentle, but stern, and full of emotion.

"I know, but so much is going on and..." she trails off as she looks away from you, and you had hoped she'll go on, but instead she purses her lips and her eyes travel back to you, a breath of a sigh leaving her mouth.

"Come on, it's going to be New Year's soon." Your eyes widen a bit at the mention, having forgotten it was going to be the start of a new year from the weeks you've been lost in. She puts her hands up as if to gesture before she reaches in a bag she had brought home, grabbing something.

"I got us wine." She pulls out the bottle of wine, a small smile playing on her lips as she raises her eyebrows. Surprise was on your face before you furrow your eyebrows, seeing where she was going with this.

"Right...but we should really talk." You say, your eyes following her movement as she walked off to the kitchen, grabbing some wine glasses and popping open the wine.

"Soon, Y/N," she said sternly herself, focused on pouring the drink down in the glasses as you made your way to where she stood near the kitchen island.

"Now, are we going to party or are you going to ruin it?" She finishes up, grabbing a glass full and holding it out for you, her face obvious with expecting you to go with the first choice.

Your eyes flicker from her and the glass, before lingering on the glass. A breath leaves your body through your nose gently and your hand impulsively reaches up to grab it. It was a moment of weakness and you took it.

She smiles and hums, grabbing her own glass and taking a sip. You too, although you took a bit more than she did. The liquid easily ran down your throat, although burning slightly.

"You know what I think we should do?" She sounded out, her eyes looking towards the watch, counting down the hours until New Year's came around. You follow her gaze, and there was around two hours left.

You hum in question, looking back at her. She smiled wider and goes to the drawers nearby, opening one. You gazed curiously at her, wondering what exactly she was up to.

"We should play some Uno." She holds up the box that held the cards, and your eyebrows rose, but finally your lips raise up too slightly.

She goes over to the living room, sitting down on the couch and setting up the cards. You follow behind her, sitting on the bean bag nearby the couch as you wait for your set of cards.

The two of you start the game, it starting off slow until it moved to a few Unos and fails. You had one too many reds now, and really you were starting to hate the color.

She calls out Uno, and you had two cards left. You hoped she didn't have a yellow, seeing as she's been going with your last few reds and blues, but not a yellow.

As it was her turn, she cheers and whoops, throwing her last card onto the pile of uno cards you two played. It was a wild card.

"I won!!" She says, putting her hands in the air, and you had your mouth open in shock, looking at her with an unbelievable expression.

"That's not fair! You're using a wild card." You put your hand out, gesturing towards it. Sure you've seen this strategy before, and even used it yourself, but it definitely frustrated you most times.

"It is fair!" She laughs, drinking more from her glass and finishing the last drop of wine in it, leaving it back on the coffee table next to the stack of cards.

"Nope!" You say, grabbing the pile of Uno cards and gathering them, putting them together properly once more for another match.

"Is!" She exclaims with a smile and a tilt of her head, watching you shuffle the cards when you got them all.

Soon after a couple more rounds, and a couple more wine refills, the two of you get drunker as time inched to New Year's, your happiness only there because the alcohol riled you up.

"How'd we end up on the floor, anyway?" She asks, laughing, and her words slurring as you had your feet in her lap, your back laid on the floor while hers was against the couch.

"Because we are extremely drunk. That's how." You say through a giggle, putting up your index finger as if to make a point.

You moved to sit up and shuffle to sit beside her instead of laying down, her gaze focused on the time. You smile, looking at her lovestruck, although drunk. You then whisper, "I love you."

But she only went with, "Andddd...Happy New Year's!!" She puts her hands up and turns to you, going in to kiss you on your lips. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but you take it.

That was how that night turned out. You both went on, and danced, and did other things until you fell asleep. The morning was ruined with a horrid hangover, but you managed, somehow. Wanda just spent her day by going with sleeping longer.

And then, in the span of months, the relationship you built so carefully with love and passion, through four months, started to fall down. All along with your heart. Slowly. Oh, so slowly.

You started to only see her in the middle of the nights, whenever the bed dips and you wake up just slightly. Most times she wouldn't even bother to go close to you and pull you close. Just keeping her distance.

On some random day, you decide to break and pick up your phone, being unable to deal with any of it anymore.

You go through the grueling process of going to your contacts and searching her up once more, your fingers not hesitating to tap on the call button.

And as you wait, you hear the calling noise sound out. That sickening. Call tone. But after just a few more, she picks up.

"Hello?" She says, and you could hear a bit of her sokovian accent coming out. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. She only did that when she was angry or something, but you went on with your plan.

"Wanda, we need to talk." You say, although slightly calmly, you were certainly trying your best to keep yourself grounded than splutter out all the words and questions in your head.

"Yeah?" She says in a breath, and you can hear something in the background. You assume she dropped something, because it sounded like clutter.

"Why are you being so distant lately?" You slowly ask, and she went silent. It left you sitting in your thoughts as to what exactly she was doing on the other side of the call.

Probably thinking about her next words. Probably 'busy with work,' probably this, probably that. Then you hear her take in a breath.

"...I think we need to take a break." She says suddenly. You were expecting it. Not that sentence, and certainly not that straightforward. You were expecting her to say, 'We need to break up.' But your mouth would be open slightly either way.

This was happening on a phone call. Of all the times you could be together, and she decides to do it over the phone. Sure, you rang her up, but it was to go in the direction of communication, not to do something a little extreme.

"What? Wanda, what we need least of all is a break. Honestly, we need more time together than less." You say in disbelief and scoff, knowing you had spent less time than you ever had the start of last year.

"Communication. We need that. Please, we've been through this before." Your voice came out more gently, and a little shakily, your thoughts having gone to the past but not lingering.

"I tried spending time with you. It's just...I don't know, Y/N." She said in frustration, and your eyes roll slightly then move around the room, looking at every furniture here as you tried to make sense of the situation and find more words to say to her.

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'??" You question. She was either just as confused of her emotions or feelings just as you were or, she was holding something back.

"I love you, you know that. But I...don't think we can work right now." She said urgently at first before transitioning to a slower pace in her talking. Your eyes well up with tears, and it took everything in you not to straight up hang up the phone. You had to deal with this even through the tears while talking to her. You took a deep breath.

"Talk, Wanda." You say, and she goes quiet once more. This time, perhaps out of guilt. The silence was deafening, and you had nothing to focus on except for the hardwood flooring and the carpet.

"I...think I'm falling out of love with you." At that, your heart drops. Her voice was shaky too, and full of emotions. Way more than you've ever heard for the past few days.

"What...?" The word comes out in a breath from your mouth. It didn't feel real. This didn't feel real. Your heart didn't even feel like it was beating anymore. Was this one of your nightmares? Well, it's a real one, that's for sure, with the texture of the couch felt against the skin of your hands.

"I don't wanna fight with you and...you're making no sense." You look up and sniffle, trying your best not to let yourself cry while still on the call. Wanda was silent.

"But okay. If that's what you really want." You nod continuiously, your voice obvious in sounding like you're about to tear up. And you were.

"I'll see you later, Y/N." She said. You didn't even get the chance to hang up, the ending tone sounding out and echoing. The silence wasn't a welcome back at all. A welcome to hell? Maybe.

You sat with your shoulders slumping, processing what had just happened, and you finally break, crying once again.

The rest of the day was filled with dread and like your heart was getting beat and shattered to a million peaces. You had retreated to the comfort of your bed, laying in it and letting your tears stain the pillow you laid your head on.

You slept all alone.

But you'd do it over and over again for her. Just because you believed it'll pass with time. Just because...you didn't want to let go yet. Just a little longer.

You only saw her once in december. And it wasn't even really december anymore, it was new year's day. Plans that started every now and then, though rare, was getting cancelled.

She seemed like she was getting sick to her stomach every time she met you face to face once more. Either that or your mind was tricking you.

Your body subconsciously moved every now and then, searching for the warmth of another body next to you, but there wasn't one, and your body had found your own warmth by curling up instead.

end of chapter 4. </3

Series Masterlist <- Chapter 3 Chapter 5 ->

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

taglist <3 - join here! :]

@may-z3 @ludasgf @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @justanotherteenpoet @fxckmiup @dmenby3100 @natashasilverfox @wandsmxmff @simp-erformarvelwomen @marvelwomen-simp

#🥀 dawn’s collection #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fics

92 notes · View notes

crazyunsexycool · 1 year

Text

Is it a crime?

Chapter 8

Pairing: mob boss!bucky Barnes x mob boss!reader

Word count:5.2k

Warnings: angst, some physical violence, physical violence against a pregnant woman, death threats, gun use, teenage pregnancy scare, arguing I think that’s all

A/N: some of you are upset on how the last chapter ended and I’m sorry! I hope some parts of this chapter makes up for it. A LOT is revealed here too. Please let me know what you think. A very special shout out to the very lovely Em ( @writing-for-marvel ) for being such an amazing person an creating dividers for this series I absolutely love them. Em is also a very talented writer so you should check out her writing!!!

Series masterlist

Ch. 7

17 years old

You paced back and forth in your bathroom. Bucky sat at the edge of the bathtub, his leg bouncing as he watched you. The wait was pure agonizing torture. After a few minutes the timer you had set went off. The answer you were waiting for would be the best news or the worst. You pick up the little white stick with a pink lid and read the result, sighing in relief.

“What does it say?” Bucky asked, still unmoving from his spot.

“It’s negative.”

You showed him the pregnancy test and he frowns slightly. His reaction causes you to frown on return. He pulls you closer so that you’re standing in between his legs. His arms wrap around your hips.

“Did you want to have a baby now?” You ask in a whisper. “We’re still in school.”

“Now or in five or ten years or fifteen years, it doesn’t matter. As long as you’re the mother of my children.”

He smiles up at you, that sweet boyish smile you love and you can’t help but run your hand through his unruly hair.

“What if we’re not together by that time? Or we stop loving each other?”

He pulls back and looks you dead in the eye, his expression serious. “The day I stop loving you is the day I die. Even then I’d come back as a ghost to haunt you with my love.”

“You weirdo.” You laugh at the last part.

“I can live with that as long as you promise to love me back, and marry me when the time is right and have my children.”

“Only you Barnes, only you.” You smile brightly down at him before you connect your lips with his.

“You got her pregnant?!” Bucky hears behind him. He turns in his chair to see Becca walking into his living room and right towards him with a scowl on her face.

It was too early for this. To have this talk or fight. His head was still pounding from the horrible hangover he acquired, which takes a lot of alcohol considering he isn’t a lightweight.

“Answer me, James.”

“No.” He says quietly at first. “I don’t think so— maybe.”

When Becca stands in front of her older brother she can see the red rimmed and puffy eyes. There were dark bags under said eyes, his hair was disheveled as if he ran his hand through it multiple times. It’s obvious Bucky hasn’t slept or eaten anything since Dot announced the pregnancy and that had only been a few hours ago. But it was your face that kept showing up anytime he closed his eyes.

“Why would you even sleep with her? I thought you hated her guts.”

“Becca please, I can’t do this now. How did you even find out?”

“She’s been at home for the last hour talk-“

“It’s like 8:00 am.”

“Anyways, I came here because she was talking to dad. Dot is trying to convince him to make you move up the wedding since she doesn’t want to look pregnant in her wedding dress.”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to look at his sister.

“Fuck,” he throws the glass he had in his hand against the window. “Let’s go now. I’m not moving that wedding up.”

“You should shower and change first, you smell like a cheap bar.”

“Fine.” Bucky growls before stomping away toward his room.

****

Once he’s freshly showered and dressed Bucky heads back downstairs. There’s a whispered conversation going on between Steve and Becca. They both turn to look at him once he makes his presence known. Steve’s expression is more grim than Becca’s.

“What did she say?”

Steve opens his mouth but closes it again. He smooths his beard as he tries to think of the easiest way to say what you had told him.

“Will you just spit it out?”

“She told me to tell you to leave her the fuck alone and that you should be focusing on your future wife and child.”

Bucky curses under his breath.

“I’ll deal with dad first, let's go.”

Not much had changed in the old restaurant Pierce had brought you to. It was his usual spot even when you were a kid. The waitstaff still feared him, his men were still posted at every entryway. He still sat at the same table, with his back to the wall leaving you to sit with your back to a huge window. Sometimes you thought of just sending Cougar to take him out from a few rooftops away but that would take the fun out of everything. And if one thing was certain it was that you wanted to watch Pierce realize he’d lost. For now you indulge this little power trip of his.

“You know I gave up on looking for you about three years ago. You were in the clear, you could have kept living your life. So I don’t understand why you would do something so stupid like come back?” He looked at you over his coffee.

“You’re too old to be acting this stupid Pierce. You know why I’m back.”

“Watch your fucking attitude with me, princess.” He slammed his hand on the table, causing all the cutlery and plates to clang against each other.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. My, my someone is testy this morning. What’s wrong Pierce, did your prune juice not work for you?”

“I’m going to give you one day,” he held up one finger as he glared at you. “To pack your shit along with those good for nothing goons you brought with you, and get out of town. After that I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Is that supposed to scare me? Come on, you know better than that.” You shifted in your seat and sat up straighter. “I’m only going to tell you this once, I’m here to take back everything you stole from me. There is no negotiating, I will leave you with nothing and when we get to the end and you’re begging me to just end you, I will take pleasure in keeping you on the brink of death until I see fit.”

Pierce laughed and when he stopped he had a smug smile on his lips.

“Was that supposed to scare me?” He mocks. “I’ve taught you everything you know, I’ll always be ahead of you. There’s not a move you can make that I won’t know about and I will make your existence so miserable you’ll be the one begging for your life to end.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I could have had you killed the minute you stepped into my city but as a courtesy I wanted to have this sit down. I’ll only warn you once. The minute you step out of that door you have 24 hours to leave. If not, get ready for war.”

You smile at him before lifting your hand and signaling for someone or something. The window cracks and splinters, a bullet flies by your and Pierce’s head imbedding itself in the wall behind him. Before he or his bodyguards have time to react you’ve already gotten up from your seat. You grab Pierce by the back of his neck and slam his head against the table. The gun Rosie had given you just that morning is in your hand and pressed against his temple. “Tell them to back off.” You instruct Pierce as his men point their guns at you. “Now!”

“Do it, put your guns down and back off.”

You lean in “I’ve been ready for war for ten years. You should have killed me when you had the chance. If you think you can intimidate me with your old school bullshit, you’ve got another thing coming. That was the only warning shot you get, next time my guy won’t miss.” You push his head against the table once again before standing up straight. The gun you brandished was now pointed at the other men.

“Where did you get that gun?” He asked, sounding a bit panicked and surprised.

“Why do you care?”

“That was your mother’s gun.” He said through heavy breaths. “She was supposed to have it the night she died but it wasn’t in the car.”

The comment confuses you, how would he know if it was or wasn’t in the car.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure this is the gun I use when I kill you.” You snap before walking out of the restaurant.

Jake was waiting in a car just outside for you. You get in and he barely waits for the door to close before pulling away. He’s fuming, you can tell by the way the veins in his neck are about to pop out.

“Can you tell me what the fuck that was about?” Jake says through gritted teeth. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “What were you fucking thinking? He could have killed you.”

“He wasn’t going to. Pierce likes his little cat and mouse game. He has a strict set of rules he likes to follow, he never deviates from it. You know this.”

“That’s not the damn point.” he practically yells at you.

“Watch your tone with me Jensen. I’m your fucking boss, I make the calls not you.”

“And I’m not some low level pusher. I’m your right hand and I’ll call you out when I have to. Listen I get you’re upset about the Barnes thing, but that’s not an excuse to be so damn reckless.” His voice softens a little.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“I said stop the fucking car.” You snap and he does as you ask. “You have more important things to do, get to ‘em.” You say as you get out of the car and slam the door shut.

He drives away while you stand there. You take a deep breath and you wish you could smash someone’s head in.

“Fuck.” You mutter as you walk down the sidewalk.

“Oh my gosh, what happened to the window baby?”

“What the fuck are you doing here Dot?” Pierce glared at the bubbly blonde from his seat at the table.

“Well I wanted to see you and you weren’t at your office. The plan worked, James and Y/N think the baby is his.”

Dot gets closer to the older man and inspects his face. She gasps as she sees the red splotches on his face from where you slammed his head against the table.

“Who did this?” She tried to caress his cheek.

Pierce grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from him.

“Ow, Alex you’re hurting me.”

“Are you fucking stupid? Did the bleach finally seep into your brain and ate away at your common sense? Y/N could have seen you. It could have ruined everything.”

“But I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you and I know the baby misses his daddy.”

“You missed me?” Pierce’s hand connected with Dot’s face. The sound like thunder in the otherwise quiet room. “If you ever do anything stupid like showing up here I will kill you myself, understood?”

Dot tries to wipe the tears away and nods.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do that but sometimes you just make me so angry. Come here.” Pierce pulls Dot into a hug. “Now do me a favor. Get on your phone and call Rumlow and tell him to meet me here. Can you do that?”

“Brock is already outside. I’ll just tell him to come in.”

“Why don’t you do that and go home. We can’t risk our plan falling apart now can we?”

“No sir.” Dot walks out of the dining area and gets Brock before leaving.

“You wanted to see me?”

“If you ever let your sister near this area again, I will end you.” Pierce glared at the younger man.

“Understood. Anything else?”

“I gave Y/N 24 hours to leave. Burn down one of her warehouses tomorrow.”

“You think she won’t leave?”

“Of course not. I taught her better than that. The offer was just a formality. Now go keep an eye on her place. I want to know what happens.”

“You got it.”

Bucky walked into his family home ready to tear his father apart if he tried to have the wedding moved up. Dot was already gone by the time he arrived which was good because he would have strangled her. He said a quick hello to his mother and walked right into his father’s study. The older man glared at him, George Barnes hated being interrupted in the middle of what seemed like a meeting. This would have earned Bucky a beating but not anymore. Honestly Bucky would like to see his father try and swing at him.

“You know the rules, boy. I’m working and don’t just walk in here when I’m in a meeting.” George growls.

“This meeting is on hold,” Bucky looked down at the man in his father’s office. “Donny take a break.”

Donny looked between the two men and got up to quickly exit the room. He was more afraid of Bucky than he was of George. Bucky had earned a certain reputation over the last ten years that his father could never have.

“If you ever disrespect me-“

Bucky held his hand up to stop his father from going on and on about all the things he would do.

“I don’t have time for this, I know you know about Dot being pregnant. I’m pretty sure that kid isn’t mine so I’m not moving up the wedding. If I find out who the real father is, the wedding and the engagement are off. I’m not going to negotiate any other contract with you. If it turns out that I’m right you’re keeping up the end of our deal.”

“You think you can make demands? This is my business. I say what will and won’t happen. I give the orders and who does what. You’re nothing more than an ungrateful brat. And don’t think that your sister won’t get what’s coming to her for running to you this morning.”

Metal hits wood, a huge indent forms on the dark wooden desk. Cracks shoot out in different directions, effectively breaking the desk.

“You haven’t done shit for this business in years. I’ve been doing all the work, so what I say goes because I’m tired of your fucking bullshit. You don’t even know what’s going on outside these walls, the threats I’ve ended so that we can continue to operate in this city. From now on you will report to me. And if I find out that you put a finger on Becca I will make sure your death is slow and painful. Because trust me I’ve thought of it many, many times already.” Bucky sneered.

“Yeah, if you’re so tough then why haven’t you done anything about it?”

“Because of ma. Maybe you oughta be more grateful I haven’t gotten rid of you yet.” With that Bucky walks out.

He doesn’t care what his father has to say or think anymore. There were more important things in his life and if he really wanted to keep the business going there were more than enough men that were loyal to him. Bucky finds Donny, one of his father’s trusted men. One that had slowly started to gain more respect and fear of Bucky. Bucky instructed him to let the others know he was now in full command of the Barnes family and their businesses. Everyone reported to him and if someone didn’t like it they’d be eliminated.

Now all Bucky had to do was find a way to talk to you.

You got out of the cab you had flagged down after your disagreement with Jake. The familiar brownstone stood in front of you in all its glory. It reminded you of many childhood memories, both good and bad. You only have to wait a minute after knocking. The door flies open to reveal Joseph Rogers.

“Little otter I didn’t know you were coming over today.” He greets you happily. “Come in, Sarah will be so happy to see you.”

You give him a half smile as you walk in and head toward the kitchen where Joseph told you Sarah was. The older woman turned and her face lit up when she saw you walk in. She quickly wrapped you up in a hug. It took everything in you to not break down and cry. You were all raw emotions and doubt. So many questions swimming in your head.

“Well what brings you by today? I heard the club had its grand opening last night. How did that go?”

“It was successful in all the ways that mattered.”

Sarah looked over at her husband with worry as she placed a cup of coffee in front of you.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it did what it was supposed to. I have business deals starting up and I’m meeting with some local business owners in the next few days that are on Pierce territory. They want out from under him and I’m willing to provide the protection. Pierce even had the nerve to show up at my parents' graves this morning. He gave me a day to leave or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.”

“That piece of shit. Your father should have gotten rid of him when he had the chance.” Joseph says.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything otter.”

You pull out your mother’s gun and place it on the table.

“Hey, no guns on the table.”

“Sorry Sarah.” You smile at her before turning to Joseph. “Rosie gave it to me this morning. She said mom gave it to you to fix and you returned it but my parents had already left that night. I pulled this gun on Pierce and he was surprised to see it. He said that it was supposed to be in the car that night but it wasn’t. Do you know why he would care about it?”

Again Sarah and Joseph look at each other. The latter gave his wife a single nod.

“There’s something you need to know, Y/N.” Sarah said as she gently placed a hand over yours. “Before your mother was the head of her family and before your parents even met, your mom and Pierce dated. He was very much in love with her. Maybe he wanted to keep the gun to remember her?”

You stare at Sarah with nothing but pure shock and disbelief on your face. The nervous habit of playing with the locket that belonged to your mother brought you a little bit of comfort.

“Did my father know?”

“He was aware of Pierce’s feelings for her but I don't know if he was aware of their relationship.” Sarah tells you as she eyes the necklace. “You know your mother had a locket just like that.”

“This was her locket.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had it. She never took it off.”

Something about this didn’t feel right. The new information about your mother’s past relationship with Pierce made you question some things from your past.

“I should go. Thank you for everything.” You say as you stand and place the gun back in its holster.

“You don’t have to thank us. Just make sure you come around when you can little otter.”

You hugged them both and walked out. Cougar was leaning against the car you had used to drive to the cemetery. He tipped his hat in the direction of the Rogers and opened the door for you.

“Where to, boss?” He asks after getting into the driver's side.

“Wherever Jake is.”

Jake was typing furiously. It’s like he was punishing the keyboard for the argument between the two of you. He heard the door to his office open but ignored it, there were more important things to deal with. Until a little plastic T-Rex was placed on his desk. The corner of his lip ticks upward. Little plastic dinosaurs had always been how you apologized. There was no rhyme or reason to it. The tradition started when you were little and it stuck. You both had a small collection and you would trade them back and forth.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted this morning. You had every right to call me out. It’s one of the reasons I trust you so much.” You say quietly.

Cerulean eyes framed in circular glasses meet yours. They hold no real anger in them. It always made you wonder how Jake could be so kind but so cruel when needed.

“I was out of line too. I just freaked out when Cougar called me and told me what was happening. I’ve seen you go through too much for it to be over so quickly. So what did he want?”

“He’s giving us 24 hours to leave New York or he won’t be responsible for his actions.”

“Like he’ll be able to do any real damage.” Jake rolls his eyes and turns back to his computer. “Good job on placing that mic though. It took a few minutes but I have it up and running now. It seems like that’s where he likes to do business. Or at least some of it. They have cameras but no audio. I hacked in so that we have visuals and with our mic we have the audio we need for our back up plan. I also thought that if we could offer better deals people would agree to do deals with us instead.”

“This is why you’re my right hand JJ.” You clear your throat. “I need to ask you something. Do you remember when I asked you to look into my mom?”

He stops his typing and turns to look at you again. “Yeah.”

“What did you find?”

Jake pushes off the ground sending his computer chair gliding through his office at the club. He stops himself in front of a cabinet and rifles through until he finds what he’s looking for. Jake pulls out a thick folder. He then moves back to his desk and sets it down.

“This is all I have. It includes those offshore accounts she had made in your name that I found a few years back.”

“Is there anything in here about her death? Any crime scene photos or anything?”

“No, it seems like the police department is behind on digitizing their cold cases. Why?”

“I just found out some very interesting information and I wanted to see what the police found.”

“I’ll find a way to get my hands on it as soon as possible.” Jake stands and opens his arms offering a hug, which you accept.

“Thanks JJ, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Let’s never find out.”

You massage your temples after rereading the information Jake had given you. The music tonight annoys you and you consider going home for the night. There’s no real need to be here and Clay can look over the club. You sigh as you grab the drink you had poured for yourself and finish it off. Sinking into your office chair you close your eyes and think about what’s happened in the last 24 hours.

How bucky had his way with you on your desk and left you floating on cloud nine only to be pulled back down to reality just minutes later. You still couldn’t understand the whole issue he had with this supposed contract. Now it really didn’t matter, Bucky was going to get married and be a father. Two things you’d thought you’d experience together.

The door opens and you’re surprised to hear the soft click of the handle as it closes again. But you’re not in the mood to deal with anyone so you don’t bother to open your eyes.

“Whatever the issue is, Clay can deal with it. Go bother him and leave me alone. I’m going home anyways.”

“Good, let me take you that way we can talk.”

You sighed as you slowly opened your eyes to find Bucky walking towards your desk. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark circles under his eyes and he just looked hung over. You tilt your head slightly, taking in his form from head to toe.

“No.”

“Just let me explain, bug.” He said as he stopped in front of your desk. Seeing Bucky standing there brought back the memories from the night before. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your back.

“You had your chance to tell me the truth and you didn’t. That’s your problem not mine.”

“What? When was I supposed to tell you she was pregnant? I didn’t even know.”

You stand up and put some space between the two of you. This is the last thing you wanted to do right now. It hurt so much, just the thought of Dot having the one person you loved the most.

“I asked you if you loved her and you said you couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with her. You could have told me then. Did you sleep with her?” You look up at him.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and drags it down. Bucky did that when he was trying to find a way to say something he didn’t want to.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Get out.”

“No,” Bucky moves and walks towards you. He’s determined to get you to listen to him. Bucky puts an arm around your waist as you try to walk away from him and pulls you back until you're against a wall. He cages you in, his body pressed into yours and you can smell the alcohol he must’ve drowned himself in. “I’m not going to lose you again. So you’re going to listen to me until I’m done.” He says through gritted teeth, he’s so close his breath hits your cheek.

“If you actually fucking cared you’d give me my space. But obviously you don't, so I want you out of my club before I have you removed.”

“Call them in, have all of your people come in here and try to take me away from you. It ain’t gonna happen. Dot was a fucking mistake, I only slept with her once. I was drunk and I don’t even remember finishing. I wouldn’t be surprised if that kid wasn’t even mine. So please, don’t push me away.”

“You don’t fucking get it do you? It’s not just about the baby. I asked you and you didn’t tell me the truth.” You manage to get away from him and put some distance between the two of you. There was that familiar sting in your eyes of tears threatening to spill. You couldn’t allow them to reveal how much the situation hurt you. “I’m not naive, I couldn’t expect you to not move on or not sleep around, I did.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched at the admission. The thought of someone else holding you like he did angered him beyond belief. Even if he had slept around, none of them were you. He would kick them out of his apartment as soon as he was done, he didn’t care if they were satisfied. They were just a means to an end.

“Y/N, It’s not like that. I promise-“

“Instead of making promises to me you should be making them to your fiancée and your unborn baby. And I’d be very grateful if you’d stay on your territory, taking care of your business and not here. I have more important things to worry about.” You say as you turn and stare him down.

He scoffs before crossing the room and once again invading your space. His hand comes up and he places a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“This isn’t over. I don’t care if it takes another fucking decade for you to believe me.”

“Bucky…”

The door opens revealing Roque and Cougar, effectively stopping the conversation from continuing. They both look at Bucky and then at you, waiting for your command.

“Make sure he leaves and figure out how he got past security. If someone let him in I want to know who it was.” You say without taking your eyes off of Bucky.

Bucky steps away, a slightly defeated look crosses his features before he walks away. Cougar follows him out but Roque stays behind.

“You ok, princess?”

You look up at him. “No but I will be. Do you know if Nebula and Gamora are set up at the warehouses?”

“Yeah, it’s what I came to tell you. They are ready to go and will keep us informed of anything that happens.”

“Good, now come sit I have to go over a few things.”

*******

Cougar silently walks Bucky out through the back of the club. Neither of them say anything until they’re at the door.

“Listen, I’m not going to stop until she believes me. That kid isn’t mine.” Bucky was just desperate.

“I believe you, Barnes.”

Bucky turns to look at him. It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders just by having one of your people know the truth.

“But, maybe you should worry about your fiancée more than you do my boss.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you know where your fiancée is when she isn’t with you?” Cougar shrugs. “Maybe you should figure out who she hangs out with before you try to get Boss’ attention again. And you’ll have to do better than just sneak in here because next time I’ll just shoot you, and I never miss.” Cougar just nods towards the door, a clear indication for Bucky to leave.

He pushes the door to find Steve leaning against his car. Arms crossed over his chest, he glared at his best friend once he’s close enough.

“I told you she wanted you to fuck off and you show up here anyways?”

“What did you expect me to do, let her think I have any feelings for Dot?” Bucky snaps as he gets into the car.

“You should have given her the space she wanted, she’s dealt with enough today.”

“What happened?”

Steve sighs. “My parents told me she showed up at their place. She had a sit down with Pierce and he gave her twenty four hours to leave or else.”

“That fucker. We should just take him out.”

“If it were that easy we would have done it a long time ago.” Steve replies. “So what should we do?”

Bucky looks over at his friend for a moment and thinks about everything that has happened.

“Take me to the pub.”

“The pub?”

“Yeah, I’ve taken full control of my family’s business and I need people I can trust.”

“To the pub it is. The guys will be excited.”

“I hope so.” Bucky muttered.

If you really had a sit down with Pierce already, the war that was coming was going to get ugly fast. He should know he had been on the receiving end. It’s how he lost his arm. But even with everything going on between the two of you he needed to be ready to protect you. Because if there is one thing you two have in common is the fact that you would kill or die for each other, no matter what.

Ch 9

Permanent taglist

@kunaikunari

@rebekahdawkins

@cjand10

@nalny5

@Sturchling

@angywritesstuff

@seitmai

@/writing-for-marvel

@goldylions

@darkhairedmenrule

@almosttoopizza

@littleseasiren

@pono-pura-vida

Series taglist

@snufflet

@impala1967666

@justlovelifeblog

@lokisasgardianvampirequeen

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers #mob!reader #mob boss! bucky barnes #mob boss bucky x reader #mob boss!bucky x mob boss!reader #mob boss!bucky barnes au #bucky barnes au #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #mob boss!bucky #mob boss!bucky series #bucky x female reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barns x reader

117 notes · View notes

whoisshel · 9 months

Text

The Bathtub

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

word count: 4113

tw: swearing

At the police station, you sat with Jonathan at the officers desk, as Nancy went to get ice for his face.

You kept taking small glances at Jonathan who was hunched over and handcuffed, looking gloomy. Trying to lighten the mood, you tried to make a joke of the situation, “I really liked when he punched you in the face and you weren’t fazed at all, and then punched him twice.”

“Y/N.” Jonathan sighed, not in the joking mood.

“Sorry.”

After a few seconds, Jonathan started to softly chuckle. you looked over at him starting to laugh too, making Jonathan laugh even louder. “You really pummeled his face in.”

Jonathan could only nod, as he continued to laugh. The laughter died down again once you both remembered where you were and why you were there. Once you had gone back to your solemn mood, Nancy had returned with a rag full of ice. “Found some ice.”

“Thanks.” The three of you sat there awkwardly as Nancy held the towel up to Jonathan’s face looking at the desk, Jonathan just stared at her, and you stared at the ceiling feeling the most awkward. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Looking between the two as they stared at each other, you grimaced, deciding to let them sit alone. Slapping your knees, you started standing up, “Well, this has been fun, but I’m going to talk to my favorite receptionist.”

“Hi, Florence, how are you?” You asked, once you reached Florence’s desk. Florence just gave you a look of ‘are you serious’

—----------------

As Florence and you were gossiping about the drama that’s been happening at the police station, Joyce walked in with Hopper not too far behind her.

“Thank god you’re finally here, what took you so long, Hopper?” You asked, trailing behind the two adults.

All you got in return was, “Not now, kid.”

“Jonathan!” Joyce called out once she saw her son. She then was able to take in the bruises all over his face and hand. “Jesus, what happened?”

“I’m fine.”

“Why is he wearing handcuffs?” Joyce shouted at Callahan.

“Well, your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why.” Callahan tried to explain, but Joyce wasn’t having any of it.

“Take them off.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that.”

“Take them off!”

“You heard her, take ‘em off.” Hopper intervened, having enough of the shouting.

“Chief, I get everyone’s emotional here, but there’s something you need to see.” Powell said.

The officers started walking out of the building with you trailing behind them. Noticing the young girl, Hopper stopped in front of you before pointing at the chair you were sitting in previously giving you a pointed look. You just huffed and turned around to go sit.

They came back inside, setting a box of the stuff that was in Jonathan’s trunk on the desk in front of all of them.

“What is this?” Joyce asked going through the box, seeing all the stuff they bought to trap and kill the monster.

“Why don’t you ask your son?” Hopper replied, “We found it in his car.”

“Why are you going through my car?”

“Is that really the question you should be asking right now?” Hopper said, leaning onto the desk. “I want to see you in my office.”

“You won’t believe me.”

Hopper leaned in closer, talking softly like he didn’t want the other officers to hear, “Why don’t you give me a try.”

In Hopper’s office, the three teenagers explained everything to Hopper and Joyce; you even showed them the picture you had of the thing.

Looking up from the picture, Hopper asked, “You say blood draws this thing?”

“We don’t know.” Jonathan answered for them, looking between his mom and Hopper.

“It’s just a theory.” Nancy added, as she looked down still unsure that they would believe what they were being told.

Joyce took Jonathan into the hall to talk to him alone. You looked up at Hopper who was looking at you with a stern face, thinking it was because he didn’t believe them, you tried to plead with him, “Please believe us Hopper, we’re telling the truth. Look at what it did.” You pulled up your pant leg to show your ankle that was covered in gauze, that was starting to get bloody again from all the walking you’ve done.

Hopper’s face softened a bit at the injury, he then looked back up at you giving a sigh, “We do, we believe you.”

“You do?” You gave him a look of surprise, turning to look at Nancy who had the same look. Standing up, you took the few steps to Hopper to hug him. “Thank you, thank you.”

Patting you a couple times on the back before grabbing you by the shoulders to get you off, “Alright, alright, sit back down. I’m going to grab the first aid kit to clean that up.”

“That’d be great.” You sighed sitting back in your chair, but the three of you stopped talking and looked towards the door hearing Callahan and some lady shouting. Stomping towards the door, Hopper opened and walked out to go deal with the shouting.

—----------------

The five of you now stood around Hopper’s car across the street from the Wheelers’ home. You watched as people in suits took boxes of stuff out of their house and brought it to their cars. Hopper watched with binoculars to get a better look at what was happening. Standing behind Jonathan, you looked next door at your house where you could see your mother peeking through the windows with the phone to her ear talking to someone. You could also see that she looked extremely worried, you knew it wasn’t for the Wheelers, but also believed for the first time it wasn’t for your family's reputation.

“I have to go home.” Nancy muttered, worried about what these people would do to her family.

Without taking his eyes off the house, Hopper replied plainly, “No, you can’t.”

“My mom… my dad are there.”

“They’re going to be okay.” Nancy didn’t listen to him and started walking away, Hopper followed after her grabbing her arm. “Hey, hey, hey! Listen to me!”

“Let go!” Nancy shouted, trying to rip her arm away from him, but he held on.

“Listen to me. The last thing in the world we need is them knowing you’re mixed up in all this.”

“Mike is over there-”

“They haven’t found him.” Hopper cut her off, pointing to the sky where a helicopter was slowly flying around. “Not yet, at least.”

“For Mike?” Nancy asked, completely shocked at how much everything escalated and how far Mike was in all of it.

Dragging her back to the car, they all got in with you sitting in between Nancy and Jonathan. Once you all got in Joyce and Hopper turned around to face you, so you could all come up with a plan of what to do next. “Look, we need to find them before they do. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“No, I don’t.” Nancy insisted, still in shock at everything that was happening.

“I need you to think.”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked a lot. I mean, lately.”

“Is there any place that your parents don’t know about that he might go?” Joyce asked, understanding these kids better than Hopper did.

“I don’t know.”

“I might.” Jonathan muttered, interrupting Nancy’s stuttering. “I don’t know where he is, but I think I know how to ask him.”

During the ride to the Byers’ home, you could only keep your mouth shut for their whole conversation. You felt bad that you couldn’t help, but you don't know these kids anymore. You haven't had to babysit them in awhile. You haven't been friends with Nancy since your parents weren’t able to force you to be friends anymore; and yeah, you’re friends with Jonathan, but that doesn’t mean you hang out with Will since he has his own friends. You just hope they get the kids home safely, and if that happens, you promise to never let them out of your sight again.

Once making it to the Byers’ house you all quickly got out of the car and followed Jonathan inside. Making it a couple feet into the house Nancy and you stopped, taking in the state of the place, looking a bit trashed with Christmas lights hanging all over the place. You had seen the Christmas lights before, but now there were more and also a hole in the front of the house that someone tried to cover up themselves.

“Whoa.” The two girls whispered at the same time looking at each other with confused looks. Noting everyone walked by, you continued after them to Will’s room where there were lamps all over.

You all looked around the room for the walkie talkie you came here for, when Joyce called out that she found it from under Will’s bed.

You moved into Jonathan’s room to have more room, Nancy and Joyce sat on the bed, while the rest stood around. Nancy started talking into the walkie talkie trying to get a hold of Mike. She continued to call for Mike, but there wasn’t a reply.

Getting annoyed, Hopper took the walkie talkie from Nancy’s hands to try and get them himself. “Listen, kid, this is the chief. If you’re there, pick up. We know you’re in trouble and we know about the girl.” They still weren’t getting a reply, but Hopper kept trying to convince them. “We can protect you, we can help you, but you gotta pick up. Are you there? Do you copy? Over.”

Still getting nothing back, Hopper set the walkie down, turning back to everyone else. “Anybody got any other ideas?”

As you all looked around at each other Mike’s voice finally came through, “Yes, I copy. It’s Mike. I’m here. We’re here”

—----------------

Hopper made the four of you stay behind at the Byers’ house, while he went and got the kids to bring back. It became dark outside, which spiked their anxiety even higher as you all sat on the couch waiting in silence not knowing what they should say. Finally, you heard a car screech into the driveway and the headlights go across your faces. You each stood up quickly walking over to the door.

Joyce opened the door running outside with the three teenagers following after. Once out there, Hopper and the kids started piling out of the car.

Nancy saw Mike come out of the car, so she started running to him shouting, “Mike. Oh, my god! Mike!” bringing him into a hug. “I was so worried about you!”

“Yeah, uh, me too.” Mike replied, confused on where this Nancy was coming from since she’s become more distant.

Looking up at the other kids, Nancy took notice of the girl that Joyce and Hopper had told them about. “Is that my dress?”

As they all walked into the house, you patted each of the kids on the head which was your way of comforting them. They all looked at you confused as to why you were acting this way as they’ve barely seen you since they reached the age of not needing a babysitter. The girl was the only one that looked up at you with an awkward smile, to which you returned with a sweet one. From here on out you are sticking to your promise to yourself and watching over them like you were their babysitter again.

Now that you were all in the house, you sat around to hear the kid’s side of what they knew. Which turns out was a lot more than the people older than them.

“Okay, so, in this example, we’re the acrobat.” Mike explained holding a picture he drew to help him explain everything better. “Will and Barbara, and that monster, they’re this flea. And this is the Upside Down, where Will is hiding. Mr. Clarke said the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space.”

“A gate.” Dustin added, to try and simplify it.

“That we tracked to Hawkins Lab.” Lucas said

“With our compasses.”

The four of you sitting on the couch listening to everything just looked at the younger kids in complete confusion at everything you were just told. Seeing your confused faces, Dustin tried to simplify it even more. “Okay, so the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field, and that can change the directions of a compass needle.”

“Is this gate underground?” Hopper asked, interrupting the dumber-downed explanation.

“Yes.” The young girl, which you learned is named Eleven, whispered to Hopper.

“Near a large water tank?”

“Yes.”

“Ho-how do you know all that?” Dustin stuttered, asking the question you were all wondering.

Mike answered for him, looking down at the table, “He’s seen it.”

“Is there any way that you could… that you could reach Will?” Joyce asked in a pleading voice, “That you could talk to him in this-”

“The Upside Down.” Eleven reminded her.

“Down. Yeah.”

She only nodded, before Nancy followed wanting to know about her friend. “And my friend Barbara, can you find her too?”

Everyone stood around the table watching as Eleven tried to reach Barbara and Will. She had her eyes closed with a picture of Barbara in front of her and static coming from the walkie. You all sat in silence waiting for something to happen. The lights around you started to flicker and the static became quieter.

Eleven opened her eyes, looking at Joyce in silence before finally muttering, “I’m sorry.”

“Wh-wh-what’s wrong?” Joyce questioned, concerned about what that means. “What happened?”

“I can’t find them.” Eleven started tearing up, becoming upset that she couldn’t help them.

You all dispersed, letting Eleven take a break, but once Eleven walked into the bathroom you all sat around the table, as the kids took turns explaining to you what was happening with Eleven.

“Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak.” Mike started the explanation.

“The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets.”

“Like, she flipped the van earlier.”

“It was awesome.”

“But she’s drained.”

“Like a bad battery.”

“Well, how do we make her better?” Joyce asked, since this kid was the only way to find where her son was.

“We don’t.” Mike answered. “We just have to wait and try again.”

“Well, how long?” Nancy insisted, but all she got was an ‘I don’t know’ from Mike.

Seeing how tired Eleven is, you tried to advise the group against pushing her, “Maybe we shouldn’t force her to do something if she’s drained, what if that could hurt her?”

“The bath.” Eleven muttered from behind you.

You all turned to look at her confused. “What?” Joyce asked, wanting more of an explanation.

“I can find them. In the bath.”

Dustin decided that their science teacher, Mr. Clarke, would be their best option on finding out how they could make a sensory deprivation tank which is apparently the best way for Eleven to connect with the Upside Down; or at least, that’s what you got from what they were all talking about, science is not your best subject. So now, you all watched from your same spots around the table as Dustin called Mr. Clarke. It seemed to take some convincing, but Dustin was able to get everything he needed to know from Mr. Clarke and wrote everything he was being told down on a notepad.

“I’ll see you on Monday Mr. Clarke, bye.” Dustin hurriedly hung up the phone so he didn’t have to answer any of Mr. Clarke’s questions on why he needed this information. Once he set the phone down, Dustin looked over at Joyce, pointing the pencil still in his hands. “Do you still have that kiddie pool we bobbed for apples in?”

“I think so, yeah.” Joyce looked over at Jonathan who confirmed what she was saying.

“Good, then we just need salt. Lots of it.”

“How much is ‘lots’?” Hopper asked, making Dustin look down at the notepad with his calculations.

“Fifteen hundred pounds.”

“Well, where are we gonna get that much salt?” You question as everyone looks at each other shocked by how much salt they’re going to need.

—----------------

Hopper came to the realization that the schools would have the amount of salt they needed, so you all drove to the school in separate cars. You split up to get everything you needed to make it all go by faster. You went with Dustin and Lucas to set up the kiddie; which was a bigger struggle than you thought it would be. Thankfully you got it standing up straight by the time Nancy and Mike came in with the hose to fill the pool with water.

“Colder!” Lucas yelled over to Nancy and you as he took the temperature of the water, so you or Nancy could change the direction of the faucets. “Warmer!”

“Jesus this kid.” You shook your head as you chuckled.

“Why do you think I needed a break from them?” Nancy laughed with you.

“Try babysitting Lucas and Dustin together.” You rolled your eyes, remembering the times you had to have the two of them together. “They never stop screeching.”

“Oh, I know, they’re all in my basement all the time. I can hear them throughout the whole house.” Nancy scoffed, knowing exactly what you had been through.

Looking down at the ground for a moment with a soft smile, you then turned to face Nancy, “Will’s always been my favorite.”

“He is a great kid.” Nancy gave you the same smile. You take notice of Nancy saying ‘is’ instead of was, because both of you know that they’ll find Will. You stood in silence for a moment, both of you tearing up slightly, before Lucas broke the quiet by yelling that the temperature was perfect.

Nancy glanced over at you before looking at the ground, hesitantly asking, “Hey, why weren’t we ever friends after 6th grade. I tried to be, but it seemed like you never wanted to be friends.”

You kept looking at the ground not knowing if you wanted to tell her the real reason. You felt bad since Nancy did try to be nice to you for the longest time, but you just continuously shot her down. You decided that you could finally tell her the truth. “Um, to be honest, I’ve always been a bit jealous of you.”

“Jealous, wh-why?” Nancy was in complete shock at hearing that, never expecting you to ever be jealous of her.

“Yeah, I mean, my whole life my mom compared me to you, and would always say that she wished I was more like you.” You let out a humorless chuckle at the many memories of your mom berating you. “She was always yelling at me ‘Why can’t you be nice like Nancy’ or ‘Why can’t you be smart and get good grades like Nancy.’ The latest one, since you started dating Steve, is ‘If you were more like Nancy, you could be dating someone as respectable as Steve, but instead you get someone like that trailer trash, Eddie.’ It doesn’t even matter though, she’d find some reason to make me feel less than.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve always been a bit jealous of you too.”

You shot your head up to look at Nancy completely stunned. “Why the fuck would you be jealous of me.”

Laughing at your vulgarity, continuing with what she was saying, “Reasons like that, that you just don’t care what people think and you do what you want without care of what everyone will say.”

“Well, when you grow up with parents like mine.”

“You’re mom seems like such a bitch.” Nancy said, barely getting out the last word as she started to laugh. You started to laugh too, in slight shock from Nancy swearing.

Calming down a bit, you looked over at Nancy in admiration. “You know Nancy Wheeler, after this whole thing, you are actually so badass. Way more than me, I’ve gone to Eddie crying these past few nights.”

“You really think so?” Nancy had a big smile on her face, thinking that’s the best thing someone has ever said to her. You just gave her a big nod with an equally big smile. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“No problem, Nance.”

“If you two are done with your gossiping, the pool is about to overflow!” Lucas screamed, interrupting the nice moment you were having. Quickly, the girls turned to turn off the faucet trying to contain your laughter.

Jonathan and Hopper walked into the gym with barrels full of bagged salt that they poured into the pool until there was enough for Eleven to be able to float in it. Once it was ready, Eleven put on the safety goggles covered in duct-tape that Joyce made, so it would be pitch black. Hopper and Joyce helped her into the pool, and she laid down, floating. The lights in the gym started flickering, before they finally went out letting everyone know that she was in the Upside Down.

“Barbara?” Eleven whispered, after a few moments. Eleven started breathing heavily and the lights began to flicker again.

“What’s going on?” Nancy asked, once the lights went out again.

Mike answered quickly, “I don’t know.”

“Is Barb okay?” Nancy yelled out, leaning closer to Eleven. “Is she okay?”

Eleven started repeatedly saying, “Gone” and screaming the last few. Nancy started crying, putting her hand over her mouth to try and stay quiet. You put your hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

Joyce was trying to tell her it was okay, while her and Hopper held her hand, trying to console her. Eleven was finally able to calm down before whispering her next words, “Castle Byers.”

“Will?”

Joyce gasped when Eleven said her son’s name. “You tell him… tell him I’m coming. Mom is coming.”

Eleven repeated what Joyce said and in reply a weak “Hurry” came through the walkie talkie in Will’s voice.

“Okay. Listen, you tell him to… to stay where he is. We’re coming. We’re coming, okay? We’re coming, honey.”

Once she was able to get the message to Will, Eleven started breathing heavily again. She quickly sat up from the water, taking the goggles off, Joyce grabbed her into a hug at the edge of the pool to comfort her.

—----------------

Nancy and you sat in the hall outside of the gym, you both sat on the ground holding your knees up to your chest. Nancy kept her eyes on the ground, while you took short glances between Nancy and the ground not knowing what you should say.

“I’m sorry.” You finally said, “I’m really sorry about Barbara.”

Nancy kept quiet before letting out a weak, “It’s all my fault.”

“No, no, it’s n-”

“Yes, it is, it’s all my fault.” Nancy continuously nodded her head, tears starting to fall rapidly down her face. “I’m the one who left her alone, so that I could go have sex with Steve Harrington and now she’s dead because of me.”

“It’s not your fault, it's that thing. It’s the one that took Will, and it’s the one that killed Barb. So instead of sitting here blaming yourself we’re going to kill it.”

Continuing her nodding, but now with determination, Nancy stopped pitying herself and instead put her energy into the idea of killing the monster that killed her best friend. “You’re right, I want that monster dead.”

“Yeah, that’s it!” You cheered, before your face turned into one of disgust recalling what Nancy said before. “Also, Steve Harrington.”

Nancy could only laugh at the way you said Steve’s name with the most disgusting tone. Going back to your sitting position before, Jonathan walked in seeming stressed out. He came over and sat down the same way the two girls were sitting.

“We have to go back to the station.” Nancy told Jonathan, coming up with the way that you can kill the monster.

“What?”

“Your mom and Hopper are just walking in there like bait.” You added with a bit of intensity.

“That thing is still in there.” Nancy started tearing up again. “And we can’t just sit here and let it get them, too. We can’t.”

“You still want to try it out?” Jonathan asked, seeing where the two of you were going with this.

“I wanna finish what we started. I want to kill it.” Nancy responded, turning her head to Jonathan.

You jumped up, rubbing your hands together. “Let’s finally kill this piece of shit.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x fem!reader #joe keery imagines #joe keery x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagines #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfic

83 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 10 months

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 14: We'll Be A Fine Line

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Before Michael’s first day at work, he overhears a conversation between you and your sister, and the day just keeps getting weirder from there. But he still has you. Right?

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, foreshadowing, mentions of child abuse, spiders

Word Count: 7.4k (oops)

A/n: Giving you this because I won’t be able to post before Wednesday, probably, because of my last final. So yeah, here you go. Have at it. This is not full-on angst, I'm just warming you up. Chapter 15 hurts though. Everyone, say fuck you to the spider in my room that made me sleep in the bathtub last night :) I don't know how I'm supposed to move out and get rid of them MYSELF?! (also, how can a person be so cute WHILE FROWNING??)

The first day in a new workplace is always the most challenging because you don’t know what to expect.

Michael has never paid much mind to coffee before he met you, but thanks to you, his knowledge has expanded. Does he know how to make it? No. He gets confused by your modern machine at home, and he fears he might feel the same way at the café, but it’s the place he met you, so it’s connected to happy memories.

He is a fast learner, or so he has been told. And when you told him that you used to live off of instant coffee and couldn’t afford Starbucks or the like, and so you also paid no mind to good coffee before, he felt a little less alone.

You learned, so he will too.

“Caramel or hazelnut?” you ask, sitting at the dining table with your cup of coffee in hand and your phone before you on the table.

Until a few seconds ago, you were engaged in the New York Times’ new Wordle game that dropped this morning, and now you’re blurting out random questions and Michael is so confused, he almost drops his mug.

“Wha’?” he asks back.

He looks cute with his hair disheveled, wearing his boxers and a shirt, and his face still scrunched up from sleep.

You look at him with a smile. “Hazelnut or caramel?” you repeat your question.

“Uh… hazelnut?”

“Wrong, caramel.”

His frown deepens. “What?”

“Best topping flavor,” you say. “It’s caramel, not hazelnut.”

Shaking his head, he turns back to his coffee and pours some extra hazelnut syrup into his brew, right in front of your face.

You point behind him. “Toss me the caramel syrup, will ya?”

“If I toss it, yer not gonna catch it,” he says.

“And what makes you think that?”

“You put milk in the cupboard when yer sleep deprived.”

You pause for a second before nodding, a soft blush coating your cheeks. “That’s fair,” you reply. With a heavy sigh, you return to your phone.

Michael sits down next to you, peeking at the screen. “Ya still lookin’ fer a five-letter word?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s really pissing me off. Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do with an E and an S?”

“Try ‘Feast.”

You type the word into the Wordle boxes. The letter T lights up orange and your eyes light up. He loves when that happens. You look like a child on Christmas Day, and something tells him you didn’t have many moments in the past where you got to be excited like this.

His thoughts flicker back to the drawer you religiously keep locked, and his curiosity flares up again. It’s dangerous; when he gets curious, he often gets curious enough to snoop around. But he knows if he deliberately breaks into the drawer, he will lose you forever, and he doesn’t want that to happen.

“Meets,” he blurts out.

You raise your eyebrows. “Meets?” you ask.

“Yes.”

You type the word in, and lo and behold, it turns out to be the word they were looking for, and the screen explodes with confetti. You squeal in excitement and jump off your chair before sitting back down, pulling your leg up to your chest.

“Amen,” you say.

He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

“Right,” you remember and add, “Thank you, baby.”

Humming, he says, “That’s better.”

You cradle his cheek with a playful glint in his eyes and kiss him, then indulge back in your coffee. You savor the taste, your eyes closing, and you slowly begin to wake fully. You have to get ready soon, but for soon you want to spend your peaceful morning with the man you love.

He hasn’t stayed with you that much the past couple of days, which made you a little sad, but he is here now. You spent the night together. You didn’t have sex, much of the opposite. When Michael heard that you like to watch football, he got excited and convinced you to watch the Manchester game. Needless to say, it ended in a discussion about your favored team against his, and you went to bed with popcorn still stuck in your hair. You can swear there is still a piece stuck somewhere from your food fight, even after a shower.

Though when your phone rings and Maya’s name shows up on your screen, your demeanor changes completely. Your body tenses up and the adrenaline starts coursing through your veins. “Excuse me,” you mutter, completely blocking out that it’s Michael you’re with, “I have to take this.”

He frowns again. Something isn’t right. You tense up instantly, and he catches a glimpse of a female name on your screen. Your smile fades. Instead, the corners of your mouth turn down.

You get up and pass by him without another word, disappearing into the bedroom. He knows he shouldn’t do it, but your behavior is suspicious and he feels the desperate urge to protect you from whatever got you switching attitude this quickly. So against his better judgment, he gets up and follows you, stopping just before the bedroom door.

And he is glad he decided to do so because as he stands there, he finally catches another glimpse of who you truly are beneath all the layers of endless defenses and brick walls you have built around yourself. They are almost impossible to break through, and hearing you talk in a hushed tone to whoever is on the phone opens up another door to your heart he hasn’t seen before, and apparently doesn’t get to see when you’re in his immediate presence.

You answered the phone with a sudden and firm, “Are you okay?”

“What?” Maya says. She sounds almost carefree, and you relax a little when she continues, “I just called to tell you that I found something very exciting for you during my field trip.”

“Are you fucking–” You sigh. Idiot. “I thought something happened to you,” you say.

There is a short pause. “I’m okay,” she says.

“Thank God! Next time maybe give me a heads up. Maybe a quick ‘Hey, I’m calling because I’m happy not because I’m half-dead in a ditch’ or something. I don’t know.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t– I don’t want you to even start that. I fell into a habit of constantly apologizing for things I didn’t do because of him and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do the same.”

“Okay… I’m sorry.”

“Maya,” you take a warning tone.

“Okay, okay, chill out! I won’t apologize,” she retorts. “Jesus, you old people are all so condescending.”

You gasp. “Old?!”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, can I tell you now what I got you?”

You can’t deny that teenagers are exhausting. As much as you love your sister, they tend to be a lot more honest than the general population.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you cross your legs to get a bit more comfortable. “Sure,” you say, your lip curling into a smile instead of a frown, and you listen intently as Maya tells you about a new historical romance book and that she got it for you.

“Anyway, I have to find a way to mail it to you,” she says. “If I can sneak past Dad and Mom somehow, I can sneak into the post office, and then off it goes.”

You’re not used to hearing her so cheery, and it melts your heart. That’s the kind of girl she’s supposed to be. Excited about buying a book and smiling about it, and skipping happily on the phone with you on her way home. She’s not supposed to live in constant fear of her parents, and she’s not supposed to feel responsible for taking care of her own mother. You went through the same thing, except that with her, your father isn’t as… violent. But control and emotional abuse are also a form of violence that will leave a child scarred forever. He has a weird way of showing his love.

And with you, he just didn’t like you that much. It took you a while to realize that what he was doing was abuse, but when you realized you were the only child of his getting caught in the crossfire because you were the oldest and the most disappointing, it hurt even more.

You wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, but you were so alone taking care of everyone and still not being enough. It hurts, still, but you don’t let it get to you. You try to, at least.

The reason Maya keeps the connection to you hidden is not to protect herself but you and your mom, and that is sad in itself because she’s only a teenager. She’s your little sister, your little girl, and it sucks absolute balls that every attempt to get her to live with you somehow failed or didn’t even end up in motion because of the fear of consequences and causing more harm than good. It sucks and you hate it and it makes you sad.

“Just be careful, okay?” you say. You love the thought of receiving a gift, but you can’t have her risking her safety because of it.

She sighs wearily. “I know.” And gone is her happiness, instead replaced by dread.

You can hear her shoulders slump as she continues walking, and it breaks your heart as fast as it had melted. Now it is hard as a rock again, and it breaks right through.

“How’s everything else at home?”

“It’s… okay. Dad’s been rather normal, and he doesn’t suspect anything. I apologized, we made up, and he eased the control a little. And Mom… well, she’s being Mom. She didn’t have a seizure again, so her meds are working, but she had some fresh bruises when I came home from the field trip, and I–” Maya takes a deep, shaky breath. “I hate it,” she says.

Your words exactly, and her helplessness makes you want to book a ticket for a flight home and just snatch her when nobody’s looking. At this point, you don’t even care about personal or legal consequences, you just want her to have a chance at a normal life. Like Michael.

Like Eleanor should have had.

“I’ve been writing mostly A’s,” she tries to lighten the mood, “So that is something good, I think.”

You can’t describe how proud of her you are for keeping her head up throughout all of this. You should have never left, but it got too much, and you were tired of being the one who had to take his rage all the time, and you were tired of being forced to stay strong when everyone else got a chance to grieve. Two years you took the abuse, and you took it almost nineteen years before that. You deserved a chance, and you took it when it presented itself.

But you shouldn’t have left her alone. You should have found a way to fight and win, and you should have taken her with you.

A tear escapes your tired eye. “That’s good,” you say, trying not to sound as broken as you are, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she answers, hearing it genuinely for the first time. “Dad’s been calm because of that.”

“That’s possible, yeah. He was like that with me when I brought home an A, but that wasn’t often.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m just scared that he’ll find out about us and then… I don’t want him to hurt you again. You remember what he said—”

“Hey,” you interrupt her. “Stop. I know what he said, but it won’t happen because he won’t find out,” you say. “If we’re both careful enough, that is. I want nothing more than to protect you. You know that.”

“But this isn’t about me,” she argues.

“Yes, it is. It’s always about you.”

“He will take his rage out on you.”

“If he does, I will find a way to deal with it. As long as no one alerts him, I’ll be fine. My only concern here is and will always be you, Maya.”

“But what if someone does alert him?”

“I can’t think of anyone who would.” You don’t have enemies. You’re always kind to others and aim to please them. No one has ever been dissatisfied enough to threaten you or wish death upon you, so you’re confident no one in your life would ring the bells in England.

“I really can’t think of anyone, and that’s a good thing,” you insist. “So we just take care and I’ll be fine, and you are going to be fine, too. One day soon, I will get you here and we’ll be alright.”

You hope, at least.

She pauses again, taking another deep breath. “But let’s imagine he does,” she prompts.

“I’ll cross that bridge if it ever comes to it,” you say. “If he tries to kill me… well, let him. I will find a way to fight back. I survived eighteen years of his torture, and then another two years, and I will survive now, too. But he won’t come here. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already. My whereabouts are no secret.”

“Your address is.”

“He probably found that out already. So you see, I’m fine and I will be fine. So stop worrying. Please.”

“Okay,” Maya caves eventually. “I believe you. As long as you promise me not to dig into anything that could alert him. And I’ll try to be careful around him.”

“Trust me,” but this time, you are lying to both her and yourself, “I won’t dig into anything.”

“You have the files.”

Damn her for being so smart and aware of everything.

“I haven’t dug into anything for a while and I’m happy just like that,” you tell her. “I won’t risk it. I promise.”

“How happy?”

You smile, looking at the door and thinking about the man in your kitchen–you believe he’s in the kitchen. You’ve kept your voice hushed and he’s not one to pry.

Except that he is, and he‘s standing frozen in shock in front of your bedroom door.

You bite your lip. “Oh, I’m just happy. Happy enough to admit it.”

“I’m glad. Out of everyone, you deserve it the most,” she says.

“Thank you…” You smile sadly. “I wish for you to find the kind of happiness I have here one day. It’s better than living in fear or pain all the time, anyway.”

“Thanks. I hope so, too.”

“I wish you could have grown up with Ellie, it would have been so much better for you,” you say. “But we’ll figure it out.”

The past always gets you so damn sentimental.

“I guess we will,” Maya replies. “Well, I’m almost home, so I gotta hang up now.”

“Right.”

“Talk to you soon?”

“Sure.”

“Okay… love you!”

You wipe another tear from your cheek. “I love you too,” you say.

The line clicks and she’s gone. Just like that. You put the phone down and stare at the wall. The emotions swirling in your chest drag you down and tear you apart, and it hurts so much more than any knife ever could.

You try to calm down, trying not to seem like you have been crying because Michael always notices, and your defenses come back up.

Time to face the day and be there for him, and then you will open that drawer and look at the file again because if you don’t, you might go crazy. The dominos have started falling; you can’t stop them now, anyway.

Once he’s in prison, you can get Maya because he will lose custody and visitation rights, and your mother is an emotional wreck, so you are the one they would grant custody to. Thirty years old, now in a relationship, a job with a stable income, and an apartment. They would give her to you because you’re family and she’s a teenager; she can take care of herself for the most part, and you’d be her confidant and caretaker when she needs it. You want nothing more than that.

Even if it means moving to London and leaving four years of Dublin–and Michael–behind, you would do it.

Surely, he would understand. And you could go for a long-distance relationship, or he could come with you. You would make it work without losing him.

But you would choose Maya over the man you love any day because when you love someone like a child, they will always come first.

Michael stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and smiles softly when he sees you entering. “Ya alright?” he asks.

You nod. It’s a lie. You’re far from alright, but you need to focus on what lies before you, which is his first day at work, and maybe you can find it in yourself to forget for a while again as you did at the carnival.

“I’m alright,” you lie.

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

But now even Michael knows you’re far from alright. Not just today but in general; overhearing your phone call set off the alarms in his head, the most prominent one ringing for your safety. It sounded like you’re in danger, and that from your own father; he gets how it is. He had an asshole of a father and if he ever comes back and touches his daughter or you, he will rage. But it’s your father now, too, and he is scared of what might happen.

He has to protect you at all costs, no matter what.

He welcomes you with open arms when you place your head on his chest and hug your arms around him. You’re seeking comfort, and after what he overheard, that is no wonder. He wishes you would tell him and then you can find a solution, and he can find a way to protect you when he knows just what he has to protect you from. But you stay silent, closing your eyes and melting into the hug. This is what you need.

One hand rubs your back, the other coming to rest on the back of your head. He almost covers you whole and pulls you impossibly closer. You sigh. His touch is made of gold, it seems. It never fails to make you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world to him.

“You sure yer okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Can you just hold me?”

He places his chin atop your head. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

You shudder slightly but then relax under his soothing touch again. His heartbeat resonates in your ear. You match your breathing to him, and you can feel part of the weight falling off your shoulders.

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” you find yourself asking into the silence.

His thumb glides over your scalp. “Okay with what?” he asks.

“Just in general. Are we gonna be alright?” you ask.

Michael sighs, tightening his grip on you. “It’s a fine line between bein’ alright and not bein’ alright.”

“I know that. Can you just… answer me, please?” You don’t want to cry. “Just for now, tell me what I want to hear, even if it’s isn’t the truth.”

“We’ll be alright,” Michael tells you, not missing a beat with his answer.

He’s worried, but you relax in his arms and his heart beats a little slower when your tears subside before they can fall.

He sounds determined, his voice unwavering, and the softness of his touch tells you that even though the road ahead might be rocky, he will stay by your side until things are alright again.

You relax further. You should tell him, but you can’t. If things resolve themselves, you can figure it out on your own without bothering or endangering him. Once he knows, his family will find out, and the more people know, the more danger Maya finds herself in–and you’re not entirely safe either.

You like to pretend you’re not scared and it doesn’t bother you, but there is something terrifying about thinking about your own parent and feeling the goosebumps creep up your spine as your amygdala goes crazy with worst-case scenarios. It keeps the body awake at night as the mind reels around the conflicted emotions the soul is communicating, and every night, you feel like a piece of you is dying inside.

It has been like this ever since you were a child, and it only keeps getting worse.

While getting ready later that morning, you turn to Michael and ask, “Dinner tonight?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, spitting out his toothpaste and nodding at you. “I’d love to,” he says.

“Good, we have a date.”

“Date it is, then.”

You kiss him on your way to the bedroom where you left your outfit for the day.

You just want to forget, and a night with him having dinner and trying to be carefree sounds like the most conscious thing to do.

He helps you close the zipper on your dress in silence, adjusting the necklace you chose to wear today, and fixing your hair after it got a little messy. His lips ghost over your shoulder and he follows the galaxy of moles with gentle kisses.

Wrapping his arms around you, Michael inhales the scent of your perfume. “Yer so sweet,” he says.

You close your eyes and lean against him. “And you’re charming,” you say.

“That’s why ya love me.”

“Is it?”

He smacks your ass. “Yeah.”

You giggle, pulling away from him again. “Not today, sir.”

He pouts. You kiss him.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You return the sentiment with a gentle smile, “And I love you.”

Now his first day at work just has to go better than your morning, and then, you assure yourself, everything will be perfectly alright. Or it won’t, but either way, you have to try. For him, for Maya, and for yourself.

Once you arrive in front of the café, you stop him. “I have to warn you,” you tell him, “My friend, Sarah, isn’t too happy about you working here. She’s the one I keep telling you about.”

He straightens his jacket.

“Not your biggest fan,” you say.

“I figure not many people are gonna be,” he says. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

“No, really, she is a little firecracker. When she’s mad about something, she’ll show you, and she won’t be nice about it.”

“Not my first rodeo, love.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it though.”

He pulls you in, the nerves slowly getting to him, and your words don’t do much to soothe his nerves. They barely even prepare him. “I’ll survive,” he says, but he’s not that sure anymore.

His heartbeat picks up and you can feel his pulse racing against your fingers from where you’re holding onto him.

With a soft sigh, you smooth out his collar, pressing your lips on his as you do so. “I’ll get her to come around, I promise,” you say. “I always do somehow.”

And you wouldn’t let Sarah ruin Michael’s day.

He smiles. “I know you will. Ya always take o’ me.”

You sense the slightest shift in his demeanor, the unshed tears and the nerves. “Nervous?” you ask.

“A little, yeah.”

“You’re gonna do great. Be happy Ava appointed me to be your mentor for the day. I’ll be gentle.”

“You can be bossy with me,” he jokes, and his attempt to charm you works instantly.

The day is going to be interesting, indeed. But at least he takes your mind off of things. It’s like he knows and wants to take care of you, and it is working.

“Maybe I will be,” you say in the same sultry tone.

“Oh, don’t make me wanna bend ya over a table. That’s not gonna go well, pet. For neither of us.”

You shrug. “Keeps things interesting.”

Michael sighs, but there is an amused glint in his eyes that tells you he isn’t upset or annoyed with you. “I’m gonna have a hard time with ya today, don’t I?” he says.

Pinching your fingers, you answer, “Just a little.”

“Alright. Well, I can live with tha’, too.”

And so you make your way inside, praying to God and every other deity that Sarah won’t cause a scene.

Oliver is there, too, because it is the busiest day of the week, so maybe he will diffuse the situation. Maybe they can even become friends. He needs those. From what you could tell, he doesn’t have any, and that’s sad.

You walk into the café hand in hand, and that is something you thought would never happen. You’re used to being behind the counter and serving him; now you’re both going to be there. It’s an evolution, you suppose, but it’s a good one. Good for him, good for you, and good for everyone because he is charming and attractive–on second thought, you’re not sure if offering him a job was such a good idea.

You’re not jealous, you tell yourself, but you are possessive and it shows.

You’ve never had anything that was truly yours before, so meeting Michael and falling for him, even the process alone, makes you want to claim him the same way he has claimed you, and you will continue doing so.

“Would you look at that!” Oliver exclaims behind the counter. “My favorite person. And the newbie.”

“Good morning,” you greet him with your usual cheery attitude.

You pull Michael to stand beside you, and he awkwardly shifts. He’s tense and slightly trembling, so you squeeze his hand in reassurance, telling him that he’s got this. He can conquer anything he sets his mind to.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine. How’re ya?” Oliver asks.

“I’m good, yeah. This–“ you point to Michael. “This is Michael,” you say. You want to get this over with before he implodes.

“The boyfriend,” he nods, “and the newbie. Yeah, I figured. You wouldn’t be holding hands with just anybody.”

Michael gives an awkward smile before letting go of your hand and deciding to be bold. He remembers you told him that Oliver is a convict, too, and it makes him feel less alone in this space full of pure souls like yours.

“Michael,” he introduces himself.

Oliver takes his hand. “So nice to meet ya!” he says. “I’m Oliver, and you are very attractive.”

He stops and stares for a moment before the blood rushes to his cheeks. “Oh, I–“ he chuckles. “I’m flattered, but I’m– I’m taken.”

“I know, the beautiful specimen over there wouldn’t shut up about ya.”

You blush and shoot him a glare, but he brushes it off with a giggle.

Michael raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?” He looks at you. “Ya wouldn’t shut up about me?”

You should have known the revelation was going to boost his ego.

“I just mentioned you once or twice,” you defend yourself. “Don’t let it get to your pretty little head.”

“All I’m hearin’ is that yer obsessed with me.”

“You’re obsessed with yourself, that’s how it is.”

He smirks. “Sure thing, love,” he says, and you want to slap him for teasing you so obviously at work. “That’s how it is. I’m so obsessed with myself, my girlfriend talks ‘bout me at work.”

Showing him the finger first, you then pull him with you into the back room. His smirk never fades.

“Oh, what are we doin’?”

You shove an apron into his hands. “Working,” you answer.

He sighs. “Of course, we are.”

You continue showing him where everything is, handing him an apron to put on. He puts what few belongings he brought with him into your locker, and you lock it. You hand him his keycard for the register, emphasizing though that he’s not there yet and you will show him how to man the register some other time. Today, he has to learn all about coffee, and you are the best teacher for that.

Michael’s nerves fade into silent excitement. This is so much different than working at the dealership. Amanda only trusted him with washing cars, thanks to Frank, but here, with you, he gets to have responsibility, learn, and do something good with his hands that has more meaning than washing cars as some kind of punishment for not wanting to sell drugs or kill people for his family anymore.

He feels like he belongs. The scenery might be strange, still, but you make him feel at ease with your calm and kind demeanor that you show every customer who comes in, too, even the rude ones. He has a lot to learn, especially from you, but he is sure he can navigate it somehow. And with you, he isn’t afraid to ask questions.

You point out all the different machines behind the counter, the drawer with the topics that don’t need to be kept cool, and then those that need to be. You show him the wall with different coffee beans and whipped cream in case the current can run out. He notes what you tell him, your voice a soothing sound in his ear amongst the bustling of the café. Who would have thought that the Butterfly Effect would lead him to this particular position?

When Sarah finally comes out, you tense up. You have been anxious about their first meeting all day, and now that the time has come for them to actually meet, you’re not sure how it will pan out.

“Hi,” says Michael as he approaches her, and he is a lot more confident now. “You must be Sarah, right?”

She’s carrying a box that seems a little too heavy for her to carry. She eyes him, her smile fading, and her jaw locks.

“I’m Michael,” he introduces himself when she doesn’t answer. “Heard good things about ya.”

Sarah shoves the box into his open arms. “That goes over there,” is all she says and points over to the other end of the counter.

Even though he is confused, he remembers what you said about her not being very excited about him being here, and he figures she needs time to warm up to him. You’re friends so you must have told her about him long before you got together, and now she’s weary because you chose to date him despite his past, which he still hasn’t quite understood. You don’t care about what he did or the kind of person he used to be, and might as well still be; you only care about him because you love him, and you can overlook all of his dark sides. He doesn’t deserve you, and Sarah seems to think the exact same thing.

It hurts him a little. He can deal with judgment, but she is your friend, an important person to you, and he wants nothing more than to get along with your friends and everyone he works with. He wants to make a good impression to keep this job, impress Ava, and show his solicitor at the next meeting that people are willing to take a chance on him. And that he finally has a support system that isn’t limited to his family, which looks bad on all documents given their history.

But he has you and he has a good job, and maybe he can make friends with the rest of the staff, too. Oliver seems happy that he’s here, ready to teach him some things whenever you’re busy–Michael appreciates that more than he knows.

There is a silent understanding between them. Maybe it’s prison, maybe it’s the fact that they both carry the guilt of having hurt someone–in Michael’s case, it was someone he loved, but it still ended in death–or it is something else entirely. Whatever it is though, he is grateful for Oliver’s willingness to help him wherever he can.

“Sarah,” you approach her. “What was that?” Your voice is hushed so he won’t hear you giving her a run-down.

She rolls her eyes. “I told ya–” she begins, but you cut her off.

“That wasn’t fair, and you know it,” you say. “You should go and apologize to him, right now!”

“Hell no,” she says. “I told ya, I’m not a fan of him and I’m really not in the mood to try.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I just care about you.”

“Then you’d accept him!” You say it a little too loud, and the customers closest to you shoot you a nasty glance. You apologize with a kind smile before turning back to your friend. “If you cared about me even the tiniest bit,” you say, “You’d try accepting him and not treat him like he’s scum on earth.”

She sighs. Her defensive demeanor slips a little, and she nods. “Fine, whatever,” she retorts. You doubt she means it, but at least she caved.

As she moves on to clean some tables, you watch Oliver and Michael from a distance.

Oliver has always been a patient man, but it seems even better with Michael. He explains everything, shows him the ropes, and he makes sure to praise him whenever he gets something right. That’s the kind of reaction you had hoped for from Sarah, but she can’t be persuaded so easily, and right now you don’t really like her, you’re just angry.

Oliver calls your name. You turn around.

“Would you be a dear and get some more milk from the basement?” he asks.

“The basement?” you repeat.

“Yeah, the basement. You know where the cooler is, don’t ya?”

“Of course, I do. I have been working here for years. But the basement,” you emphasize, “is not a place I wanna go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dark and there are probably infestations of gigantic spiders in every corner of the ceiling.”

“Mate, what–“

“I hate spiders!”

Michael, who has been washing the dishes at Sarah’s command–she is currently busy restocking the shelves–turns around with an amused grin.

“And you make fun o’ me ‘cause I’m scared of heights,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “If I’m not back in five minutes, a spider has probably eaten me,” you say.

“Oh, I’m sure they’d love a taste.”

“Michael, darling, I mean it very sincerely when I tell you to fuck off right now.”

He purses his lips and throws you a kiss through the air. You catch it, pretending to throw it away, and he feigns hurt with his hand on his chest.

Turning around with a dramatic sigh, you make your dreaded way to the basement, hoping you won’t encounter one of the spiders in the corners of the ceiling that you have been avoiding for quite a while–ever since you started working at the Butterfly Effect, actually. Seeming busy and avoiding bringing milk back up is your secret weapon, but with Michael there today, you don’t have as much work and can’t seem busy because you’re not, so you’re stuck on milk duty

You curse Oliver for making you face your fear. This is the last thing you wanted to do today.

Michael continues washing the mugs with a soft chuckle. He takes it very seriously, making sure everything is hygienic before putting it on the rack beside the sink.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sarah reaching for one of the boxes on the highest shelf; she’s not nearly tall enough, even with the ladder, and he knows something bad is about to happen. Shortly after, as predicted, she bumps against one of the glasses and it tips over the edge of the shelf.

She gasps, trying to catch it, but it starts freefalling. Instinctively, Michael reaches out. He catches the glass before it can shatter on the floor. He’s not sure how on earth he managed to reach for it this fast.

Sarah stares at him in disbelief. He meets her eyes and smiles. “Caught it,” he says.

She climbs off the ladder with a huff, tearing the glass from his hand.

“Do ya want me to clean the top shelf? I may be better able to reach it.” His hazel eyes are soft as he gazes at her, his body language open and sincere.

Sarah’s fists ball and she tries hard not to look directly at him, but one look into his eyes is enough to decipher the honesty, and it makes her feral that he is so nice to her.

“Stop that,” she says.

“Stop what?” Michael asks, his eyebrows furrowing a little. He puts the glass aside where it’s safe and dries his hands with a towel. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“Yer not s’posed to be nice,” she clarifies, glaring daggers into his skill, but there is something resembling kindness in them; she doesn’t know he caught it. “So stop being nice to me,” she keeps her voice low because it often causes people to recoil. Not with Michael though.

He stands there, watching her. He tries to read her or somehow interpret her body language. He tries to understand what she’s feeling and what he can do to earn some of her trust. She isn’t an open book, but she also doesn’t have a million walls around her like you do.

“I just wanted to help,” he tells her softly. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

She leans against the counter. “Fuck…”

“Sarah, I–” He takes a step forward, sorting his thoughts and trying to bring up the courage to continue, “I can't change my past, my blood, or my name, but I can assure ya that I love her more than anything,” he says. Your name is a mere whisper on his lips. “I would do anythin’ to protect her, without hesitation.”

“Anything?” Sarah cocks an eyebrow.

“Anythin’, yeah.”

Sarah's gaze flickers with a mixture of emotions—doubt, worry, and something else he can't quite place. She takes a step closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “She's been hurt in the past, and you... If you hurt her, I swear to God—” She doesn’t have to finish her threat because he knows what she means.

Michael knows he shouldn't do it. It is wrong and she already doesn't trust him, and it might seem desperate and suspicious, but the secrecy is starting to eat away at him because he doesn't understand the magnitude, and he needs to find a way to understand before it's too late.

“I understand. I do, but…” His eyes meet her. He looks almost guilty. “But I need to know... how badly was she hurt?” he asks. “What happened to her?”

He should have figured that if you didn’t tell him the whole story, Sarah probably doesn’t fall into your category of people worthy of knowing the truth, either.

Sarah takes a deep breath. Some of the sturdiness from before fades away. “You don't know what she was like when she first moved to Dublin,” she says, playing with the laces on her apron. “She was a wreck, and her relationships were just as messed up. There was this one boyfriend in particular... He seemed to bring out the worst in her. But she wouldn't open up about why she chose him or men like him.”

“Did she ever come home with bruises?”

“Not bruises in particular, but… mentally, she was a wreck, and he just seemed to make it worse.” She sighs. “He was a rugby player, and I truly thought it was the worst she could do.”

Michael scoffs. “But ya realized you were wrong because then she met me?” he finishes for her, the unspoken argument finally being voiced.

Sarah sneers, but he hit the nail right on the head, and she doesn’t need to agree to let him know.

He nods slowly, looking into the seating area before turning back to her. You got hurt, and you had bad relationships, but you were broken before that; you were broken before you even moved, and you came to Dublin heartbroken and alone, and you paved a way of heartbreak for yourself because you didn’t know better. You only knew hurt, so you chose your men like your father.

He should have never listened to that phone call. Michael is quick to connect the dots after hearing Sarah’s words, and it shocks him to his core. His blood freezes in his veins. He wants nothing more than to pull you aside and demand the truth so he can figure out how to help you, but he would lose you. He knows he would lose you, and he decides against it. You will talk to him one day, and when you do, he will be there for you in any way you need. Until then, he has to offer you silent support and catch you before you can hurt yourself again.

“Well,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest, “I never want her to go through anythin' like tha' again. I want to be the one who brings out the best in her, who helps her heal. I’m tryin’ to do right by her.”

Sarah studies him carefully. Slowly, a flicker of understanding begins to form within her. They both want the same thing for you, it becomes clearer now.

“You'd do anythin' to protect her?” she asks him again.

He nods without missing a beat. “And you wouldn't hesitate?” she asks.

He nods again. “I’d burn the world down for her.”

She purses her lips. “You’re different, Michael,” her voice is softer now. “I didn't think I'd ever see her with someone like ya. But I can't deny that she looks happier. It pisses me off a little because I'm not supposed to like a mobster as her boyfriend, but you seem to be a good guy.”

Michael's gaze never wavers. “I know I'm not... worthy of her,” he says, “And I know I'll never be worthy of the kind of person she is 'cause she’s fuckin' amazing, but I wanna try. I have to try, y'know? I promised her.”

“Michael, I–” She can’t find the right words to say whatever she’s thinking.

“I loved and I lost in the past, and I never thought I’d get a second chance, so I was thinkin’ about givin’ up before I came in here and met her. She’s the best damn thing that has happened t’me in eight fuckin’ years and I would never ruin that. Ya have to believe me, Sarah. I would never hurt her the same way she was hurt. I love her so much, I–” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I just love her,” he says, “and I won’t make the mistake of losin’ her.”

For the first time since he met her, her eyes soften visibly, and her heart opens up to him. “You really love her, don’t ya?” she asks.

“With every fiber of my being,” he whispers.

That's when she realizes you were right all along. All it takes is to meet him, and whatever she thought he would be fades into the background. Sarah realizes that Michael is not the villain and he will probably never be. He may carry the burden of his past, but his love for you shines through. A man like that deserves your devotion and a chance at redemption, and she feels foolish for how she acted around him.

She feels stupid for talking about him the way she did to you and making you feel like your relationship wasn't accepted. She probably made you angry and guilty at the same time, and she wants nothing more than to make up for her own idiocy now.

“You better keep that promise, Michael,” Sarah says. “She's been through hell, and she deserves nothin' less than genuine love and happiness. I can see how much she means to ya, and I want to believe in what ya told me. I'm... I'm sorry for how I treated you, tha' wasn't fair, but she’s my best friend and I will raise hell if she ever gets hurt again.”

“She won’t get hurt, not on my watch.”

“I hope fer your sake that’s true. And I hope ya know what yer getting yourself into. She's not an easy person to love, but she's worth it. Just make sure yer there for her when she needs you the most.”

“I promise,” he says. “And thank you fer– well, for tryin’ to understand. It means a lot.”

She raises a finger. “Don’t think yer out of the woods yet,” she tells him, “but I can see the love in your eyes and… no one has ever looked at her like tha’, so I will support ya. Both of you. And if you ever need anythin’,” Sarah offers him a smile, “Don’t hesitate to ask.”

His shoulders slack as the relief washes over him. “Thank you,” he repeats.

She brushes him off with a simple, “Don’t thank me, just be good to her.”

And he vows to do so every day, the same way he vows to protect her with his life if need be.

She bites her cheek, turning back to the ladder leading up to the shelf. He watches her features contort as she contemplates, and then she finally turns back to him. “Can ya help me with cleanin’ that shelf now?” she asks.

Michael smirks, putting his towel away and approaching her. “Happily,” he says.

They may not be friends, but they bonded over their love for you, and it is something important to have in common. They both want the same for you; they both want you to be saved and loved, and Michael will do everything in his power to give that to you.

Only a few minutes later, you finally find your way back from the basement, carrying four cartons of milk. “I was almost eaten by two very large spiders!” you declare. “They were the size of my fucking head and now I am very disgusted. I didn't know we were living in Australia. Also, Oliver-” you point at where your colleague is standing and switching out the offer signs at the door, “I hate your guts for making me go down there.”

Oliver only smirks, triumphant that it wasn't him in your position. “Well, as long as you got the milk, you won the Spider War,” he says. “You're Spider-Woman now. Act like it.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want,” you retort. “Just wait until I lock you down there to be eaten alive.”

Michael, finally done with the top shelf, approaches you. “So, the size of yer head, huh?” he asks. He uses his hands to measure your face, tapping the crown of your head gently, then squeezing your cheeks. “Are you sure they weren't just tiny little spiders?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “They were gigantic, Michael!” you insist. “I'm not exaggerating.”

“Really? How big? Show me.”

“This big–” You demonstrate the size of the spiders with your hands. However, with each gesture, the space between your hands gets smaller and smaller, much to Michael's amusement. “See, they were huge! Like this!” you barely leave any space between your fingers. “This big,” you say. “And their legs were hairy. Hairier than your chest.”

He bursts into laughter, unable to contain himself. “What, that big?” he teases. “I didn't realize we have giant mutant spiders here in Dublin.”

Feeling a bit exasperated, you pout. “Stop making fun of me. It's not funny! They were scary!”

He chuckles softly and pulls you into his arms. “I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean it,” he reassures you, pressing a tender kiss against your temple. “I know they creep ya out. I’m sorry.”

“They do,” your voice sounds muffled through his chest.

“Trust me, if those spiders even dare to come close to ya, they’ll have to deal with me. No spider is going t’ lay a single leg on ya.”

You hum in approval, hugging him back as tightly as you can. “Good answer,” you say.

“And I am disgusted,” Sarah mutters behind you. “Can ya move this to the backroom or somethin’? I’m trynna focus on work.”

Oliver chimes in, “Leave the lovebirds be.”

“I would if their actions wouldn’t call me lonely in fifteen different languages.”

“Jealousy,” he sings.

She swats him with her towel. “Shut up!”

You and Michael exchange a glance before reluctantly pulling away. He presses another kiss on your forehead, but then it’s time to resume work, and you have a lot more to teach him before your shift ends.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #x reader #chaos theory #queue

44 notes · View notes

writethelifeyouwant · 2 years

Text

Birthday Surprise

Summary: When Y/N is hurt on a hunt, it’s not major, but she still decides to stay home in the Bunker to recover instead of joining Sam and Dean on the next one. Down a person, and needing some magical assistance, the boys enlist the help of Rowena. Dean is brooding the entire hunt, blaming himself for Y/N’s injury, and nearly getting himself hurt due to his distraction. Rowena, fed up with Dean’s baggage, decides to give the man an early birthday present in the hopes of making him feel better about everything.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: kinda sorta dub-con? Tags: brooding Dean, Dean’s self-loathing, Sam & Rowena bromance, the gift of knowledge, the consequences of knowledge, unintended consequences, masturbation, public masturbation (kind of), simultaneous orgasms, kissing, implied oral sex, surprise fluff Word Count: 5,432 Bingo Squares: @anyfandomkinkbingo - “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” | @spndeanbingo - Childhood Sweethearts | @supernatural-jackles TMAS - Dean Winchester

A/N: Commissioned by the wonderful @pink-sparkly-witch 💖 the idea is her brainchild and what a fun idea it is!

“You boys go, I’m fine,” Y/N stresses again as she pushes Sam and Dean out the door and into the garage.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? Because I can stay, and we can call Jody and Don–” Dean offers for what has to be the fourth or fifth time, but Y/N shuts him down yet again.

“Dean, I swear to God,” she groans, dragging a hand down her face in advert irritation. “It’s literally a sprained ankle. I have an Ace bandage, I have ice, I have Advil. I’m just not in the mood to stay cooped up in a motel room while you two run around saving the world. I’d much rather stay in the bunker where I have Netflix and a clean bathtub.” And with that, Y/N pokes Dean in the ribs abruptly so that he yelps and jumps backwards, landing just far enough away that she can swing the door closed behind the brothers Winchester with a resounding thump.

\Now, time to see about that bath, she muses to herself as she hobbles back through the bunker. And maybe another cup of tea.

“Hello, boys,” Rowena greets Sam and Dean as the door to their motel room opens for her, Sam standing to one side courteously and swinging his arm wide in invitation for the witch to enter. “How are you, Samuel?” She greets the taller of the brothers with a smile, and Sam bends down dutifully to allow her to kiss his cheek in greeting.

“Good, Rowena, thanks,” he smiles easily. “How you been?”

“Oh, well enough,” Rowena waves idly, setting down her bag and lowering herself elegantly onto the rickety wooden chair that Sam has pulled away from the table for her. “And you, Dean?” She raises her voice ever so slightly and calls out curiously, leaning forward to better see around the partition that divides the room’s amenities from the beds.

Dean is lying back on one of the beds, atop the puce-green paisley quilt, his legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest. His head is tilted back against the brim of the headboard, his eyes shut in feigned rest, and he hadn’t moved a muscle since the witch arrived, however, it was still obvious that he wasn’t asleep, simply ignoring their present company.

“Just peachy,” the eldest brother grunts, eyes remaining stubbornly shut. Rowena rolls her own eyes towards Sam in exasperation, as if to say ‘what bee’s gotten in his bonnet’? Sam shoots a tight-lipped look of disdain toward his brother and then shifts a look of apology to Rowena.

“He’s grumpy because Y/N’s back at the bunker with a minor injury, and he’s blaming himself for no reason,” Sam stage whispers, as if he’s trying to spare Dean’s feelings but knowing full well the other man can hear him, which Dean illustrates by flipping Sam the bird from his still-unmoving position on the bed.

“Oh,” Rowena frowns sympathetically. “Is the poor dear alright?”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” Sam chuckles under his breath. “Dean just has a complex about everything being his fault when she’s on a hunt with us.”

“It’s not a complex if it’s actually my fucking fault,” Dean hisses under his breath, but Sam chooses to ignore him for the present in favour of catching Rowena up to speed on their present predicament.

There have been a string of strange deaths in the town of Jenson, Kentucky and Sam and Dean have a strong suspicion after speaking with some of the locals that it has to have something to do with the collection of colonial artefacts that had recently been unearthed from storage and put on display for the town’s founding anniversary. The early settlers of the area were largely Scottish, and just possibly, some of Rowena’s old acquaintances. Maybe even friends or distant relatives–her grandson had tried to make the crossing to America after all, if unsuccessfully. Sam knows that Rowena recognising the names on the original town charter and settlement rolls is a long shot, but with Y/N back at the bunker and no real clue what they were dealing with yet, he thought it was at least worth a shot to see if Rowena was amenable to helping them out. And they’re in luck.

She and Sam collect their things and head out to visit the historical society library, where they can have a look at the documents, leaving Dean to sulk on his lonesome for the time being.

“If you decide you want to cheer up and actually help, give me a call,” Sam slaps Dean’s booted feet by way of a farewell.

Dean grunts unenthusiastically but knows he needs to pull himself together. He doesn’t want Sam all on his own if whatever’s been killing people turns up where he happens to be going. “Call me if you find something,” he shouts after Sam. “Don’t let her turn you into a frog or whatever.”

“Charming, Dean,” Rowena grimaces lightly, too proud to stoop to the bait, and waltzes her way out of the motel room. “Come along, Samuel.”

Dean makes a silent whipping motion in retaliation that makes Sam feel a strong urge to stick his tongue out at his older brother, but he quashes down the immature impulse and settles for an unimpressed look before he grabs his shoulder bag and follows Rowena outside, the motel room door slowly drifting closed behind him.

Y/N putters around the bunker on her hobbled ankle easily enough. Sure it still hurts if she puts her entire weight on it or bends the ankle too far to the side, but the injury is really more of a nuisance at this point than an actual pain. If she continues her regime of keeping it elevated with an ice pack for a few hours a couple of times a day she thinks she’ll be up and running again in no time.

Glancing at her phone while she waits for the water in her pot to boil on the stove, Y/N wonders what Sam and Dean might be up to right now. They’ve been gone a few days already, and she knows Sam called Rowena in two days ago for some extra backup because he suspects the thing making the unsuspecting Kentuckians disappear may be magical, Scottish, or likely, both. Sam and Rowena have an odd kinship, sort of like what Dean has with Cas when he joins them for a hunt from time to time. Y/N likes Rowena just fine, and in reality, so does Dean, but he pretends not to. Given their rocky history, Y/N doesn’t blame Dean one bit, and honestly, it’s quite funny watching him go all grumpy whenever she’s around. His grumpy pout is equal parts cute and sexy in Y/N’s eyes.

Reasoning that it’s been a few hours since Dean had texted her to say that they were heading out into the woods to find the original dig site of the artefacts that they think might be causing the unexplained sidewalk drownings, Y/N decides it’s not too clingy to give her boyfriend a call. Just to get an update. She’s not worried or anything. The water comes to a boil with an advertising bubbling over onto the stovetop, producing a shrill hiss as the foam hits the open gas flames tickling the bottom of the pot, and Y/N quickly jumps into action, putting in the pasta and turning on the extractor fan to keep down the bubbles. Dinner now safely progressing again, she grabs her phone and flips it open to recent calls, hitting Dean’s name and letting it ring.

“Hello?” Her boyfriend’s gruff, slightly tinny voice answers the call after a few rings.

“Hey there,” Y/N smiles.

“Is everything alright?” Dean asks quickly, an edge of concern in his tone, and Y/N can’t help rolling her eyes.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one out hunting ancient Scottish fishing equipment or whatever,” she scoffs lightly, and Dean chuckles under his breath. Y/N can imagine how his cheeks might blush a little under his stubble as he responds.

“You know I worry about you when we’re gone. Fuck knows what’s hiding in some of those old boxes.”

“Well, there’s a comforting thought,” Y/N smirks to herself. “I’m fine, Dean. Promise. I just wanted to see how it was going with you guys.”

“Sam and witch-bitch have me out here spelunking through hillbilly backcountry looking for rusty fish hooks that are just as likely to kill me as give me tetanus, so you, I’m awesome,” Dean groans. It sounds like he might have found somewhere to sit down for a minute, and Y/N thinks she can hear running water in the background too.

“You’re going through caves on your own?” she raises an eyebrow unhappily. “You guys should really stick in a group if you’re going into Appalachian caves, it’s really easy to get lost up there.”

“Caves?” Dean asks.

“You said you were spelunking, that means cave exploring,” Y/N points out.

“Oh, well,” Dean clears his throat. “I’m doing whatever the river version of that is, then. No caves, don’t worry.” The running water in the background makes a little more sense now. “And we’re not really split up. I can see Sam’s antlers further upstream, we’re just spread out a bit to cover more ground.”

“Oh, well that doesn’t sound so bad the–AHH!” Y/N yelps in shock as the pasta water bubbles over again, making an evil hissing noise and splashing a bit of the boiling water onto the hand she had leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Y/N!? What’s wrong?!” Dean demands, his voice suddenly serious and sharp as iron.

“It’s fine,” Y/N pants, quickly turning down the gas on the stove and grabbing something to stir the pot with in order to dissipate the bubbles. “It’s fine,” she repeats, a little less breathlessly. “I let the water boil over and it startled me. It’s fine.”

“Y/N…” Dean growls, warning her that she had better not be lying to him.

“Telling the truth! I promise,” she giggles. “You’re just distracting me from cooking, as usual.”

“Well, I am very distracting,” her boyfriend responds in an instantly flirty manner like it’s an automatic response he has no control over. Sometimes Y/N thinks he really doesn’t.

“Yes, you are,” she agrees, teeth sinking into her lower lip thoughtfully. “Maybe when you’re done spelunking later tonight you can distract me some more. Netflix is getting boring.”

“Oh, is that so?” Dean grins, his cocky smile practically visible even over the phone. “You need something different to concentrate on tonight, sweetheart? Something a little more… entertaining?”

“Well, if you’re not too busy,” Y/N shrugs even though she knows he can’t see her, trying to play it off as if she’s not overly eager for the attention. Downright desperate would be a better description actually, but Dean doesn’t need that ego boost just now.

“Oh, for you baby, never too…” Dean trails off. Y/N hears a splash, and what might be a garbled shout in the distance. “I’ve gotta go.”

The line goes dead, and Y/N stands mutely in front of the pasta. It’s nearly ready, but she’s not really hungry anymore.

Dean helps Sam limp back through the motel door, the taller brother’s arm slung over Dean’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around Sam’s waist, carefully avoiding the gash in his side. Rowena glides along behind them, unconcerned as if she’s bored by the proceedings. Goddamn Kelpie had gotten the jump on Sam while Dean had been on the phone to Y/N. Yet another injury that can be added to the list of things that are Dean’s fault.

Sam sits gingerly on the edge of the bed while Dean goes for the whiskey and the first aid kit, and Rowena sits opposite Sam on the other bed, giving him a sympathetic once-over.

“Does it sting, dearie?” she asks as Sam peels off his t-shirt, wincing when the cotton unsticks itself from his skin where the blood has already dried.

“Yeah,” Sam grunts, raising a brow at the witch. “How’d you know.”

“Kelpies have highland nettle essence in their tails,” she explains sagely in her lilting voice. “Getting whipped with the end isn’t fatal, but it’ll sting and itch something fierce for a while.”

“Great,” Dean grunts, kneeling in front of Sam to inspect the wound. He uncorks the bottle of whiskey with his teeth and splashes a little over the area to wash off the tacky blood. Sam grunts, biting back the pain, and Dean’s face twitches in a conflicted mash of a smirk and a grimace; half big-brotherly pride, half big-brotherly guilt.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam huffs in exasperation, noticing the look on his brother’s face.

“If I hadn’t been on the phone–” Dean begins to argue, already beating himself up, but Sam cuts across him angrily.

“No! Cut the crap, Dean! You were at least a hundred yards away when the thing grabbed me. You wouldn’t have stopped its tail slicing me if you hadn’t been on the phone unless you can teleport like Cas and forgot to tell me about it,” Sam raises a stern brow in challenge and Dean almost lets himself be cowed but tries again to protest.

“I was distracted worrying about Y/N, if I hadn’t wandered so far away then maybe I’d have gotten back quicker,” Dean reasons.

“And maybe the Kelpie would have gotten the jump on you instead’a me? Is that what you’re sayin’?” Sam asks angrily. Dean merely shrugs, avoiding Sam’s eyes as he roots through the first aid kit looking for gauze and medical tape. “Dean, we’re both hunters here. We’re both shouldering the risks of going after these things. And it’s the same with Y/N. She knows the risks of hunting and she takes responsibility for herself when she’s out here with us. You’re not going to be the only one to ever get hurt while we’re hunting, and quite frankly you shouldn’t be, otherwise, you’d probably be dead. It’s not like these are serious hurts, I don’t even need stitches!”

“Y/N is in this because of me,” Dean growls defensively as if Sam’s suggestion that he’s not responsible for every little paper cut anyone around him gets is actually offensive. “She never woulda known about hunting or monsters or been around any of that crap if we weren’t together, so anything that happens to her is on me. And anything that happens to my little brother? Of course, that’s on me too!”

“Tell you what is gonna be your fault, is when I punch you in the face in a minute for being such an idiot!” Sam scolds Dean, tearing the first aid kit away from him in irritation to finish tending to his own wound. “Go call Y/N so she knows nobody died. She’s probably worrying her head off right now.”

Dean glares at Sam but ceases arguing, hauling himself up from the floor between the beds and stomping outside to call Y/N and let her know they’re all okay. Mostly. Sam rolls his eyes at the back of the slamming door as Dean exits to the parking lot, and the shake of Rowena’s red curls catches his attention.

“What?” he asks, eyeing her contemplative look with a hint of apprehension.

“Oh, nothing,” she sighs heavily. “I was simply lamenting the fact that he feels so burdened by it all.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam scoffs, wincing a little as he spreads some antibiotic ointment over his cut. It’s not deep, but it is beginning to itch like a motherfucker. “I’m a big boy, I can handle myself. And Y/N is just as capable. I think he’s worried that deep down we secretly blame him too, or something. But I guess there’s no way to convince him we don’t if he doesn’t want to believe it.” The younger brother shrugs in resignation.

“Oh…I don’t know about that,” Rowena muses. “A way for him to know that you two don’t blame him, you say?”

“Yeah…” Sam looks at the witch hesitantly while a smile blooms across her rose-pink lips.

“His birthday is next week, right?” she checks and Sam nods affirmatively. “I may just pop out and get you boys something for dinner. And maybe a little treat, as an early birthday celebration.”

“Rowena–” Sam stands and starts to go after her, but she holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s nothing nefarious, Samuel. It’s a simple spell, temporary. He’ll never know until it kicks in.”

“Until what kicks in?”

“It’s a sort of mutual feeling,” Rowena explains. “Something that won’t let him read thoughts so much as emotions, sensations. I can do it with wee Y/N since I sense that’s who he feels truly upset about. Am I right?”

Sam nods slowly. It actually sounds like exactly the kind of thing that could convince Dean that they’re telling the truth when they say they’re alright and that they don’t blame him. And having the stick removed from his ass would probably make Dean better able to concentrate when he’s hunting if he’s not worrying so much about Y/N instead of looking after himself.

“He won’t know until it’s done?” Sam checks. Dean is not a fan of magic, he’d never agree to let them spell him if he has a choice in it.

“Won’t suspect a thing,” Rowena smirks.

Dean wakes up feeling a wave of energy that he almost never experiences first thing in the morning. He sits up on the crappy motel bed with a sore back but somehow simultaneously feeling like he’s gotten a sound night of ten hours of sleep on his memory foam mattress back in the bunker. There’s a faint hum in his ears like he can hear his blood as it drifts through his body, pumping from heart to head to toes and back up the circuit. There’s a slight twinge in his ankle that he doesn’t remember being there when he went to bed, but it really just feels like pins and needles or like he’s slept on it funny. Getting up gingerly, he puts his weight on both feet and finds a dull soreness in the limb but nothing debilitating.

Weird, he thinks to himself, yawning as he stumbles towards the coffee machine and bangs through making a pot. The cupcakes Rowena had brought last night with dinner are still sitting on the counter next to the machine, two empty holes in the container and two more cupcakes still sitting there, appetisingly. Dean grabs one and crams it into his mouth over the course of two bites while he makes his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for the day. In the shower, he contemplates doing something with the half-there morning wood he’s sporting but is suddenly desperate to get his coffee and get on the road to start the drive back to Kansas–and Y/N.

It’s a nearly fourteen-hour drive, so it will be a fucking long day, but they can do it in one if he speeds on some of the country highways, Dean reasons. There’s a foreign warmth in his chest that’s making him feel like he absolutely has to get back and see Y/N today. As soon as possible. Somehow, he can just tell that she’s really missing him right now. Not that he’s not missing her, because of course he is, but this doesn’t feel like his feeling. And that thought alone is fucking weird. How the hell would he be feeling a feeling that isn’t his own? It should make him feel a little pig-headed, imagining that Y/N is desperately missing him, but he tries not to beat himself up about it.

Y/N told him she missed him when they were on the phone last night, after all. It’s not like he’s imagining it or just inventing it out of thin air. There’s always a bit of a pull when they’re apart from each other. That’ll happen when you wind up dating/living with the first girlfriend you’ve ever had. There were other girlfriends between Y/N and Dean separating and them getting back together, considering they had only been eight the first time they ‘dated’. But there’s always been a sense of fate drawing them back together, of them not being meant to stay apart for too long. Fuck, when did he start thinking about it so sappily? Obviously, Dean’s always felt that way, but he doesn’t remember ever thinking about it in exactly those terms before. What is going on?

Dean sips his coffee, not even remembering pouring it for himself in the fog of thoughts and feelings his brain has become this morning, and he decides not to worry about it too much. It’s kind of nice, actually, feeling so confident in how much they love each other. Thinking about Y/N isn’t leaving him with the same bitter taste of ‘what if…’ that it typically does, and he doesn’t know why, but he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.

Y/N looks around the bunker at a loss, feeling a profound sense of boredom and a deep longing for Dean to be home already. She checks the clock on the wall of the library again, in the vain hope that more than a few minutes have passed since the last time she looked up, but no luck. Checking her messages, there’s nothing new from Dean in the past few hours, which makes sense because he’s driving. She hadn’t been lying to him on the phone yesterday when she’d said Netflix was starting to get boring. She’s watched as much Friends as she can stomach right now, and she promised Sam she wouldn’t download the new Game of Thrones episode without him, so she’s at a bit of a loss for what to watch to while the hours away.

With a smirk to herself, Y/N thinks about what Dean would do in this situation. Just watch porn. Deciding to head to the kitchen for a snack, Y/N makes her way to the refrigerator and stands in front of the industrial silvers coolers, scanning the shelves for something that appeals. She really isn’t particularly hungry, she realises as she stares aimlessly at the food. Except for… There’s a small throb low in her stomach, but it isn’t hunger per se. It is a desire. A need. The ‘what would Dean do’ possibility floats back across her mind and Y/N purses her lips.

You know what, why the fuck not?

Dean stares blankly at the mostly empty highway through the Impala’s dashboard, eyes unconsciously darting back and forth across the lanes of traffic and fields of dirt that will be wheat or corn when spring hits in a few months. They go over a pothole that he doesn’t notice in time to swerve around, and the chassis jostles beneath him. Randomly, a twinge of arousal thrums through him, deep in his hips, like a pulse of bright heat. Just for a second, and then it burns out again. He feels a look of confusion cross his face, wondering where the hell that had come from. Sure he loves his car, but not that much.

Must have been the pothole, he thinks after a brief interrogation of his thoughts over the past few minutes, unable to come up with another explanation.

Y/N settles back into the memory foam mattress comfortably, on Dean’s side of the bed, pulling his pillows around her to surround herself with his familiar scent. Under the comforter, she slides her sweatpants down her legs and then brings her fingers back up to her panties, teasing the small bundle of nerves between her legs through the fabric while she browses for something… stimulating to watch on her phone. It takes a few minutes of scrolling and lazy touching, but she eventually settles on something that looks like it will be more than suitable.

Pulling her hand back out from beneath the covers, she reaches out for the toy she left out, now eager to get down to business.

Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat again, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. He’s driving his car with his giant little brother crunched into the seat next to him and Metallica on the radio. Perfectly normal, everyday situation. Nothing exciting or even remotely arousing about his current set of circumstances. But for the past ten minutes or so, he’s felt himself growing steadily more and more alert in the pants department. And try as he might to think of dead puppies or wendigos or Sam, he just can’t seem to shake the feeling.

There’s a sharp twitch of arousal and suddenly he’s at full mast, nothing slow about the build-up like the past few minutes, and his hips jerk off the seat in surprise.

“Dude, what is going on?” Sam demands in irritation, looking up from his phone and across the bench seat at his brother. Dean feels himself blush in humiliation and frustration at not understanding what the fuck is happening to him, praying that Sam won’t notice anything untoward.

His hopes do not pan out.

“Dean, what the fuck?!”

Y/N is definitely not bored anymore. She’s gone through the first video, and a second, and she’s very much enjoyed her new entertainment material. Way better than Friends. Since it’s still a while until she’s expecting Dean and Sam back though, she decides to just go ahead and make an afternoon of it, working herself up and then backing off when she starts to get a little too close to the edge. The constant buzz and pressure from her clit-sucking vibrator are perfect for helping her to just relax and enjoy the pleasure washing over her. It’s been a while since she’s had the opportunity to really enjoy edging herself, so she’s milking this chance for all it’s worth.

With a pang of desire between her legs, she clicks on the video title that has just popped up on the screen with enthusiasm. Doggy Fucking In My Classic Car. The car isn’t the right decade or manufacturer, but it is black, with a black interior, and the guy in the video is lean with short, light brown hair. It’s close enough. When he goes down on the girl in the backseat and memories flood her mind, Y/N lets herself moan loudly in appreciation.

Dean moans. He flat-out moans. Like he’s in a fucking porno.

“Seriously!? Dean, what the fuck?!” Sam shouts in disgust, giving Dean a look as if he’s a piece of trash they just fished out of the bottom of a lake.

“I don’t know!” Dean shouts back, slamming the centre of the wheel in anger and accidentally honking the horn at a passing Honda, which honks back at him angrily. “Fuck,” he shudders, his dick actually jumping in excitement, and the pressure around its crown seems to be increasing somehow and Dean thinks he actually might start crying it feels so good and so frustrating at the same time. Because it’s been doing this for a fucking hour.

“Dean!” Sam shouts, hand shooting out to grab the wheel and redirect the Impala because Dean’s just let go of the wheel entirely and almost let them swerve into the next lane of traffic. Dean is panting, his hands pressing desperately into his lap as if somehow the pressure will keep him from feeling like he’s about to cum in his jeans. It only makes it worse. With a monumental effort, Dean makes himself focus back on the road and retakes control of the wheel from Sam long enough to ease them off onto the shoulder of the highway, parked safely out of the way.

“You’re gonna have to drive, Sammy,” Dean grunts, fumbling with the handle of his door and toppling out. He makes his way to the passenger side and collapses against the frame of the door that Sam leaves open for him. “Fuuuck,” he moans again, biting his lip, trying to keep quiet, but it’s becoming exponentially harder by the second. He’s gonna cum, he realises in horror. Right here, on the side of the road, with his brother right fucking there, sitting in the car two feet away. And Dean’s gonna cum in his pants.

He wants to reach in and jerk himself off, help himself get there and get it over with, but he can’t exactly do that when his hips are currently at Sam's height while he’s slumped against the car, panting heavily, breath catching in his throat. Almost. There.

Y/N stretches out with a sigh when she’s finished, having worked herself through a couple of tiny orgasms following her big fall over the edge. It’s always easier to force herself into multiple when she’s been edging, and now every bit of her body feels warm and floppy and nice. Rolling over onto her side, she pulls Dean’s pillow under her head and cradles it in her arm, letting her eyes slide shut for a nap.

Dean is going to hang Sam from the fucking rafters. And he’s gonna put a magical hit out on Rowena. He can’t fucking believe they would put a spell on him like that. How fucking invasive. For Dean and Y/N! Yeah. Sam and Rowena are dead meat. But Sam says the spell will only last for forty-eight hours, so that’s a relief at least. And Dean since the damage has already been done, Dean is going to take advantage of it while he can. No use crying over spilt spellwork.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean bangs through the door to the bunker and down the ironwork stairs with more excitement than belongs to him because he now knows that part of what he’s feeling is coming from Y/N thanks to Rowena’s spell. Said girlfriend comes skidding around the corner into the hallway and runs into his arms with relief.

“I missed you,” Y/N mumbles into Dean’s shoulder, and it’s so so weird to feel the love that’s radiating off of her as Dean and as Y/N. It’s overwhelming, the depth of feeling that’s there, and it makes Dean’s breath catch in his chest as he crushes her to him, pressing a long kiss to the top of her head, smelling a comforting combination of her shampoo and the sweet scent she gets when she’s just woken up from sleeping.

“I missed you too, baby,” Dean smiles, tilting her chin up and dropping a small kiss on her lips. Sweet and chaste. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” he whispers against her mouth, and Y/N jerks back, startled. He levels her with a cocky smirk as she blinks at him, her face pinching in embarrassment.

“How did you know?” Y/N can’t look him in the eye, and Dean chuckles under his breath at how cute and innocent she can be sometimes. No one would ever think she could get embarrassed if they saw her in the bedroom the way he’s seen her.

“I’ll explain,” Dean grabs her hand and starts pulling her toward their bedroom. “Did you use your toys?” he asks, eyes darkening as he takes in the disarray of their bedcovers and the slightly open nightstand drawer.

“Yeah,” Y/N answers breathlessly, the shadow of a giggle.

“The sucking one?” Dean asks knowingly. He had run through the possibilities in his head endlessly on the drive home, and considering the sensations he’d been privy to, that’s the toy that seemed to fit the most. He can see now why she likes it as much as she does.

“Seriously, how the fuck do you know?!” Y/N demands, letting Dean push her down on the bed and kissing him back eagerly when he climbs over her.

“I’ll explain,” he repeats elusively, kissing down Y/N’s body and peeling her clothes off as he goes until she’s spread out and naked beneath him. He presses her thighs open, exposing the glistening folds of her cunt. He wonders if that’s from her afternoon’s activities or if that’s just appeared since he’s come home. “First, I need to know what it feels like to have this pussy fucked on my tongue.”

Enjoy my work? Consider supporting me by subscribing to my website!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

All SPN: @cemini-winchester @akshi8278 @stoneyggirl @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @slamminmine @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @alaufeyson @raidens-realm @tatted-trina6 @defenderrosetyler @cluz1babe @maliburenee @delightfullykrispypeach @05supernatural20

#anyfandomkinkbingo #spndeanbingo #tell me a story bingo #dean x reader #brooding!dean #magical accident #writethelifeyouwant #birthday surprise #established relationship #dean winchester

166 notes · View notes

escapetheshark · 3 months

Text

Genre: smut; angst; supernatural; horror

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

Word count: 2,8k

Warnings: adult language, smut, blood and gore, raw meat, masturbation

Summary: Tired of being exploited, two low-wage workers bond over their desire to eat the rich. Quite literally.

A/N: I don't know, lads. Happy late Halloween? This is pretty disturbing by SKZ fanfic standards, you have been warned. Dead dove, do not eat. It is chaptered, but it's gonna be short and I promise I'll update Off The Deep End soon.

Chapter 1 of ?

The rat race. I am not caught up in it. What I am caught up on is the need to afford basic necessities. I have no desire to climb the ladder, I simply desire to exist comfortably. But comfort does not desire to exist in me, as is proven by the excruciating torsion in my spine, as I pick up yet another wet rag off the floor. It's been a particularly difficult day between bags full of dirty linen, wet towels and toilet brushes. It aches, it canes, it's hot and sticky and uncomfortable and I have no choice but to endure it, even though I'm tired and hungry.

"Excuse me," it's faint, the voice. Like its owner can sense the sleeping bear within me and does not wish to disturb it. I don't spare it any mind as I lazily shift to the side to allow him to pass, glancing at the dress-pants-clad round buttocks as the man pushes his little mini-bar trolley through the corridor. Nice, I catch myself muttering, the glance turned into a gaze. The encounter is quickly forgotten, however, as a ping on my phone snaps me back to reality - oop, there goes gravity. Sadly, there is no mum's spaghetti this time. Can you please bring down the linen bag from the 5th floor? The sigh that leaves my throat is more like a pterodactyl screech as I saunter away into the storage room.

It's hard not to sulk into the barely comfortable chair, staring at the plate full of dried-out croissants - guest breakfast leftovers, pondering whether or not I should just wrap one of them in a napkin and take it home, like a bottom feeder who can't afford fresh croissants from the bakery. Which is true. Still, having to acknowledge it so blatantly makes my head hurt. Fuck it, I'll put it into the toaster for dinner.

"Rough day?"

"As rough as all other days," I shrug, not sparing the man even a look. But he demands to be looked at when he loudly places a mug on the table in front of me and sits across from me. It's the mini-bar boy, still wearing his pristine white button-up shirt, yet his clip-on bowtie has gotten lost somewhere and the two top buttons are undone, his milky skin peaking through. "You?"

"Yep."

I can't help but stare at his neck, skin supple and pale, prominent veins adorning it so purely. I get horny when I'm tired and angry, maybe that's why this random co-worker I hardly ever talk to, who doesn't even look particularly appetising to me most of the time suddenly seems like one hell of a snack. The whole damn meal, even.

The steam from the hot drink he's placed in front of me fogs up my glasses as I inhale the scent of lemon herbal tea, the fancy stuff we have for guests that we're not supposed to drink ourselves. "Cheers," I simply say, looking at the man.

Perhaps it's awfully cliché, but it does feel like time has come to a halt now that I've sat down for a minute and put down the mop. I haven't dared to look in a mirror yet, but I can imagine my hair completely out of place and dishevelled, my face red from the heat and exertion, eyes dead behind my thick glasses. In front of me, however, Chris - I'm pretty sure his name is Chris - looks nearly immaculate with his carefully combed hair, perfectly rosy cheeks and a slight glint in his eyes. He must have a good home life, I think to myself, or he doesn't watch the news.

"I spend 8 hours a day cleaning beautiful bathtubs, yet I go home and take a 5-minute shower in nearly cold water because my water heater has been fucked for God knows how long and these cunts don't pay me enough to pay rent and bills, get groceries and get shit fixed."

Chris seems caught off-guard by my sudden statement and I'd feel awkward if I wasn't too exhausted to fully care about a co-worker's opinion. He takes a sip of his tea and I do the same, both hands holding onto the warm mug in an attempt to keep them busy. "These shoes are so fucking uncomfortable," he confesses, his eyes on mine, a certain mischief glistening on them. "I spend 8 hours a day pushing around a trolley full of expensive alcohol, yet I go home to shitty supermarket beer."

"Touché, friend!"

He glances at his wristwatch before leisurely getting up, walking to the sink and washing his mug, then grabbing his jacket and backpack off a shelving unit full of other employees' personal belongings. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, friend. I have some shitty beer to drink." I look at my watch too and let out a beastly yawn. The bus is a few minutes away and it's way too cold to wait at the bus stop, so I sip my tea slowly while mindlessly scrolling on my phone, desperate for some kind of stimulation or excitement, but all I see are photos of babies, cats, dogs and food.

It's dark by the time I get home to my overpriced, tiny and desperately needs TLC studio apartment and my stomach is growling, I haven't eaten in Lord knows how many hours, save for the dried croissant, and even the uncooked mince in my fridge is starting to seem appetising. Cooking is exhausting, ordering in is expensive, the grocery store is a bit too far away to justify walking just for a frozen pizza, and the dairy is closed by now. What else do I have? Stale bread, half a pot of vegemite, no butter… Why is that raw meat actually feeling like it would go down? No cooking time, no clean-up. Is raw pork really that bad for you? That's crazy, maybe what I need is a shower, a four-finger self-loving session and to just fucking sleep. Sleep for dinner, a poverty classic.

Porn is useless these days, ever since I read that article about how porn stars are mistreated and the websites are full of non-consensual bulshit, I can't even watch it anymore, let alone get off. My fucking hunger for knowledge always ruins my life… I could go read some smut, but I always end up criticising the poor grammar and spelling and unrealistic scenes instead of getting wet. I haven't fucked in a while, so I don't even remember what that feels like, what a cock looks like, the warmth of someone's fingers pushing inside of me, stretching me out… Chris. The hot mini-bar boy from work. He has nice fingers, right? Despite being short and kind of average, he's generally easy to look at. Just some guy, but he has dimples when he smiles and there is definitely a glint of mischief in those brown eyes of his, not to mention his arse looks phenomenal in those black dress pants he always wears. Yeah, Chris will do. The awkwardness of thinking about a co-worker while masturbating doesn't last long, it eventually fades when my finger easily finds the exact spot in my clit that makes it feel good. Normally, I'd half-heartedly rub on it for a while until it makes my walls clench around nothing and call it a day, but today I'm in the mood to prolong it a bit, make it a bit of a show. Where did I put my dildo? I haven't used that one in a while and it was far too pricey to be collecting dust.

My stomach growling is slightly distracting, even with my arsehole full and my clit being fustigated by the calloused pads of my fingers, hips rotating as I desperately try to swallow the dildo whole, my pussy throbs around nothing, empty and wet. Why I chose today to try shoving something up my ass is a mystery, but I couldn't help it, it's like I've been possessed by some kind of hungry monster who won't be satisfied with a 5-minute session of clit rubbing accompanied by some run-of-the-mill vaginal insertion. No, today I crave more, insatiable, for whatever goddamn reason. I have to cover my mouth with my free hand, lest my desperate groans alert the neighbours, and the second I imagine Chris lying on top of me, cock where the dildo currently is, biting my neck, I crumble. It travels up my body like lightning, I've never come this hard in my entire life and I can't even process how I feel about it as I see those white dots behind my shut lids.

Fuck!

Everything feels fuzzy when the alarm inevitably pulls me from the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. I forget about my weird dream almost immediately, but not before noting that I should probably never go to bed that hungry again, because it definitely fucked me up. At least it's the last day at work before my regularly scheduled time to do chores around the house, also known as days off. There's a weird smell floating around the apartment, but I chalk it up to mould or some kind of plumbing issue that will never get solved before hopping in the shower, my arsehole is still sore from last night's treatment. What got into me, I will never understand. I'd rather forget about it, but the ache won't let me. There's blood circling the drain, I'm not sure where it could be coming from. Did I cut myself? Is it my period? Did I tear something inside me when I stretched my sphincter with a dildo? What the-

Along with the blood, I see blurry chunks of… something. Meat? Am I peeling away? Panic starts to set in as I search every inch of naked skin for a deep cut or something, is it my ass? Is my ass actually that badly bruised it's somehow peeling away? The smell gets more intense the more chunks fall into the drain, causing it to clog, water pooling on the floor. I bend down, my body squeezed against the too-narrow shower walls, I can't see very well without my glasses but I hesitantly reach my hand towards the drain and it feels absolutely abhorrent, the texture is so nasty I nearly add vomit to the mixture. I bring it to my nose, the stench is beyond agonising. Is this- is this mince pork? Why is there minced pork on my drain? I can't handle it anymore, and I feel my insides spill on the shower tile, unable to flow anywhere, I can barely breathe and my head is spinning.

By the time I come to my senses, I'm lying on a bed that isn't mine, and I know this because the mattress feels way too thin and the air doesn't feel stuffy and mould-ridden. I hear voices around me that I don't recognise and opening my eyes is futile since I have no idea where my glasses are. I try reaching out for them, surely they'd be on some sort of bedsible table, but I immediately feel a sting on my hand and something attached to it.

"Oh you're up," a female voice says, but all I can make out of the woman is her small stature and the fact that she's wearing something teal-coloured. "Here," she said finally handing me my glasses so that I could see my depressing surroundings - a hospital room, sterile and blunt as they tend to be. "You fainted in the shower, so we got you on IV and just let you sleep it off, we'll need to run some tests just to make sure there's no underlying condition, which doesn't seem to be the case according to your history. You should be released hopefully tomorrow morning."

Although I can definitely see more clearly, I still have no idea what is happening. The last thing I remember is vomiting in the shower, and then I woke up here. I'm not sure I have the energy to piece together the little clues I have, or even think about any clues whatsoever, but I find myself hungry again. My head pangs as I painstakingly get up from the cold hard hospital bed and I drag around the IV in search of a vending machine or a canteen or anything I can eat, my legs weak as the room slowly spins around me. The only thing I can smell is blood and it makes my stomach hurt even more. I get back to my room having found a couple of cardboard-flavoured protein bars, a can of coke and some crackers, but my hunger remains unquenchable and I can't figure out why my stomach won't stop hurting, and I surely don't even wish to think about how I ended up in the hospital to begin with, how would someone even find me in the shower passed out in a pool of my own vomit, and how mortifying the thought of being found in such condition by an actual human being even feels.

By the time the nurse brings me lunch, I am starving like a wolf. It all looks and smells unappetising, nevertheless, I swallow without chewing, inhaling the flavourless rice and meat, using my bare hands to shovel it into my mouth, barely able to take a breath in between. Thankfully, the nurse left and the curtains that separate my section of the room from my neighbour's are drawn shut, or they would think me an animal. I consume the meal within seconds, something I've never been able to muster even at the top of my hunger, yet I crave more. I'm nowhere near satiated and I wonder if I can ask for another portion, but the lack of seasoning does throw me off. My stomach grumbles again, and the last time I tried sleeping it off I ended up in this predicament, plus I'm missing work which means my pay will be even more nauseating than that soggy broccoli I just wolfed down. Speaking of work, when the nurse comes back to retrieve my empty tray, she brings news of a visitor. There he stands, not tall yet somehow mighty, painfully average looking yet the reason I shoved a dildo up my ass last night - I think it was last night, at least.

"How are you feeling," he asks, still standing there like a looming demon, hands in his pockets. This is the first time I see him wearing street clothes as opposed to the penguin uniform. I want to ask why he's visiting me at the hospital, given that we're merely co-workers and have barely exchanged any meaningful conversation in the past few months.

"I'm- I'm alright, I guess. Why are you here?" He chuckles for some reason, dark eyes piercing as always and those pretty dimples of his making an appearance. What he says next leaves me in a state of disarray I've never felt before, humiliated to the bones.

"Well, I did find you naked face down in your own spew, so I thought I'd check on you and make sure you're alive."

And he laughs. He laughs like he knows I'm utterly degraded, IV stuck in my hand, weak and trembling as he confesses to having found me in that state and somehow taken me to the hospital.

"Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about the raw meat. That's our dirty little secret." And he winks, a shit-eating grin I wouldn't have imagined on such a wet towel of a man.

I'm blinking, fully panicking but afraid to make it a spectacle, I can feel sweat running down my back and my pussy tightens in discomfort. Raw meat? I don't remember any- What exactly happened? The weird dream comes back to me, where I crouched by my open fridge and gobbled down that leftover raw minced pork like a goblin. Then my shower drain clogged in whatever weird bloody substance… No no no no, this can't be real…!

Chris seems amused by my panic as he approaches me, sitting on the fragile hospital bed beside me and leaning in so close I can feel his breath caress my skin and smell his breath when he whispers right in my face. "The cravings. I have them too. You'll get used to it." He leaves at once like he didn't just shift my entire world upside down and make me feel the most humiliated I've ever felt in my entire life. Next, he's gonna tell me he also found me with the dildo up my ass and whimpering his name? But the cravings… What cravings? And he has them too? I feel dizzy and I keep thinking this too is part of that weird, never-ending dream. Come on now, where's my alarm? I'll gladly go to work just this once.

To be continued

#neverendingdreams #n.sft #fanfiction #disturbing #idk how to tag

9 notes · View notes

redheadspark · 11 months

Note

Can I request a summer prompt number 4) A curling up using B’s legs as a chair seat with Jack Russell and Fem! reader?

P.S. I love your work!! ❤️❤️❤️

A/N - I do like this for Jack! Thanks for the request, anon!

Safe

Summary - Jack knew you placed his safety first, and he took it to heart every time.

Warnings - A hint of angst but mostly fluff

“Let me see….how about this job?”

“Eh, they seem really flaky. Nothing really concrete on this paperwork,”

“You’re right, lets look at the next one,”

You saw him flick to the next email, his iPad in his hand as his eyes were scanning over the new client applications that was sent to him. Being perched on his lap, you were looking at your recent book that he got you for your birthday, Jack reminding you that he can pick out the new client on his own with no help from you. But of course, three minutes into review he clients and their paperwork, he starting asking for your advice.

You never minded, not when it came to Jack and what he was looking for with who wants to hire him.

Yet at the same time, you wished some of the clients were asking for Jack since it was a high enough risk. He had a few close calls in the past few months, coming home so bruised and bloody that it made your head swim and your heart break. You would mend him every time, wrapping the wounds and wiping the blood off in the bathtub until the crhinsom water went clear again. Jack tried to reassure you over and over that he was okay and it was nothing for you to worry about. At the same time, he would never want to worry over him or loose sleep at night.

But you did.

“Something on your mind, Amor?” Jack asked as he noticed you not even reading your book, simply staring at the page in front of you with your thumb on the edge. You looked over at him, seeing his brow knit together with concern.

“Nothing, Jack,” you tried, but he shook his head and place his iPad down. Taking your book to mark your spot, he placed it on the ground next to his iPad before he had your hands in his own, rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs.

“Your mind is somewhere else,” He said to you calmly, “And I think I know what you’re thinking about. And although I wish to tell you that my safety will always come first to me….I know you’ll still worry,”

“Of course I will!” You huffed, squeezing your fingers together and looked down at the tangled fingers, feeling as though you were on he brink of tears as you went on, “You mean a lot to me, Jack. And I know you fight monsters and you have to deal with being a werewolf once a month, I….I just want you safe,”

“And I would never place myself in such a predicament that would make you worry or fear for my life,” Jack said to you in a soothing manner, “You are my main priority, my sole priority,”

Your eyes went wide as he said this to you, “I…I am?”

“Yes you are!” He said with a small smile, reaching up to stroke your jaw with his fingers as he spoke again, “I remember a nasty job I was in a few months back and I came home in the middle of the night. You mended be back to heath, and although you didn’t say anything, I saw the pain on your face. I knew, from that moment on, I had to make sure the jobs I took weren’t going to place my life on the line….because that meant I would be taken from you. If I could quit monster hunting altogether to make you happy, then I would,”

“No!” You immediately said, shaking your head since the thought of him quitting his job, quitting something you knew he was born to do, merely because you wanted him to seemed too much, “Don’t do that, Jack! Please, don’t!”

“Honey,” he cooed, calming you a bit as he saw you were getting a bit panicked. He kissed you soothingly, you leaning into his kiss as he held you close. You felt it in that kiss, how he was pushing his love into you and yet was being gentle at the same time. Once he pulled away, he stayed close to count the freckles on your nose and you seeing the salt and pepper color in his hair.

“You are everything to me,” he said calmly to you, “The fact that you love me and what I do is more than enough evidence that I have found my person in this life. I am willing to take the tame jobs, or even quit all together, just to make sure I can come home to you in once piece,”

You knew he was your person too, long before this talk. Jack was always willing to make you smile and make your day, little trinkets and flowers left on your pillow before he would leave for a job or a simple kiss on the cheek when he would be close by. Simply listening to you talk and rant about your mediocre day at work or hearing you rant about the latest gossip with your friends, Jack would do all of it. You were grateful for him in your life, no matter how boring it was compared to him being a literal monster hunter.

He thought you were his match, his true north, his everything.

“Well, don’t quit cold turkey,” You said to him in a soft manner, seeing him grin widely as you then pointed your spare finger at him, “But, be careful. I say that to you a thousand times—“

“You’ll say it thousand more, and I will always…always….be careful,” Jack reminded him as he kissed your hand that was against his chest. You leaned forward to wrap your arms around him, feeling him nuzzle into you. You knew deep down that he will be careful, that he would avoid the worst to make it back to you.

He would always come back to you, come hell or high water.

The End

June Spring Prompts

#jack russell x y/n #jack russell x you #jack russell x fem!reader #jack russell x reader #jack russell #werewolf by night #werewolf by night fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe fanfiction #mcu writing #mcu phase 4 #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel fan writing #marvel fanwriting #marvel fanfiction

35 notes · View notes

teddybasmanov · 19 days

Text

Lily of the valley, snow-white lily of the valley

Pairing: Dimi/Malenkee

TW: nightmares, mentions of death, mentions of firearms, implied nudity.

Word count: a bit above 750 (but since I decided to be weird and give translations instead of writing everything initially in English it's closer to a thousand).

Notes: Title from a poem by Tsvetaeva that is being sang here (there's also a full translation - for once not mine). This is absolutely not canon compliant in any way. I made up a patronymic for Dimi (it's from a book/movie character). I use they/them for the listener, but in direct speech in Russian I use he/him (which you wouldn't have known unless I've told you or you know Russian well enough).

They wake up in the middle of the night shaken by a nightmare they can barely remember - something with odd masked men. Their new friend breathes quietly by their side and they slowly sit up and put their feet on the floor - they need to go to the bathroom to calm down and they're afraid they cannot cry silently enough not to wake up the person right next to them. They pull Dimi's jacket from the chair beside the bed to put it over their naked shoulders - the apartment is chilly especially at night - and feel the weight of the gun still in their pocket. (If they weren't so distressed they would have though that it's just like that one scene from "Diamonds for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat", except they aren't trying to shoot their bedmate.)

They stand in front of the mirror for a bit, before turning on cold water and getting their hands under it before putting them on their cheeks. They feel stress tears starting to gather at the corners of their eyes and they let them spill - it's okay, definitely crying quieter than the running water. That's how Dimi finds them - dutifully wiping the tears off their face with cold water.

He leans on the door frame and they notice him in the mirror and promptly drop their eyes to the sink.

"Что-то не так, Дмитрий Юрьевич?" [Something's wrong, Dmitry Yurievich?] they ask quietly, their voice flat.

"Это я должен спршивать, что не так," [It's me who's supposed to be asking what's wrong.] he takes a step towards them.

"Всё в порядке, прошу прощения, если я Вас разбудил," [Everything's alright, I'm sorry if I woke You up.] they still aren't looking at his reflection.

He takes another step forward and gently puts a hand on their shoulder, "И именно потому, что всё в порядке, ты плачешь в ванной?" [And exactly because everything's alright, you're crying in the bathroom.] he says softly, not really a question.

"Всё правда в порядке, просто приснилась какая-то ерунда," [Everything's really alright, I just dreamt some nonsense.] they try to give him a smile, but it not very convincing.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub, getting to their eye-level, and pulls them onto his lap and they don't resist, leaning against him as they feel their shoulders starting to tremble and the tears coming out for real.

"Шшшш, мой маленький, я здесь, я с тобой," [Shhhh, my little one, I'm here, I'm with you.] he wraps his arms around them and whispers almost directly into the top of their head, "Что же тебе такое приснилось?" [What did you dream about.]

"Я не помню," [I don't remember.] they shake their head somewhere into the crook of his neck and their mind helpfully reminds them of an image from the beginning of the dream, "Только помню, что Вас убили," [I only remember that You were killed.] the last words of the sentence get drowned out in sobs.

"Ну что ты, маленький, из-за меня так убиваешься," [Oh, little one, and you're so upset about me.] he gently strokes their back, while they calm down again.

"Вы из-за меня жизнью рискуете," [You risk your life for me,] they say seriously finally lifting their eyes at him, "а я даже не могу вам ничем помочь". [and I cannot even help you.]

"Ох," [Oh,] he cannot help but give them a somewhat lost smile, "но, маленький, ведь я бы и так рисковал жизнью, только теперь мне есть за что - вернее за кого," [but little one, I'd be risking my life anyway, just now I have something - or rather someone to do that for.] he puts his hand on their cheek and it covers almost half of their face. They lean into it and drop their gaze again.

"Мне нечего ответить Вам на такое, и всё же я чувствую себя виноватым, что я подвергаю Вас опасности," [I have nothing to answer you for that, and yet I still feel guilty for putting You in danger.] hey put their hand on top of his and slightly turning their head kiss his palm.

"Ах ты глупенький, опасности значит он меня подвергает - да я может безопаснее, чем с тобой, себя в жизни не чувствовал?" [Oh, you silly thing, 'putting me in danger' - maybe I've never felt myself safer in my life than I do with you?]

"Если это так, то я скажу, что из нас двоих глуп не я," [If that's so, then between the two of us I'm not the silly one.] they finally return his smile and he pulls them in for a kiss. They wrap their arms around his neck and his jacket starts slipping from their shoulders.

He catches it, wrapping it around them again, "Пойдём спать, маленький, у тебя же и так глаза слипаются". [Let's go to sleep, little one, your eyes are already closing.]

They hum affirmingly, but before they make a move to get off his lap, he picks them up and stands up.

"Дмитрий Юрьевич, пожалуйста, не врежьтесь в стену, Вы же без очков," [Dmitry Yurievich, please, don't bump into a wall, You're not wearing your glasses.] they say almost half-playfully, while he carries them back to bed.

"Я могу ходить здесь вообще с закрытыми глазами," [I can walk here with my eyes completely closed.] he retaliates setting them on the bed and taking the jacket off them to put it back on the chair.

They settle in bed, he wraps his arm around them as they cuddle up closer to him.

"Спокойной ночи, Дмитрий Юрьевич," [Good night, Dmitry Yurievich.] they whisper into his chest.

"Спокойной ночи, мой маленький". [Good night, my little one.]

#jimち asmr #jim asmr #writing #?#when I decided to google how to properly transliterate Yurievich it hit me that 'Dmitry Yurievich' gives anyone #who spent any time on russian internet a very obvious association - but I assure you that was an intended outcome #it's from above-mentioned Diamonds for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat

5 notes · View notes

voxmortuus · 2 years

Note

Hey so um if req are open can you do Hannibal Lecter with a age regressing s/o and they start throwing a tantrum like they threw their drawing on the floor after ripping it up saying it’s ugly and then they maybe refuse to clean up their toys and stuffies I’m just curious how he’d react to that.

Please and thank you in advance

PAIRING: Hannibal x Age Regressed Fem!Reader

UNIVERSE: Hannibal

WORDS: 619

SUMMARY/PROMPT: See above <3

NOTE: Sorry if this isn't what you expected, I'm hoping this finds you well love! You didn't specify gender, so I went with female I hope you don't mind, it's a little easier for me to write for unless requested otherwise.

IMAGE CREDIT: Google I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF THESE IMAGES. If these are yours or you know who the creator(s) is please INBOX me and let me know. Thank you.

My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist | Taglist

It's been brewing all day. With a stomp of your foot on your ripped into a million-piece drawing, you begin to pace, walking over the pieces of paper, stomping, and growling. Little did you know Hannibal was behind you, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

"What are you doing? You've ripped up your picture? Why?" He asked.

"It was ugly! It was hidious! It was all wrong!" You yell.

"Well, that was no reason to rip it up."

"Yes, it was!"

"No, now you've made a mess."

"So!" You proceed to stomp on it, staring at him, using the ball of your foot; you twist it left and right as if smashing it into the floor.

"Now, now, Y/N, none of that." He shakes his head.

You look at him dead in the face, and you begin to jump on the ripped pieces. You pick up another drawing you hated and start ripping it up, snarling, growling, and ripping it into even smaller pieces throwing them to the ground. Shaking his head, he walks over to you, trying to not laugh, and tilts his head.

"And how does that make you feel, Love?"

"Don't get funny with me! It is ugly! And I don't care I made a mess!"

"You should be a good girl and clean it up."

"NO!"

"No? Really?"

"Yes! Really! I. Said. No! No! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOO!"

"Well then..." He rolls up his sleeves and begins to walk over to you. Gripping your arm, he pulls you to the couch, bends you over his knee and begins to tell you why he's about to punish you. "You don't yell, you clean up your messes, and tantrums are not going to get you very far. You're going to count to five."

Angry, you try and fight, but you know that will make things worse. Growling, he gives you a hard whack. Muttering, you begin to count, but he asks you to be clear in your words. Because "Good girls don't mumble." You hear in your head. You begin to cry after clearly speaking the number three. And full-blown tears by the number five.

When he is finished, he stands you up, fixes your dress and looks over your face. "Now, pick up your mess, and meet me in the bathroom." He tells you, cupping your face and kissing your tears. He smiles walking away. Looking over at him as he walks away, you let out a soft breath, wipe your nose with the back of your hand and begin to pick up your ripped papers, throwing them in the trash can by the door on your way to the bathroom.

On your way up the stairs, you hear the bathtub running, and you hear him humming. Walking in, you see he got it all set for you, with bubbles, and your favorite rubber ducky sitting on the edge of the tub. Looking over him, you step in, close the door, and he helps you undress to get in the tub. Letting out a small sigh, you look over his face, and he helps you into the tub. Once settled, he helps you wash, and with special care to your hair he smiles. Sitting there he quickly towel dries your hair, braiding it and moves to sit on the small chair across from you as you relax in the tub.

"And how are you feeling now, Love?"

"I feel... okay."

"Well, to be expected. When you're done how about we make dinner?"

You give a small nod and let out a soft breath, sinking down in to the tub with your rubber ducky in hands, letting everything sink in.

"Good girl." He kisses your forehead.

#hannibal imagine #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal fluff #hannibal angst #hannibal smut #hannibal lecter imagine #Hannibal oneshot #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter angst #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal netflix #mads mikkelsen #tellingyouastory

169 notes · View notes

queen-of-deans-booty · 1 year

Text

The Great Escape: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

You two leave the museum and head straight to the motel hoping Sam is there. When you barge into the room, Sam is lying on the floor with his phone by his hand. He looks like he passed out, and you leave the kids by the door to rush over to him.

You put a hand to his forehead and hiss in pain when it burns you.

"Dean, he's burning up. We need to get him to cool down."

"I'll get ice."

Dean leaves the room, and you see Joanna try to come over to you to help.

"Jo, stay by your sister, okay? Just stay by your sister for Mommy." There is a first aid kit in your bag, so you ruffle through it and find the thermometer. You place the tip in Sam's mouth and gasp when the temperature reads.

107. Sam will die if he gets any hotter than this, and you can't take him to the hospital.

Dean comes back shortly with bags of ice that you'll use for an ice bath. He starts to fill the bathtub with water and pours the ice in until the water is freezing.

"He's 107. Dean, he's only getting hotter."

"Help me bring him to the bathtub."

You take Sam's shoulders while Dean takes his legs. He's very heavy--pure muscle--but you manage to get him to the tub. Joanna watches next to her sister by the door since she doesn't dare interfere with this. Sam sinks below the freezing water, and you wait for him to wake up. You bite your lower lip in nervousness, and Dean paces the bathroom from nerves.

Minutes later, Sam shoots awake and breaches the surface of the water with a huge gasp. You and Dean try and help him up, but he pushes you two off and scrambles to get out of the water.

"Get off me!"

"Hey, take it easy, Sam!" you say as Dean wraps him with a hotel towel. "We found you unconscious on the floor. Your temperature was 107. We had to do this or else you'd die."

"He's here, Y/N. Metatron is here, I know it. I can hear him," Sam panics.

"What're you talking about?"

"All I know is that I'm connected to it somehow. I just know he's here. Metatron is here."

"Okay, where is he?"

"I can show you. I can show you. The manager. He was delivering books to him," Sam speaks too quickly. "Books. Hardcovers, paperbacks, novels—books. All kinds of books."

"Stories," you and Dean say at the same time. "Where is his room?"

Sam leads the way to Metatron's room. Sam is trying to hold himself up from crashing to the ground, but he stumbles his way through the hallway.

"We should be taking you to the ER," Dean says.

Joanna and Maryann are both in your arms since you don't know what you're walking into.

"They can't do anything for me. You know, I've been remembering things, little things, so clearly. You both used to read to me when I was little. I mean, really little, from that classic illustrated comic book. You remember that?"

"No, we don't."

"Knights of the Round Table. Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad and he was kneeling, and light was streaming over his face. I remember thinking I could never go on a quest like that. Because I'm not clean. I mean, I was just a little kid. You think... maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that I had demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I wasn't pure?"

"Sam, that wasn't your fault, you know this," you say gently.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Because these trials are purifying me." Sam stops in front of a door in the middle of the hallway, but he looks confused. "They were here, the—the—the books, the boxes! They—they're gone."

"Sam, you need to calm down. Let's go inside."

Dean pushes open the door which is filled with thousands of books stacked everywhere. It's kind of like a maze, but you three navigate it easily until you come to an area with a couple of chairs, a fireplace, and a sitting area where someone can read all these books.

You don't have to look far before you hear a gun cock behind you. You turn to see a middle-aged short man with a beard pointing a rifle at you.

"Who're you?" he asks.

"Metatron? You're Metatron?" Dean turns to Sam. "This is Metatron?"

"Sit down," Metatron orders.

Your eyes glow blue as your magic works his rifle. In an instant, you think about turning his rifle into bubbles, and your magic does the rest for you. His rifle turns into a spray of bubbles, but Metatron does something you weren't expecting.

He turns it back into a rifle, and he's more pissed than ever.

"I said sit," he growls.

You do as you're told, and you clutch your children closer to you.

"Who sent you?"

"We came on our own. We're the Winchesters," Sam half-shouts.

"I'm Dean, this is Sam and Y/N."

"You work for Michael? Or Lucifer? Amara?"

"What, you really haven't heard of us? What kind of angel are you? We're the fucking Winchesters," Sam yells again.

He must be hearing something you don't, otherwise he wouldn't yell.

"Michael and Lucifer? Those dudes are in the deep fryer," Dean says.

"What about Gabriel? And Raphael?"

"Dead, and Amara is still locked away. You really don't know about this?"

"I've been very careful."

"Hey, can you turn that down?" Sam yells even louder.

"Turn what down? Oh. You're resonating," Metatron lowers his rifle.

"Resonating? What does that mean?" Dean panics.

"You've undertaken the trials. You're trying to pull one of the great levers, aren't you? You're pretty far along, too. If you get that far along, you start resonating with the Word or with its source on the material plane. With me."

"You said you were being careful. Careful how?" you ask.

"I'm not one of them. I'm not an archangel. I worked in the secretarial pool before God chose me to take down the Word. He seemed very worried about his work and what would happen to it when he left, so he had me write down instructions. Then, he was gone. After that, the archangels took over. They cried and they wailed. They wanted their father back. I mean, we all did. Then, they started to scheme. The archangels decided if they couldn't have Dad, they'd take over the universe themselves. They couldn't do anything that big without the Word of God. So, I began to realize, maybe they would realize... they needed me."

"So you get a ruffle in your feathers and just decide to disappear? Go stick your head in the sand, forever? You have no idea what's been going on out there," Dean says angrily.

"Nope. That's the whole point."

"So, instead of helping humanity, you've been locked in here or some save reading stories about us?" you ask angrily.

"It was something to watch," Metatron says with a grin. "What you brought to His Earth was mind-blowing, but really, it was your storytelling. That is the true flower of free will. At least as you've mastered it so far. When you create stories, you become Gods of tiny, intricate dimensions unto themselves. So many worlds! I have read as much as it's possible for an angel to read, and I haven't caught up!"

"You know what? Pull the fucking tigger," Sam growls.

"What?"

"Pull the fucking trigger, you cowardly piece of garbage."

"Sam, calm down," you say, but Sam ignores you.

Sam grabs the end of Metatron's rifle and points it at himself.

"All the time you've been hiding here, how much suffering have you read over? Humanity's suffering! How much of it has been at the hands of your kind?!"

"Come here. Sit down." Dean pulls Sam away and makes him sit back down. "You want a story? Try Kevin Tran's story. He was just a kid. He was a good, straight-A kid, and then he got sucked into all of this angel shit. He became a prophet of the Word of God. Your prophet. Now, you should've been looking out for him, but no! Instead, you're here, holed up, reading books."

"He's dead now, because of you," Sam glares.

With a wave of his hands, Meatron grabs Kevin from wherever he's been hiding and makes him appear next to you. Kevin is beaten and worn down, and you rush over to him after putting Joanna down.

Before Metatron can heal him, you use your magic to heal him of all of his injuries. Metatron has never seen the Sapphire Witch in action, so he doesn't know the full extent of your powers. He watches you with a careful eye and places you and your powers to the back of his mind.

Kevin is unconscious, but you know he'll be up soon.

"Is that it? Is he good?"

"Give him a minute to come back."

Metatron walks off, and you and Dean follow him to question him further. If he was with Crowley, then the demon would have angel-proofed the entire city much less the building.

"How did you get past Crowley's angel-warding?" you ask.

"I'm the Scribe of God. I erased it. Are you two really intent on closing the doors of Hell?"

"It seems like the right thing to do, doesn't it?"

"It's your choice, and that's what this has all been about--the choices your kind make. You're gonna have to weigh that choice. Ask yourself: what is it going to take to do this, and what will the world be like after it's done?"

"Dean! He's awake!" Sam calls out.

You rush back to see Kevin open his eyes.

"I'm so glad you're okay," you breathe in relief.

"I'm good." Kevin reaches into his jacket and pulls out the second half of the demon tablet. "I got the second half of the tablet. I also got the third trial. I didn't tell Crowley."

"What is it?"

"Cure a demon," Metatron answers.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"Nevermind that. We should get going before Crowley sends a whole army of demons to us."

Metatron let you leave just as easily as it was to break into his room. He didn't say much as you left, but you don't care about him. Something is off with him, and that's your first basic instinct about him. You get the vibe from him that he isn't a good person, but that's a different problem for a different day.

As soon as you were on the road, Kevin was out. He sits in the backseat with the kids while you sit in the front with Sam and Dean. It's a bit cramped, but it'll do for right now.

"Cure a demon. Okay, ignoring the fact that I have no idea what that actually means, if we do this, do you get better? I mean, you stop trying to cough up a lung, and bumping into furniture?"

"I feel better."

"Good because where we're headed doesn't sound like a picnic," you say.

"We're headed somewhere, that's the point. We're headed towards the end."

Dean looks away for one second, and you see a figure walk into the middle of the road.

"Dean!" you gasp loudly.

He slams on his brakes and stops just shy of the figure. The figure turns around, and you gasp when you see it's Castiel. He is bloody and banged up, and it makes you wonder what the hell he's been up to.

Dean parks the car and the three of you scramble out to assess Castiel's injuries.

"I need help," he groans in pain.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fic #supernatural fiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #spn #spn fic #spn fiction

11 notes · View notes